Slocum and the Grizzly Flats Killers (9781101619216) (12 page)

“Feels good,” she said, warming her hands on the crackling fire. “Do you think that'll be enough wood to last all night?”

“Better be,” Slocum said, looking out into the white curtains drawn back and forth outside the cave. Sometimes he could see fifty feet, at other times visibility was cut down to a few inches.

“We're going to be here for a day or two, aren't we?” Mirabelle said.

“Might be that long,” he allowed. He marshaled his firewood and decided he had gathered enough to keep the fire burning at this low level. It would be uncomfortable, but they wouldn't freeze to death.

“Not much food,” she said, going through the saddlebags.

“At least we can melt snow for water.” Slocum stretched out, his head resting on his saddle as he watched Mirabelle. She finally gave up hunting for food that wasn't there, then began digging through the dirt for other coins.

She gave up after a half hour when no new coins were unearthed. She moved to sit close to Slocum, close enough that he felt the heat from her body more than that from the fire. Holding up the coin she'd found, she let the light glimmer off the gold.

“How much is there supposed to be?” Slocum asked.

“Terrence never said, but Ike hinted that it was thousands of dollars. That'd be at least fifty more of these. I got the idea that there were hundreds of twenty-dollar gold pieces.” She handed the coin to him.

Slocum examined it. It was the same as the ones he had found. The words formed on his lips to let her know about what he had discovered while he was wandering around lost, but her kiss snuffed out any talking.

Or his will to talk.

She half lay atop him, her kisses becoming more passionate. For his part, Slocum returned them with fervor. He remembered how she had tended him before, when he was laid up in the hotel room. It had aroused him, but his strength hadn't been enough to go much farther than simply lying back and letting her minister to him. Now he was stronger.

And hornier.

He unfastened his gun belt and cast it aside, then started working on Mirabelle's coat and blouse. All the while they swapped kisses, on lips and cheeks and throat and eyes. As she worked across his forehead, he parted the cloth covering her chest, exposing small, firm breasts. He worked down into the valley between her tits, licking and kissing until she moaned softly.

He caught one nipple between his lips and lavished wet kisses there as he suckled gently.

“Oh, John, I'm on fire. That fills me with so much heat. I want you!”

He worked to her other apple-firm boob and swirled his tongue around. Only when she rose up above him did he leave his delectable post. She sat straight and cupped her breasts, pushing them together a little. They were too small to bounce, but Slocum hardly noticed that. More important was the way he was growing hard—and trapped in his jeans.

“Are you in pain?” she asked, grinning wickedly. “Here?” She reached down and fumbled around to find the lump in his pants. “My, what can we do about this?”

He told her. For an instant she looked shocked, then laughed.

“Ike never used language like that.”

“He never wanted you like I do,” Slocum said. He was momentarily startled to see the expression on her face. He had inadvertently hit on truth, and it deflated her mood.

Reaching up under her skirts, he stroked over bare thighs and then slipped his hand between them. The heat boiling from her interior spurred him on. She wore nothing under her skirts. He stroked over her hidden nether lips. The change in her expression was instant. Memory was replaced by lust.

Slocum slid a finger into her moist channel, then began stroking in and out until she was thrashing about above him. Straddling his waist as she did kept him from moving very much.

“In,” he gasped out. His erection pained him now as it pressed against his tight jeans.

“Yes, yes,” she said. She reached around behind her, fumbled at the buttons on his fly, and finally released him.

The relief was so great Slocum almost lost control. But she moved her hips up, positioned herself, and let him aim upward. Then she simply relaxed. They cried out in unison as he vanished within her tight, hot tunnel.

For a moment, she simply sat, taking his manhood full length into her. He pressed down on the tiny spire at the top of the vee formed by her sex lips. This triggered her hips. She lifted and dropped, letting him slip almost all the way out of her fiery core before crashing down to surround him again.

Mirabelle put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him down so she would have some leverage as she ground her hips down around his fleshy spike. Then she lifted. He arched his back to follow her but she rose faster. When they crashed together, it sent tremors throughout his body. Seeing her bare breasts, the emotions on her face, and feeling the heat and wetness and softness and his own hardness, all tore at Slocum's control.

