Slocum and the Comanche

by Jake Logan

  Slocum walked into a sparsely furnished office. A man in his late fifties with a handlebar mustache and sideburns sat behind a desk. He gave Slocum a wary look.

  “What’s this I hear about you knowing where we can find the Comanche renegades?” Thompson asked, without extending his hand or offering Slocum a seat.

  Slocum took an immediate dislike to the man. “The ones we saw just north of the Red weren’t renegades, Major. They were a hunting party. They had five women with them. Kwahadies never take women along when they’re making war. I spoke with their leader. He said they were hunting deer or buffalo. That their children were hungry because the beef they got here had worms in it. Those Comanches were peaceful, or we’d have never made it out of there alive. That young captain—his name was Carter—couldn’t read sign talk. I explained to him that those Indians weren’t looking for a fight. They were simply real hungry. That’s why they left the reservation.”

  Thompson cocked his head. There was doubt on his face. “Where do you get all this special knowledge about Comanches? It sounds like bullshit to me. Comanches are the worst of all our charges here at Fort Sill. They cause more trouble than all the rest of ’em put together.”

  Slocum shrugged and turned away from the major’s desk. He was ready to leave after these insulting remarks. “I scouted for Crook and a few others some years ago, but if you think all I’m giving you is bullshit, this conversation is over.”

  “Hold on just a minute, Mr. Slocum,” Thompson said. His voice had changed. “I didn’t know you were an experienced scout. Sorry for what I said. Have a chair. I’ll tell Sergeant Brooks to bring us some coffee.”

  With some reluctance, Slocum returned to the desk and accepted the hand Major Thompson offered him.

  “I served under General Crook,” the major said by way of apology. “I didn’t sleep much last night after learning about those scalpings. Tell me about those Comanches you ran across and why you think they were peaceful. I’ll listen, and if you’ve got any ideas about who killed the settlers, I’d like to hear that too.”

  Slocum settled into a hardbacked wooden chair while Thompson leaned through the doorway to send the sergeant for coffee. It was possible, Slocum decided, that Thompson would listen to reason.

  The major returned to his desk and began packing a briarwood pipe with tobacco.

  “First off, like I said before, Comanches don’t take women on raiding parties,” Slocum began.

  “I never heard that before,” Thompson said. “You mentioned they had five women?”

  “I was told one was the daughter of a Kwahadie chief. She was a pretty thing.”

  Hearing this, Major Thompson smiled, puffing on his pipestem to get the tobacco going. “That’ll be Senatey. She’s the daughter of Chief Lame Bear. Every soldier at this fort wants to fuck her as soon as they lay eyes on her.” He chuckled. “She’s without a doubt the prettiest Indian woman I ever saw, but she won’t have anything to do with a white man, and it’s against standing orders for any of my soldiers to ... consort with an Indian, if you know what I mean. Hell, I’d like to hump her myself, only it’s damn sure against regulations. A man could get court-martialed for even trying to fuck her. Besides that, her father is one of the bloodiest Indian criminals we have on this post. He’s in the guardhouse now, chained up. We have to keep him there or he’ll run off. They say Lame Bear killed more than a hundred whites himself, before Quannah agreed to the treaty. Lame Bear is gonna stay behind bars, as far as I’m concerned, unless the big brass orders me to let him go for some reason.”

  “Senatey is her name?” Slocum asked. He wanted to be sure of it.

  “I don’t know what it means in English, but that’s her Comanche name.”

  “It means ‘warrior woman,’ ” Slocum told him. “It’s a name given only to the daughter of a great warrior. Back in the old days, when the Kwahadies were down in Palo Duro Canyon, there was another woman named Senatey. I remember her. I was with McKenzie’s troops when they captured Buffalo Hump and the last of the wild Kwahadies. It was one hell of a fight even though those Indians were outnumbered ten to one. They earned a lot of respect from Ranald McKenzie and General George Crook that day. General Crook refused to kill the survivors when they ran out of bullets. He told McKenzie that any man, regardless of his color, who’d fight that hard when they knew they were licked, deserved to live.”

