Blackshot Sixshooter Collection

by Kurt Barker

  The chief's eyes narrowed as he observed Blackshot's eyes following the swaying of Moonbird's plump ass as it disappeared through the door of the tent. “You know the rules, right, Blackshot?” the old man snapped.

  “I know 'em.” Blackshot tipped his hat to the old man as he followed the girl out of the tent.

  The rules were in fact just one rule: Keep your hands off my daughter or you'll be sorry. In truth, Moonbird was not the chief's daughter, but the offspring of a distant cousin who the chief had adopted when that cousin had died. The chief did not object to potential male attention she might receive because he was overly protective of her, but because he felt that with her beauty and his position he stood a good chance of marrying her off to someone important (and hopefully rich), and he did not want a sullied reputation to diminish the odds.

  Moonbird led Blackshot to a teepee at the edge of the encampment and held open the flap for him to enter. “Sweet dreams,” she cooed as he passed her, and disappeared into the dark maze of tents. Blackshot found a bed of skins and a thick blanket spread out for him, and he undressed and made himself comfortable for the night.

  He had been asleep for about an hour when an unfamiliar sound drew him back to the waking world. The camp was now dark and quiet, and the soft rustling sound that had awoken him seemed quite close. It was the door of the teepee; it opened suddenly and a dark figure stole in. Blackshot's hand darted out for the butt of the revolver resting in the holster by his head.

  “Easy, cowboy,” said a smooth, feminine voice.

  “Moonbird?”

  She came closer and stood over him, her feet on either side of his waist. She was completely naked, and her long black hair hung loose and wild across her bare shoulders and touched the tops of her full brown breasts. Her hands ran down her tight, slender stomach to the wide curve of her hips.

  “Are you gonna shoot me with your great big gun?” she purred.

  Chapter 3

  Blackshot eased himself up onto his elbows. “You'd better find somebody else to play with,” he said. “I'm sure there are plenty of boys around the camp that would be glad to risk it.”

  Moonbird dropped down to her hands and knees, straddling him. “I've already played with the boys in the camp,” she pouted, the tips of her pendulous breasts grazing his stomach as they swayed with her movement. “They all bore me. I want to play with someone exciting like you.”

  “That's not a good idea.”

  “Oh, don't be such a bore! Why don't you want to play with me? Give me a good reason!” Her lips were close to his, her breath was hot against his face. The big plump tits were rubbing warm and firm against his chest.

  “Your daddy said he would skin me alive if I laid a finger on you,” Blackshot replied. “Does that seem like a good reason?”

  Moonbird shrugged. “No. Why should I care about that?” He could feel her small hand moving down the hard muscles of his abdomen and under the cover at his waist. She drew back the cover and his long, thick cock bulged free. Blackshot groaned as it went rigid in her hand. “Besides,” she said, “it looks like you really do want to play with me!”

  Blackshot had wanted to play with Moonbird from the moment he had laid eyes on her in the chief's tent, but had made up his mind to keep his distance. However, his body had a mind of its own, and overruled his reason. Blackshot swore under his breath; his weakness for women always seemed to get him in trouble. Still, if he was going to get skinned alive, this was the girl to make it worthwhile!

  Moonbird smiled as Blackshot ran his fingers through her lush hair and drew her lips to his to crush them in a powerful, fiery kiss. Her hand continued to caress his hard shaft, moving from the tip to the base with slow, purposeful strokes. Her other hand pressed to Blackshot's broad chest, and she pushed herself from his embrace.

  “Now it's my turn to kiss you,” she whispered.

  Moonbird's fingers slid down to cup Blackshot's balls in her hand. She parted her lips and let her tongue run languidly across the head of his cock, sending lurid shockwaves through his body. Her tongue continued its meandering journey across the length of his rod and down to his balls before returning to his head again.

  With her lips poised on the tip, Moonbird's head dropped forward and she took his girth into her mouth. Moonbird's sultry lips sucked hungrily as her head bobbed in a quick rhythm, taking him deeper into her. Blackshot groaned again as he felt her lips reach the base of his shaft, and the electrifying sensation as his head slid down her throat again and again.