He moved his hands to her hips to lift and drop her faster. He needed what she was so freely offering and then they found the rhythm that excited them both the most. All too soon, Slocum blasted his seed into her. All around him she squeezed down to milk every last drop from him. Then she sank forward, her bare chest pressing into his body.

It took some shifting, but they finally ended up side by side, arms around each other, as the wind whistled outside. The fire in the pit and the fires within their bodies kept them alive through the night.

13

Slocum came awake to the sound of gunfire. He rolled over a still sleepy Mirabelle and grabbed for his six-gun. The next volley came, and he knew those were rifles. A handgun against a rifle was a sorry way to die. Worse, they were trapped in a cave. Without a back door, a single marksman could keep them penned up until they died of hunger.

Truth was, Slocum's belly already growled from lack of food.

“What's wrong, John?”

“Somebody's firing a rifle,” he said. Barely had the words passed his lips when a new round of gunfire sounded. He came to his knees and looked outside the cave. The snow hadn't been as heavy as he would have thought from the storm's intensity. A couple inches had fallen, no more. And the wind had died down, leaving it a perfect diamond-bright day.

He climbed to his feet. Aching legs and side told him how cramped it had been sleeping on the hard rock floor with Mirabelle curled around him through the night. That had been good, sharing heat and so much more, but it made for aching joints and slow movement now. Stretching as he went, he chanced a look around the perfect carpeting of snow. The horses neighed uneasily, but he ignored them and stepped out to get a better idea of what he faced.

The silence weighed on him, then came a new report. He turned slowly and faced the direction of the echo off the canyon walls. No one on their back trail had fired, but someone up a branching canyon had. Slocum wasn't sure if that reassured him they hadn't been trailed from Grizzly Flats. The two men who had kidnapped Mirabelle had been clumsy. That meant they had a lot to prove to the rest of their gang and that they could make right her loss.

Was finding this cave so important? Slocum shook his head. He was still groggy from the cold night's sleep. The kidnappers didn't know there was nothing more in this cave and likely thought that Mirabelle could take them to the stolen gold's hiding place.

“It's far off,” she said. “That's good, isn't it? It means they aren't coming for me. For us.”

“Who's being shot at?” While it was possible the outlaws had had a falling-out and were leaving one another dead in the new-fallen snow, Slocum doubted that.

If he'd led that gang, he'd want as many eyes hunting for the gold as possible. Finding it would spark the bloodbath, killing off those who were least able to keep their mouths shut. If the leader was clever enough, he could kill his entire gang and keep the gold for himself.

“The only one you saw was that old prospector,” she said. “He was crazy. You said so yourself. Loneliness can make a man do strange things.”

More gunshots convinced Slocum this wasn't the surviving miner shooting at ghosts. His expert ear picked out at least two different guns. There might have been a third mixed in, but he wouldn't swear to that. If the miner had decided to shoot at anything moving, it wasn't likely he had more than one weapon.

“His and his dead partner's,” Mirabelle said, as if reading his mind.

“Best not to get involved,” Slocum decided. She had a good point. Bertram's rusty rifle added to the surviving miner's arsenal, even if it was unlikely he had much ammo. Scratching the walls of a dead mine for the slightest trace of color didn't give them much extra money to waste on ammo and spare rifles.

“I'm getting kinda hungry,” Mirabelle said. “There's nuthin' more to eat in the saddlebags.”

“Boil them,” Slocum said. He wasn't sure what sparked his sudden anger. She hadn't done anything to make him mad. Then he realized he was angry at himself for buying her easy story of the miner's two guns.

“I don't have enough firewood.”

He looked at her and saw she had taken him seriously. That made it easier for him, not having to apologize for his sarcastic crack.

“We have to move,” Slocum said. “There's no point staying here.”

“But the gunfight!”

“It tells me that, if the gang that killed your husband's involved, they haven't found the stolen loot yet.”

“It's not here,” she said sadly. “Ike must have found almost all there was here. But how'd the coins end up here?”

