Over the Andes to Hell (A Captain Gringo Western Book 8)

by Lou Cameron

  “Not with the other girls in our party. One has to draw the line somewhere. Perhaps I should explain about our mission, Dick. You seem to have the idea I was with a lot of dried-up old prudes.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Our temple doesn’t send out the usual lifelong missionaries. Every young man and woman of our sect is supposed to donate two years of his or her life to missionary work. After that, we return to the Great Salt Lake and resume our regular lives. The elders feel that youthful enthusiasm helps in doing good among the unbelievers.”

  He felt he was coming and muttered, “God knows you’ve got youthful enthusiasm, and you’re doing me a lot of good. Do you want to turn over and finish right?”

  “No, wait, I’m almost there and … Faster, Dick! I’m coming! Shove it all the way and let me feel you gushing in my bowels!”

  He sighed, “Glugh!” but closed his eyes and fired his weapon despite her unromantic reminder where it was. As he leaned against her, letting it subside in her contracting, pulsing rectum she sighed and murmured, “Oh, that felt naughty. Let me up. This damned hammock is a bother. Let’s do it right, on the ground.”

  “I think I can. Let me see if I can find something to wipe off on.”

  But she dropped to the ground at his feet, opened herself to him on her back, and said, “Don’t worry about that. Give it to me while I’m still hot.”

  He dropped to his hands and knees to mount her frontally, but observed, “Doesn’t it bother you that I’m sort of shitty?”

  She answered by wrapping her arms and legs around him and pulling him into her. So he guessed it didn’t. Her armpits smelled rank and gamy, too, and he could tell she hadn’t bathed since she’d been with the Jivaro. It was sort of disgusting and sort of exciting. In her own way, the pale American blonde was more earthy and primitive than either the Indians, or his mestizo companions, male and female. He knew she liked her sex hot and smelly, too, and the hard-packed dirt under her rollicking rump didn’t faze her a bit as she bounced to meet his thrusts, kissing him now for what he suddenly realized was the first time.

  The cannabis had affected his drive, and while he had no trouble keeping it up, it was starting to turn into work now. He found himself wishing this was the softer, sweeter little Diablilla. He knew that he could just tear it off and go to sleep with Diablilla. The memory of Diablilla’s totally different body seemed to inspire him and he laughed at his own contrariness as he felt the firmer, bigger blonde responding to his faster lovemaking. She moaned, “Oh, here it comes again!” and he lied, “Me too,” and faked an orgasm of his own as she stiffened and sobbed, “Enough! I can’t take any more tonight!”

  He stopped, withdrew, and helped her to her feet, asking, “Shall we return to the party?”

  She said, “You go. I have to lie down. That stuff we’ve been smoking has had a strange effect on me and all of a sudden I feel faint.”

  Then, without further discussion, Susan flopped into the hammock, rolled over, and started to snore.

  Bemused, Captain Gringo put his pants and boots back on, hitched his gun belt in place, and muttered, “There goes my last illusion. She snores like a man, too!”

  Then he laughed and went outside.

  The fire was still glowing in the center of the camp. He’d noticed it had gotten sort of quiet. The dancing had stopped, and dimly visible forms lay scattered about in the faint glow. Some of them were just dead to the world. Others were screwing casually around the fire. He spotted a naked Indian throwing the blocks to one of the adelitas from his guerrilla band, and though she didn’t seem to mind at all, Captain Gringo looked quickly around for her soldado. He was a guy named Jose and he was sort of big and wild-eyed most of the time. Then he saw there was apparently no problem. Jose was nearby, staring dreamy-eyed down at the Jivaro girl he’d mounted, closer to the fire. The girl was about twelve and seemed to be enjoying the joviality as much as Jose, so what the hell.

  But Captain Gringo hadn’t counted on his people rutting with the Indians and so he looked around for Gaston and Diablilla with renewed concern. He didn’t see Gaston. Diablilla lay where he’d left her, snoozing off her refreshments. As he hunkered down beside her, Diablilla rolled over on her back, looked blearily up at him, and said, “Oh, there you are. Where were you just now? I thought you had deserted me, but every time I try to get up my legs act funny.”

  He said, “I went to take a leak. We’d better find a hammock for you, kid. You can’t sleep out here on the ground. The fire will be dead in a while and you’ll catch a chill.”

  As he started to lift her, Diablilla sniffed and muttered, “Bastard. You have been vile. I can smell it. Who’s codfish shop have you been in to, eh?”

  “Yours,” he lied, adding, “Don’t you remember? You said you wanted to, before, so we did. I guess you were drunker than I thought.”