  Blackshot could feel the fire rising in his belly with each undulation, and his hand sought Moonbird's hair, guiding her head downward and holding her lips against him as they drove him to his limit. His release exploded into her mouth in a rush, filling her up.

  Moonbird leaned back, gasping as cum spilled from her whitened lips across her chin and dripped onto her heaving breasts.

  “See, it's fun to play with me,” she said, licking her lips with an impish smile.

  Blackshot still held her hair in his hand, and he pulled her down onto the blanket and palmed her voluminous breasts. “I know a few good games of my own,” he hissed.

  He kneaded the luscious mounds with his strong fingers until he felt the tips harden against his palms. Then he brought one of the hard peaks to his lips, teasing it with his tongue until Moonbird let out an anguished moan. Blackshot held her body up against him, suckling one swollen tit and then the other, as Moonbird cried out in ecstasy.

  His hand moved down the hard ridges of her ribs and across the soft hollow of her stomach until it reached the tuft of black hair between her hips, already wet as his fingers explored it. Blackshot let a finger trail along Moonbird's mound, eliciting a whimper of delight. Then he pressed his long fingers into the wet warmth of her loins. Moonbird moaned and her body surged against his as his fingers did their work. Blackshot could feel her nails dig into his back, and her breathing turned to a ragged panting.

  “You're teasing me,” Moonbird gasped, her lust-filled eyes staring into Blackshot's from between the strands of raven hair that crisscrossed her face. “No more teasing. I want you now.”

  A passionate cry caught in her throat as she felt Blackshot's hard shaft press against her stomach. He took two big handfuls of her buxom ass cheeks and lifted her up against his chest, her hair cascading across his shoulders. The head of his cock parted the lips of her entrance, and then he brought her swiftly down, impaling her with his full length. Moonbird let out a breathless moan and her back arched as he ground her hips against his, stretching her with his girth.

  Blackshot pushed himself up onto his knees and pulled Moonbird down until she was lying on her side, her bulging breasts jumping and quivering against the ground as he rammed deep into her. He bent over her, lifting one of her legs over his shoulder so that he could drive harder and deeper into her.

  Moonbird's hands clenched the blanket beneath her and she buried her face in its thick folds as Blackshot pounded her pussy hard and fast. Sweat was glistening across her back and ass, and he felt the muscles of her thighs tense suddenly as an orgasm rushed through her.

  Now Blackshot gripped her hair and brought her to her hands and knees as he continued thrusting hard into her from behind. He could feel himself coming to the edge of control, and at the last moment he pulled his shaft from her wet sheath and lay it between her thick, soft ass cheeks. His hips bucked against her and he sent hot jets of cum shooting across her back and ass in long streaks.

  Moonbird crumpled to the ground and Blackshot collapsed beside her. They lay together like that for some time, their heavy breaths the only break in the silence. Moonbird gave a low murmuring moan as she arose to her feet and stretched her taut, wet body.

  “If I were you I'd be long gone by the time Papa wakes up in the morning,” she said as she sauntered out of the tent.

  Blackshot was long gone by the time the chief woke up in the morning. When the sun showed its ruddy face above the rim of the eastern h
ills, it found Blackshot riding into the sleepy little prairie town of Cable's Fork, miles from the Tonkawa camp.

  As he guided his roan into the long shadows that stretched from the line of clapboard buildings lining the dusty main street, Blackshot noticed that today Cable's Fork was anything but sleepy. Men were gathered in a group in front of the sheriff's office, some holding rifles and all with pistols at their sides. An expensively appointed coach with a team of white horses and a smartly dressed driver stood idly in front of the building next door, and a thin bespectacled man in a black suit stood beside it conversing with someone within the coach. The group of men in front of the sheriff's office turned as Blackshot rode past and fixed him with suspicious glares.

  “Hey, who the hell are you?!” one of the men shouted at him, stepping out into the street.

  “Who the hell's asking?” Blackshot replied.

