Slocum and the Long Ride (2 page)

“I can get you a blanket to sit on.” He felt concerned letting her riding bareback.

“No time for that.” She sat herself up on the horse's back, using the lariat on his head for a bridle. “My name is Saundra by the way. Saundra Brown.”

“Nice to met you, Miss Brown.”

“
Mrs.
Brown, I am a widow. My husband was shot and killed by bank robbers in a small town where we lived in Kansas. I prefer being called Sandy. I am here to help overcome my own losses and make myself useful to society. I thought teaching might be a good way help my fellow Americans.”

“Fine kettle of fish you got yourself in here. Let's ride.”

“What about your other horse?”

“He'll be fine. We need to hurry.”

They raced off. He could see that her silk slip drawn up was showing lots of her snow-white leg. She was no stranger to horseback riding or to doing it bareback. The fresh horses sent them off racing hard again. Riding side by side, he smiled at her. “You are a great horsewoman.”

“I have been a tomboy all my life. I need something to tie my hair back and keep it out of my face.” He stripped the blue-and-white silk kerchief from around his neck. “This will do it. We can stop on that next ridge and you can tie it up.”

“Good,” she shouted back. With her knees, she turned the brown horse out in the grass and missed the near dry mud-hole mess that once had stuck a rig in the middle of the road.

He took the other side and they rejoined. Skidding to a stop on the high point, he looked over the country that spread down the valley while she bound up her hair to stay back while they rode. He wished for a sombrero for her. She'd be sunburnt by the time they reached the Pitch Fork.

“Wear my hat,” he said, holding it out to her.

“What will you do about the sun?”

“I can find something later. Let's ride,” he said when she got his weather-beaten Stetson on her head. To keep it on she drew up the strings that he hardly used, and they were off again.

•   •   •

The day was waning in the west when he at last saw the red tile roofs of the Pitch Fork headquarters. Men with rifles were running around getting ready to fight the intruders. A lookout on one of the roofs shouted, “Let them in.”

The two shared a confident nod when they rode under the gate crossbar with the ranch name on it. Slocum looked back, but there was no pursuit. Good.

The smiling ranch owner came out of the house putting on his white hat. They'd dismounted, and behind the horses she quickly restored her skirt into place. Making certain the waistband was straight, she raised her chin and smiled at the man welcoming her to his ranch.

“So good to have you here, ma'am. And Slocum, we can always use your gun. Did you see any Apaches?” Oglethorpe replaced his hat as Sandy shed Slocum's hat and tried to straighten her hair and his kerchief.

“Mostly the dead and their devastation,” Slocum said, nodding to some of the cowboys who'd gathered around to hear his report.

“I saw one ranch woman and her daughter dead beside the road north of her schoolhouse. Another was a prospector full of arrows in the brush up at Chevron Springs. But there's either haystacks burning, or ranch houses, all the way down here from the stage stop in Apache Pass.”

“You see any of them?”

Slocum shook his head. “Once we hid in some junipers for them to go on by us up there. All we did was hear them arguing while we were hidden. The horse I rode gave out carrying us double, and we caught these two horses running loose that the boys are putting up. Damn grateful to find them. My horse was run plumb out.”

Sandy agreed.

“Well I have quarters for both of you,” Oglethorpe said. “One of the maids will draw your baths, and you can wear some of my clothing, Slocum. I have a dress should fit you, ma'am.”

“Thank you,” she said, sounding grateful.

“There are some guest cabins at the side of the main house. Slocum can show you your room. You have number one and he has two. Bathwater will soon be there, and about nine this evening we can have supper in the main house.”

“Very good, thanks,” Slocum said and indicated to his companion that the way was up the flat rock steps to the next level.

He came a few steps behind her. “Oran is a very rich man. Polite and nice to me, and he will be to you as well. He has no wife. I never knew why not.” He caught up beside her. “These room are well appointed.”

She hugged her arms. “Good. But I'm just so pleased to be here in a safe place at last.”

He opened the door to her room, and she went inside and agreed with him about the furnishings.

“Are you satisfied?” he asked her.

She drew in her breath. “If I can't sleep tonight—will you be available?”

“I will. Come over. I know today has been a chilling day for you. Sorry I was so rough on the start, but I was upset already.”

“You never mentioned the dead woman and child beside the road to me.”

“It was real tough on me to talk about it and not being able to settle it.” He shook his head.

She turned, came back, and hugged him tight. In his ear, she whispered, “I have thought about you all day. This man had no reason, but he risked his own life to save me. He came back, rode his poor horse double, and saved my life. And that was another risk—the horse could have died had you not found those stray horses.”

