Slocum #422 by Jake Logan Page A

trickling from the barrel told him there wasn’t a chance in hell the pistol would fire. The repeated dips in the river had ruined the cartridges and possibly gummed up the firing mechanism. He slid it back into his holster and looked for other ways to fight.
    â€œDon’t leave me here. I can help you,” protested the woman. She scrambled up so there was no chance of falling over the cliff face into the river.
    Slocum picked up a discarded sledgehammer handle. It had broken and been cast away. He swung it a couple times. Its heft was gone with the steel head but the sharp point where the wood had splintered promised a spear thrust if he got close enough to use it that way.
    The dust cleared and four warriors drew rein twenty feet away. They whooped and hollered as they waved their rifles in the air. Slocum stood his ground, sledgehammer handle ready to swing. He couldn’t help looking down under the tracks to where Marlene huddled. A touch of admiration came. She hid but wasn’t frightened. Then the admiration faded when he realized she had no idea what they faced. A woman living in the lap of luxury had never confronted Indians who would kill her and lift her ­scalp—­or worse, take her prisoner. A pretty woman could be used for weeks before they killed her. Since this was a war party, however, Slocum doubted Marlene would be given even a week.
    They would use her, then kill her right away. That might be merciful. It was better she avoid it entirely, even if he had to die defending her. Given enough time, Mad Tom would report the bridge collapse and the S&P would send back a repair crew. The workers on the western side might have telegraphed the problem in both ­directions—­east and ­west—­already. If so, help might only be minutes away.
    Slocum had to make a decision right now.
    The youngest of the braves lowered his rifle and raked his moccasins along his pony’s flanks. The war chief let the youth attack to gain experience and honor in combat. Slocum denied him both.
    As the Apache galloped down, Slocum stepped sideways so the Indian had to reach across his body with his rifle, ruining his ability to fire accurately. Rather than using his wooden handle on the rider, Slocum swung it hard and connected with the horse’s left front leg. The horse stumbled from the blow and sent the Apache flying.
    Immediately pressing the fight, Slocum used the ­sharp-­tipped handle to stab the fallen rider. The broken splinter sank into the man’s right shoulder. Slocum leaned hard on it as the Apache writhed about. The agonized shriek brought the other three warriors galloping down on him. Twisting the handle, Slocum inflicted enough pain that the fallen Indian passed out.
    Scooping up the man’s rifle, Slocum got off three fast shots. All missed but they forced his attackers to veer away. He could have taken more accurate aim and shot one of the retreating Indians from horseback. Instead he went after the downed brave’s horse.
    The animal tried to rear, but Slocum had to get away from this spot. He pulled down the horse’s head, then vaulted onto the pony’s back. Giving the horse its head caused him to race away after the other three. As he thundered above her, Slocum waved for Marlene to stay low. She yelled something, but he raced past too fast to understand.
    When he got onto solid ground, he veered away from the others, using the dust cloud to mask his real direction. As he pounded along, he worried that the Apaches had spotted Marlene, too. If he led them away and they didn’t know she had been on the bridge, she had a good chance for survival. The S&P would have crews out right away to repair the bridge since it was their only route across the Colorado. The Union Pacific up north remained a transcontinental route, but other than this, the S&P had the only other one. Slocum had heard of others being built, but they all ran through New