Free Slocum and the Hellfire Harem (9781101613382) by Jake Logan Page A

covered in a sheen of light sweat. She raised her head, kissed him once, and with a sigh, she slipped up and off him.
    â€œI’ll be leaving early, Ruth.”
    â€œI know,” she said as she slipped the nightgown over her head. “Good night, Mr. Slocum.”
    â€œRuth, my name’s John.”
    â€œI know . . . Mr. Slocum.” And then, with a faint scuffing sound, she was gone.
    For the second time that night, John Slocum lay back against his saddle and fell asleep, though this time he was smiling.

10
    As it always did, something about the predawn hour awakened Slocum. He lay still in the brisk, creeping cool. Shapes emerged—stall posts, a broken plow, the crushed bottom half of an old steamer trunk—around the edges of the little ramshackle barn.
    A sudden urge to leave, to put as many miles between himself and the traveling band of women, gripped him. He didn’t want to give any more thought than he already had to that bewitching Ruth. He only still half believed that she’d come to him in the night like that. No sir, he told himself, there will be no more dallying with her, nor even thinking about her. Because, John Slocum, he told himself, that will only lead to bad things for a wandering man—all those kids and a trip to California. Unless the old woman shot him on sight for messing with her daughter. He smiled at the thought.
    But he knew the women were the least of it. He felt a tremendous urgency to get back on Tunk’s trail. He’d already lost a day and he didn’t want to lose any more time. As it was, making up that time would be brutal, and Mueller was no slouch on the trail, from what Slocum knew of the foul man. He knew he’d done something heinous enough to warrant a tracker or several. Slocum still hoped he’d gotten an early enough jump on the man. He wanted him back in Arizona, any way he could.
    He rolled from his blankets and within minutes, because he’d kept the Appaloosa poled apart from the women’s four horses, he had the horse saddled. He cinched down his bedroll tight behind the cantle, double-knotting the thongs.
    As he rode on out, he swore he heard a slight sound behind him. He looked back toward the silent little house in the gray light of early morning, but saw nothing moving, heard nothing else. Must have been one of the other horses. He kicked off toward the cleft in the canyon behind the house, straight north. No more travel on that westerly road.
    He’d had good information that Tunk was bound to head north at some point, and since the women hadn’t seen him, and he wagered that their word was truthful in this regard, might as well try to cut his trail sooner than later. This would also be a decent spot to climb out of the valley’s north ridge he’d been paralleling for the past few days. Maybe he’d see something from up there. North it was.
    He breathed deep of the fresh morning air. It felt good to be back out on the trail. The women were an interesting diversion, and he wished them well, certainly, but he admitted relief at being free of them and their problems. He hoped they got to wherever it was they were headed, knowing full well they were better off to get anywhere away from the crazy Bible-thumping old man, Tinker, than to stay with him. And it was a sure bet Tinker had no way of getting to them. He’d just as likely sit at his farm and wave his Bible around and scream about the she-devils who’d robbed him of a future.
    Slocum knew that many people found great comfort in the Holy Bible, in following its teachings, but it wasn’t something he’d felt particularly drawn to. He regarded it as something he might need one day, when he was old and feeble, if he made it that long, and to that end, he figured it was providing him comfort enough in that respect. But he was in no rush to figure out the rest.
    As he rode on, he realized he didn’t feel the need for any