Slocum's Four Brides

by Jake Logan

  “Why are you looking so strangely at us, Mr. Slocum?” Betty asked.

  “Any of you packing a gun?”

  The women exchanged looks and every last one of them shook her head. It was about what Slocum had expected. He might force the women to look at the body, but the reactions wouldn’t mean much. If one had killed him, feigning ignorance now would be easy, and the others would be too distraught for him to decide what their reactions meant. He had to admit it was possible none of them had killed the man. They were entering dangerous territory, fraught with road agents and down-on-their-luck miners willing to kill for a meal or even the quarter of a dollar he had stuck into his vest pocket.

  Slocum doubted it was that simple an explanation for the dead man.

  “I’ll bury him. Any of you want to say a prayer for him, get to it.”

  “Will you be long?” Tabitha was pale but met his gaze without flinching.

  “You in a hurry?” Slocum asked.

  “I think it would be of benefit to us all to put as much distance between Salt Lake City and ourselves as possible.”

  Slocum again considered making them try to identify the body.

  “It might be one of your husbands,” he said.

  “You think one of us is capable of murder?” asked Betty. “I never once considered killing my husband. I loved him, in a way. What I wanted to get away from was sharing him.”

  “I’ll be back as quick as I can,” Slocum said. “Pack up and be ready to roll.”

  He hiked back into the forest and found a decent spot at the edge of a glen, where he buried the man. If there had been any chance the dead man was one of the women’s husbands, he would have insisted they all view the corpse. The calluses on the dead man’s hands showed he was more likely a cowboy used to roping, not farming.

  He finished tamping down the dirt in a mound; he thought it might keep the coyotes and wolves from digging it up for an easy meal. There ought to be rocks, but he would have done that only for a friend, not a man who had fired a shotgun in his direction.

  As Slocum returned to the camp, he had a chance to study the women once more. Wilhelmina stood apart from the others, quietly sniffing and wiping at tears. Betty, Sarah June, and Tabitha huddled together as if they were sheep caught in a blizzard and needed to share body warmth. There was no telling what had happened.

  Slocum tossed the shovel into the rear of the wagon, then climbed into the driver’s box and said, “Let’s get another ten miles along the road, ladies.”

  Three climbed into the back and Sarah June once more took her spot alongside him. But Slocum noted how quiet the once-talkative woman was. That suited him just fine. He needed some time to think through what he had gotten himself into, agreeing to deliver them to their prospective husbands.

  4

  Baxter Pass lay behind them, and Slocum watched the Twin Buttes to the north slowly get swallowed by a gathering storm. Lightning stabbed downward but no thunder sounded. The storm was still far away. But the gray clouds and the swift movement around the upper peaks told him that getting through the higher Douglas Pass some distance away—and all uphill—would be difficult. It was still early in the year for a major storm, but the Rockies were always treacherous.

  He looked at the four women, all huddled together in the rear of the wagon, and wondered how treacherous they might be. Sarah June had remained beside him until they reached Baxter Pass and the sharp wind blowing down from the higher slopes had driven her back with the others. He missed the feel of her leg pressed against his, although she had never said anything more that gave him reason to think he might be able to sneak off with her and share warmth of a different sort.

  Slocum had seen friendly women before, and they were usually charging for their favors. Sarah June was a different matter, being on the lookout for a husband. Still, Slocum was willing to fill in for whomever that might be until the pretty blonde woman found her heart’s desire.

  “You needing more blankets?” Slocum called. The wind picked up even more and cut at his lips, cheeks, and ears. The women were probably even colder, in spite of being out of the wind down in the wagon bed surrounded by their insulating chests of clothing.

  “Could we stop, Mr. Slocum?” Tabitha asked. “I don’t know how much longer I can stand this. I need a fire to warm myself.”

  Slocum looked at the road and then up to the Twin Buttes and the storm beginning to turn serious there. Putting in another few miles today might mean the difference between life and death. If they were caught between the two passes when a blizzard hit, they might be goners. For a second, Slocum even considered turning around and retreating through Baxter Pass to lower elevations where the storms weren’t as likely to catch them. If he did that, though, it might be spring before they could push on toward the mining towns of the Book Plateau, where they intended to find the miners, who had already paid good money for their wives.

  “The storm’s coming in fast,” he said. “If we don’t go on, we might be snowed in for days.”

  “What’s the difference between setting up camp here or a mile down the road?” Betty asked. “It’s all the same.”

  It wasn’t, but Slocum had no heart to argue the point. He saw that the other women agreed with Betty. Slocum shrugged and began looking for a decent camp, one where they might ride out the storm if it came their way and dumped as much as a foot of snow on their heads. He rounded a bend and smiled. Luck was still riding on his shoulder. All along the road he had seen line shacks constructed by other travelers. Ahead lay another. A small one. They would be cramped inside, but he doubted if the four women would care. He certainly wouldn’t.

  Slocum swung the wagon around behind the rickety shack and fastened the reins to the brake.

  “Here we are. The finest hotel room in all the Rockies,” he said.

