Slocum Giant 2013 : Slocum and the Silver City Harlot (9781101601860) (17 page)

He sat up and swung his pistol around, hunting for Frank. The man was nowhere to be seen in the smoke-cloaked room. Deciding quickly, Slocum threw his arms around Randolph and lifted the boy, still tied to the chair, and staggered to the door. With a heave, he tossed him a couple yards. The chair landed on one leg and broke.

“Tend him,” Slocum yelled to Billy. The boy had already rushed out to cut his friend free.

Rather than plunging back into the smoke-filled cabin to find Frank, Slocum kicked the door shut. Let it fill, let it kill a man who had murdered two and kidnapped a boy.

Slocum went to where Billy held a convulsing Randolph.

“Breathe out real hard,” Slocum ordered. When Randolph only tried to gasp in short breaths, he punched him in the belly.

Billy reacted, his knife coming around.

“Stop that! You can't beat up on him when he cain't defend himself.”

“He has to get the smoke out of his lungs,” Slocum said to Billy. “Exhale hard, suck in shallow,” he told Randolph.

It took a dozen breaths before Randolph began to get color back into his cheeks. His bloodshot eyes opened. His emerald eyes fixed on Slocum.

“You saved me.”

“Was it Frank in there with you?”

Randolph nodded, coughed, then worked to clear his throat and lungs the way Slocum had told him.

The boy finally got out, “He went crazy when the smoke started fillin' the cabin. Don't know why he done that.”

Slocum didn't either. He stood and surveyed the area, hunting for Frank's partner. Frank must have died inside the cabin, but Slocum was willing to drag his partner back for Sheriff Whitehill to throw into the calaboose.

“You see anyone else with Frank?”

“I heard him talk with somebody outside. Never saw who. They argued over what to do with me. Frank wanted to kill me when I couldn't tell him nuthin' 'bout some dumb map. The other guy wanted to torture me.” Randolph coughed again.

Slocum motioned for Billy to get his friend out of the way. He waited for them to reach cover before walking back to the cabin. Getting back to the roof, he plucked his coat from the chimney, releasing a huge gout of smoke. But the open door and the draw up the chimney quickly sucked out the smoke from inside.

Jumping back to the ground, Slocum cautiously went to the cabin door and pushed it all the way open with his six-shooter's barrel.

“You still alive, Frank? You have five seconds to surrender before I come in to get you.” He hoped Frank didn't give up. He itched for a reason to shoot the man.

A quick look into the cabin showed how most of the smoke had gathered up near the roof. Slocum looked low. If Frank had been breathing at all, it had to be near the floor where the air wasn't as smoky.

“Damnation,” he cried, spinning around and running to the far side of the cabin where a horse had been tethered.

The horse was gone. At ankle level several rough-hewn logs had been pushed away. When Frank had noticed the cabin filling with smoke, he had stoked the fire, then kicked out the lower part of the back wall and escaped on horseback. Slocum had missed the getaway entirely in his rush to save Randolph.

“Where'd the varmint git off to?” Billy asked. He slashed the air with his knife. “I wanted to cut off a piece of 'im. An important piece. Or two.”

Slocum slammed his six-gun into his holster, angry at himself for letting not only Frank but Frank's partner get clean away.

“Let's get Randolph back to his ma.”

The ride to Silver City stretched for an eternity, Slocum stewing and Billy and Randolph chattering like magpies, working on their tall-tale-telling skills.

“If I'd knowed it was gonna be like
that
, I'da left him out there,” William McCarty said in disgust. He turned away from where Marianne hugged Randolph so tightly that the boy moaned in consternation at such public affection.

“His ribs are likely sore,” Slocum said, but Marianne paid him no heed. She had her son back and nothing else mattered.

“I can always stick her back in the cell,” the sheriff said. “I agree with Billy. This is more 'n I can stand.” He inclined his head and both Slocum and Billy left the jailhouse, leaving mother and son alone.