  He picked her up and started to carry her as far from Susan’s hut as he could manage. She snuggled in his arms and muttered dreamily, “You should have awakened me, querida. I don’t remember being vile tonight, and it’s not fair.” She sniffed again and said, “Oh, my, we were vile, weren’t we? I did not know I needed a bath that badly. My poor baby, I have made you smell like pussy all over.”

  He said, “Hey, I like the way pussy smells, remember? Here’s a hut we might be able to use for the night. It seems to be empty.”

  “Can we be vile some more, Dick?”

  He started to say no. Then he reconsidered. There was only one way she was going to buy his story, once she sobered up. He had to get her just as raunchy.

  He ducked inside and stood with her in his arms, trying to adjust his eyes to the gloom. He saw one of the hammocks was occupied by a couple who seemed to like each other a lot. He carried Diablilla to an empty one, lowered her into it, and removed his pants and boots again. He hung his gun belt over a crossbeam and climbed in with Diablilla. She was still half stoned, but she’d had the presence of mind to raise her skirts around her waist and, like Susan, she’d hooked a knee over each side rope. It seemed an instinctive reflex for any woman in a hammock.

  He lowered himself into her, surprised he still had an erection capable of entering anything that tight. Diablilla said, “Oh, that feels good, but I feel sort of dry for a girl who has just been vile, querido. How do you account for this?”

  He got it all the way in, luxuriating at the new feeling as he soothed. “It’s that stuff you smoked. My mouth feels dry, too. It feels better now, doesn’t it?”

  She moved her hips, intrigued by the advantage the ropes under her knees gave her, and said, “Ah, I am starting to feel wet for you, again, my toro. Are you sure you do not mind the way I smell tonight? I seem to be most fishy and … you did not do anything vile to my back door, did you? Madre de dios, we smell like farting herrings left too long in a warm place!”

  “Your warm place is fantastic. Do you want to talk about it all night or do you want to enjoy it?”

  She replied by offering her undivided concentration as well as her soft little body to his guilt-excited thrusts. And after she’d come, fast, he knew he was in the clear. For now. He’d worry about how Susan was going to come out of her own haze in the morning, when the morning got there.

  His own slaked lust, despite the novelty, made it take him much longer than usual. But, fortunately, Diablilla took this for inspired lovemaking as he drove her over the peak three times before he came anywhere near joining her. The constant stroking in her between-times throbbing afterglows drove the little Colombian crazy and she was letting the whole world know it. As she literally screamed she was coming, a dry voice from the other side of the hut observed, “Can’t you two keep it down a bit, Dick? This child with me speaks a little Spanish and she says her Jivaro boyfriend is inclined to be possessive.”

  “Gaston, is that you?”

  “Mais non, it is the Tsar of all the Russians. Fortunately, this nubile wench’s boyfriend was trés unconscious when last we observed him, but
you two are making enough noise to wake the dead.”

  Diablilla had shut up, embarrassed, the minute she heard Gaston’s voice. But she whispered, “We shall be quietly vile. But are you saying you are being vile with a Jivaro, Gaston?”

  “Of course she is a Jivaro. How many kinds of Indians does M’selle think there are around here? I told you we were being discreet, hein?”

  They weren’t being discreet enough. The Jivaro girl was tittering and carrying on as Gaston’s hammock creaked, groaned, and threatened to break free of its poles, or split, or both. It put a decided cramp in Captain Gringo’s own style. He was already having enough trouble keeping it up. It seemed to bother Diablilla, too. She’d stopped cooperating and, in a hammock, if you don’t get some cooperation you’re not going anywhere.

  He told the girl to hang in there and eased himself over the side to have a word or two in English with Gaston. As he approached the other swinging love nest and got a better view of its contents, he blinked and said, “Jesus H. Christ, I knew you were a dirty old man, but I didn’t know you liked boys!”

  Gaston was on his back with his Jivaro sex partner astride him, bouncing like a kid on a bed. Come to think of it, it was a kid on a bed. Gaston said, “Snide me no snide, my old and rare. I assure you I am enjoying a trés pleasant old-fashioned rutting with a female of the species, whatever her species may be.”

  “If that’s a girl, how come she has no tits?”

  “You Yankees and your constant preoccupation with secondary sex organs. I brought her in to screw her, not to milk her, hein?”

  “Oh, shit, Gaston, that’s a baby you’re banging! She can’t be nine years old!”

  “I do not ask ladies for birth certificates. If they are big enough, they are old enough, and, if you will observe more justly, I am not banging her. She is banging me, and most enthusiastically, might I add? Leave me to my small pleasures, my old and rare. I am almost there again and I am not an exhibitionist.”

