by Jake Logan
Fenwicke walked away talking to himself.
“He’s a strange duck,” Marlene said.
“So’s Leroq. At least Fenwicke doesn’t steal precious stones that I know of.”
“His habits are even more curious, I am sure,” Marlene said, leaving Slocum to wonder what those might be. He had spent little time with many of the expedition members. When he wasn’t working for Jackson, he was scouting for Hayden. The loss of the other two scouts had placed a heavier burden on him.
Before, he wouldn’t have minded being alone on the trail. Now he felt it took him away from Marlene. No warm, willing body stretched next to his under the blanket at night made him eager to finish his scouting work and return.
They reached the darkroom wagon as Jackson opened the door. The man beamed when he saw Marlene. She handed up the case with the newly exposed photographic plates.
“Wait for me to develop and print these. I need to know if more of the same terrain are needed or if you can move on.”
“We’ll be here, William,” she said.
Slocum saw the photographer’s look and knew more than photography was on the man’s mind.
“Let’s get something to eat, John. It will be a while. William really should teach you how to develop the plates. The real artistry comes in the printing, finding the right focus and section of each plate.”
“There’s a lot of artistry around these parts,” Slocum said, looking at her. She actually blushed.
They didn’t say much as they had their noonday meal and went back to find Jackson sitting on the lower step of the darkroom wagon. He held up one of the photographs.
“Excellent work, sir. You have quite the eye. I should hire you as my assistant.”
“No need,” Slocum said. “Marlene is the one who chose the angle. All I did was pull the lanyard on the camera. She did all the setup.”
“Nonsense,” Jackson said. “A woman cannot see such framing, such composition. Not like a man. You have done well, Mr. Slocum.”
“I set your leg,” Slocum said. “I’m thinking I ought to take part of that splint and beat some sense into your head.”
“What?” Jackson looked up, startled. He had been leafing through the new photographs.
“Marlene is the one responsible for any artistry. I carried the equipment and didn’t do much else.”
“You are too modest, sir. Too modest by half. Finish your work. I look forward—”
“To seeing how Miss Wilkes has given you more masterpieces,” Slocum interrupted him.
Jackson looked at him strangely and hobbled back into the darkroom. He shut the door with a click. Slocum put his foot on the lower step, intending to pull the photographer from his lair and pound sense into him when Marlene took his arm and held him back.
“It’s all right, John. You don’t need to take my part.”
“You did the work.” Slocum wasn’t sure pointing the camera in the right direction to get a good picture constituted work, but it was something he couldn’t do. He might take a dozen pictures—or a hundred—and get only one that carried the startling grandeur of most of Marlene’s.
“William knows. He’s just a little slow to come around to admitting it in public. Women aren’t supposed to know these things.”
“If he knows, then it won’t be any trouble for him to come out and say it.”
“Let’s go, John. We have some time to find a place to capture the geyser fields to the north at sunset. The lighting then will be perfect.”
“I don’t understand things like that. I can rope, hog-tie, and brand a calf. I can—”
“John, come along.” The way she spoke settled Slocum’s ire. A little. It wasn’t right for him to take any credit for Marlene’s work, yet Jackson was intent on just that.
They packed more unexposed plates, some victuals, and rode a few miles beyond the spot where they had spent the morning taking photographs. When Marlene drew rein and studied the landscape ahead, Slocum had to admit the view was spectacular. As she had ridden, the top buttons on her blouse had come unfastened, giving him a hint of breast. The thin white slice of bare flesh bobbed about delightfully as she turned suddenly to face him.
She saw the focus of his gaze and her hand flew to cover the bare skin.
“Are you enjoying the sight?”
“I am,” Slocum said. His green eyes rose to meet her brown ones.
She smiled slowly. Her hand no longer hid the momentary indiscretion. Instead, she flicked her fingers and opened two more buttons. Then another. She drew her shoulders back and pulled the cloth taut. When she relaxed, the blouse fell open all the way down the front, almost to her navel. Marlene reached up and pulled down her right sleeve. Slowly, she pulled down her left and shucked off her blouse. She wore only a thin undergarment. Slocum saw the hard nipples poking into the cloth, betraying her arousal.
“We have to wait for the light,” she said. “That might be an hour. However shall we pass the time?”
“Not on horseback,” Slocum said, stepping down. He fastened the reins around a low bush. By the time he turned back to Marlene, she had stepped out of her skirt and stood silhouetted by the sun.
The movement of her limbs, the way she half turned and let him get an outline of her breasts, made him harder. Slocum dropped his gun belt, tossed his Stetson aside, and began stripping off his coat, vest, and shirt. The more he removed, the heavier Marlene’s breathing came. He was turning her on by his slow revealing of bare flesh as much as she was by her nakedness.
“Now, John, no more teasing,” she said, coming to him. She pulled off the last of her clothing, naked from the top of her head down to her shoes.
Slocum dropped his jeans and let his manhood spring out, jutting proudly between them. She caught the shaft and started to bend to take it. He held her upright. His hand pressed into her belly until it began to heave in response. Only then did he move lower. His finger curled about and entered her. She cried out, closed her eyes, and threw her head back. The wind caught her long, brunette hair and whipped it around like a banner.
