by Jake Logan
Slocum frowned. What passed for a bank in Aurum was a corner of the general store. The owner kept a lockbox. Mostly he ran a set of books detailing what gold was brought in and how much the miners owed him for supplies they had already bought. Nobody used him as a true bank. Otherwise, there would have been road agents lined up all the way out of town waiting to rob the place.
“How much?” Slocum asked.
“Maybe five hundred. And you can get credit at the store. Toss that into the pot and stir. You could use a new blanket for your horse. Ole Ned’s got a nice one he traded some Injun for. And grub for the trail. Jerky. Canned tomatoes and peaches.”
“Sounds good,” Slocum said. If he got five hundred in gold dust to go with the nearly eight hundred he had already taken from the mine, he would be more than happy. Mining was hard work, even if he was making as much as a hundred dollars a day at it.
“What’s lit the fire under your ass?”
“Sarah June,” Slocum said. “Has she been talking to you?”
“She’s sweet on another fellow. A guy who came to town ’bout the same time I did.”
“From Utah?”
“Don’t rightly know and it doesn’t matter. She’s not likely to be keeping my bed warm.” Sanders closed one eye to focus better as he squinted at Slocum. “She any good when it comes to mountin’ ’n’ ridin’?”
“She’s mighty good at roping,” Slocum said, remembering what Sarah June had said about hog-tying Heywood before she clobbered him with the board and dumped him into the pit.
“Heard tell some folks like that,” Sanders said. He belched loudly and wobbled, although he was still securely seated in the chair.
“Who’s the man she’s talking to?”
“Can’t remember his name. Skinny little runt. Don’t look like he’s got an ounce of muscle on him, but he can work all day and half the night. Might be he’s part Chinee. They can do that, you know. Work without stopping, ’cept to eat a bowl of rice.”
Slocum left Sanders drifting off into his alcoholic fog. The man was so close to being pickled he was no good.
Slocum had no reason to stay in Aurum. The money for the mine meant nothing to him compared to being away from the tornado whirling about, but he wanted to stop Sarah June before she got in worse trouble. She had not been a cold-blooded killer when they met up in Salt Lake City. She was becoming one fast, and it was not for personal gain. Slocum knew the Sombrero mine was profitable but required full-time working.
It was a fool’s errand, but Slocum had to talk Sarah June out of any more killing. He pushed his way into the saloon and looked around. It had surprised him that she had wanted to go inside, but then it got her closer to her next victim. He stood on a table and looked around. He did not see her. If she had been anywhere inside, there would have been a tight knot of miners surrounding her.
“You lookin’ fer the blonde girl?”
“Where’d she go?” Slocum looked down at a young man hardly old enough to shave.
“I tried to get close to her, but she slipped out the back way ’bout a half hour ago.”
“Anyone with her?”
“Not that I could see. Uh, mister, you know her, don’t you?”
Slocum said nothing. The young man looked suddenly embarrassed.
“You put in a good word fer me with her? I kin work that mine of hers till my hands are bloody.”
Slocum knew the man wanted to do more than work the mine, but he assured the youngster that he would. He hopped down and backed out of the saloon. Lemuel Sanders was passed out in the chair on the boardwalk.
Wasting no time, Slocum got his horse and mounted. For a moment, he worried that Sarah June had led her next victim from the saloon, but he saw where she had halted her buggy. Only one set of footprints led to where it had been parked—small prints. She might be meeting the man somewhere. The only place Slocum could think of was back at the Sombrero. As he rode along, trying to keep the buggy tracks in view, he saw that he was probably right. Sarah June was going out of town in the direction of the mine.
He urged his horse to a trot. If she had left only a half hour before him, he could overtake her before . . .
Before what? Before she killed again? If she was bound and determined to keep on killing, if she had developed a taste for it, there was nothing Slocum could do to stop her short of wringing her neck. For some reason, he didn’t think he was up to that. If he exposed her to the townsfolk, they weren’t likely to stick her head into a noose, either. Not when she was the only unmarried woman in town.