  “Don't get funny with me!” the man snarled. “What's your business here, fella?” He was a stocky, red-faced man in a plaid shirt and a crumpled hat, and he brandished a shotgun in his big hands.

  He reached out to take hold on the bridle of Blackshot's horse, but the next instant Blackshot's boot was driving into the man's chest, sending him tumbling into the dirt. He swore as he jumped to his feet, bringing up the barrel of his shotgun, but stopped short at the sight of the black Colt in Blackshot's hand leveled at his chest. The other men poised anxiously but none of them made a move.

  “Take it easy, Mike!” snapped a voice from the back of the gathering. A short, sandy haired man pushed his way through the crowd to join the other man in the street. “Let's not lose our heads here.”

  “He might be one of 'em! Look, he's got a black hat!” the red-faced man spat.

  “A lot of folks got black hats, Mike! Those bastards are long gone! They ain't comin' back!” He turned and eyed Blackshot narrowly, his gaze moving from the calm gray eyes to the black Colt. The morning sun flashed briefly on a silver sheriff's badge held in the man's hand. “This fella's just some saddle bum passing through. He'll keep right on passing through if he don't want trouble.”

  “You folks really know how to make a man feel welcome in town, sheriff,” Blackshot said.

  “I ain't the sheriff,” the sandy haired man snapped. He strode to the door of the sheriff's office and threw it open. Just inside the door Blackshot could see the body of a man laid on the floor with a white sheet draped over it. Dark red blotches stained the sheet around the body's torso. “That's the sheriff!”

  Chapter 4

  “What happened?” Blackshot inquired.

  “We got more important things to do than to satisfy your curiosity, stranger!” the man shot back. “Now keep on riding and keep your nose out of other folk's business!”

  Blackshot tipped is hat to the men and spurred his horse to a leisurely trot. “And a good day to you, too,” he called as he left the gathering.

  He followed the street until it led him out from between the buildings and into the open range again. He had not gone far along the well worn trail before he could see a thin black line cutting across the green face of the prairie. It was the railroad, and Blackshot knew that if he followed its path North he would soon reach the city of Jacksonburg, a bustling rail town where the people would be more hospitable to strangers and a gun for hire like Blackshot could find work pretty easy.

  Having just turned his horse toward that goal, Blackshot caught the sound of thumping hooves growing louder behind him. He turned to see the gaudy coach approaching at a pace that told him it was not out for a ride in the country. As it came alongside him the velvet curtain over the window was drawn back and the bespectacled man thrust his head out.

  “Hey, you there!” he called. “Is your name Blackshot?”

  “Who's asking?” Blackshot replied.

  “Look here, get in the coach!” the man continued. “We've got important business to discuss.”

  “I'm not aware of us having any business,” Blackshot said, not easing his horse's pace. “Besides, I don't feel like riding in a coach just now.”

  “Stop a minute, will you?!” the man shouted. “This is no time for flippancy! We are dealing with an urgent situation!”

  “Maybe you are, but I'm not,” Blackshot answered.

  There was a muffled exclamation from inside the coach, and the bespectacled man was pulled back from the window. In his place appeared the round face of a bulky, bald-headed man.

  “Listen, Blackshot!” he barked, “I've got a problem on my hands and I'll pay you three times your regular fee if you can solve it for me!”

  Suddenly Blackshot realized that he did feel like riding in a coach after all.

  The interior of the coach was just as ostentatious at the exterior, and Blackshot sunk into the soft leather bench opposite the two men. The bald man held out a big hand with a gold ring encircling one of the thick fingers toward Blackshot. “My name's C. K. Donovan. You may have heard of me,” he said as Blackshot shook his hand. Blackshot had indeed heard of Donovan; railroad magnate, cattle baron and one of the wealthiest men in the West. “I'll lay it out plain for you, and I won't bore you with the superfluous details. I've got a large sum of money for payroll coming into Jacksonburg by rail tomorrow night, and I know that a certain party is going to try to steal it while it's in the Jacksonburg bank.”

  “What makes you think that?” Blackshot asked.

  “You saw all that back there in Cable's Fork? The dead sheriff and the rest?”

  “I saw it.”