He wrapped his arms around her and they simply stood in one place.

“And you have no—roots—”

His whisker-bristled mouth closed on hers to silence her. Her arms quickly pressed her body against him. He felt her needs and regretted knowing that the bucket brigade of Mexican girls would soon be arriving with bathwater for them.

“Later,” he said softly, and she backed up and nodded.

The knock on the door made him smile. “They have arrived.”

He swung the door open and bowed. Then in Spanish he said, “Come right in, señoritas. The señora is ready. That is a lovely dress you brought for her. She is much grateful for what you are doing for her.”

They giggled as if he were teasing them, while they poured the hot water in the copper tub and laid out towels, expensive soap, and a hairbrush for her.

She thanked them too and put the dress on the bed.

The last one out said, “You are next, Señor Slocum.”

“Gracias.”
He closed the door and put his butt against it. “Until later.”

“Yes.” She smiled but looked close to tears. “I'll be fine. Thanks to you and our host.”

“I better get over there in my place. They'll be right back. They're like a volunteer fire department bucket line.”

In his room, he saw someone had brought his Winchester and saddlebags for him and put them by the bed. In a short while the five girls came back with hot water, towels, and clothing for him to wear.

The chubby one who was the leader stood with her back to the closed door. “You know what you must do to them for bringing you that hot water?”

He nodded. It was a tradition, and thank God they hadn't pulled it on him next door.

“Each one is a virgin and you must kiss each of them hard or we won't leave,” she said, looking giddy. “They need some experience with a real man.”

“I am all whiskered up,” he whispered.

“We won't leave until you kiss each one of them.”

He swept the first one up, her eyes wide open, and kissed her, feeling her small boobs under the thin material. “Thank you, my angel.”

She staggered backward. Next number two—dark eyes wide open. He kissed her and felt the crown of her womanhood under the thin dress material at the bottom of her slight belly.

Next one, he squeezed her hard ass as he kissed her.

Then the last one was taller, and her blouse was open enough he decided he could reach in and squeeze a real boob. Her bare skin felt smooth as silk under his calloused hand. The small body of it was solid as a rock, and before the end, her tongue sought his mouth. She was ready or had already lost her maidenhood—no matter, it was all in fun.

The other girls swooned when they saw what he'd done to her. And he spanked her lightly on the ass going away.

“Great virgins you have there.” He threw the leader kisses, and they left whispering and giggling, closing the door after themselves. The Pitch Fork could be a place to have real fun.

He had dried off from his bath when there was knock on his door. “Be right there.”

“I'm sorry, were you still bathing?” she asked as if he might have been.

“No, but I still have to dress and shave.”

“Don't bother to dress. I am not some willy-nilly girl that has not seen a man out of his clothing. Besides I can shave you.”

His pants on, he opened the door and let her in. As she crossed the room, he studied the long blue silk gown she wore. “I won't argue about you doing that. You look quite lovely. Too nice to mess with a tramp.”

“No, you're mistaken. This water is warm enough. She dipped some from his bathwater in a mug and made foam with a hog hairbrush. “You have a sharp razor?”

“In my saddlebags.”

“Good. Sit in a chair over here.” She put the mug down and searched in his saddlebags for his razor. When she found it, she went to where he sat on a ladder-back chair next to the mug on the dresser. He noticed her feet gliding across the floor. Maybe they could dance? She certainly looked like she'd be very talented at that.

She lathered his face and smiled. “I am over shaking, so I shouldn't cut you.”

“Good thing!”

“Oh, Slocum, it has been such a tough day, I know for you as well.” The blade slid through his beard stubble like a knife through soft butter. She frowned, impressed as she cleaned off the blade. “My comparisons to doing this for my late husband are all I have. He never owned a razor this sharp in his life. Whew. Was this instrument expensive?”

“I don't know. A woman in my past presented that to me.”

“I bet you don't even know her name.”

“Bet's on.”

“Who was it?”

“Becky Oneida.”

She quit shaving and laughed harder. “You made that up.”

“No, she lives in Benton County, Arkansas, and owns a watermill there. I saved her from three shy-pokes who'd stopped there aiming to rape and rob her.”

“You are serious?”

“Serious as I can be. I stopped there at the mill for directions to a fellow I'd been in the war with. I climbed the stairs to the open back door, and the mill was grinding corn so it was loud, I figured someone was inside watching the milling operation.

“Those three had her near stripped naked lying on her back on pile of gunnysacks. She wasn't letting her state of undress stop her none—she was fighting them like a wildcat.

“The only guy with his pants up went for a gun in his waistband.”