All she would have to do was bat her eyelashes at a jury, and they would fall all over themselves to acquit her. And Slocum could not blame them. Something told him the reason for her killing spree was mighty good, but that didn’t mean he could let her keep going. When he dug down to the bottom of all his reasons, he found himself caring about what happened to her.
Slocum turned up the road leading to the mine. The buggy tracks were fresh in the dirt now. He reached the cabin in time to see a puff of black smoke rise out of the chimney. Sarah June had arrived only a few minutes ahead of him.
He hit the ground and went to the door. He slowed, then called out, “Sarah June, it’s me, Slocum. I want to talk.”
The door opened. She looked pale and drawn, but she smiled just a little when she saw him.
“Do come in, John. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Were you expecting someone else?” He reached over and lifted her right hand. She had a derringer clutched in it. She pulled away and turned her back to him.
“This is dangerous country. You know that.”
“It’s dangerous because of you. You’ve killed repeatedly.”
“I had to,” she said, spinning and facing him. “I want every last one of those raping murderers dead!”
Slocum said nothing. Sarah June’s cheeks burned now with the intensity of her emotion. Her jaw was set, and her lips had pulled back into a feral snarl.
“She was my sister. They raped her for hours, then killed her.”
“The Silver Dollar Gang?”
“Yes.” Sarah June’s answer was more like a hiss from a rattlesnake than a word.
“You’re sure it was them?”
“Oh, yes, I’m sure. They left their calling card.” She spun and went to her valise. She searched through it a few seconds and pulled out a silver dollar. “This was jammed up . . . up her—” Sarah June broke out crying. She sagged and then sat heavily on the bed. “What they did to her was terrible. The undertaker found the silver dollar and showed it to the federal marshal. He said it wasn’t the first time. Others. They had done that to other women and bragged on it.”
“The marshal couldn’t find them,” Slocum said, “because they hightailed it out of town.”
“All but Carson. I have no idea why he stayed. I got on his trail, then lost it. But I found that the others had come to Aurum.”
“And you heard about Betty and the others coming here?”
“Mail-order brides—it sounded so perverted. But I would do anything to bring the monsters to justice who had killed Mary Beth. The only thing was, I didn’t have any money and I knew I could never make it here on my own.”
“Preen furnished both.”
“Carson must have gotten wind of me leaving and tried to kill me. I got him instead.” She held up her derringer and stared at it. “Killing him was hard. I knew what a disgusting man he was, but it was hard.”
“That’s why you didn’t find his quarter of a silver dollar.”
“You found it. But I had to hide what I’d done. From you and from the others.”
“You did a good job,” Slocum said.
Sarah June sniffed and smiled weakly. “Is that a compliment?”
“Take it however you want,” Slocum said.
“As we got closer to Aurum, I knew what I had to do. Not marrying someone would make me the talk of the town—or an outcast. So I did what I had to and found the others who
had been in the gang. I didn’t know what they looked like, but they carried the pieces of the silver dollar.”
Sarah June looked up at Slocum. Her blue eyes welled with tears now and she began to sob harder.
“Tell me I did the right thing, John. Tell me I’m not as horrible as those raping, murdering sons of bitches!”
He sat beside her on the bed and gently took the pistol from her hand. He laid it on a nearby table. Then Slocum took her in his arms.
“You did what you had to. Are you done killing?”
“Don’t make me promise anything, John. I won’t. My sister’s memory demands that I—”
Slocum kissed her trembling lips. For a heartbeat, Sarah June was motionless. Then she hungrily returned the kiss.
She broke off, gasping out, “I’ve wanted to do that from the minute I laid eyes on you, John. But you and Betty—”
“I was always saving her. If you had needed me more . . .”
“I need you now.”
Slocum kissed her again. Her body pressed hotly against his. Somehow, he worked his way out of his coat and vest. Sarah June worked to get him out of his shirt. He dropped his gun belt to the floor as she fumbled to open the button on his jeans.
“Oh,” she said, seeing his erection snapping out at attention. “I had no idea.”