“All right, you two, tell me what happened out there,” the sheriff said, finding a spot in the shade and sitting down. Slocum heard the man's joints popping and cracking. If he had to stand fast, he wouldn't be able to do it because of the arthritis.

This set off a new line of conjecture. If Slocum signaled to Marianne and Randolph to run, the sheriff would be left in the dust. As appealing as that was, to simply get the both of them out of Silver City and on the road to somewhere else—anywhere else—he wouldn't do it. He had come to a grudging respect for Whitehill.

Billy looked at Slocum, licked his lips, and kept quiet. For once, politeness dictated. He'd let his elders talk first. Slocum almost wished he had blurted everything out. His mouth had sores from too little water out on the trail. Returning had been his primary goal. He had turned a mite nervous knowing both Frank and his partner had gotten away. If he saw Frank, he'd know what to do. His partner remained a mystery and could be anyone.

“You start, Billy, while I get me a dipper of water,” Slocum said. He wanted to step back as the verbal dam broke and everything rushed out.

He found a watering trough with enough water in it to give him a drink and to wash the trail dust from his face. He slapped his hat against his thigh a few times and cleaned himself up before returning. Billy had about finished with the recitation.

“Do I have this straight, Slocum? Billy here did ever'thin' he said he did?”

Billy looked defiant, daring Slocum to contradict him.

“That's the gospel truth, Sheriff,” he said.

“I don't know if I ought to give you a medal or clap you in jail for bein' such a menace, William McCarty,” the marshal said sternly. “That was a brave thing you did, ridin' after Frank and scoutin' for Slocum here.”

“You had him locked up. Somebody had to save Randolph.” The defiance marking the boy's words would get him in trouble someday, but this wasn't it.

The sheriff clapped him on the shoulder and said, “You done good. When you're older, might be I'll need a deputy.”

Billy looked skeptical but accepted the compliment without adding his opinion.

“Don't suppose it'd do any good to ask who's been out of town,” Slocum said. “Frank's partner is likely someone from Silver City known to you.”

“Hell, even Tucker has been out of town. I'm expectin' him back any time now. No, people go and come in Silver City all the time. Besides, Frank's partner is likely to be a miner. Him and Bedrich knew most all them hard rock–scratchin' bastards. For a dollar and a drink, there's not a man out there in Chloride Flats who wouldn't kill his own granny.”

“I don't cotton much to looking over my shoulder all the time I'm in Silver City,” Slocum said.

“Well, Slocum, I can solve that problem for you. Let me lock you up. Marianne looks to want time with her son.”

“Let 'em both go, Sheriff,” Billy piped up. “They ain't gonna run. Give your word, Mr. Slocum, and Sheriff Whitehill will let you both out.”

Slocum watched the sheriff's reaction and stiffened a mite when the boy's suggestion produced a slow nod. He knew when to speak and when to keep his yap shut. He waited for the sheriff to come to a decision.

“She's been through hell, that I'll guarantee,” Whitehill said. He looked up at Slocum. “You done good brining' her boy back, too. But you both got murder charges hangin' over your head.”

“Billy will watch us. He's gotten real good at that,” Slocum said.

This produced a genuine laugh from the sheriff. He awkwardly climbed to his feet, reminding Slocum of his earlier fleeting scheme to simply walk away. As painful as Whitehill's joints appeared, it might be a day before he could get limber enough to mount and chase after them.

“I'm gonna do that very thing. You watch 'em like a hawk, Billy, and if either of 'em tries to leave town, you come tell me straightaway.”

“You pay me to be a deputy?” Billy asked.

Again the sheriff surprised Slocum with his reaction. Most lawmen would have blustered and bellowed. Whitehill dug around in his vest pocket and pulled out a nickel.

“This ought to do 'til I get one or both of 'em locked up again.”

