The Last Buffalo Hunt

by J. R. Roberts

  “I’ll come back when they’re finished,” he told the clerk.

  “Fine, thanks,” the clerk said.

  “Yeah, you better leave,” one of the men muttered as Crapface went outside.

  “Jesus,” Tim Santee said to his partner, Micah McCain. “That smell is still in here.”

  “Let’s get our supplies and get out of here,” McCain said.

  “I think we should finish here and then go outside and beat the snot outta that runt,” Santee said.

  “Why?” McCain asked.

  “I don’t know,” Santee said. “I just think I need to kick the shit outta somebody.”

  “We’d have to watch out for the buffalo shooter he’s carryin’,” McCain said.

  “He don’t have a chance against our handguns,” Santee said. “We just take it away from him.”

  The clerk reappeared with their supplies, set them down on the counter.

  “We all set on prices?” he asked them.

  “Yeah, but you’re gougin’ us,” Santee said.

  “’Cause you’re the only place in town,” McCain said.

  They kept complaining even as they handed over their money.

  “Let’s get this stuff on the packhorse and get to that little buffalo hunter,” Santee said.

  “Why don’t we wait for him to do his business and come out,” McCain said. “We can get the drop on him that way and get that rifle away from him.”

  “Good idea,” Santee said, filling his arms with supplies. “Let’s go.”

  THIRTEEN

  Crapface saw the two men come out, their arms loaded down with supplies, and go to their packhorse. His instinct was to get the drop on them and disarm them. Instead, he went into the tent.

  “You got a list?” the clerk asked.

  “No,” Crapface said, “but I know what I want. Can we talk price?”

  The clerk sniffed the air.

  “Why not? Faster we deal, the faster you leave. You really do smell, you know.”

  Crapface took a deep breath, then started telling the clerk what he needed.

  Crapface came out of the tent carrying the supplies in a burlap sack in one hand, and his rifle in the other.

  “Hold it right there, Smelly,” a voice said.

  Crapface stopped, realizing he should have followed his instincts. These guys were looking for trouble, and just happened to find him. Not his fault.

  Clint came out of the saloon, sorry that they weren’t staying in town overnight because he knew Penny was available to him. He started to follow her directions to where he figured Crapface was buying supplies, and that’s when he heard the shot. He knew the sound of a Big Fifty when he heard it.

  He broke into a run, saw the three men struggling in front of the tent. Crapface swung his Sharps and struck one man on the shoulder, knocking him aside. He continued to struggle with the second man. As Clint got closer, he saw the first man swing around with his gun out.

  “Don’t!” he shouted, drawing his gun.

  The man either ignored him or didn’t hear him. He pointed his gun at the two struggling men, and Clint fired. As his bullet struck the man in the chest, his gun discharged, still pointed at Crapface and the other man.

  The bullet hit one of them and the two men fell apart. Crapface staggered, tripped over his fallen rifle. The other man drew his gun, giving Clint no choice but to fire again.

  He ran to Crapface, saw that his friend was bleeding from a shoulder wound.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, crouching over him.

  “No, I ain’t okay!” the buffalo hunter snapped. “It hurts like hell!”

  Others came running, surrounded them and the other two fallen men.

  “They’re dead,” someone said.

  “Who killed them?” another asked.

  “That feller.”

  They turned and looked at Clint and Crapface.

  “It waren’t my fault!” Crapface said.

  FOURTEEN

  While the onlooker gaped at them, Clint shouted, “He needs a doctor!”

  Nobody said anything.

  “Is there a doctor in this damn town?” he yelled.

  “Um, yeah, we got one,” a man said. He was in his thirties, not wearing a gun or a hat. Looked like he had just come out from behind a store counter.

  “Help me.”

  The man hesitated, but Clint still had his gun in his hand, so the man stooped to help lift Crapface to his feet.

  “Oh, God,” he said, “what’s that stench?”