  “You are obviously well-versed in Kwahadie practices, Mr. Slocum. If you believe the Kwahadies you saw were merely out hunting game, then what happened to those settlers? We had a roll call yesterday. Took all day to get it done. None of the other Indians are missing. The Indian who led the bunch you and Captain Carter met is a warrior by the name of Conas. Again, I don’t know what it means in English. Nor does it matter, I suppose.”

  “It’s the Comanche word for fire.”

  “Then you also speak a great deal of their language, it would seem.”

  “Some. It’s been a spell since I used it. The main thing to remember is that a Comanche won’t scalp a woman. I’ve known members of all five tribes ... the Kotsotekas, the Noconas, the Yamparikas. None of ’em scalp women. It’s a form of dishonorable conduct, showing cowardice. Whoever scalped the women, it wasn’t Comanches.”

  Thompson frowned. “Then who the hell do we look for?” he asked, puffing furiously on his pipe.

  “If it was me, I’d look for tracks around the spot where those folks were killed. Follow ’em to see what direction they went afterward.”

  “I don’t have a decent tracker among my Pawnee scouts. It seems they’ve found a way to get their hands on whiskey. Most of them are drunks. Utterly useless. I’ve requested permission to send them home.”

  “Surely you can find someone who can read horse sign?”

  “I’ve tried. Finding a sober man is the hardest part. An Indian seems to have a natural gift for that sort of thing, but the free Indians around here are all drunks or loafers who won’t take an offer of pay from the army to help us catch the other Indians when they escape from the reservation.”

  They heard Sergeant Brooks clumping across the floor of the outer office with the coffee.

  “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in a short-term job as my scout?” the major asked.

  “I’ve got pressing business elsewhere, Major. Sorry.”

  “I wish you’d reconsider.”

  He remembered the Comanche girl, her rare beauty and the way she looked at him with the hint of a smile on her face. “I wish I could help. Let me think on it a spell. I’ll let you know tonight or tomorrow morning. The most I’d be willing to do is get your troopers headed in the right direction.”

  “The pay isn’t much, but I’d be grateful for any help a man with your experience would be willing to give us. Anything is better than what I’ve got. A bunch of drunk Pawnees who don’t earn what little money we’re paying them.”

  “I’m real familiar with army scouting pay, Major. It’s just enough to keep a man from starving.”

  Thompson nodded. “At least you’d be helping us bring the killers to justice. I’ll see to it that they’re prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Keep in mind that two women were murdered in the most brutal way possible.”

  “I said I’d think on it. I was headed back up to Denver on business.”

  “I do hope you’ll give it serious consideration before you refuse.”

  After a polite knock on the door, Slocum was offered a tin cup of coffee by Sergeant Brooks. It tasted bitter, the result of scorched coffee beans. As Brooks left the office, he closed the door behind him.

  “Tell me more about Senatey. Conas told me in sign she was the property of another man.”

  Thompson slurped his coffee noisily before replying.

  “It’s an odd Comanche habit, one I don’t fully understand. Perhaps you will. When we put Chief Lame Bear in the guardhouse, the girl was given to her uncle for what amounts to safekeeping. If my memory serves me correctly, her uncle’
s name is Quahip. He is responsible for her until she takes a husband. These Comanches seem to trade women, even their own daughters, as if they were pieces of property.”

  Slocum was pleased to learn that the girl was not yet married, but he couldn’t say why. Senatey showed no interest in white men, the major had said. “They do have some strange customs.”

  Now the major grinned. “You’re as attracted to her as the men at this fort, aren’t you?”

  “She’s a beautiful woman.”

  “Our Indian agent, Mr. Tatum, informs me that she hates all white men for what they have done to her people, for forcing them to live on a reservation. She speaks some English, they say, but she refused to attend the school we set up to teach them our ways. Of all the tribes gathered here, Comanches have been the most difficult to civilize.”

  “I doubt that anyone will ever civilize them to our ways. They value their freedom more than most.”

  “So it would seem. But I hope you’ll agree to do some tracking for us. If you’re right about the Comanche practice—that they never scalp women—it would be a shame to punish them for something they didn’t do. My superiors will demand it unless the real culprits are caught.”