Slocum didn't listen to any more of the discussion between urchin and lawman. Marianne came from the jailhouse, her arm around Randolph's shoulders. The boy looked like a frightened fawn wanting to bolt and run. He was at an age where having his mother cling so tightly to him would cause taunts for a month. Luckily no one his own age other than Billy saw.

“You two go on,” Marianne said to empty air. Randolph and Billy ran off, Billy showing his friend the money he'd gotten from the sheriff.

“He convinced me to let you out, Marianne. You're not free, just not in a cell.”

“John, thank you!”

“Not me,” Slocum said. “Billy.”

Marianne laughed at this, then obviously wondered how true it might be from the way the sheriff nodded.

“I can certainly use a bath,” she said. “And maybe a drink.”

Whitehill clucked his tongue at that, returning to his jailhouse without a word of approbation that a proper woman publicly spoke of alcohol in such a way.

“It was you that got me free, wasn't it, John?” She slipped her arm through his and steered him from the jailhouse.

“I did what I could, but it
was
Billy that turned the tide.”

“Do tell. That boy's going to make a fine lawyer someday.”

“Or get himself killed,” Slocum said, explaining how the boy had been instrumental in finding and rescuing Randolph.

“You serious about another bath?” Slocum asked, slowing when they passed the barber shop. “Looks like a passel of customers wanting shaves.”

“A bath isn't what I want,” she said, pulling him closer so her hip bumped his. She contrived to rub against him like a cat greeting a long-lost friend. Her fingers stroked over his forearm.

“What is?” Slocum asked, wanting the same as Marianne but inclined to make her ask.

“What we did before, without the bath.”

“Do tell. My memory is a bit hazy,” he said. “What might that have been?”

“Do I have to remind you?” She grinned wickedly now.

“Won't do any good unless you show me.”

“You were a good enough student in school.”

“There were lessons Miss Demetrius could never teach me.”

“She was as ugly as a mud fence,” Marianne said, leaning closer and putting her head against his upper arm.

“She was as ugly as you are beautiful,” Slocum said softly.

“I don't know, she was mighty ugly.”

“You're mighty beautiful.” Slocum didn't care that they were just off the main street and still in plain view of anyone passing by. He kissed her.

She returned the kiss with ardor. They wrapped their arms around each other and kissed, and time stood still until Marianne broke it off, breathing heavily. He loved the way her breasts rose and fell so fetchingly. Truth was, he loved most everything about her.

“You smell of smoke. We've got to get you out of those clothes.”

“And you smell wonderful,” he said, burying his nose in her hair. She did. In spite of being locked up for days, her hair carried a faint whiff of violet that sent his heart pounding. Or was it more?

Her body pressing into his accelerated his heart, as did the way her fingers danced over his vest, his shirt, undoing a button here and lingering there to stroke over bare flesh as she probed under his shirt and across his chest. He gasped when she became even bolder and pressed her palm into his crotch.

“It's getting mighty hot in there,” she said.

“I can think of somewhere that might just be even hotter—and wetter.” He ran his hand down the front of her blouse, pressed into her belly, and worked lower slowly until he could finger her privates through the folds of cloth. “I'm right. You're wet.” He nibbled at her ear and whispered, “and hot.”

“We have to get off the street, John, or the sheriff will arrest us for indecency.”

He looked around and said, “I reckon I'll have to take you to the woodpile.”

Several cords of wood had been stacked behind the bakery. The mouth-watering scent of baking bread mingled with sweat and dirt and the exquisite violet in Marianne's hair.

“Are you going to . . . punish me for being a bad girl?”

“Depends,” he said. “It wouldn't do any good to spank you through all those layers of clothes you're wearing.”

Both of them stared into the other's eyes, then silently rushed to the high stacks of wood. Between two cords was a yard-wide space. If they stayed low and no one walked around the ends of the woodpile, they wouldn't be seen.

