by Jake Logan
Flora was on hands and knees, her skirt hiked up and the guard taking her from behind like an animal. The guard made odd noises, but Flora only groaned. Slocum positioned himself, circled the guard’s neck with his brawny forearm, and then jerked back and up as he tightened his grip. The guard didn’t know what was going on for an instant. This was all it took Slocum to finish him off. He turned and heaved, discarding the man like the offal that he was.
“John?” Flora’s voice cracked with strain.
“Let me get you free.” He dropped to his knees and worked the key in the woman’s shackles. These locks opened more easily than his, as if they had been oiled more often. “There.”
“I didn’t think you’d come so soon.”
Slocum scooped up the guard’s six-shooter and rifle and pulled the quirt from his belt. He wished he had his own six-gun but these weapons would do for what he had in mind.
“He’s dead?” Flora looked at the dark, still guard stretched out on the ground.
Slocum swung the quirt as hard as he could across the guard’s face. No twitch, no movement, nothing.
“Dead,” he pronounced.
“What are we going to do?”
“Been thinking about that. We free the others and try to bull our way through town. That’s the only way to get to the gate leading to Thompson.”
“The eastern gate might not be as heavily guarded,” Flora said.
“True, but it’s weeks around through another pass to get to Thompson.”
“I don’t have to go back. I’ll go anywhere with you.”
Slocum barely heard her. Galligan had done things that could never be forgiven. The only way of stopping the arrogant self-styled emperor was to rally the men in Thompson once more. From the number of bodies he had thrown into the lake, Slocum knew Galligan couldn’t have as strong a support in Top of the World as he once had. The howitzer had robbed the outlaws of their feeling of invincibility.
The second one would send them running like cockroaches.
“The marshal is over by the lake. The guard dragged him off to get cleaned up. With him, we can free whoever else has survived out here.”
“John, we don’t have to fight Galligan. There’s no shame in running.”
He looked at her as if she had grown a second head.
“We free Menniger and then see what needs to be done.”
He shrugged off her grip as she took his arm. The idea of justice wasn’t too well instilled in all people. Stride long, feeling good that he didn’t have to shuffle along with the chains on his feet, Slocum reached the dark shoreline quickly. The moon had yet to rise and the starlight was muted by high clouds racing across the sky.
The soft sound of water lapping against the shore drowned out most other noises. He looked first one way and then the other to find Menniger and the guard with him. Small, indistinct shapes moved at the edges of his vision. Coyotes or wolves. But Menniger and the guard were nowhere to be seen.
He spun, rifle lifting, when feet hammered against the ground. Flora waved her arms wildly but did not call out as she approached. She flung herself against him and held him tight.
“Guards. Lots of them coming from town.”
“Whitey with them?”
“The old man with the white hair? Yes, he was leading them. At least five others coming out from town. It won’t be long before they find the guard you killed.”
Slocum looked around once more hoping to spot Menniger. He needed the marshal now more than ever.
“We have to make a run for it,” he said, coming to a conclusion. Menniger was on his own.
“Where? Whitey is between us and town.”
Slocum had worked all afternoon at the far side of the lake and had studied the tall, sheer rock walls. This small lake almost filled the entire pass, save for the space along the road occupied by Top of the World. He grabbed Flora’s arm and pulled her around the lake edge.
“We have some climbing ahead of us,” he said. “On the other side of that peak is the mine where we found the howitzer. We get over the mountain, and it’s not that far into town.”
“That’s a tall peak,” Flora said in a tiny voice.
Slocum heard the sounds that warned him Whitey had found the opened shackles. It wouldn’t be long before he organized his men and started a hunt. Unless Whitey had a reason to go back.
“You head straight for that hill. You see the one?” Slocum pointed and then shoved her on her way.
“What are you going to do, John?”