  “Take us to the doctor!” Clint snapped.

  The doctor was set up in a small tent. He took Crapface inside, then turned and put his hand on Clint’s chest.

  “No room, friend,” he said. “Wait out here.”

  Clint nodded. He took the time to reload his gun, and then holstered it. The man who had helped him carry Crapface over was still standing there.

  “I hear you don’t have a sheriff or a marshal in town,” Clint said.

  “No, sir,” the man said, “but that don’t mean we don’t got any law.”

  “Oh?”

  “We got the colonel.”

  “Is he the colonel who’s got someone collecting signatures?”

  “Yup. Colonel Samuel Hewitt Woods.”

  “Woods, as in…”

  “Woodsdale.”

  “I see.”

  “You killed those other two.”

  “I had no choice.”

  A young man came running up to them, carrying Crapface’s rifle.

  “I figured your friend would want this back,” he said, handing Clint the Sharps.

  “Thanks. Did you see what happened?”

  “Yeah,” the man said, “them other two jumped your friend as he came out of Daily’s.”

  “Daily’s?”

  “Yeah, that tent he was in was Daily’s Supplies.”

  “Okay,” Clint said, “I’m going to ask you to stay here with me.”

  “Why?” the young man asked.

  “Because he’s going to go and get your Colonel Woods and bring him here,” Clint said. He turned to the other man and said, “Go!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The man ran off and Clint turned to the younger man again.

  “How’d you come to see what happened?” Clint asked.

  “I was passin’ by, saw your friend walkin’ outta Daily’s, carryin’ a burlap bag and that Sharps rifle. Great-lookin’ gun!”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I saw them stop him. He pulled the trigger on his rifle, scared the shit outta them. That’s when they jumped him. He was doin’ pretty good for a while. I was impressed, him bein’ so small.”

  “Did it ever occur to you to help him?”

  “I don’t have no gun, mister.”

  “Right,” Clint said. “Okay, look, run back to Daily’s and find me that burlap bag, then come back here. I want you to tell your story to this Colonel Woods.”

  “Okay.”

  The kid ran off at the same moment the doctor stepped out of his tent. He was wiping his hands on a rag. He had a series of wrinkles on his face that Clint used to guess his age at about fifty.

  “How’s he doing?”

  “I got the bullet out,” the doctor said. “He’ll be okay. Can you get him to take a bath?”

  “For any reason other than the smell?” Clint asked.

  “It just might help ward off infection,” the sawbones said.

  “Okay, I’ll see to it that he does. Can he ride?”

  “Not for a few days,” the doc said. “You try and he’ll bleed out.”

  “Damn,” Clint said. “Is there anyplace to stay in town?”

  “Got a few tents with cots set up in them,” the doctor said, “and the new hotel.”

  “Hotel?”

  “One of the first buildings they put up,” the doctor said.

  “Think they have any rooms left?”

  “Plenty,” the man said. “It’s kind of exp
ensive.”

  “I’ll have to risk it.”

  “Give him some time to rest and then you can walk him over.”

  “That’s okay,” Clint said. “I’ve got to wait here for Colonel Woods.”

  “What for?”

  “I heard he’s the law—or the closest thing to it.”

  “He’s got a candidate he’s supporting for sheriff,” the doctor said.

  “Who would that be?”

  “John Cross.”

  “Haven’t met him.”

  “Well, now’s your chance,” the doctor said. “Here they come.”

  Clint turned, saw the man he’d sent to find the colonel walking toward him with two men.

  “What’s your name, Doc?”

  “Hammond.”

  “How much I owe you?”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  They shook hands and the doc went back into his tent.

  Clint turned to face the oncoming Colonel Woods and his choice for sheriff, John Cross.

  FIFTEEN

  “Colonel Woods?” Clint said as the men reached him.

  The older man—about sixty, with wavy gray hair—said, “That’s me. This is future Sheriff John Cross.”