She finished shaving the other cheek. “Go ahead with the story.”

“Another who'd had his pants down, a pimply-faced kid, when he saw me, dove for his gun on the table. I'd warned them, and I shot him in the chest at point-blank range, in the midst of the billowing gun smoke. Then she used a sack knife she got hold of to stab the one on top trying to rape her.” In reality she'd cut off his manhood and then in her rage cut his screaming throat—but Sandy didn't need to know about that part of the story

Careful-like, Sandy shaved his upper lip.

“That was one hell of a day. We laid them out after she got herself together, then we sent for the law, and a deputy came down, listened to her story, shook both our hands, and said, ‘They deserved it. Case is closed. You can bury them.'”

“This was a real gift.” And she wiped the soap off of the blade. “Did you ever find your friend from the war?”

“No, he'd gone west. I never saw or heard of him again.”

She finished shaving the rest of his face and rinsed the razor. With a wet towel she cleaned away all the traces and inspected the job she'd done. She kissed him and he put her on his lap.

“A hell of a damn day. Tell me about yourself.”

“I grew up on a Kansas farm. Went through the eighth grade in school. Later I went to two years of college in Manhattan after I passed an admissions test. My father wanted me to become a doctor. I wasn't sold on that idea, so I came home and married Franklin. Then he got shot in a cross fire during a bank robbery. I had known him growing up. I guess we had what you'd call a private friendship. I trusted him. We had swum naked at night when we were teens. We'd never done anything but kiss, and well maybe feel, until our wedding night. That event wasn't perfect, but we got better at it. I thought, anyway. On the day of the funeral I came to find out he had another woman, and two of her kids she claimed were his. I couldn't believe it. So I had a bigger letdown than simply being a widow that day. After all that happened, I simply had to leave Kansas. In a newspaper ad I found they needed a teacher here, and since I was a widow I qualified.”

He kissed her, and he knew there was a fire inside of her banked for a big blaze. He closed his eyes—it would be hard to wait that long, but worth every minute for what he aimed to syphon from her.

“Should we go up there now?” She meant to the main house.

“We can, and be friendly.”

She hugged his arm when he stood up to put on the borrowed shirt. “I am so grateful that you came by my school today.”

He kissed her forehead and finished dressing. “That must have been hard finding out your dead husband had another wife across town, and he wasn't there to defend himself.”

“It was the darkest day in my life. Worse even than today's scare.”

What in the hell could he say? He'd caught something in her conversation about her saying they
got better at it
? Did she worry she wasn't good enough for him and that was why her husband went to find another woman?

They'd get it all ironed out—somehow. He shut the door behind them, and they walked side by side around to the front and entered the left side of the double doors that must have been ten feet tall.

Like the flooring in their rooms, the Mexican tile in the main house shone like glass. A woman in a very expensive dress greeted them like she had been waiting for them. She was short, with nice cleavage exposed and her hair all pinned up. She told them her name was Margareta and she was Oglethorpe's hostess.

This was a different woman than the one who had run his household Slocum's last time there. This woman wasn't as pretty as the one the year before, but she was very sweet and a better hostess. She showed them to the dining room and asked if they wanted a drink. She had everything. Slocum took a double Kentucky whiskey with a dash of water. Sandy chose a red wine.

Oglethorpe joined them, smiling and rubbing his hands together. “How did you get back in this country, Slocum?”

“Some guy named Dan Delight, who ranches down on the border, asked me to help stop some bad Mexicans who were robbing and raping women as well as rustling his cattle.”

“Delight. Is his brand a Double D?”

“I think so. It was on the letter he sent me.”

“I met him once at a cattlemen's protection meeting in Tucson. Short man, isn't he?”

“Yes. But he's a fist fighter and can whip a big man.”

“Does he bite their legs?”

Sandy was laughing aloud by then.

“I'm not sure, but he laid out two men in a row when we were down in Mexico one time and he boxed in the ring against them.”

“Sandy, your friend has had so many great adventures. You must get him to tell you about some of them.”

“Thank you. I will.”

The meal proved excellent. Margareta, who sat beside Slocum at the head of the table, rang a small bell and the help jumped through hoops like circus dogs. It amused him. A three-piece Mexican band—guitar, drums, and trumpet—played really great music, with “No Quarter Given” at the end.

“I am certain after today's escape you both are tired and ready for bed,” the rancher said. “I expect the Apaches to try and storm this castle at sunup. May I invite you to join us then,
mi amigo
?”

“Wake me at five,” Slocum said. “Or anytime you need me.”

“I can have someone do that.
Gracias, senora
, so nice to meet you.”