Slocum and the Vengeful Widow

by Jake Logan

  He heard some horses running hard and hurried around the cabin to get sight of them. The two had gathered an extra horse and were riding low in the saddle, headed for the hatless Bowdry, who was running up hill to meet them. He made a flying mount, and they were gone from Slocum’s rifle’s range before he could even get one good shot off.

  Maybe he’d made a believer out of them. He looked up and saw Bee by herself coming from the post oak thicket. She paused and looked at him, as if asking, was it all clear?

  He nodded and went to the second prone outlaw. Bent over, he rolled his limp body faceup and saw that the man’s brown eyes were fixed on the sky. He found ten dollars in coins and cash on him, two knives, and undid the gunbelt, which he pulled off and slung over his shoulder.

  “He got any money?” he asked her as she searched the still body of the rifleman.

  “Few dollars—” She held a gold watch to her ear to listen and then shook her head. “It don’t work.”

  “It’s worth something,” he said and eased off one of the man’s dusty boots. Paper dollars flew like chicken feathers on the ground.

  “Oh,” she said, holding the “O” on her lips.

  “Yes, they held up a train or two.”

  Before she reached for it, she paused and looked at him. “What we do with it?”

  “Finders keepers.”

  She nodded and then pointed at her small breasts. “You and me split it?”

  “Sure—fine. We better check that other guy’s boots too.” He heard something and swept up the rifle. In long strides he reached the side of the cabin to see the source. It was one of the wounded ones, and he was riding low in the saddle, making it hard for the ridge. That was all right; Slocum had no medical facilities for him anyway.

  Long past sundown, the three dead men were lying in a common grave, and the fourth one was propped up to the side of the cabin barely hanging on. He’d been crushed under his horse’s fall, and when Slocum returned from the grave, the man was coughing up blood. Slocum stopped and knelt on a knee.

  “Was Two-hearts with you all?”

  “Yeah . . . but . . . he got away.”

  “Who else besides Bowdry and him got away?”

  “Billy Briggs . . . Wal . . . Walter Coffee.”

  “Where’s Bowdry been staying?”

  The man shook his head in the starlight to say that he didn’t know, and then he dropped his chin and Slocum knew he too was in the beyond.

  She came to the door illuminated by the light from inside, and frowned. They exchanged looks and he nodded that the man was dead. Skirts in her hand, she came down the steps and took up his stocking feet. Then she looked at Slocum to say that she was ready to haul him away. “Room in that hole for one more, huh?”

  “Yes, I made it wide.” They carried the last one off to a common grave beyond the corral.

  At the burial site, she stripped him down to his underwear like she had the others, to save the clothes, then rolled him in with them, which made a dull thud when he landed. Pushing off her knee, she rose. “I can cover them up in the morning. You come and eat now.”

  He yawned big and straightened. “I won’t argue.”

  She hugged his waist and drove him toward the lighted door. “You make me plenty rich widow today.”

  He hugged her shoulder. “Sorry I made so damn much work out of it.”

  They both laughed going inside sideways.

  The children were already asleep on pallets. He was picking his teeth after the meal as she washed her tin dishes on the dry sink in a chipped wash pan.

  “I can buy some cows to run up here,” she said, drying the last of them. “And a team and wagon.”

  “What happened to your man?”

  “I heard he was killed.”

  “Heard?”

  She nodded and then made a face like it didn’t matter anymore. “He went to look for work one day and never came home. I wondered where he was, so I went up to Miami and asked around. Some guy up there said he had heard he was killed in a knife fight.” She shook her head. “He didn’t know where they buried him. So I came home.”

  “I see.”

  “I think we better celebrate all this money. I have no whiskey, but . . .” She began to unbutton her dress in front of him and smiled at him. “I think we can do it in bed, huh?”

  “I think so, little lady. I think so.” And he toed off his boots.

  Obviously she was anxious for him, for she blew out the candle, shed her dress and pulled him to the bed. In the darkness, he could only see the outlines of her small naked figure and outstretched arms. When he was between her knees on top, her small fingers began with earnest to pull on his increasing volume. When he was halfway hard, she raised her butt off the bed and started him into her tight pussy. His hips drove his spike into her, and she gasped, clutching him and pumping back to his every stroke. In a few minutes of fast action, she came. He eased back his thrusts until she recovered, and then again she grew fierce with him—and bang, she came again, and tossed her head as if lost. In a few minutes, he brought her back up to speed, and the ropes creaked under their hard action. He pumped in and out of her spasmodic contractions until he felt the hard cramp on his left nut and knew the end was coming. He grasped both sides of her tight ass and drove it home.

  She gave a stifled cry and then wilted.

  As they lay side by side in the bed, she stroked the beard stubble on his cheek. “I’m sure glad you came today. I sure needed this and that money too.” Then she laughed. “They ever ask me, I can tell them you have big dick too.”

  He nodded and played with her small, hard breasts. “And I can say you are the woman who comes a lot.”

  “I never did that before today—never—wow.”

  “You sleepy?”

  “No, you horny?”

  “I could be.”