He heard the question but didn’t answer. He gripped the rifle and went to find a spot where he could put a touch of fear into Whitey’s soul. Almost back to where he had gotten free, Slocum saw two men outlined by a campfire. Whitey had built it to better muster his men. He couldn’t know it was also going to help one of the best marksmen the CSA had trained.
Slocum lifted his rifle, aimed, and squeezed off a shot. The report echoed through the narrow valley, hiding where the shot had come from. One man half turned and then collapsed to the ground. The outlaw with him stood, stunned. He joined his partner a second later.
Slocum wanted to go after the rest, but Flora had said Whitey had led a half-dozen men. Two down, four to go. But now they knew he was in the dark, gunning for them.
As much as he hated to quit the battlefield, he melted back into the darkness. When he reached the lake, he broke into a run using the hill he had pointed out to Flora as his guidepost. In less than fifteen minutes he overtook her. Flora was panting and had obviously run herself to the point of exhaustion.
“John, it’s you! I heard shots.”
“There’s two less of the bastards,” he said. “We have to keep moving. Whitey will be after us as quick as he can.”
He half supported her until she got her wind back, then they walked along at a clip just shy of a run. From the stars, he read that it was well after midnight when they reached the hill. Behind the dark mound of rock was the vertical face of stone leading to the top of mountain.
“We can’t climb that,” she said. “They’ll see us for sure.”
“I haven’t heard sounds of pursuit. It might be that Whitey figures he can track us better in daylight. That means we’ve got a few more hours before he comes for us.”
“I can’t go on,” she said.
“There. See it?” He traced along a dark line halfway up the rock face. “That’s a ledge. We get to it and we can rest.”
“It’s so far,” she said. Then she unexpectedly turned and kissed him full on the lips. The brunette melted into his arms, and he felt himself responding in spite of their predicament. Her tongue danced along his lips and teased his tongue. And then it was gone and so was Flora.
She dashed to the trail leading upward and beckoned to him.
“Race you up.”
Slocum shook his head. Whatever it took for Flora to find the strength to continue, he was all for it. He trailed her up to the narrow, rocky ledge, occasionally looking out over the lake. All he saw was the deeper darkness of the shoreline, starlight reflecting from the surface of the water. No movement, no sign of pursuit. Whitey might let them go, thinking the escape of a pair of Galligan’s slaves meant nothing, but once he reported to the emperor, that would change. Slocum had seen men like Galligan before. He was not capable of admitting defeat, and losing any of his prisoners meant a personal failure.
Whitey and a lot of others would be on their trail eventually. Slocum hoped to make it to the top of the mountain and down the other side to Thompson before that happened. He found it difficult to lift one foot and put it in front of the other. His backbreaking, soul-chilling work coupled with not having been fed wore on him as much as the steep path.
He was drifting a bit when he came to the ledge where Flora had stopped. She had already dropped down to rest, and he wasn’t paying close enough attention. Taking a tumble forward, only his quick reflexes saved him from falling full on top of her.
She put her arms up
and circled his neck, pulling his face down to hers.
“You’ve got the right idea, John.” She kissed him.
He sagged a little and pressed against her firm breasts. Tired as he was, he found this exciting him and sending blood racing through his veins. He relaxed and let his weight crush her even more. She did not protest. If anything, this caused her to become even more aggressive, kissing and running her fingers through his hair after she knocked off his hat.
“I want you,” she whispered hotly.
“You’re a marvel,” he said. “After everything you’ve been through the last couple days, you—”
“I want this!”
Her fingers ran down across his belly and wormed under his jeans. The tips of her fingers touched his manhood. He had been responding. Now he snapped entirely erect—painfully erect—trapped in his tight jeans. He moaned and excited her even more.
“Let me get you out where you can do us both some good,” she said.
Slocum felt the buttons on his fly pop open one by one. For only a brief instant when he was free did the cool night air surround his hardness. Flora’s hot hand circled him and began working up and down. He kissed her while she continued moving on him, getting him to a steely length that throbbed with need for her.