  “I’ll let you know,” Slocum said, leaving the rest of his scorched coffee untouched. “Thanks for your time, Major. I’ll be in touch with you by tomorrow morning, one way or the other.”

  6

  Fannie was still asleep with the curtains pulled across the window of Slocum’s room when he got back to the hotel at nine-thirty. She stirred when she heard him come in.

  “Is that you, John?” she asked sleepily. The bedsheet barely covered her twin mountains of white flesh. Her long red hair was spread over the pillow, and the outline of her body beneath the sheet clung to her every curve. She stretched lazily and yawned as he closed the door.

  “It’s me. I rode out to the fort to have a word with Major Thompson about that Indian attack. I may stay in Cache a couple of days to help the army find whoever’s responsible. At least long enough to put ’em on their tracks.”

  Fannie smiled and raised her head off the pillow. “That means you’ll be here a while longer. I’m glad. You made me feel so good last night. I’m a little sore in a special place, but it was worth it. You have the biggest cock, and what’s more important, you know how to use it.”

  He hung his hat on a wall peg, recalling last night’s romp with Fannie. “Allow me to return the compliment. You’re a hell of a good lover. You make just the right moves.” Slocum took off his gunbelt and looped it around a bedpost at the foot of the bed. “I like a woman who truly enjoys what she’s doing.”

  Fannie tossed the sheet aside and swung her feet off the bed. Her eyes were fastened on Slocum’s crotch. “Come over here just a minute,” she said huskily. “I’ll show you something else I truly enjoy.”

  He’d promised the major he’d be ready to lead a squad of the more experienced cavalrymen down to the scene of the massacre in less than an hour, but right then he couldn’t think of a better way to spend that time. “I thought you said you were sore in one spot, that ‘special’ place.”

  “I am,” she whispered, reaching for the top button of his pants. “It isn’t the only place I enjoy the feel of a stiff prick. I’ll show you. Clyde said I had a talent for what I’m about to do to you.”

  He felt his cock thicken as her fingers reached into his pants. Slocum stood at the edge of the bed where she was sitting while she slowly drew out his hardening member. “I think I’m gonna like this,” he said, certain of what she was about to do.

  Fannie took the tip of his cock into her mouth, lightly flicking her tongue back and forth across his glans. His prick responded at once, filling with blood as pleasure awakened in his groin.

  She took more of him into his mouth, beginning to bob her head up and down.

  “That feels mighty good,” he told her, listening to the soft sucking sounds that came from between her lips.

  Gradually, she increased the speed of her talented tongue, almost wrapping it around his shaft.

  “The gambler was right,” he said, his balls rising. “You do have a talent for this.”

  Now her sucking sounds became louder, the pressure from her tongue harder, more demanding. He glanced down at her breasts and saw hardened nipples. What she was doing excited her. The proof of it was jutting from each rounded breast.

  Slocum began thrusting deeper into her mouth, gently so as not to choke her, feeling his jism begin its ascent. The muscles in his buttocks tightened in anticipation, and Fannie recognized it at once. She took a cheek of his ass in each hand and pulled him closer, grabbing his flesh with her fingers.

  Seconds later his jism spurted into her mouth. Waves of pleasure raced through him and he groaned softly, continuing to come in shorter bursts until his balls emptied.

  Fannie gulped and swallowed, sucking harder than ever as the last of his seed was spent.

  He stood there a moment, weakkneed, as the feeling of utter ecstasy slowly faded. Fannie continued to suck his cock, yet it was gentler now, until at last she pulled back, looking up at him, smiling.

  “Was it okay?” she asked, searching his face.

  “It was better than just okay, pretty lady. You have a real talented tongue. Clyde must have been out of his head to up and leave you like he did. A woman who can suck a cock as well as you do is real damn hard to find.”

  “Are you going to leave me too?” she asked, as her smile faded. She held his limp cock in her hand, milking the last of his jism onto the floor.