  “Future?” Clint looked at Cross, tall, about forty-five, wore his gun as if he knew how to handle it. He had a jaw that looked like it had been carved out of granite.

  “It’s assured,” Woods said. “This feller here said you wanted to see us?”

  “Can I go?” the man asked.

  “Sure,” Clint said. “Thanks for your help.” He turned his attention to Woods and Cross. “There was a shooting over by Daily’s.”

  “I heard about that,” Cross said in his deep voice. His mouth barely moved when he spoke. “That was you?”

  “That was my friend, and then I came along and kind of saved his life.”

  “By killing a man?” Cross asked.

  “Two men.”

  “Oh, two men,” the future sheriff said. “You came to our town and killed two men?”

  “To save my friend.”

  “He’s in there?” Cross asked, indicating the doctor’s tent.

  “Yes.”

  “Go and talk to him, Cross,” Woods said, “I’ll continue to speak with Mr.…”

  “Adams.”

  “With Mr. Adams.”

  Cross studied Clint for a moment, then ducked inside the tent.

  “Adams?” Woods asked. “And your first name?”

  “Clint.”

  “Ah…” he said. “Now I understand.”

  “Do you?”

  “Perhaps not,” Woods said, “but it doesn’t matter. I think perhaps we could help each other, Mr. Adams.”

  “Oh? How?”

  “Well,” Woods said, “for one thing, I’ll keep you and your friend out of jail.”

  “You have a jail?”

  Woods smiled.

  “I was speaking metaphorically,” he said. “I can keep you from being detained. I can also make sure you are comfortable.”

  “The hotel?”

  Woods nodded.

  “Free,” he said.

  “And what do I need to do in return?”

  “We can discuss that,” Woods said, “over some dinner tonight.”

  “But now?”

  “For now,” Woods said, “I’ll call Cross off.”

  “It was self-defense, with witnesses,” Clint said.

  “Perhaps…”

  John Cross came out of the tent. Woods gave a slight shake of his head so that he would not speak in front of Clint.

  “What do you say, sir?” Woods asked. “Dinner?”

  “The wounded man can’t ride,” Cross said.

  “He’ll need a place to rest,” Woods said, and added, “someplace comfortable.”

  “All right,” Clint said. “We’ll need two rooms.”

  “Done. Someone will come for you at dinnertime.”

  “Fine.”

  “Cross,” Woods said to his future sheriff, “let’s go and talk.”

  The two men turned and walked away. Clint ducked into the doctor’s tent.

  SIXTEEN

  Clint walked Crapface over to the hotel, where two rooms were waiting for them. The clerk wrinkled his nose as he gave Clint two keys.

  “Wow,” Crapface said as Clint walked him into his room. “How did you get us these rooms?”

  “I don’t know,” Clint said. “I haven’t agreed to anything yet but dinner. Oh, and a bath.”

  “For you?”

  “For you.”

  “Why?”

  “The doctor says it will help ward off any infection.”

  Clint helped Crapface get his skins off, and then got him into a seated position on the bed.

  “Don’t get beneath the sheets yet,” he said. “Not until you’re clean.”

  “And when will that happen?”

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Now,” Clint said.

  He opened the door carefully, then swung it open. Two men entered, each holding two buckets of hot water.

  “What are they gonna do with that?” Crapface asked fearfully.

  “There’s a tub in every room,” Clint said. “They’re going to get it ready for you. Are you going to need help getting in?”

  “I can get into a tub by myself!” Crapface said.

  “Have you ever done it before?”

  “I’ve had baths before, Clint.”

  “In a tub?”

  “Well… in a lake, a waterhole… in a water tower once.”

  “But never in a real bathtub?”

  “Well… no.”

  “It’s not hard,” Clint said. “Just don’t get that bandage wet.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  The room door was open and two more men walked in carrying buckets.

  “Jesus,” Crapface said, “are they lookin’ ta drown me?”

