Free Slocum #395 : Slocum and the Trail to Yellowstone (9781101553640) by Jake Logan Page A

he—your husband—he must have been drunk and fell down a flight of stairs. Couple freighters said you were his next of kin, ma’am. So I brought you all of his things we could find.”
    â€œ ‘Was he in a whorehouse?’ I asked that boy wearing the badge.” She laughed. “He blushed like he had been caught naked at an old maids’ gathering and swallowed his Adam’s apple a couple of times. Then he said, ‘Yes.’
    â€œShorty had twelve dollars left in one of his boots. Must have saved that back. I found it later. So I set into staying up here as long as I could. That was two years ago. Ain’t done bad. Guess being up here alone I got kinda lazy about bathing. Your coming’s been a good influence on me. I rejoined the human race.”
    â€œAmazing how you ever made it, girl.”
    â€œNaw, before this I was married to men that beat me about every night. I’ve been raped by worthless bastards where I did not even know their names and who left me for dead after they were through.
    â€œSee why I stay up here and did without?”
    He nodded and turned her to face him. He kissed her and she fell into his arms. At last he hugged her to his chest. “Let’s go to bed.”
    â€œDamn right. You know we may not get a chance to reconnect since we’ll have separate bedrolls on this search.”
    Hugging her shoulder, he laughed. “I bet we don’t have any problem getting away from Houston for some private time.”
    â€œNow you’re thinking. I’m plumb spoiled by your attention, you know that?”
    â€œI am too.”
    They undressed and climbed under the covers naked—in minutes they were coupling and fighting their way to some high reward. His piston was pounding her, and she was on the bottom, struggling to give back all she received for him—with all that she had.
    Â 
    Before dawn, they both woke up, hungover from their repeated acts of lovemaking, ate a cold breakfast, and then rode off in the first light to meet Houston.
    They arrived at his camp midmorning, and Houston rose up from his canvas chair looking ready to ride.
    â€œGlad to see you could make it,” he said, doffing his hat for Wilma. “My horse is saddled and I am packed. I’ll be ready in a few moments.”
    The stout roan mountain horse he rode was under a Western saddle, and a flop-eared jackass bore his packsaddle, bedroll, and other things. Leading the mule, Houston came back to camp in a lope. Wilma had already put his folding chair inside and fastened the ties on the canvas door of his tent.
    â€œFine, fine,” he said, and they headed out for Ten Sleep on a narrow way cut in the towering mountain’s sheer face. Houston led since he’d been over it recently and knew the best way to go better than Slocum.
    â€œYou ever been down this way?” Houston turned and asked Wilma.
    Grim faced, she shook her head. “And I may not come back on it either.”
    â€œAw, we’ll make it,” Slocum said over his shoulder.
    â€œYou know, I’m not really certain right now.”
    â€œYou’ll be fine,” he assured her and laughed. But in the tight spots he twisted around in the saddle to be certain her horse made the necessary steps to get by them. Up where eagles soared, they wound off the top toward a small silver stream that bisected the gorge. Still a long ways down there, and no rails to catch them on the right side. The rock face rising skyward on the left scuffed his boots in tight places.
    They rested on a wide ledge and Slocum dropped his reins, skirting his horse and Jennifer’s horse under the diamond hitch. He helped Wilma down, knowing with all the tension of the trip that her legs might not stand when she did climb off her horse. He’d seen others who were scared of heights after they’d had to ride down a cliff face. He held her in his arms as she tried to gain her sea