  Slocum knew he couldn’t tell her the entire truth now. “I am gonna help you, Fannie. You said you wanted to see San Franciso more than anything in the world. I’m gonna see to it that you get there. When my business in Denver is wrapped up, I’ll do my best to get out there to see you real soon. And I won’t be leaving Cache for a few days, looks like. I promised I’d help Major Thompson look for whoever scalped those folks south of here. After I’ve done all I can for the army, I’ll take you as far as the closest railroad. And I’ll book passage for you to Santa Fe, maybe even all the way to California. It kinda depends.”

  “Depends on what?” she asked.

  He grinned down at her. “On how many more talents you’ve got and how well you use them.”

  “I’ll do anything, John. Just tell me, or show me what you want. I swear I’ll do it.” She averted her eyes briefly. “I’m not a bad woman, you know. I’m doing this because I’m very attracted to you. You’re a handsome man and the best lover a woman could want. I don’t want you to think I’m cheap or a trashy kind of woman simply because I made love to you. I did it because I wanted to.”

  “No other possibility even crossed my mind,” he told her in a gentle voice. But at the same time, he was wondering. Fannie was experienced. Maybe she was only using him to get to San Francisco. He decided it didn’t matter. He could send a wire to Tom Ford at the Texas & Pacific and most likely get Fannie a ticket to wherever she wanted to go. Slocum had helped Ford safeguard some valuable shipments of gold, when an army payroll was consigned to the railroad a few years back. Five dead outlaws plus two more in a prison cell had been enough to convince Ford he’d picked the right man to guard the gold.

  “I’ll make love to you whenever you want, John,” Fannie promised. “And if you really like what I just did to you, I’ll do that too.” She smiled again. “To tell the truth I enjoy doing it. It makes me hot, although I’m not sure why. A couple of times I’ve actually come myself while I’ve got a cock in my mouth. I know that sounds strange, but when a man comes it makes me come sometimes.”

  “You didn’t come this time,” he observed.

  “I almost did. I was still half asleep when you got back. If you’ll give me another chance ...” She lifted his limp prick and put it between her lips again, jacking blood into his member with her hand while her tongue went back to work.

  Slocum forgot about the time, the hour he said he needed be
fore he rode back to the fort. The Major and the army would have to wait. Slowly, another erection hardened in Fannie’s mouth.

  With her other hand, she parted the tuft of red hair over her mound and started rubbing gently up and down between the lips of her cunt. A throaty groan came from deep inside her chest as she pleased herself, all the while stimulating him with her wet tongue, and the movement of her moist lips, sucking harder and faster as her pleasure heightened.

  Just minutes later, he again filled her mouth with his seed. He was totally spent, weakened but content. At almost the same instant, Fannie gripped the base of his prick and stiffened with a climax of her own, trembling and moaning around a mouthful of cock and jism.

  “You sure as hell know how to please a man,” he said, after she milked him dry and licked the top of his cock clean.

  “Only a special man,” she replied. “If your cock wasn’t so big I’d take it all in my mouth. There simply isn’t room ...”

  Twelve cavalrymen rode in a paired column behind him. They were older men, veterans of earlier Indian campaigns, Major Thompson had assured him as they left the fort. The troop commander was a grizzled sergeant named Lee Watson, a forty-year-old cavalryman who was at Fort Grant in Arizona Territory during some of the worst Apache difficulties. Watson rode a horse like a man seasoned to a saddle and life out in the open.

  “I figured same as you, Mr. Slocum,” he said as they rode south toward the Red River. “Damn few Injuns will scalp a woman under any circumstance. Specially not a Comanch’, cause they figure it shows a man’s yellow to lift a woman’s hair.”

  “That’s been my experience with ’em too,” Slocum said. “I feel real sure some other bunch is behind this. We’ll know when we find their tracks. If we don’t find any tracks at all, then it’s possible they were Comanches.”

  “No tracks at-all?”

  “A Comanche is the best horseman on earth, Sergeant. They know how to hide their tracks better’n anybody. I’ve seen ’em sweep the ground with mesquite branches for two or three miles behind their horses, just to wipe away any trace of a horse’s prints. When they’re wanting to stay hidden, they ride across every stretch of rock they come to so there won’t be any horse sign to follow. A man’s gotta get down on his hands and knees to see where a barefoot Comanche pony has crossed a slab of limestone.”