“You’re not a virgin,” Slocum said.
“No, no, I meant I had no idea you were so huge. No wonder Betty was bragging about you and her and—”
Slocum quieted her again with another kiss that worked from her lips around to her ear. He thrust his tongue into the channel of her ear, hinting at repeating the same motion lower, with different organs meeting and merging. She clung to him fiercely. Slocum kissed down to her earlobe and around to her throat. Sarah June threw her head back to give him full access.
His mouth moved lower yet, to the top of her breasts. He fumbled about for a few seconds releasing her blouse and letting her succulent white mounds come tumbling free. He buried his face between them. Licking and kissing, he worked around the base of each breast, tracing out a figure eight. Then he worked slowly to the crest of her left tit. He sucked in the firm, rubbery nub and tongued it hard.
Sarah June moaned softly at his oral attack. When he abandoned that breast, he leapfrogged immediately to the other. As he suckled there, he cupped the other and massaged, stroked, and fondled until Sarah June wilted. He followed her back down to the bed. His mouth never rested as he worked all over her chest. Then he worked lower.
“Oh, yes, John. I want this so. I’ve wanted it from—oh!”
He did not want talk. He wanted action. Hot and hard and heavy action. His hands slid under her skirts and pushed them up around her waist. He found the tangled damp mat nestled between her legs and began stroking his fingers over it. When he parted her nether lips and ran up and down, he got his hand soaked with her inner oils.
When he pressed down at the tiny little pink spire poking up at the top of the V of her sex lips, Sarah June lifted her hips from the bed and ground them down into his hand.
“I want you, John. I want you inside me so!”
He moved rapidly. The ache in his balls had spread into his loins until he was at the point of exploding like a stick of dynamite. Sarah June was lovely, she was willing, she needed him as much as he needed her. He crouched between her upraised legs. Her knees curled up. He slid his arms under her knees and bent her double, opening her wantonly.
“Yes, yes, do it, John. I want it so!”
His hips moved forward. He felt the soft pressure and heat as he touched her. Then he sank in a few inches and gasped. He was surrounded by tightness that squeezed down firmly all around. Slowly pushing the rest of the way, he felt the woman begin to respond furiously. Her hips began bucking and she ground her crotch into his, trying to take him even deeper into her. He obliged. He leaned forward, using his greater weight to drive himself balls deep.
“Oh, John, you’re so big. Move, damn you, ride me hard.”
He slid his hand down and cupped her breasts, squeezing them as he thrust in and out of her with deliberate strokes. All about him the heat mounted. Her juices leaked out around the thick plug of his cock. But the heat! She was burning him up. He began moving with greater speed. This provoked her to even greater movement under him.
She bucked and thrashed about like a wild bronco. He abandoned his posts on her breasts and reached around her, grabbing the twin moons of her ass. He lifted and kneaded and tried to pull her body entirely into his.
He sank even deeper. But what drove him wild with need was the way her strong inner muscles grabbed and released him—hot, moist, tight. He began thrusting faster until the heat building up along his entire length threatened to burn him to a nubbin. Deep within his loins he felt the rising tides and fought to contain them. He wanted this to last forever.
Looking down into Sarah June’s face made him want to stay this way, right now, here, hidden away fully within her tightness, forever and ever. Her eyes were closed and she tossed her head from side to side, leaving a halo of her bright blonde hair on the bed. Vagrant beams of light caught her hair and turned it into spun gold.
She muttered incoherently in her lust. The sound of her moans and the feel of her collapsing all about him pushed Slocum over the brink. The rising flood within him suddenly broke through his control and spewed forth. He pumped furiously, and she took every drop until she cried out in release and then sank down under him.
Her blue eyes flickered open. It took a moment for them to focus. When they did, she also had a tiny smile on her lips.
“Thank you, John.”
“What are you thanking me for? That was my treat.”
“We both needed that,” she said. Sarah June turned her head to the side and looked suddenly sad. “Would you mind going? Please?”
