Slocum and the Big Horn Trail Read online

  SLOCUM AND THE GRIZZLY

  With a hard jerk on the bits, he tried to control the upset horse spinning around under him.

  “Easy. Easy…”

  By the lake below, he saw the cause of the pony’s upset. A huge grizzly reared up and roared at him.

  He slid the Winchester out of the scabbard and levered a cartridge in the chamber. He turned Paint broadside, feeling the horse trembling under the saddle as he took aim. Stand still for a second. His finger squeezed off a shot at the galloping bruin. The bear, hit in the head, nosed down, pawing at his muzzle and issuing groans.

  Round two to the grizzly’s face made him raise his muzzle and give a last, loud moan…

  DON’T MISS THESE

  ALL-ACTION WESTERN SERIES

  FROM THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  THE GUNSMITH by J. R. Roberts

  Clint Adams was a legend among lawmen, outlaws, and ladies. They called him…the Gunsmith.

  LONGARM by Tabor Evans

  The popular long-running series about Deputy U.S. Marshal Custis Long—his life, his loves, his fight for justice.

  SLOCUM by Jake Logan

  Today’s longest-running action Western. John Slocum rides a deadly trail of hot blood and cold steel.

  BUSHWHACKERS by B. J. Lanagan

  An action-packed series by the creators of Longarm! The rousing adventures of the most brutal gang of cutthroats ever assembled—Quantrill’s Raiders.

  DIAMONDBACK by Guy Brewer

  Dex Yancey is Diamondback, a Southern gentleman turned con man when his brother cheats him out of the family fortune. Ladies love him. Gamblers hate him. But nobody pulls one over on Dex…

  WILDGUN by Jack Hanson

  The blazing adventures of mountain man Will Barlow—from the creators of Longarm!

  TEXAS TRACKER by Tom Calhoun

  J.T. Law: the most relentless—and dangerous—manhunter in all Texas. Where sheriffs and posses fail, he’s the best man to bring in the most vicious outlaws—for a price.

  JAKE LOGAN

  SLOCUM AND THE BIG HORN TRAIL

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  SLOCUM AND THE BIG HORN TRAIL

  A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright © 2008 by The Berkley Publishing Group.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN: 978-1-1012-1521-0

  JOVE®

  Jove Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  JOVE is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  The “J” design is a trademark belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Prologue

  He sat the bay horse back in the junipers, unseen, so he could study them sleek-brown naked Injun girls bathing in the crick. Couple of them didn’t look half bad in the distance. He occasionally licked his sun-crusted lips, and the sharp edges of his whiskers scratched his tongue. Just watching them girls had the saliva flowing in his mouth like a flood. Way he figured it, he’d have him one of them hellcats picked out for his own before dark.

  Just a damn shame that his pack mule Judy had kicked his last woman in the head. Blue Bell’d been what he called her. Took her three days to die. Damn hard for him to keep a good wife. Always something happening to them. That Arapaho gal, Antelope, got struck by a runaway wagon in Cross Creek and killed outright. Maybe he was jinxed or some witch had a hex on him. First chance he got, he’d have some fortune-teller see if it was true.

  He wore a silver cross on a cord around his neck to keep the spirits away, but it might not be enough to ward off a real powerful spell caster. Had to be a reason that he was always breaking in a new woman. One got killed by Blackfeet who were raiding his camp for his whiskey. He couldn’t recall her name. They bashed her head in with a stone ax. He kilt four of them over it. Revenged them pretty good for her. Ah, he remembered her handle—Puppy. Couldn’t ever pronounce her real one. Looked like a brown-eyed puppy to him.

  Time for him to get on with it. He shook loose his reata and made a loop. The Injun he wanted had long breasts that swung firmlike when she waded around. She was in the midst of them girls splashing and screaming at each other. Then, setting spurs to his pony, he busted out of the junipers and came swinging the rope over his head. Them girls seen him coming. They were big-eyed and looked shocked like surprised deer. Pounding that ole pony’s ribs with his rowels and making the rope sing, he charged them. They began to scream and run like hell for the far bank. But the water was over knee-deep and that impeded their speed like he’d figured.

  Bay hit that water, and he reached out with a hard toss of the reata. It went right over the gal’s head and he jerked the slack hard, so the loop was around her shoulders. Didn’t need to choke her to death. He dallied it around the big Mexican horn and turned Bay around. He glanced back as the gal set up fighting and screaming for her life. Too late now, gal. He’d done got her.