He rocked back a little, his knees between hers so he could slide his hands down to her waist, to her hips, under her skirt, and across vibrant, creamy smooth flesh. He felt her ass lift off the rock as she wiggled around to get her skirt bunched up at her waist and out of the way. His hands slipped between her thighs, gently pushing them apart.
“Oh,” she said as he spread her wide open. Flora lifted her knees on either side of him, then she cried out as he positioned himself and pressed the plum tip of his shaft against her nether lips.
“You’re ready for me,” he said, relishing the dampness oozing from her interior. His hips levered forward a little as he sank an inch into her heated interior. She cried out again and crammed her hips down around him so he slid slickly into her.
Slocum stayed buried balls deep in her, relishing the tightness and warmth all around him. Looking down in her face made him wonder about the woman. How could Flora put up with all she had, work in shackles, then escape by climbing up half a mountain and be ready for this coupling?
Slocum groaned as she tightened all around him. He withdrew slowly, her inner muscles grasping at him the entire way. When only the head of his shaft remained within her, he paused, gathered his strength, and then sank back into her with a smooth movement. This rocked her back. Her knees came up on either side and then tightened so that her upper legs pressed into her breasts. He began stroking faster until she reached the point where she was clawing at his back and thrashing about under him.
“Oh, John, yes, don’t stop. Don’t, oh, don’t!”
He was past the point of being able to stop. The heat all along his length burned down into his groin and set off a reaction he could not stop even if he had wanted. But he didn’t. He thrust faster, grinding his crotch into hers. The slapping sounds were quickly drowned out by the woman’s shrieks of pure sexual release.
As Flora cried out, her inner muscles clamped down hard on Slocum. He had reached the limits of his endurance. The hot tide rose within and then spilled out. For a moment the world went away for Slocum and then he came back to see a sweaty, flushed Flora looking up at him. She reached out, a shaky hand stroking his stubbled cheek.
“That was incredible, John. I never . . .” Her voice trailed off.
Slocum pushed up and away from her. Flora pulled down her skirt and then reached out for him. They lay together, arms around each other, but for Slocum, sleep was difficult to come by. Her soft, regular breathing gusted against his neck, but he strained to hear sounds of pursuit he knew had to be coming. If not now, then soon. Very soon.
17
“We’re almost to the summit,” Flora called to him. Slocum walked twenty yards behind her, constantly watching their back trail and peering down into the foggy pass for any sign that Galligan had ordered pursuit. It worried him that he saw nothing.
Whitey would have come after them on his own. Having two prisoners escape would have been an insult, but if he had told Galligan, there would have been a small army charging after them. Galligan could not lose. Ever. After the attack on his western gate and the way Slocum had so disheartened the guards on the wall, the emperor could never let him go.
Slocum considered the bodies tossed into the river and knew the howitzer had been doubly effective. Not only had it killed a lot of Galligan’s gunmen, but it had also made the survivors less sure of the emperor’s ability to protect them—or to make them rich off his wild-ass schemes.
“What a view!” Flora spun about, arms outstretched. Slocum looked up as her skirt flared and had to agree. Then he brought up his rifle and almost fired. Two men grabbed the woman and held her helpless between them.
He had a good shot at one but not the other. Flora blocked the man hanging on to her right arm.
“Gotcha,” crowed one.
Slocum got a good look at the other. Whitey. This time he did snug the rifle to his shoulder and squeeze off a shot. He cursed his eagerness to take out the white-haired old man. His shot had gone wide by inches. Now all hell was out for lunch.
Whitey dragged Flora back out of sight. Three of Galligan’s henchmen whipped out their pistols and began firing, in spite of Slocum being well protected by rocks along the trail. He calmed himself and shot more accurately the second time. The gunman grunted and simply sat down. His partners pulled him out of range, but Slocum knew he had reduced the odds against him.