“I've been thinking on that. The thieves hunted for a place to hide the gold. They might have taken refuge here for an hour or two, then moved on.”

“And dropped the coins?”

“It could be they had a tear in the moneybags and never noticed. Chances are good one of them was wounded.” Again he held back telling her of the coins he had found in the cave with the bloody smear on the wall.

“Then the gold might be strewn all over the hills!” Mirabelle almost wailed at the thought of losing the treasure.

“I found some more while I was out lost before I got back to town,” he said, finally broaching the subject. She stared at him, her face neutral now. “It wasn't much, but if the bags with the money leaked a bit more, that'd explain the few coins I found.”

“How many?”

“A few,” he said, not sure why he kept the amount from her now that he had taken the plunge telling her his prior search hadn't been an entire bust. “And there was evidence in the cave of someone who'd been shot. There wasn't a body but blood had been smeared on the wall.”

“As if someone who'd been shot leaned against the rock?”

Slocum nodded. She pieced together in a few seconds what it had taken him the long ride back to Grizzly Flats to determine.

“We need to get to where you found it. The rest of the gold's got to be nearby!”

“I looked but didn't see any place where the robbers would obviously hide the gold.”

“Can you find the spot again?” She was already gathering their gear and taking it to saddle the horses.

“I remember seeing a mountain formation. Three spires.”

“The trident!” she said in triumph.

He stared at her.

“It . . . it was something Ike said. You must have been nearby, where the gold is hidden.”

“What else aren't you telling me?”

“The shock of everyone being killed,” she said, shaking her head sadly and looking down at the cave floor. “It drove all those memories from my head. Everything is so patchy, so confused. I don't know nuthin' else. Not that I remember.”

Slocum wondered if the men who had killed her party would be able to coax more from her by torture. That might be the only way Mirabelle would remember everything—unwillingly.

He finished tightening the belly cinch on the saddle and mounted. From horseback he carefully worked out a path to the branching canyon that wouldn't leave obvious tracks. If they stayed close to the canyon wall until they changed direction, the outlaws roving these hills wouldn't be as quick to spot them.

Slocum started out, letting his horse pick its own path as they slipped and slid along until there was no other choice but to cut across the canyon bottom and work their way up the next. Landmarks came to him now. This was where he and Bertram had shot it out, and where the miner's partner had remained at their paltry mine. From the tracks in the snow, at least three horses had gone into the canyon. None had come out.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” Slocum said. Even speaking in a low voice caused an echo down the canyon. He pointed to the hoofprints in the snow. “They've come in since the storm passed.”

“Hunting for me?”

“Hunting for the gold,” Slocum corrected. Mirabelle sat astride her horse, uneasily shifting about. He ignored her and kept moving ahead. After less than a quarter mile, he drew rein and studied the canyon bottom.

He had kept close to the wall again to minimize the chance of anyone spotting their tracks, but throughout the area stretching from wall to wall, he saw nothing but chopped-up snow. Impossible to figure out what had happened, he dismounted, drew his pistol, and said to Mirabelle, “Stay here.”

“But you'll be out there all alone! They'll see you for certain if they're watchin'.”

“Three riders went on, deeper into the canyon where we have to ride. I've got to see why they spent so much time here.”

She protested, but he ignored her. He tried to step on exposed stones or in existing hoofprints to prevent anyone from backtracking him to the woman. When he reached the spot where the snow was most stirred up, he saw flecks of fresh blood against the white snow. He looked up and figured that the wounded man had struggled into the rocks on the far side. Slocum worked his way up the slope the best he could. Ice and snow made the going treacherous, and he fell several times.

When he found a larger splotch of blood that had steamed its way down into a snowbank, he drew his six-shooter and listened hard. The wind was still. He heard what sounded like a bellows coming from above him in the rocks.

“You wounded bad, old-timer?” He didn't show himself. The miner had been cantankerous and had just lost his partner. Being shot up by the three men who had left him to die wouldn't improve his disposition any.

“You cain't take my claim. I won't let you!” The miner flopped over a rock and pointed a rifle in Slocum's direction.