Marianne went to the middle of the stacks and began hiking her skirts, showing her ankles, her calves, then more slowly revealing her knees and thighs. When she saw the effect it had on him, she moved even more slowly to reveal she didn't have on any underwear.

Seeing this made Slocum want to erupt. He hung up his gun belt and worked to unfasten the buttons in his fly. He gasped in relief as his erection popped free, but his target had disappeared. Marianne turned slowly, giving him a view of her hip and then the flare of her bare ass cheeks. She bent forward as she lifted her skirts to moon him.

“I'm a
very
bad girl,” she said, her voice husky. “What are you going to do about that?”

He stepped forward, half turned, and landed an open-handed swat on her exposed butt. The sound echoed, then was drowned out by her sob.

“That stung,” she said. “But I'm not feeling like a good girl yet.”

He began spanking her with his open hand, slowly, leaving a red outline of his hand on her snowy white rump. Her knees sagged and then she dropped to hands and knees. He had to hike up her skirt to keep her well-spanked bottom in view.

“I'm on fire, John. All over. On fire. Stoke my fire, I need you to—oh!”

He dropped to his knees behind her, ran one arm around her waist, and pulled her back into the circle of his groin. His meaty shaft parted the rosy ass cheeks and found the dampness leaking from within. He poked a little harder, got the tip just between her pinkly scalloped sex lips, and then arched his back. He could have rammed as hard into her as he wanted. He chose to enter slowly, inch by torturous inch. By the time he was buried balls deep, she quaked in reaction.

“Oh, you're filling me up so much,” she said, shuddering with every jerk of his hidden organ.

He pulled her back firmly into the curve of his body and then groped about until he found where he disappeared into her center. His fingers came away oily. He smeared this all around as he explored until he found the tiny bud growing at the top of the nether lips. He pressed his finger into the fleshy button. Marianne cried out and half stood as orgasm crashed through her.

As she settled down, Slocum began to move with methodical strokes, long, deep ones that built the woman's desires to the breaking point again. He tugged gently at the dangling tits, moved his hands around, hunting for new places to excite her. He found one on her hip. Then he reared back and landed another open-handed swat on her curvy rump.

“More, John, do it more. I want you to spank me more!”

He did. His hand turned warm from the spanking. Then more as his hand burned when he felt her constricting around his buried manhood. She sobbed and moaned, then called out his name as she squeezed down all around him. This pushed him to the limits of his endurance. It was as if hidden fingers stroked over him, silky, delicate ones milking him. He began thrusting with more determination.

He had to use both hands to hang on to her hips as she bucked and thrashed about. Then they fell into a motion that drove him wild. She slammed back as he raced forward. Then she rotated her hips in one direction as he circled in the other. The coupled motions robbed him finally of all control, and he spent. He grunted as the warmth in his groin spread throughout his belly and body and exploded in his head.

Finally done, he rocked back to about the sweetest sight ever. She had stayed with her butt up in the air. His red hand-prints still glowed dully. She waggled her ass a little to tease him, then agilely swung about and sat facing him.

She lifted slightly and rubbed her behind.

“You ever a schoolteacher? You surely do know how to deliver a swat.”

“I was inspired,” he said, rubbing his hands together. The right palm still tingled from the contact with her snowy white ass flesh.

Marianne sighed, then said, “Thank you. Oh, not for this. This was incredible. Thanks for saving Randolph. That boy knows how to get himself into trouble.”

“It wasn't his fault. He was working at the Lonely Cuss when Frank nabbed him.”

“What do you mean?” Marianne looked worried.

“The owner's brother gave him a job sweeping up. Randolph was in the back room when Frank spotted him, I reckon, and decided to get Bedrich's map in exchange.”

“Tom Gallifrey's brother?”

“Big galoot. Fat as your boss is skinny.”

“I don't know him. Tom never mentioned a brother.”

“Said he'd come in from Mesilla because his brother'd asked for help. Without you to charm the customers, the Lonely Cuss is likely losing money every night it's open.”