“We’ll kill her ’less you surrender, Slocum!” Whitey shoved Flora into the line of fire, but Slocum was already moving. Being trapped on the narrow trail wasn’t going to get the woman free and would soon enough mean his own death. Surrender to Whitey and get gunned down.
Climbing straight up a sheer rock face, Slocum moved like a spider in his attempt to flank the men. He quickly found himself thwarted by an outjut that he couldn’t traverse. Working laterally, he went farther from the trail head, hunting for the right spot to appear on the crest and open fire.
“Get him. Go on, get your asses down there and kill him!” Whitey ranted and cursed when Slocum didn’t cave in to his demand for surrender.
Slocum fought to climb but found himself caught in a dangerous situation. Below him was a hundred-foot drop. The hand- and footholds on this rock face were few and far between. He stretched and almost slipped. His rifle went spinning down and seconds later came a report as the weapon hit a rock and discharged.
The left handhold began to turn slippery with his own blood. Slocum wiped his hand off, balancing precariously to do so. But he gathered his strength, heaved, and found a better grip. He worked his way upward.
“He’s dead, Whitey. Son of a bitch fell over the edge of the trail. That’s his rifle way below.”
“You see the body?”
“Fog’s hidin’ it.”
“Go find it and drag it back to the lake.”
A few more seconds passed as Slocum dangled from his rocky perch, but Whitey said nothing more. Muscles aching from strain, Slocum worked his way upward and finally flopped flat on the mountain ridge. Wiggling around, he pulled the six-shooter from his belt and looked around.
He was alone.
He got his feet under him and went hunting for Whitey. At the top of the trail he saw evidence where Whitey and his men had lain in wait, as if they knew exactly where their quarry would come up. Slocum looked along the ridge and realized that wasn’t such a difficult guess to make. This was the only spot where anyone coming up from the pass could cross.
The trail down the western side of the mountain was steep. Slocum slipped and slid and then found a level area where several horses had been tethered. Whitey and his henchmen had ridden around to this point, hiked to the summit, and waited for their prey to walk right into their arms.
&nbs
p; Slocum set off, thinking he might get a shot at Whitey and his men from one of the switchbacks. He was too late and never had the chance.
Flora was Galligan’s prisoner again.
“Never seen a man eat like you, Slocum,” Dr. Radley said. He tipped back the bottle of whiskey he had taken from his desk drawer but did not offer Slocum any. Slocum didn’t want liquor. Water would do to wash down the second plate of food from the restaurant across the street. It wasn’t particularly good, but Slocum had never tasted anything finer.
He belched, then said, “Galligan’s not much on feeding his slaves.”
“So he nabbed Flora Cooley again?” Radley shook his head.
“Last I saw him, Marshal Menniger was alive, though,” Slocum said. “The deputies with him weren’t as lucky.”
“If you call bein’ under Galligan’s thumb lucky. Too bad about Hank, but least my nephew’s still alive. Or was.” Radley belched even louder than Slocum, then stuck the cork back in his bottle, looking longingly at the two fingers of amber liquid left inside. He tucked the bottle into his coat pocket for later. “I tried to get the cavalry to stir, but Galligan’s paid them off too well.”
“What about Bannock? He can’t like the notion that the man who is selling him right of way is a kidnapper and murderer.”
“You don’t have much truck with railroad men, do you, Slocum? Truth is, Bannock don’t much give two hoots and a holler how he gets through that pass. He sees a rail line over to Cheyenne and a spur down to Denver. For him that will mean a young fortune.” Radley belched again. “Naw, not a young one, a huge one. Having the only railroad across the Grand Tetons and between the Northern Pacific and the spiderweb of ’roads through Denver, well, Bannock stands to be mighty rich.”
“We have to strike again,” Slocum said. “Quick, before Galligan can convince his ragtag army he has the upper hand. Saw how many of his men were killed by shrapnel from the howitzer barrage.”
“Gonna be a hard sell. Even promisin’ a bottle of whiskey each, it’s gonna be hard gettin’ men back.”