Slocum recognized it as the rusty cannon the man's partner had carried. It might not be in good working condition, but if it spat out just one round, it was still dangerous.

“I helped you before. With Bertram.”

“Bert? He was my partner till some city slicker upped and kilt him.”

Slocum wondered if the miner meant him. He hardly thought of himself as a city slicker, but to a man living in such isolation, he might seem the height of sophistication. In any other situation he would have laughed, but not now.

“You see the men who shot you?”

“Damned marshal tried to gun me down. I ain't done nuthin'!”

“From Grizzly Flats? Marshal Willingham?”

“He's the one.”

“He been out here prowling around before? Or the two with him?”

“Surely have. And you ain't gonna take me in on no trumped-up charges jist so you kin take my mine!”

Slocum saw the miner rise from the rock, then lose his balance. He let out a tiny cry as he slid forward over the ice-slick rock, heading straight for the ground. He landed in a heap not ten feet from Slocum.

“You've been shot up pretty good,” Slocum said. He saw at least three wounds. From the way they'd bled and stained his shabby coat, there might be another bullet or two in the miner's chest.

“Won't be took into town!”

“How about I take you to your mine and get you patched up?”

“You'd do that? You ain't out to steal my claim?”

“You don't have anything to lose. If I don't get you out of the weather, you'll die right where you're lying.”

This small bit of logic made the miner groan out agreement.

“I have someone with me. A woman. She's right good at patching wounds.” Slocum waved to Mirabelle across the canyon, motioning her to join him.

He went to see what he could do for the miner until she arrived. He tore back the coat, ripping open a wound that had clotted over. The miner winced but said nothing. The whole time Slocum examined him, he stared hard as if his gaze alone could keep away claim jumpers.

“What can you possibly do for him, John? He . . . he's all shot up.”

“I want to find out more about the night your husband was killed. He can tell me.”

“How? He wasn't one of the gang, was he?”

“Them folks what got their asses shot off out by the way into the hills?” The miner sagged back, eyes closed. For a moment Slocum thought he had died, but the miner twitched, opened his eyes, and said, “The marshal was one of 'em. Remember his bandy legs, but a lot o' folks have those. Saw him good this time.” The miner leaned back and moaned, closing his eyes.

“We've got to go, John,” Mirabelle said forcefully. “He's not gonna make it. Look at him!”

“He's tough. We'll take him to his mine.”

“They'll get the gold before us! You heard him. The marshal is with them. That makes anything they do all legal.”

“Willingham has likely been with them from the start. And there's not much chance they'll stumble on the gold all of a sudden if they've been looking since they killed your husband and his friends.”

Mirabelle sputtered as Slocum got his arm around the miner's shoulders and heaved him erect. The man sagged, forcing Slocum to dip down, get under him, and hoist the wounded man upward.

He turned with his burden and went to his horse, letting the miner flop belly down over the saddle.

“From his tracks, there's a trail leading uphill,” Slocum said. “I remember this place from before, though the snow makes it look different.”

He didn't wait to see if Mirabelle followed. He tugged on his horse's reins and started up the trail marked by the miner's footprints. He recognized the spot where he and Bertram had shot it out and the other man had died. He wasn't going to poke through the snowbanks to see if the miner had buried his partner or just left him where the coyotes and buzzards could feast. It took less than a day for most of the flesh to be eaten away. After a week, the insects had finished their meal, leaving behind a picked clean skeleton. By now the coyotes would have made off with the bones to crack them open for the marrow.

“Don't do this, John. It's wrong. You don't owe him anything.”

Slocum ignored the woman's pleas and finally reached a level spot in front of the mine shaft. The miner's cabin was around the outjutting of rock, if he remembered right. And he did. He got open the door and dropped the miner onto the nearest pallet. With his partner dead, he wasn't likely to complain if Slocum had picked the wrong bed.

“Get a fire started,” he ordered. Mirabelle stood in the doorway, uncertain. “Now!” His temper was reaching the breaking point. For the time being, they were as safe here as on the trail. Safer. “And fix some victuals. He must have a larder somewhere.”