Wagons to Nowhere

by Orrin Russell

  ‘Well, what’d you come up with?’

  ‘Nelson’s wagon. And whatever’s in it.’

  Balum stretched out onto an elbow.

  ‘You said they needed to stop and fix something,’ said Joe. ‘And they needed light to see. This is the perfect excuse.’

  ‘Makes sense,’ said Balum. ‘It’s about to come in hard. It’s building over the mountains. We’re going to be here all day.’

  They lay in the back, surrounded by their supplies, listening to the rain assail the canvas. Balum fidgeted. He sat up with his legs crossed for a while and reclined again. He went through the canned goods and took inventory. He disassembled the Dragoon, cleaned it, reassembled and loaded it. Joe looked on, amused.

  ‘You’re bored as hell,’ he said.

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Darrow’s looking for you.’

  ‘Suzanne?’

  Joe laughed. ‘Suzanne’s always looking for you. This time it’s Jeb.’

  ‘What’s he want?’

  ‘Wants to share some whiskey with you.’

  ‘Whiskey? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?’

  ‘Thought I’d keep you out of trouble. But you’re going to drive me crazy with all that fidgeting.’

  Balum didn’t hesitate. He was out of the wagon and running through the mud to the Darrow wagon before Joe could close the flap. He reached Jeb’s wagon and climbed inside with no warning.

  Inside a cheer went up. Jeb, Suzanne, and Robert Venton sat smushed between chests and crates and furniture, each with a whiskey glass in hand.

  ‘There he is,’ cried Jeb. ‘Our hunter, returned!’

  ‘You were supposed to take me,’ Suzanne said, and slapped him on the arm.

  They were slightly drunk, all of them.

  ‘Pour the man a drink, Jeb,’ said Venton. ‘You’ll drink with us, right Balum?’

  ‘Like a horse brought to water.’

  ‘Just one thing,’ said Venton. ‘You can’t tell my wife I’ve been drinking. She’ll have a fit.’

  ‘Our secret,’ said Balum, and they raised their glasses.

  An unexpected drink is the finest drink. A surprise, well before nightfall, while the body and mind are still awake and fresh. The liquid flows more smoothly along the throat, and it did to Balum’s. The first, the second, and all that followed.

  It was a shared moment. A secret moment, there in the Darrow wagon; enveloped by the rain in their private world. It expanded the limits of conversation, allowing them to speak more freely.

  ‘What happened on the hunt today, Balum?’ said Jeb. ‘No luck?’

  ‘No hunting. I took a ride to get some air.’ His tongue was limber and he began to talk, for he was a man who liked conversation. He told them of the tracks, how he followed them, and what he discovered at the end. His interlocutors listened with wide eyes, leaning forward with their whiskey glasses.

  ‘Are they dangerous?’ asked Suzanne.

  ‘No,’ said Balum. ‘It’s a small party, looking for scraps left behind.’

  ‘Nelson won’t like it,’ said Venton.

  ‘Nelson is a fool.’

  ‘You don’t like him Balum. Why is that?’

  ‘The man has a reputation. And from what I’ve seen so far, he’s living up to it.’

  ‘Now what’s that mean? You’re on this expedition with us. You’ve paid in and uprooted. That says something.’

  Balum was drunk. He leaned forward, and they did as well, feeling that some secret was about to be told.

  ‘I’m not…’ Balum began, and caught himself. ‘You folks are grown up. You can come to your own conclusions. I’ll not talk about a man behind his back. I don’t like him. That much is known. You’re free to think of him as you wish. Now pass me that whiskey. Time for a top up.’

  They drank another glass, though none of them needed more. Night had drawn in and the wagon interior was dark. The rain had not subsided. Bursts of wind drove it in, flinging the water in all directions.

  ‘Last one for me boys,’ said Venton. ‘No hiding it from the missus. She’ll know I’m drunk. Just a matter of how much trouble I’m in.’

  He threw the drink back and climbed out of the wagon and into the rain. He stepped on Jeb’s leg on the way out, but the old man was passed out and beginning to snore.

