Free Slocum 421 by Jake Logan

dripping with sugar syrup. “But come back, we’ll feed you.”
    Their mother shook her head, looking close to tears. “Slocum knows he’s always welcome here. He’s the man.”
    Then Jenny rushed off, and both boys dropped their chins. Vance finally said, “Don’t worry. It is always like that when you leave. We can comfort her after you ride on.”
    Â * * * 
    They worked horses all day after haying the steers. The cattle all looked good, and many were licking the hair on their sides, a sure sign to Slocum that they were gaining weight. The black horse was three and soon to be part of a matched team. The mare was two, and while she was more brown than black, they’d make a good farm team.
    â€œWhoever gelded him did it wrong,” Slocum told the boys. “It won’t ruin him, but he still thinks at times he’s a stallion. A summer of mowing hay will drain some of that out of him.”
    Tom agreed. “That’s real important how you castrate a horse, isn’t it?”
    â€œYes it is. How old was he when they cut him?”
    â€œThis past spring.”
    â€œThen he’d probably bred some mares, or tried to, before he was cut.”
    â€œSome old man did it before we bought him.”
    The gelding had his head high, and the strong wind flagged his wavy mane. His whinnying made his whole body shake.
    â€œKeep working with him. He’ll soon discover his balls are gone,” Slocum said in a teasing tone.
    Both boys laughed
    â€œGlad he didn’t get mine,” Vance said and laughed. Tom agreed.
    Â * * * 
    Next day they reshod his gray and the mule. It had warmed up, and most of the snow was gone except in the deep shady spots. A wonderful special final night in bed with the amorous body of Jenny, her long legs and fine boobs to kiss and taste, had closed the curtain down on Slocum’s visit. At dawn he rode off to the north, after kissing her hard and shaking her young men’s calloused hands. He could have stayed there for a long time.
    She’d whispered something she told him she’d read on the wanted poster—
He may be riding a tall gray horse.

7
    The Nebraska line was a visible scar he crossed over, marked by a crude sign using NEBR on the first line, ASKA on the second line. He knew where some trash hung out in the Platte River Brakes, but for now he wasn’t going there. A two-day ride or more was still ahead for him to get where he wanted to go, but the land was gently rolling grassy plains. This was Pawnee land, and he intended to stop at their large village.
    When he drew closer to the great half-underground lodge that they all lived in as one big community, he spoke to a woman going for water.
    â€œI am looking for Three Bear. Is he here?”
    She wrinkled her nose, then checked to be sure that no one was close. “He has a new wife. I think he is busy servicing her right now.”
    Slocum nodded and thanked her like that was the answer he’d expected. Some Indians were very frank in what they said—and there was a tinge of jealousy in her tone of voice. Before she’d gone ten steps, she called to him and waited until he had turned the gray toward her. “White man, my name is Swan Woman. I am a widow.”
    â€œMy name is Slocum. I have no wife.”
    She was wrapped tight in the trade blanket, and a sweet smile crossed her copper lips. “I will take you to Three Bear.” With that she hung her metal pail on his pack mule, and with the fringed bottom of her dress slapping her shapely calves above her moccasins, she hurried to be beside his horse. He dropped his arm down for her and swung her up behind the cantle. This wasn’t her first horse ride double, he decided, as she settled in place hugging him freely.
    â€œWhere did you come from?” she asked.
    â€œKansas.”
    She laughed. “Everyone comes from Kansas.”
    â€œI visited a