  She scooted closer and hugged him. “Then let’s do it more.”

  Dawn came like a gray flannel sheet over the bluestem hills. He caught the two extra horses that came up to where his bay was in the corral and turned them inside after unsaddling them. He went to recover the two saddles off the dead horses—Bee would have a saddle shop when this was over. Bowdry’s rig on the dead Morgan horse was hard to get undone, and he thought he’d need to pull it out with his horse. On his butt, he used his feet against the stiff corpse and at last jerked it free.

  She had breakfast ready when the sun’s spears began to shine around the hill.

  “What will I do with all of their saddles and guns?”

  “Trade ’em for cows.” Seated at her table, he blew the steam off his coffee cup. “The rigs ought to bring four cows apiece.”

  She shook her head, acting impressed. “I don’t know. They may call me Many-cows I do all that.”

  “It would be fine.”

  Embarrassed, she wet her lips, standing with the coffeepot ready for his refill. “You come this way again, you better stop.”

  “And see Many-cows?”

  Her head bobbed and a straight smile filled her copper lips. “She will be here, and my children will have greasy mouths.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Now I can afford some pork. No more possum stew all the time.”

  She told him she would cover the bodies up and for him to go. Those men would not hurt her, but he should go in case they did come back. Then, with some tears in her lashes, she ran over and hugged him.

  “May your medicine always be strong.” Then with her face buried in his vest she said in low voice so her children could not hear, “Go now or I will have to take you to bed again.”

  20

  He decided to drop by Hurricane’s place one last time before he headed west to Council Oaks. In late afternoon, he dropped out of the timber and sat on his bay at the far end of the meadow. In the sun’s bloody last minutes, nothing looked out of place as he studied the homestead. Hurricane’s wagon was parked there in the yard. His team and saddle mule, grazing across the
way, lifted their heads and looked in Slocum’s direction. Something was amiss, and at first he couldn’t be certain about the suspicions that made his stomach knot—then he realized that there was no smoke.

  If they were at home, Blue would have a cooking fire going this time of day. He turned the bay back into the timber and circled around. Daylight was fast fleeting, and the shadows grew long faster and faster. Dry leaves rattled in the trees, and he kept an ear out for any sound—nothing. No strange horses in sight. None around the sheds or barn—he slipped off the bay in the cover of some head-high hickory sprouts and hitched him. Six-gun in his fist, he advanced on the main cabin as the sun slipped behind the horizon.

  He reached the side of the building. His heart beat so loud it deafened him when he slipped in the back door. There had been a fight in there. Tables and chairs were overturned in the shadowy room, and the copper smell of blood filled his nose. In the growing darkness, he could see that Hurricane was tied in a high-back wooden chair, his head slumped forward. Not moving.

  Satisfied he was alone, Slocum put up his Colt, struck a match and lit a candle on the table. He felt for a pulse behind Hurricane’s ear. There was none. Damn, bound to a chair and then killed. Stabbed to death by some butcher that tortured him with his knife, one jab at a time.

  “Oh, God, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I let this happen to you. You didn’t deserve this.” Tears flooded his eyes when he turned and discovered a worse sight on the bed. Blue’s wrists were tied to the iron poster on each side above her—naked—bloody—the killer had carved her up like a madman, no doubt after they’d raped her. The gore—scalping her crotch even, probably before she died. What no-account dog would do such a thing?

  Where was Wink? Her roan horse wasn’t around—had they missed her? He decided to check the smaller cabin where they had held their lovemaking. He pulled the latch-string, shoved in the door, held the candle lamp up and the hinges creaked—nothing. For a long moment, he studied the faded quilt on the bed, simply relieved she wasn’t in there. But if they got Hurricane and Blue, they sure wanted her too.

  He needed to bury them—maybe Dora and Charlie would know something. Damn, he dreaded the job at hand. Heartsick, he turned an ear to the sounds of a horse coming. Were the killers coming back? His hand went to the grip of his .44—they better be wearing their go-to-hell clothes, ’cause they were going to get a bellyful of lead.

  “Slocum!” Wink bolted off her horse and flew to him. “I thought you—”

  “I wanted to check by—”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Without words, he looked off in the darkness to find his lost speech, and set down his lamp. “There’s been more bad things happen.” He caught her by the waist. “You can’t go in there. It’s too bad.”

  She struggled to free herself by prying his hands away.

  “Wink, damnit, take my word, it’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen.”

  She straightened herself and swept the curls back from her face. “You said I had to be tough. I’m tough.”

  “Not enough for what’s in there.”

  Her face set in the starlight, she reached for the candle lamp. He let go and followed her. It wasn’t the way he wanted it.

  Inside, she held the light up to shed it on Hurricane and gasped. “Savages,” escaped her lips. Then she turned to the gruesome sight of Blue on the bed. Her hand flew to her mouth and she handed him the lamp, pushing past him with her hand extended straight out. On the porch’s edge she vomited, then again and strangled.

  “Who did this?” she managed to gasp when he joined her.

  “I’m going to start with Two-hearts and go all the way to Bowdry.”

  “What must we do?”