Slocum moved a little closer and added a second finger to stir about in her wet, hot depths. His palm pressed down hard into her mons. His other hand circled her and grasped her taut buttocks. The flow of her unclad body under his hands thrilled him, made him pulse and throb with arousal that threatened to rob him of control.
His fingers slipped from her wet slit.
“No, no, that felt so good,” she complained.
“This will feel better,” he promised.
He got down on his knees, reached through her legs, then stood. She let out a yelp of surprise. Her rump pushed hard into his erection as her ankles rested on his shoulders. He held her bent double like this, then began bouncing her up and down. She got the idea and reached around to guide him into the target they both wanted hit.
They groaned in desire as he slipped far into her. Bent double as she was allowed even deeper penetration. The power of his arms as he held her let her surrender fully to him. Slocum controlled everything. He swung about as he lifted her away, only to let her sink back.
The blood pounded in Slocum’s temples as he began to speed up the motion that drove his fleshy shaft balls deep into her center. He felt her gripping down all around his hidden length, massaging, coaxing out the white-hot lava boiling in his loins.
He pulled her tightly to his body. Her breasts crushed against her upper thighs. Marlene had reached up so her fingers laced behind his head for added support. He kissed her hard as she bounced up and down. Sweat dribbled between her breasts. Slocum tried to snare it with his tongue but failed. He returned to kissing her. When her lips parted slightly, his tongue invaded her mouth just as he entered her nether lips far lower.
The tensions mounted until Slocum could hold back no longer. Just as he cried out and spilled his load, sh
e gasped and her inner muscles tensed all around him, milking him, trying to crush him flat. They rode out their passions, locked in desire, and eventually the intense moment passed. She dropped first one leg and then the other while he continued to support her by gripping her ass cheeks.
Even after both her feet were solidly planted on the ground, they remained pressed together, not saying a word, simply enjoying the warm afterglow of their sexual release. Their sweat glued them together, Slocum’s broad chest to her breasts. And then they parted.
“Time to photograph beauty,” she said.
“I’ve already seen it,” he said, kissing her. It was almost twilight before they got around to taking the photographs of the landscape.
19
“Excellent photographs, Mr. Slocum. You have quite the eye.” Jackson leafed through the prints, barely dry, that Marlene had taken the day before just as night fell.
They had been late returning to the camp, but no one noticed. There was a nervous energy that drove all the members now. The survey expedition neared its end and each had a great deal of work to do. Cartographers toiled over creating new maps, complete with elevation lines, and Hayden struggled to coordinate it all. Jackson had gratefully accepted the dual role of photographing the land to be translated into paper maps as well as a more artistic pursuit of capturing Yellowstone’s beauty. He had almost abandoned the work using a paintbrush, leaving that to Gustav Leroq.
“Marlene is responsible.”
“I’m sure she did all she could to assist you. Oh, there is only a week or two left. We have no time to waste. I want you to go out again. Dr. Hayden wants pictures, of course, but you need to concentrate on the vistas to the east and north. You—”
“There you are, Mr. Slocum.” Hayden walked so fast he almost ran. “We are in quite a dilemma, one only you can resolve.”
“I say, Ferdinand, I simply cannot spare him right now. There is great need to—”
“To scout or we will be stranded here for weeks, weeks for which we have no supplies and will never be reimbursed by the government,” Hayden said. “We must know the best route, either to the northeast or the northwest. There are a considerable number of geysers directly in our path.”
“I can scout it,” Slocum said. “Miss Wilkes is capable of taking the photographs for Jackson.”
“Glad to hear it, yes, glad,” Hayden said, his mind already moving on to other problems. “So little time. You’re right about that, William, so right. We have to all do double duty.”
“Then Slocum can take a camera and shoot pictures while he is scouting.” Jackson looked smug.
Slocum saw how excited Marlene looked at the chance to work on her own. The only reason they had gone out together was for him to carry the equipment. She could do that. He scotched the photographer’s demand immediately.
“I have to travel fast if I’m to scout both routes,” he said. “Carrying fifty pounds of camera, tripod, and plates will slow me quite a bit. It’d add an extra week to the survey.”
“No camera, just scout,” Hayden said definitively. He rushed away to tend to some trivial problem Fenwicke had found and couldn’t deal with on his own.
“I can ride with you partway,” Slocum said.
“But she can’t do the quality of work you have.”
“She can, she will,” Slocum said. He didn’t give Jackson the chance to argue further. He either sent Marlene out or didn’t get his pictures.
When Slocum had stuffed all the supplies he could into his saddlebags to keep from having to forage along the way, he looked up and saw Marlene beaming at him. She was already mounted and waiting for him.
“Thank you, John. He will find fault with all my pictures, but I will give him the finest ones possible.”
“You’ve got as much talent as he has,” Slocum said. “What it’ll take to make him see that . . .” He let his words trail off as he shook his head. With a quick step, foot in the stirrup, he mounted and headed north from the expedition camp. Marlene rode alongside.