  ‘Balum, all this whiskey is passing right through me,’ said Suzanne. ‘I need to step out for a moment. Won’t you accompany me? I’m terrified I’ll get lost in the dark.’

  24

  They crawled out the back of the wagon. The rain drenched them instantly. It soaked their clothes and ran in a thousand rivulets under their feet. A lightning show had begun, illuminating the world in brief flashes of silver light.

  Suzanne clutched Balum’s arm. They walked unsteadily, in part because the ground was a slick mat of mud, in part because they were blissfully drunk. They walked in short sections; stopping in darkness and continuing under bolts of lightning. Balum wrapped his arm around Suzanne’s waist to steady them both, and they walked with their wet bodies pressed against one another.

  He let her alone under a tree and waited with his back to her, watching the rain run from his hat brim in a steady waterfall.

  She stumbled back to him, slipping when she reached him. He caught her, feeling her heavy breasts on his arms.

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ she said. ‘You see? I would have been a mess out here by myself.’

  They returned to the caravan in the same stop-and-start manner as before. When they reached the wagon again she turned into his body, her breasts against his chest.

  ‘Thankyou Balum,’ she whispered. ‘Are you always such a gentleman?’

  His resolve left him. The long days on the trail, the constant sight of her cleavage pushed out from her chest, and the whiskey, all worked on him. He wrapped his arms around her and clutched her plump ass in his hands and squeezed.

  ‘No,’ he said, and kissed her.

  She opened her mouth, inviting his tongue to enter, and slid her own tongue over his. Her lips wrapped around his and kissed him, licking the rainwater from his mouth and replacing it with her warm saliva.

  He let her rear end go and grabbed the thin fabric of her dress where it wrapped tightly around her massive bosom. He ripped downward. She leaned back and let him tear it from her. They toppled out; two giant round breasts, pale under the rods of lightning. Balum took them in his hands and bent his face into them, squeezing them against his temples and inhaling in great gasps.

  The smell of her bare flesh intoxicated him beyond what the whiskey could. It drove his cock into a rigid pike, throbbing through his pants against Suzanne’s body.

  Her fingers found his belt buckle. They unlatched the gunbelt, which fell to the mud, and released the clasp that held his trousers. They fell away, and she took hold of the rigid cock and stroked it.

  They kissed again, and she massaged his member while their tongues slid over one another. Her dress continued to fall, weighed down by the rain. It slid down her torso and rested on two voluptuous hips of ample flesh. Balum’s hands ran over her body. They slid over the soft wet skin, slipping around her breasts and down her torso to her thick ass.

  He pulled his own shirt off, then helped her step the rest of the way out of her dress. She turned around and gripped the wagon edge with one hand. With the other she reached back and guided Balum’s cock into her moist vagina.

  His hands took her hips and pulled her to him. She leaned forward and arched her glistening ass into the air. He plunged his cock deep into her, smacking his thighs against the back of her’s.

  Lightning continued to flash. Thunder cracks loud enough to shake the ground beneath them accompanied each crooked tear of power cutting through the open sky. The black void around them would burst to light and return to endless darkness. It repeated itself, over and over; the covered wagons appearing out of nowhere, suddenly, surrounding the two naked bodies with their massive white canvas covers, then disappearing comple
tely from view.

  He pulled his cock from inside her and turned her around to face him. He wanted her soft lips on his. He wanted to bite her, to taste her in his mouth. She wrapped her hands around his head and pressed his face into her’s. Their soaking wet bodies pressed together; wet skin sliding over wet skin.

  She pulled away from him suddenly and leaned her back against the wagon. The flat wooden edge of the sideboard came to just above her shoulder blades. She rested her weight against it and stretched her two arms out against the length of the board.

  Her dripping body turned silver with a thundercrack. Her massive breasts stood firmly out from her chest, where water ran down past her bellybutton and between her legs. She spread her feet out waiting for him.

  He stepped toward her and bent down. He wrapped his large hands around the backs of her thighs and lifted her body completely from the ground. Her upper body was supported by the wagon edge, her hips suspended by Balum’s hands. Her legs bent at the knees, and dangled in the air against his legs.