  “I’m glad you said ‘room,’ ” Sarah June said. “You’d have been a liar if you’d said ‘rooms.’ ”

  “Carry what you’ll need inside with you,” Slocum said. “I’ll hunt for some firewood.”

  “Wouldn’t whoever built the shack have left some for us?” Wilhelmina seemed unaware of how ridiculous that sounded. Betty took the tall blonde aside and quietly explained.

  “We’ll help hunt for firewood,” Tabitha said. She looked at Sarah June, who wasn’t as inclined to join the search. The dubious warmth of the shack beckoned to her.

  “That’s all right. I can find enough to get a fire started,” Slocum said. He wanted to scout the area to be certain that they were alone. Ever since the mysterious shotgun-toting rider had been murdered, Slocum had been wary of others along the road. They had passed three other parties, all coming out of Colorado and going into Utah. Not once had he seen anyone behind them on the trail riding in their direction.

  The chance that someone paced them farther along the road was slim, but Slocum needed to put his fears to rest. The longer he rode with the women, the prettier they looked to him. He could hardly imagine what a prize any of the ladies would be to a lonely miner or trapper out in the mountains for the past six months.

  He began scouring the area for firewood and found enough to last them the night. After delivering it to the ladies, he saw the flakes fluttering down from an increasingly cloudy sky and knew he had made the right decision to stop for the day. Before morning there would be a significant accumulation of snow on the ground. Another hour of gathering wood produced a stack waist high. He slipped into the cabin and pushed the door back into place. Leather hinges had long since rotted away.

  “Feels good in here,” he said, slapping his hands against his arms and moving closer to the fire built in the center of the shack. There was no stove. A firepit rimmed with rocks was hardly better than a campfire, and possibly worse since the smoke was already filling the cabin. He left the door open a crack to provide ventilation and then sank down beside the fire.

  Sarah June handed him a steaming cup of coffee. He let it warm his hands a moment, then drank.
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  “Better than anything I could brew,” he said.

  “Boil, you mean,” Betty said with disdain. “I’ve seen how you boil your coffee until it’s strong enough to melt lead.”

  “Keeps me going,” Slocum said. He stiffened as he felt something creeping up along the inside of his thigh. Cabins like this were always filthy with lice and even less desirable companions, but a quick glance down caused him to draw his legs closer together so the other women could not see how Sarah June was feeling him up.

  Her fingers stroked and caressed and moved higher until he was getting uncomfortable. There was only so much room in his jeans, but she never stopped. Her clever fingers moved about until they pressed down over his burgeoning erection.

  “You’re sweating, John,” Sarah June said. She grinned wickedly.

  Slocum glanced at the other three women. Wilhelmina dozed in one corner. Betty and Tabitha argued over something, and he did not care what. Sarah June’s hand was becoming more and more important to him.

  “You shouldn’t start what you can’t finish,” he said.

  “Why not? We can go outside. For a spell. They won’t care.”

  “In the snow?”

  “Snow!” Sarah June’s hand disappeared. She jumped to her feet and went to the door. Struggling, she pulled it back enough. “Look, everybody. It’s snowing!”

  Slocum was sorry he had mentioned it. While it would not have been as pleasant as some things he had in mind, having Sarah June stroking up and down his hardened length was mighty fine. Now her enthusiasm had been transferred to the heavy, wet flakes tumbling from the storm that had finally overtaken them.

  “That means we’re not going anywhere for a spell, doesn’t it, Mr. Slocum?” asked Betty. “How long are we going to be stranded?”

  “Can’t rightly say. If the storm passes over fast, we can be on the road in the morning. From the look of it, though, I reckon we might be here a couple days. Getting through the next pass won’t be easy, even without snow and ice on the road.”

  “Could be worse if it thaws,” observed Tabitha. “Mud.”

  As cold as it was getting, Slocum doubted they would have to contend with that.

  “Might as well get some grub and bed down for the night,” he said.

  “Bed down,” murmured Sarah June. She smiled at him, that wicked twinkle in her eyes. The dancing light from the cooking fire illuminated her face and left the others hidden in shadow, but Slocum knew better than to pursue the thoughts running through the blonde’s mind—and his cock. It was better than a week of travel after they got through Douglas Pass until they reached their destination, and the dissension among the other women would be too much to tolerate.

  “Alone,” he said softly so only Sarah June could hear. Her expression fell, then an elfin smile danced on her face. She set about spreading out her bedroll next to Slocum’s. On his other side, Betty spread her blankets. Tabitha and Wilhelmina crowded close on either end. Even so, they were crowded in the tiny shack.

  Slocum went to sleep with Sarah June’s hand moving up and down on his manhood, but she would not allow him to run his hand under her skirts and explore more interesting territory.

  For the night, that was all right.

  “Another day,” Slocum said, peering out at the knee-deep snow. It had snowed furiously all night, the wind whistling through the cabin as if the thin walls did not exist. The five of them had crowded closer and closer together until they slept in a big pile. Slocum did not object, although he wished there had been a little more privacy to share with Sarah June.