  “Last night a gang of men robbed the Cable's Fork bank. They beat the back manager badly to force him to open the safe, and when the sheriff came out to stop them they gunned him down in the street. The men all wore black hats and dusters, and kept bandanas over their faces the whole time.”

  “So there's no idea who they are?”

  “That's the size of it,” Donovan affirmed. “They even communicated with the bank manager using hand gestures so that their voices couldn't be identified.”

  “Pretty slick operation,” Blackshot conceded.

  “More so than you think. This is the fourth bank the gang has hit within the last fortnight; all of them in the little towns around Jacksonburg.”

  “So you think these robberies are just practice for a bigger job; hitting the bank in Jacksonburg when the payroll money is there.”

  “That's exactly what I think!” Donovan said, pounding his round first on his knee emphatically. “These lazy hoodlums plan to steal the money that I've worked for, and it'll be a cold day in hell before I let that happen! I know your reputation, Blackshot, and I need a man like you to handle this!”

  At this point the bespectacled man spoke up: “I should point out that the sheriff of Jacksonburg and the manager of the bank have already been alerted to the possible dangers, and are taking extra precautions. In addition, a government special agent is arriving on an earlier train to oversee the operation, so matters all already well in hand-”

  “Bullshit!” Donovan roared. “I didn't get where I am today by being a fool! I'm a good judge of people, Blackshot, and I wouldn't give you ten cents for the whole lot of them. That's why I want you there. You'll know what needs to be done and how to do it. Well, what do you say?”

  “Consider it done,” Blackshot replied.

  Jacksonburg had been a quiet little town that the coming of the railroad had transformed into a loud little town with the trappings of a city seemingly glued on wherever they would fit. Even though the sun had not yet fallen when Blackshot entered the busy main street, a sustained roar of mixed voices emanated from the saloon, a large sprawling clapboard structure attached to the side of the little room that had been the pre-railroad saloon. A tall new boarding house wedged between two old storefronts cast a long shadow across the wide dusty street, and once he was far enough from the din of the saloon, Blackshot could hear the lowing of cattle from large pens behind the rail station.

  He stopped at the sheriff's office and was told
by the deputy, a freckle faced boy not older than fifteen or sixteen, that the sheriff was already at the bank meeting with the special agent from the government.

  Blackshot found the bank at the corner of the main street. It had also clearly undergone a transformation; the humble square frame of the original bank had been graced with a second story and a wing that doubled the building's width.

  When Blackshot opened the front door of the bank, he was greeted by a confusion of angry voices. The voices died to silence immediately as he stepped inside, and all eyes were turned toward him. In the center of the room stood a tall, broad-shouldered man with a ruddy, weathered face and a drooping black mustache. As he turned to face Blackshot, his dark squinting eyes glowering from beneath bushy brows, the badge of a sheriff could be seen on his shirtfront.

  Behind him stood a stocky, middle-aged man with wisps of hair combed across his bald forehead and mutton chop sideburns on his flushed cheeks. He wore a black suit with a gold watch chain hanging from his vest pocket; his hands were on his hips and the angry expression on his face did not lessen at the sight of Blackshot. Four other men stood about him; burly, tough-looking sorts with pistols on their hips and rifles in hand.

  “Good day to you,” Blackshot said, tipping is hat. “I'm Tom Blackshot. I was hired by-”

  “We know who you are!” the sheriff snarled. “We don't need some gun for hire playing lawman in this business, thank you very much! We're dealing with enough interlopers already!”

  “Go back to Mr. Donovan and tell him that there is no reason to make hasty decisions!” the balding man chimed in in a whining, nasal voice, “We have doubled the guard on duty as you can see, and as manager of this bank I won't allow-”

  Blackshot laughed suddenly, silencing the other men. “I can see why Donovan was nervous now!” he smiled. “I came here to see you boys as a courtesy, not to ask permission. I've got a job to do and if you aren't going to work with me, then you'd best stay out of my way until my job is done.” He tipped his hat again and turned to the door. “Now I'll bid you good day once again and let you get back to your squabbling.”