  At the bank, he went to reeling her in out of the crick. She was struggling hard against his efforts, trying to brace her feet. When she was close enough, he reached down and jerked her up over his legs. Time to vamoose. He held her kicking, squalling, wet form over his lap and looked around. The others were already hiding in the timber, he felt certain—no signs of any bucks coming to their rescue. He set spurs to Bay and left.


  Mighty fine package lying there soaking the wetness into his britches. He admired her shiny hard-looking butt and flailing shapely legs. He’d done good. He reined the hard-running Bay around some deadfall. He wanted lots of distance between him and her relatives by dark.

  Sun was down when he picked up his two pack mules loaded with supplies. She’d continued to fight him like a wildcat, so he’d tied her hands and feet. Kind of like breaking a horse, you needed to get their attention. After that, things went smoother. He was high up in the mountains toward the pass when he decided to rest a few hours.

  “We’re stopping here for a while,” he said to her. Didn’t matter if she understood him or not. She’d figure things out soon. Besides, the night’s air had begun to really get cool.

  He eased her down, and she stood bound up, unable to do anything else. He stepped off his horse, jerked off a blanket roll from behind his cantle, and undid the leather ties. With a whip of it, the blanket unfurled and he draped it over her. He stepped aside and dug out his root to piss.

  “That should keep you from freezing,” he said when he finished—shaking and putting it away.

  She never even nodded in the starlight.

  He ignored her and began loosening cinches. No way, this close to them red devils, he’d unload the animals. If necessary, he could mount and ride for it. That completed and the animals hitched good, he dug in his saddlebags and produced some jerky. When he walked over to her, he held up a piece. She drew her head back.

  “You’ll get hungry,” he promised her. Then he swept her up, blanket and all, and carried her to a grassy spot. There he set her on her butt, and then he re-covered her shoulders with the blanket. She never said a word.

  Seated cross-legged on the ground facing her, he chewed on the tough jerky. She had lots of pride. Head up, chin out. He could see her high cheekbones underneath the large eyes that were narrow in the corners, giving her even in the half-light a hard, determined look. Nice boobs. They were long, firm, and the nipples pointed at the emerging stars overhead. Like a ripe watermelon, all she needed was plugging to see how she tasted.

  He chuckled to himself over that. For the moment, he wanted to save that part of the honeymoon until he was in his own cabin. Besides, by then she’d know she belonged to him. Consenting sex always worked out better in the long run than raping her the first night. Dreamily, he thought about her in his arms—no way that nothing was going to ruin that night, he aimed to really enjoy it. Gave him a hard-on just sitting there and thinking about doing it.

  He listened to a distant wolf. When he looked over at her, he saw by the quick look of discovery on her face that she’d heard the wolf too. Good. Wolves were feared critters, and that would make her want to be with him rather than run away. Keep up that howling, ole boy. This he-devil has him a new bride and you’re going to drive her into his arms.

  He laughed out loud. It was going to be a fine winter. Him and her up there and snowed in. Wouldn’t be much to do save run some traps, bust firewood, and make love. The means for that was sitting less than four feet from him.

  In the predawn glow, he undid her ropes and gave her some clothing. She quickly dressed in the frosty air, and this time she accepted some jerky. The leather leggings were a little too big, but she tied them off around her slim waist and put on the beaded and fringed blouse that came to her knees. Then she carefully wiped off the soles of her feet with her hand and put on the moccasins.

  “You can ride belly-down or behind me,” he said, using his hands at the saddle to indicate where she could sit.

  She indicated in back of him.

  “Fine,” he said, and swung up. He reached down and she leaped when he lifted, so she slipped in place easily behind him. First time she had cooperated with him. He glanced back at her and nodded in approval. They still had a long ways to go. Two or three days hard pushing to reach his place.

  When he spurred Bay, the two honking pack mules came on. Her arms flew around him and she clung tight. Her reaction caused a small grin in the corners of his unshaven face. Be one fine honeymoon they’d soon be having—damn, he could hardy wait.

  Before noon, he crossed over the divide and saw no sign of pursuit from their lofty position. Stopped to stretch his legs and get his leather pants out of his crotch. She walked a short distance away to relieve herself. He looked over the wide expanse of treeless meadows that showed nothing but some scattered antelope and elk herds. When she came back, he caught her around the waist by surprise and swung her around.

  “They ain’t coming for you, darling, or they’d already been here,” he whispered in her ear, and then he set her down. “Better get to moving, girl. We’ve got lots more ground to cover.”

