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

he understood and swung onto his horse. They were off.
    The desert beyond Ten Sleep was barren, obviously a much drier land than the Bighorns. Far across this sagebrush desert land lay Yellowstone, the country’s federal park and a sacred land to many natives. Still ten nights’ sleep away, Slocum had no plans to go see it again. He recalled that the land of steam blowouts, mud pots, and wild game was a great adventure to explore, but he wanted those two killers run down. Someone out in this wasteland would know where they were located.
    They found a large flock of sheep and spoke to the shepherd, a scruffy older white man who eyed both of them as if he was suspicious of their interest in him. Slocum understood his fears—sheep people fought lots of opposition from stockmen who claimed that the woolies ruined the range.
    â€œI’m looking for two killers,” Slocum said. “One wears a wolf skin cape, and they have a place out here somewhere.”
    He nodded like he understood. “They came by here a few days ago. I figured they were crazy too. Made me concerned about them killing me for what little I have.”
    â€œDeushay and Roberson are their names.” Slocum waited for the old man’s validation.
    â€œYes, I met them last year. Their place is somewhere south of here near Red Canyon. You ever been down there?” he asked.
    Slocum reined Red around and looked at Wilma. “You ever been there?”
    â€œNo.” She shook her head.
    â€œHead south.” The old man sliced the air with his right arm in that direction. “There’s some reddish shades to the rocks. You can’t miss them. I’d say they were living in that area.”
    â€œThanks. What can I do for you?”
    The old man scratched the shaggy gray hair over his ear. “I don’t need nothing. You two be careful. They ain’t nice people.”
    â€œThanks for your warning. We’ll be careful.”
    The two of them rode on with little conversation, looking at the ground a lot for signs of fresh tracks. Slocum never felt that they were following any certain trail or tracks. Late in the evening they found a small stream coming from the towering mountains. Wood fuel and even cow pies were both in short supply. He found a dead bush and dragged it in for Wilma to add to their short supply of fuel.
    â€œThanks,” she said. “We’ll have enough with that.”
    He agreed and dismounted. “We still aren’t in that red rock area that the old man talked about yet.”
    She nodded as he undid Red’s girth, unsaddled him, and turned him loose to join the other two. Grass was scarce in this land, but the three horses were finding some. Survivors were what he considered them. A fussy horse would never make it in places like this. He’d seen stable horses wilt away in such a cross-country ride. It required a real eager horse, one that wouldn’t turn his head away from the available forage, to survive the harsh deserts.
    â€œThink we’re going to find them?” She poured him some bubbling coffee into a tin cup.
    â€œI haven’t given up. Have you?”
    With a glance aside after putting her coffeepot back, she smiled at him. “Hell, I’d go chase boogers with you into never-never land.”
    He laughed and squatted beside her. “That’s what I call loyalty.”
    Feeling his hand on her shoulder to comfort her, she acknowledged his words, then she rose to use a hook to turn the Dutch oven lid, covered in hot ashes, to more evenly brown her biscuits. A whiff of the sweet sourdough smell attacked his nose when she raised the lid—it would be a great evening.
    Later, in the bedroll, he made hard love to her in the gathering coolness of the night. Then crickets set into a serenade for them as they fell asleep. He woke once under the bright stars, turned an ear to any odd sounds, and, satisfied, he went back to sleep till the