Slocum pushed out of the V of her legs and sat on the edge of the bed.
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
“You’re not a killer.”
“I am,” she said fiercely. “I am! But I don’t want to be.”
“Then let it ride.”
“How can I?”
Slocum had no answer for that. He pulled up his jeans, then finished dressing in silence. After strapping on his gun belt, he said, “I’m riding on.” He was not sure what he wanted from her. In a way he hoped she would ask to go with him.
She didn’t.
Slocum left without another word, got on his horse, and returned to Aurum. All the way he thought furiously about Sarah June’s blood feud with the Silver Dollar Gang— about the four who had raped and killed her sister. She had found three of them. Slocum knew the fourth.
He reached the saloon where he had left Lemuel Sanders sitting outside. His partner was gone, but he had not drifted far. Slocum heard the man’s voice inside as he sang too loud and too off-key for human ears to tolerate.
Slocum had no trouble sidling up to the bar. Sanders was alone and serenading no one in particular. The large crowd from earlier in the day had disappeared, leaving only the serious drinkers—the miners with gold dust to pay for their whiskey.
“Come on over, Slocum. You got a powerful lot of catching up to do.”
Slocum motioned for a drink. The barkeep poured him one, then slid along the back bar a discreet distance. Slocum guessed the barkeep might be able to hear what was said, so he kept his voice low.
“I got to know, Lem.”
“The money? Hell, yes, I’ll buy you out, Slocum. Don’t want a partner who doesn’t intend to get rich.”
“To hell with the money,” Slocum said. “I have to know.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out the quarter of a silver dollar he had taken off Carson. “Do you have one that matches?”
“Right here,” Sanders said, tearing his pocket as he pulled out a piece that fit snugly with the one Slocum had laid on the bar.
“You raped and killed a woman in Salt Lake Cit
y, didn’t you?”
“Did a lot back there. One reason I was so het up to leave. The others, Yarrow and Heywood, they enjoyed it. Carson left ’fore we really got down to the good stuff.”
“Good stuff?”
“I had that last blonde bitch a couple times. But it was Heywood that killed her. Told him not to waste a whore like that.”
“You’re drunk,” Slocum said.
“In my cups,” Sanders agreed. “And thinking on the good times. Those were the good times.”
Slocum touched the butt of his six-shooter and then pulled his hand back. This wasn’t his fight.
“Wire me what you will as my share of the Lucky Lady. I’ll be in Denver.” Slocum figured he could cross the Front Range at Mosquito Pass before the heavy snows began to fall and blocked the way.
“You don’t even want to stay till tomorrow? The money’s at the—”
“Wire it to me. Whatever you think is fair. I can’t stand it here any longer.”
“Your loss,” Sanders said.
Slocum started to offer Sanders some free advice, then decided not to. He had never known Sanders that well, but such a brutal crime would be punished eventually. It just wasn’t Slocum’s place to do it.
He mounted and rode due east, letting his horse pick its way along the moonlight trail at its own pace. There was nothing for him here anymore, if there ever had been. Putting as many miles as possible between him and Aurum was more important than stopping for the night.
19
Slocum’s horse pulled up lame after four days on the trail. The weather had been good, but the occasional cold rain showers had turned the rocks in the roadway slippery. He was trying to make it up a steep grade without dismounting when his horse got a hoof caught between two slick rocks and stumbled. Slocum was thrown but came up quickly, worried more about his horse than he was his own bruises.
The leg was not broken, but he could not ride the horse without severely—permanently—injuring it. Slocum considered his options. It was more than a week to Denver over increasingly high mountain passes—riding. It was about a week back to Aurum—on foot. Reluctantly, Slocum turned west and began walking. His horse could graze in a mountain meadow for a while. Maybe by the time he returned, the leg would have healed enough for him to catch the horse and lead it on as a pack animal. It might be more humane to simply shoot it, considering how it would be at risk to predatory wolves and coyotes, but Slocum didn’t have the heart for that. The pony had served him well and might be able to survive. He owed it that chance.
