Free Slocum and the Three Fugitives by Jake Logan

devil’s rope—wasn’t necessary. Slocum thought some things were better left to nature.
    He crossed a decent-sized stream and used it to hide his tracks by letting his Appaloosa splash about in the water. Who might trail him when no one expected him here was something of a poser, but crossing the Deutsch brothers had shown him how dangerous life could become. Better not to give any of them even a hint that a stranger prowled their pa’s range.
    He had ridden a couple hundred yards when a song drifted down from higher in the hills. Cocking his head to one side, he heard distinct lyrics almost drowned out by the rush of the water. Whoever sang had a lovely voice. Avoiding the chanteuse appealed to his common sense, but he didn’t listen to his own advice. Something about the song drew him.
    The singing grew louder. From the lay of the land, he thought a large pond formed at the top of a small waterfall. Whoever sang splashed about in that pool. Letting his horse pick its own way up the slope, he entered a stand of aspens and approached from the side. Through the trees he saw occasional flashes of white skin. Bare skin. He dismounted and crept closer on foot, placing each step carefully to avoid making a sound. No Indian could have moved through the forest as silently as Slocum.
    Using a large lodgepole pine trunk as cover, he peered around to take in the pool. It stretched a good twenty yards across, larger than he’d expected. The waterfall was natural. The way rocks had dammed the flow to create this pond wasn’t.
    He darted back behind the tree when the song lifted into a rousing chorus. Slocum recognized it as a bawdy song favored by dance hall girls.
    The lyrics weren’t as he remembered them. These were even bawdier and more likely to be sung at a dive along the Barbary Coast in San Francisco. Even then more than a few sailors might blush.
    Rising from the water, naked as a jaybird, a woman tossed her glistening long blond hair back so that it fell almost to her behind. She squeezed out the water and partly turned until Slocum saw her silhouette. He caught his breath. Her breasts were small, firm, and the pink nipples taut from the cold water. Unaware anyone watched, she finished wringing out her long hair and began running her hands over her body. A bar of soap formed lather, which was quickly washed away every time she dipped down.
    Her arms and chest received a thorough scrubbing, but Slocum felt himself getting harder as she worked the soap down between her legs. The intimate parts were hidden by the rippling pond, but his imagination took him there to the damp blond patch.
    The bar of soap squirted from her hand and splashed into the pond. She bent over, giving Slocum a view of her behind. Fishing about, she successfully retrieved the soap and stood. The sunlight glistened on the droplets all over her back, her hair, her breasts. She turned and faced him. Slocum froze like a rabbit stalked by a coyote.
    She continued her song as she soaped her body some more. A final plunge and reemergence removed all traces of the lather. She worked a bit more on her long hair, then, still staring straight at him, she stopped singing and called, “You don’t have to hide in the forest, jerking off. Come on out so you can get a better look.”
    Slocum saw no reason to turn and run like a guilty Peeping Tom. He walked to a large rock beside the pond and perched on it, drinking in her beauty as he settled down.
    â€œNever thought I’d find a water nymph out in the mountains,” he said.
    â€œA nymph? My, a man who has read mythology. What drew you up to this sylvan pool? My singing? Did you think I was a Siren luring you to your doom?” She cut loose with another verse of the song until Slocum had to smile.
    â€œThat’s enough to draw cowboys from miles off. But are you luring us all to our death?”
    â€œDeath? Perhaps it’s pleasure I want to deliver to