  His shaft slid along her thighs, pressing into her wet crotch, searching in the dark for her waiting pussy. He lifted her higher, positioning her where he wanted her, and sunk his cock deep inside.

  Suzanne let her head fall backwards and closed her eyes. She felt him deep inside her, pumping into her and filling her with his manhood.

  He ground into her, rocking his hips between her thighs. Her breasts jiggled on her chest with each forward slam of his hips. Blackness, then light, repeated itself. It alternated with the sound of thunder and shone itself on them; two naked bodies in the throes of lust. He lost himself inside her. His head floated, and he shook it, mesmerized by the alternating bursts of light and darkness.

  The environment appeared and disappeared. Wagons appeared. Wagons vanished.

  Leigha appeared.

  Balum’s thrusting stopped. He held Suzanne’s thighs against him. His cock remained deep in her cunt.

  Lightning flashed again. It shone down upon Leigha. She stood not forty yards away, the broken rein of her chestnut quarter horse dangling from her hand. The animal had broken loose, spooked by the storm, and she had gone to fetch it. She was wet. Her hair stuck against her face in thick wet strands.

  The lightning subsided and darkness took its place once more.

  At the next crack she was gone.

  Balum pulled out of Suzanne. He set her feet gently to the ground. He stared into the darkness where Leigha had been. He waited, confused and drunk, his heart pounding out the seconds until the next bolt of lightning. When it came it presented a scene of inanimate wagons. He doubted for a moment if he had really seen her.

  Suzanne pushed off from the wagon board and put her hands to his waist. They snuck down his pelvis to his cock and stroked it in her hands, quickly bringing it back to its former hardness.

  She knelt her knees into the mud and guided his cock into her mouth. As shocked as he was by Leigha’s apparition, there was no escaping the immeasurable pleasure brought by Suzanne’s mouth. She sucked his cock, stroking it with her hand as she did so.

  When he was hard as an iron rod again she stood and leaned in close to his ear.

  ‘I’m so close, Balum. I want you back inside me. Slowly.’

  She turned her back to him again and pointed her ass into the air. He slid back into her and sunk his fingers into the soft flesh of her hips. He heard her moan above the noise of the wind and rain, and felt her body shudder as she orgasmed. Her pussy tightened around his cock and he closed his eyes and sunk it deep inside her hot cunt.

  He exploded inside her. He continued to pump her, each thrust sending more cum shooting from his cock. When he finished he stood unsteadily in the pouring rain.

  Suzanne gathered her clothing and wrapped the wet fabric around her. She pulled him to her and kissed him again.

  ‘I’ve been waiting a long time for that,’ she said. ‘Now hurry off, before anyone sees us.’

  25

  Leigha did not join the group for breakfast. Balum’s eyes searched her out but did not find her. He took his breakfast standing, as the ground was nothing more than mud. While he ate, Robert Venton’s wife approached him. He braced himself for a moment, expecting to be reprimanded for enabling her husband to imbibe.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘My husband said you saw Indians following us. Is that true?’

  Before Balum could finish his mouthful, Michael Stanton and his wife interjected.

  ‘What’s this about Indians?’ said Stanton.

  ‘Are we in danger?’ asked his wife.

  Balum held a hand up in a calming way. ‘There are a few Indians along our backtrail. They present no danger.’

  ‘Why would they be following us?’ asked Mrs. Venton.

  ‘For food. Scraps of food and whatever else we leave behind.’

  They nodded as if comprehending, but the worry on their faces betrayed how little they understood.

  The caravan continued north. The rain had cut through the heat and humidity. All that was left was the cold wind coming off the Rockies, colder than the days previous. The men and women opened their traveling chests and brought out heavy jackets, gloves, and long underwear. Any extra piece of clothing to offset the unexpected cold.

  Sitting still on top of the wagon allowed the cold wind to cut through them. Balum and Joe felt it, and they unpacked their winter wear just like everyone else. To keep himself warm, and to distract himself from the hangover, Balum unhitched his gun belt and cleaned the mud from it.