  “We can’t risk it today?” asked Betty. She appeared worried at the prospect of spending another night in the cabin.

  “We have plenty of wood,” Slocum said, “so we won’t freeze.”

  “What about food? We’ll run low if it snows even more and we’re trapped,” she said.

  “You have a point,” Slocum said. “Better if I go hunting for game now, rather than waiting for fresh snowfall. I can walk in this, even if we can’t drive the wagon.”

  He pulled his Winchester out and made certain the action worked. It was not yet cold enough to freeze the oil. He slid the door to one side and let in a gust of icy air. Sarah June crowded close behind him and looked out past him.

  “Want company?” she asked in a low voice.

  “I’m going hunting,” he said. “You’d scare the game away.”

  “Do I scare you?”

  Slocum looked at her, then smiled crookedly. “I reckon you do.”

  “Then you should learn to face your fears and deal with them,” she said. “Or maybe let them face away from you so you can sneak up on them from behind. I like it like that.”

  The other three women were beginning to grow restive because of the cold air blasting into the cabin. Slocum stepped out into the snow alone and helped Sarah June draw the door back into place. Her fingers lingered on his hand before the door flopped into place, leaving the women inside and him out in the bright, clean, cold air of the Rockies. Slocum made his way around to the side of the cabin, tended the animals, then began his hunt.

  In weather like this, he might be able to bag a couple rabbits. They would still have their brown fur and stand out against the white snowbank. He might even get lucky and find a deer. Dressing down even a small one would provide plenty of food to take them to the other side of Douglas Pass.

  Slocum took a few minutes to survey the area. The fresh layer of snow was untouched by human or animal. He made his way eastward along the road until he saw bear tracks. This made him hesitate. Killing a bear with only his carbine would be a chore. The huge animals were strong and tenacious. But the notion of a bear skin to keep him and Sarah June warm caused him to begin the hunt.

  The saucer-sized paw print told him he was after a young bear. That would be better for him. It might take several accurate shots to bring down the bear, but if he had been up against a full-grown black bear, the chance of killing it would have been far less. He had once seen a hunter fire point-blank into a bear’s face. The .44-caliber bullet had bounced off the bear’s thick skull and infuriated it. Slocum had buried what was left after the bear had finished its gory feast.

  The tracks led into a wooded area, then up to higher elevation. Slocum finally spotted the animal about midday, as it stood haunches-deep in a stream, big claws catching fish and tossing them to the bank for eating later. The bear was larger than a cub. Slocum considered not bothering with it, because he would never be able to carry all the meat back to the cabin in a single trip. In mountains like these, there was no point thinking anything he left behind would not be eaten by a half dozen different scavengers before he could return for it.

  He eyed the fish on the bank and considered frightening the bear away and stealing its catch. A dozen fish would cook up mighty fine and provide the food they’d need for another day or two. By then, the snow would have melted in the bright autumn sun.

  As he considered how to get the fish, the bear turned, spotted him, and let out a bloodcurdling roar. Slocum brought his rifle to his shoulder. The range was only a couple dozen yards, but he wished he had a Sharps .50 or even a heavier caliber buffalo rifle. He thought the bear would lumber out of the stream, rise up on its rear legs, and then roar a bit before trotting off.

  It charged.

  He fired in reaction, his aim off. The bullet tore a chunk of flesh out of the bear’s shoulder. Slocum saw fur and blood spray outward and knew he was in big trouble. He levered in another round and fired again. The bear was close enough now for him to see its bloodshot eyes. This round found a target in the bear’s chest. From the way the bear staggered a little and made a funny coughing sound, Slocum knew he had drilled it through a lung. But that didn’t stop it.

  The bear might be dying, but it was not dead.

  Six-inch claws raked at him. He fired with the bore of his rifle pressed against the bear’s throat. This snapped the bear’s head back and caused it to stumble. Dancing ou
t of the way, Slocum got off three more shots before he was certain the bear was dead.

  He sat in the snow and panted harshly. His breath left silvery trails from his nostrils and the sweat froze on his forehead, but Slocum was happy. He was alive and had enough bear meat to feed the five of them for several days.

  He set about butchering the bear, taking only the choicest parts. Carrying more than thirty or forty pounds of meat was out of the question in the knee-deep snow, but he made certain he took the skin to wrap it all in. The skin would require curing, but it would make a mighty attractive rug. He made certain he took the paws, with their savage claws, and then added a half dozen fish to his load. The cold would keep any of it from spoiling on his way back to the cabin.

  Slocum heaved the bear skin laden with the meat and fish over his shoulder and staggered. He might have kept too much of the carcass, but he was determined to return with as much as possible.

  By nightfall the cabin was within sight, and he had only dropped ten pounds of the bear meat.

  “Get the fire built,” he called. “I’ve got plenty of meat to go around.”

  Slocum stumbled along a few more feet, then put down the load. Smoke trickled through the cracks in the cabin, but it was mighty quiet. He had expected the women to rush out to help him. Or at least Sarah June should have come outside to greet him.

  He pulled his rifle around and made sure there was a round in the chamber as he advanced.