They never spoke of their intimate time together, gingerly avoiding any such suggestions or speculation when they might again spend the night together. When they reached the geysers that worried Hayden, Slocum said, “Looks like a wagon set out to the northwest.”
“Gustav,” she said, “left early this morning. He feels the rush as much as anyone else. It takes a long time for his oils to dry, and he still has an entire carrying case unfilled.”
Slocum considered the two routes and knew what he had to do. He leaned over, kissed Marlene, then said, “I’ll go after him.”
“And I will go in the other direction. There are great views from those hills ahead. The Yellowstone River cuts through them.”
“If you listen hard, you can hear a waterfall,” Slocum said. Through the hissing and bubbling of the geysers, he caught the telltale sound. “That would make a good photograph.”
“A spectacular one.” She hesitated, frowned, and then said, “If such a waterfall exists along the river, that’s not the way to travel, is it? For the expedition?”
“That’s why I’m following Leroq,” he said. Reluctantly letting the woman go northeast while he went northwest, Slocum set out.
As he rode, he took notes about the landmarks, the condition of the ground, and what lay ahead. Trying to cross a chasm along the Yellowstone River would be difficult, if not impossible. Since time was a consideration, ferrying wagons across a powerful river meant a week or more Hayden did not wish to expend.
Page after page of notes flowed under his pencil. He wished he had Marlene’s talents at sketching. Even possessing Leroq’s artistry would have given him more complete notes for Hayden and the rest to follow. Scouting before had been a matter of riding out a day or two, assessing the ease of travel, then reporting back. Now he felt obligated to give as complete a picture as he could of the dangers the expedition faced if they came this way.
In midafternoon, Slocum spotted Leroq in his wagon a mile ahead. The artist struggled to stay on solid ground. More than once he slewed to the side, perilously close to the pools of hot water dotting the land. Slocum took the time to sketch out a route that looked more secure.
When he looked up from his mapmaking, he saw that Leroq had abandoned his wagon and frantically worked to unbridle his team. The wagon wheels on the left side had come to rest in mud. The wagon tilted a little as it slid into boiling water.
Slocum got his pony galloping. The man would only make it worse if he tried to prevent his wagon from sinking deeper. Releasing his team was the smartest thing he did. By the time Slocum came to a halt, Leroq had grabbed on to the side of the wagon where he had firmer footing and tried by strength of arm and back to prevent the wagon from being swallowed whole.
“You can’t stop it,” Slocum called. He hit the ground and ran to Leroq’s side. “There’s a suction pulling the wagon in.”
“I’ll go around and push from the other side!”
“Don’t be a fool. The water in that pond’s boiling!”
“My paintings! I can’t lose them.”
Slocum glanced at the wagon bed where the fancy cases were secured against jolting about. This now worked against the artist. If the wagon submerged in the hot water, his paintings, trapped in their specially made crates, would disappear, too. Retrieving them from the pool would be impossible.
“Bring the team around,” Slocum ordered. “Do it. Now!” The sharp bite of command had stood him in good stead during the war. He had risen to the rank of captain and had few veterans and many raw recruits toward the end of the war. With training so brief for his men, he had learned to sound positive and never give conflicting orders.
Leroq almost carried the two horses in his haste to bring them around.
“Lash the harness to the side of the wagon, here and here,” Slocum said. “Don’t worry about it
being secure. We won’t have to pull but for a minute or two.”
The sucking noise as the pond filled with mud and boiling water grew as it swallowed more of the wagon. The left wheels were up to the hubs and sinking faster by the minute.
“Have them pull for all they’re worth,” Slocum said, jumping up to the side of the wagon. Balancing precariously, he made sure he remembered how the cases had been secured.
He found it harder than staying on a bucking bronc as the wagon skewed even more into the water, splashing him with the blistering water. Slocum ignored this, used his knife, and slashed at the ropes holding the cases.
“Wait, you can’t. Don’t hurt the paintings!”
Slocum ignored the artist and severed the last of the rope holding the nearest cases. Bracing himself, he hefted one of the heavy cases, arched his back, and heaved. The case sailed through the air and crashed to the ground just beyond Leroq. Working methodically, Slocum heaved out five cases and worked on the remaining sixth when the wheels in the pool broke. The hot water had caused the iron rims to expand. The wood yielded and the wagon tipped completely on its side.
Arms around the last case, Slocum strained to throw himself up into the air. He felt the wagon disappear under his boots. For an instant he hung suspended. If he had waited too long, he would come down in the boiling water. But unexpected help came. Leroq grabbed for him and, airborne, circled Slocum’s body and the bulky case with his flailing arms. Spinning fast, he carried them away from the pond to land in a heap.
For a moment Slocum couldn’t breathe. The case had crushed down on his chest, driving out the air. His vision blurred and even trying to suck in the sulfur-laden air tore at his lungs. Then he felt himself being pulled along the ground. He clung to the case with Leroq’s paintings, even when a faint voice told him to let go.
“No, can’t, gotta save ’em,” he gasped out.