  ‘Didn’t I see you cleaning that same gun belt yesterday?’ said Joe.

  Balum grunted in response.

  ‘How’d you get it muddied up so soon?’

  When Balum ignored him Joe only laughed to himself. They rode on in silence for several hours. Balum could not stop staring at Leigha’s buckboard wagon. He wanted to believe his mind had played tricks on him last night, but he knew what he’d seen. Finally he could take it no more. He jumped to the ground and prepared the roan for a ride.

  It was a short ride, less than a hundred yards, and it took him directly to Leigha’s wagon. He rode up alongside her and removed his hat.

  ‘Go away,’ she snapped at him. ‘I don’t want to talk to you anymore.’

  ‘Leigha, I…’

  ‘I said I don’t want to talk to you!’ she shouted, and turned her head from him.

  He stopped the roan and watched her wagon roll away. His head hurt. His stomach growled uneasily and he felt weak. He turned away from the wagon train.

  He rode far, across streams and through woods, up hills and under open sky. He did not eat. He let his mind work on the role Cafferty had given him, and what his options were. He focused long and hard on the matter, more as a way to keep his mind off Leigha than anything else. He admitted at the end that no resolution could be had. No plan. His only choice was to ride along and wait for whatever happened.

  It did not set well with him.

  The caravan had neared its stopping point for the evening when Balum caught back up with them. The going had been slow all day. Runoff from last night’s rain flowed from the mountains, which kept the ground slick and muddy beneath them. The animal’s hooves churned the earth so completely that the wagons were forced to spread out in a wide swath to avoid bogging down in the sticky muck underfoot.

  Balum walked the roan through the deep brown mud, each step sucking and squishing the soil beneath it. He caught up with Joe and rode alongside.

  ‘Seems you’re all the talk again,’ said Joe.

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘Folks are saying you spotted a war party. Lot of nervous talk going on.’

  Balum shook his head. ‘Far from it. There’s a group of six or so. Half of them on foot. I reckon they’ve been following us for some time, picking up scraps from what we leave behind. Pretty ragged bunch I’d say.’

  ‘You listen to these folks and you’d think there was an army descending on us.’

  ‘I’ll c
lear it up.’

  They came to him that night during supper, all manner of men and women. The expedition numbered over two hundred, and it seemed to Balum nearly every one of them was scared as a cornered hen. Try as he might to calm their nerves, the stories grew too quickly. It was like wind blowing embers into a dry forest. The rumors grew and flamed faster than he could put them out.

  Finally, overwhelmed by the onslaught of fearful questions, he retired from the campfire and spread his blanket out of sight in the wagon bed. They could talk all they wanted, he thought. The fear would die down shortly.

  He was wrong. The fear only grew.

  He could feel it hanging in the air as he sipped his morning coffee between scowls from Leigha. She had a scowl for him, and one for Suzanne. He was alright with that. A scowl was better than being ignored.

  Focused as he was on Leigha’s antics, he did not notice Billy Gunter’s haranguing voice rousing the wagons around him. Not until he rode his black mustang directly into their circle.

  ‘Listen up,’ he shouted. His pinched face frowned at them as if they had wronged him in some way. ‘Nelson wants everyone up front. That means now.’

  He looked them over, daring them to challenge him. No one did. He hung around anyway, looking for a fight.

  ‘You,’ he said, singling out Joe. ‘Half-breed. You may be deaf and dumb, but you get your ass up to Nelson’s wagon anyway.’

  ‘Watch your mouth son,’ said Jeb. ‘That man is part of this expedition. He’s one of us.’

  ‘That’s a goddamned Indian is what he is,’ squealed Billy. ‘Far as we know, he’s in cahoots with that raiding party behind us.’

  ‘That’s foolish talk,’ said Jeb. The old man was riled. His disdain for Billy Gunter wasn’t something easily dissimulated.

  ‘Them’s Nelson’s words right there. You calling Nelson a fool?’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ said Jeb.

  ‘Get on up to the front wagon old man. That goes for all of you. Go on. Get moving.’