  Clint went to his room to have a bath of his own. He didn’t hear any screaming from Crapface’s room, so he assumed his friend was doing okay in all that hot water.

  He was in the tub when there was a knock at the door. He sighed, grabbed the gun from the chair he’d set next to the tub, then padded nude to the door. Whoever it was deserved a little shock for interrupting his bath.

  “This better be good—” he said, then stopped short when he saw who was in the hall.

  “Well,” Penny said, “from where I stand, it looks pretty good.”

  She looked him up and down, smiling, obviously pleased with what she saw. She still had on the dress she’d been wearing in the saloon.

  Clint decided not to be shy.

  “And what brings you here?” he asked. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

  “I have a little time off,” she said. “Guess how I thought I’d spend it?”

  She moved close to him, reached between his legs, and gave him a stroke.

  He grabbed her in a wet embrace, pulled her into the room, and slammed the door.

  SEVENTEEN

  Clint undressed Penny very quickly, picked her up in his arms, and carried her to the tub. She screamed as he dropped her in, and then got in with her.

  She was not a big girl, and fit in the tub with him very well. Her body was tight, with small but solid breasts, taut, silky buttocks.

  He reached for her nipples, tweaked them until they were hard. Meanwhile, she took hold of his wet penis and pulled on it with one hand while sliding her other hand beneath his balls to fondle and tickle him.

  He pulled her close then, to kiss her, pinning his erection between them. She giggled against his mouth, rubbed her hairy public patch over his cock, moaning. He switched to her breasts, sucking the nipples into his mouth and then biting them. She may have had small breasts, but her distended nipples were long and sensitive.

  They kissed, and explored each other with their hands, until suddenly Penny moved away from him, turned, and stood. She braced both hands on the edge of th
e tub and lifted her butt to him. He knew what she wanted and he was more than willing—and ready—to give it to her.

  He got behind her, held his penis in his hand, and eased it into her from behind. Her hands tightened on the edge of the tub, and he took hold of her hips and started to take her in long, slow strokes. She moaned—it was almost a humming sound—as he took her, slowly at first, then faster until she was lunging back against him and they were splashing the floor with water.

  He ran his right hand up her back and let it rest on the nape of her neck. With his left hand he reached around and fondled her while he continued to fuck her. Eventually, her body began to tremble, her legs stiffened, and she cried out just as he exploded into her…

  When he dried himself off, he dressed in the same clothes. He had nothing else that was clean, wondered if he’d be able to buy some decent clothes here in Woodsdale. Even if he could, he didn’t have time before someone would come to take him to have dinner with Colonel Samuel Hewitt Woods.

  Penny lay on the bed, exhausted. The sheets were wet as she had flopped onto the bed right from the tub, watched him dry off and get dressed.

  “I thought you had a break and had to go back to work,” he said.

  “What can they do,” she replied, “fire me? I’ll go back soon. Or maybe I’ll just wait here for you to come back.”

  “It’s up to you.”

  He leaned over her, kissed the back of her damp neck, and then one of her dimples above her butt.

  “I’ll see you whenever,” he said.

  “Mmm,” she said.

  * * *

  He went across the hall to check on Crapface. When he knocked, the buffalo hunter yelled out, “It ain’t locked!”

  Clint entered. Crapface was lying on the bed, but not beneath the sheets. He was wearing soiled long johns and nothing else. And remarkably, he didn’t smell. The room did, though, because his skins were heaped in a corner, but Clint could tell the smell wasn’t coming from the man himself.

  “Amazing.”

  “What?” Crapface asked.

  “This is what you look like under all those skins?” Clint asked.

  Crapface looked down at himself.

  “What’s wrong with me?”

  “Nothing,” Clint said, “except that without the skins, you look about fifty pounds lighter.”

  “Maybe that’s why I wear ’em then,” Crapface said. “So I won’t get picked on.”