  She never answered him or nodded her head, simply waited dutifully for him to mount. Then he hoisted her up behind him and they went on.

  Day four, they were heading over the last pass. In the soft ground, he’d seen some days-old barefoot pony tracks that bothered him. What were Injuns doing in the Big Horns? Maybe a hunting party hoping to get a few fat elk before the animals rushed off the high country for the winter on the plains. Folks went to shooting at them, they got plumb cagey, best to get some of them before that happened. Still, as he looked at the snow-clad peaks above them, he knew that any Injuns in the Big Horns was bad news. They were all supposed to be on reservations over in South Dakota.

  Cast-off breeds and renegades spelled trouble. They were cutthroats and thieves. Those sneaky bastards were always up to no good. He’d keep that in mind.

  “We’re about there,” he said, facing the bright sunshine to check the time. Nightfall and he’d be jacking his old root in her till he wore out the hole. His laughter made him rock in the saddle as he rode.

  “Yes, sirree, gal, you’re going to become a real woman tonight.” He reached down and patted her leg encased in buckskin. “Mighty fine one, I bet. Yes, sirree, you’ll be mighty fine meat.”

  He reined Bay to the northwest. Trooper’s Crick wasn’t far across the high country. With his eyes half-squinted, he searched for any sign of them bucks. Nothing, not a dot even. He booted his horse on, jerking on the mule leads.

  “We’ll be home directly,” he said more to the animals than to her.

  At last, they were in the bowl between the timbered slopes in the long meadow that led to his place. The sound of the water rushing out of the small lake above his cabin sounded like sweet music. His heart began to pound with excitement.

  “There she is,” he announced, and set Bay into a lope. He was going to bust her cherry before the sun set. With his right hand, he reached down and patted her leg as she clung tight to him from behind.

  Bay snorted and shied sideways, about spilling them on the ground. But he caught the horn and they managed to stay on him. With a scowl at his horse, he reined him around. “What in the devil’s got into you?”

  The gal slipped to the ground and collected the mule leads, taking them toward the cabin while he fought with the upset pony. “What in hell’s name is wrong with you?”

  At last, he sent Bay toward the cabin in a hard run and passed the gal. There he dismounted, undid the girth, and took off the saddle, looking all around for the sight of anything that could be bothering his horse. Not a thing he could see. He would put hobbles on him. The mules would stay close.

  She arrived and hitched them mules to the rack. He went inside the cabin. Needed airing out, he decided. It smelled pretty musty, like old socks. Best thing, it was intact and all his things he left there looked to be in place. Satisfied, he went out and carried in the heavy panniers of supplies she had uncovered. She was busy folding the tarp covers and gathering the ropes. He noticed she was neat enough for a squaw. Learned real fast. He started a fire in the small cookstove and took two canvas buckets off the pegs.

  “I’ll go get us some water for coffee. Where that water comes off that lake is a waterfall. A shower, well, kinda cold, but nice.” When she did not answer him, he shook his head
in disgust. She must be deaf and dumb never to respond to nothing he said.

  He set out up the hill, looking back. He saw the mules were already grazing near Bay. When he turned around, he heard a thunderous roar. A great cinnamon-colored grizzly was bearing down on him like a freight train. That was what the horse had smelt. He began waving the buckets like a wild man and cussing like a sailor. Stop him first, then confuse him. His heart was pounding so hard it hurt his chest. Step by step, he moved backward, facing the slowing bruin and putting on his show.

  Ten feet from him, the bear raised up on his hind feet to let out a growl that froze his innards. He could see the yellow canine teeth, and slobbers flew from his mouth as ole grizz tossed his shaggy head from side to side. Something had him riled. Then he noticed the blood behind the grizzly’s left front leg and an arrow sticking out of him. What dumb jackass had tried to kill a grizzly with a damn bow and arrow?

  The horse prints. The barefoot ones. They were made by some stupid Indian boys out on a quest. By this time, the bear’s powerful musk filled his nose. A strong male smell saturated in urine and bear shit. No wonder Bay had shied when he smelled it. Despite the frantic pail waving and shouting, the bear still advanced. Grizzly’s roar deafened him as he continued to scream and frantically swing the pails. The cold realization that the bear was going to attack him ended when a sledgehammer blow from its paw struck the side of his head. Seconds later, he half-awoke on the ground, smelling the bad odors of the bear’s breath and the sound of crunching bones. It was his own skull…