  “Dig two graves, and then we can ride to Barren Fork and settle with Two-hearts.”

  She closed her eyes and nodded in agreement. “Let’s get started.”

  “How did you—”

  “I went to Fort Smith to get my money out of the bank.”

  “You were going back to Kansas?”

  She shook her head, not looking at him.

  “None of my business—” He looked at her.

  “I was going to hire a new man to kill Bowdry.”

  “You still can.”

  “I thought you were gone. Hurricane promised to find me someone.”

  “I guess he did,” Slocum said and went for a pick and shovel. The gravelly hill ground would be tough to dig a grave in, let alone two. She trailed after him, and they decided on a high place. At first it went easy, but soon he was down to picking the clay loose each inch. By the time dawn came, they were close to six foot deep and had decided to widen as they went down to accommodate the two of them.

  “They belong together,” she said and he agreed.

  The bodies wrapped in blankets, they placed them in the grave and Slocum read the Twenty-third Psalm. Then they went to covering them up. He hoped no evil spirits had gotten to his friends while he wasn’t looking—Hurricane’s people would have had a long wake guarding the bodies, firing guns to ward off the evil ones, and his clansmen at the funeral would have made certain that no bad ones got in before the bodies were delivered and covered.

  Charlie and Dora came after they finished.

  “What happened?” Charlie asked with a frown at the fresh dirt.

  Slocum told them the story. The two shook their heads and Dora cried.

  “Does he have any heirs?” Slocum asked.

  “Maybe—” Charlie shook his head.

  “You are the executor. I will write a paper and Wink will witness it that he wanted you to take care of it,” Slocum said.

  “I can do that.”

  Slocum clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks. We need to ride.”

  “But you’ve been up all night—”

  “We can sleep later. I’ll see you again sometime.” Slocum went after the bay.

  When he returned, Wink was on the roan. He took a paper from his things and scribbled a note in pencil on the seat of his saddle to the effect that Charlie was to be Hurricane’s estate administrator. He had her sign it as witness. “This should do.”

  He handed it to Charlie, shook his hand, mounted the bay, and they were headed for Barren Fork. He waved to the older pair and they left.

  “Where will we go?” she asked as they trotted their horses down the dusty road littered with early fallen leaves.

  “John Carter’s. He’s the one I know over there. Did he ever get his wife back?”

  She smiled and shook her head, mildly amused. “Yes, but I’m not sure that she stayed.”

  Two days later they rode up to Carter’s. Trail-weary and dust-floured, Slocum had looked over the place before they left the trees and came on up the road to the homestead. The beat of a hammer striking steel on an anvil made him feel secure, though he twisted several times in the saddle to look beyond the open fields for any sign of opposition.

  “Hey Slocum, you’re back,” the sweaty-faced Cherokee said, looking up from his work on a horseshoe. He nodded to Wink and then mopped his face.

  “I’ve got some bad news,” Slocum said and dismounted. “Three days ago they murdered Hurricane and Blue.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “It was bloody. They must have tortured him for some time and—” He closed his lips tight and shook his head. “They did a tougher job on her, and probably made him watch them.”

  “Who?”

  “I suspect Two-hearts. I had a run-in with Bowdry and his bunch up in the bluestem country. Didn’t get him, but I got some of his gang. They must have swung back by and taken it out on Hurricane and Blue.”

  “I guess we can get the truth out of him.” Carter began to shed his gloves and leather apron.

  “We’re ready now,” Slocum said.

  Carter looked pained at them. “You two look like some coffee and food might help.”

  “Don’t go to any trouble—”

  “No trouble, I’m batching again.” He laughed
and led them to the cabin.

  Slocum glanced back and read the look on Wink’s face—I told you so.

  After some leftover fried corn mush and coffee, they watered their horses while Carter saddled his.

  “You have any plans?” she asked.

  “Kind of play it by ear.”

  She nodded as if satisfied. “This is a tough business. I’m glad that you had me get in condition.”

  He gave her a confident nod. ‘You’re doing well.”

  An hour later they were in the woods above Two-hearts’s place. Smoke came from the chimney; Slocum was satisfied that someone was there. He shared a nod with Carter.

  “We can get Hembree away from the house. We can squeeze the answers out of him,” the tall Cherokee said.

  “Slip down to the barn?” Slocum asked.

  Carter agreed and they set out with her trailing them. They reached the barn, and Slocum could hear talking as they held tight to the board-and-bat siding.

  “. . . not be back till dark.”

  “Get away from me. Two-hearts will skin us both.”

  “He won’t ever know we done it.”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “Please?”

  “All right, but make it quick.”

  Slocum nodded for Carter to go ahead, and they eased along the wall as the grunting began. He looked back to her, and she shook her head in disapproval. Carter drew his six-gun and Slocum followed. They stepped in the barn door.

  In the shadowy light, Slocum could see that a bare ass was pumping between two brown legs, with her dress all wadded up under him. Holstering their guns, they ran over. Slocum jerked the man back. Carter smothered the woman’s scream as she kicked and fought to get her dress down.

  “Who’re you?” Hembree blinked in shocked disbelief.