  Captain Gringo stood .bemused and undecided as the little Jivaro girl grinned roguishly at him and bobbed up and down on Gaston’s old but massive tool. If this was child abuse, which it had to be under the law, the child didn’t seem to feel abused and there wasn’t any law for hundreds of miles.

  Curious despite himself, Captain Gringo marveled, “Jesus, is she really taking it all?” and Gaston closed his eyes and muttered, “Oui, and I am coming, so go away. You can have her later, Dick. I am not selfish, but let me finish with no further distractions, hein?”

  Captain Gringo went back over to his own hammock. Diablilla asked, “Is it as bad as I thought?” and he answered, “Worse,” but he didn’t go into it. He remained on his feet and took a smoke from the pocket of his pants hanging over the hammock rope. Then he realized he’d light things up if he struck a match and Diablilla had enough to worry about. So he passed up the smoke.

  There were some disgusting noises from across the hut and then it got silent for a time until Gaston sighed and said, “That was trés amusing. We can talk, now, Dick. My amorous amie seems to want to go out and play.”

  Captain Gringo moved over again and saw Gaston was alone in the hammock, grinning like a shit-eating dog. He said, “You ought to be shot. Like those other dirty old goats who hang around schoolyards with bags of candy.”

  “Merde alors, I told you she has a boyfriend, and he is bigger than me. Where did you think she picked up her Spanish? She’s been putting out for guests since she was six.”

  “Glugh. I didn’t think that was possible.”

  “Well, to get in a six-year-old, one must be hung a bit more modestly than you or even me. But who broke her in and with what is not our problem. She screws like a mink and I assure you she likes a well-hung hombre.”

  Gaston laughed and added, “It was rather droll, observing what seemed to be a little girl on a seesaw as I felt myself inside what was most obviously a woman of experience. Those contractions, ooh la la!”

  “Okay, forget that. I’ve got another girl for you.”

  “Really? I thought you and Diablilla were quite satisfied with your arrangement, but if you need any help with her…”

  “Shut up, I’m not talking about my adelita. I want you to get over to Susan Reynolds’ hut and make friends with her before Diablilla cuts us both up with a rusty knife.”

  “Sacre! You wish for me to attempt the seduction of a missionary?”

  “You’ll find it’s not as hard as it sounds. She just surprised hell out of me, and I want out. Go over and console her when she wakes up hungry. I think she’s a nymphomaniac, but she’s a nice uncomplicated lay and, uh, she likes variety.”

  Gaston laughed and said, “I thought I was finished for the evening, but your words of cheer inspire me to new heights. Are you sure she will accept a father figure, Dick?”

  “She’d probably screw her father if she could get at him. Don’t ask me what she wants, goddamnit. Get your horny ass over there and find out what she wants for yourself!”

  Gaston rolled out of the hammock, picked up his clothes and gun, then decided he’d save time by just carrying them as he crossed the clearing in the dark.

  Captain Gringo chuckled and went back to rejoin Diablilla. She was sound asleep. The combination of soft liquor and drugs, plus hard sex, had knocked her out for the night.

  He knew two in a hammock made for great screwing and lousy sleeping. So he climbed in another hammock, naked, and settled down to catch a few winks of his own. He felt he’d more than earned them.

  He was too keyed up to sleep. His body was tired, but his brain was racing with plans and other worries as he lay there, listening to the small night noises that could mean anything. He had to get his people out of here before they wore out their welcome with the unpredictable headhunters. He had to figure out how he intended to take on the private army of Dom Luis with his smaller band. He had to do wonders and eat cucumbers, too. He knew he was wasting brain cells planning tactics against objectives he’d never scouted. It made more sense to just go around the rubber baron’s empire. It made more sense, right now, to sleep, for Chrissake. He couldn’t shoot any bad guys or screw any more bad girls tonight. Everybody else around him seemed to have packed it in for the night.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Considering their reputation, the Jivaro seemed more interested in making love than war. So Captain Gringo decided they’d better keep it that way and haul ass before the unpredictable little headhunters changed their minds.

  As he led the guerrilla band through the jungle shadows he noticed Susan was walking close to Gaston. He and the Frenchman hadn’t taken time to compare notes, but he figured if the missionary gal hadn’t accepted Gaston’s advances they wouldn’t be acting so friendly right now. He didn’t have to ask if Gaston had made advances.

  Diablilla walked at his side, just ahead of the men packing the machine gun. He knew she’d come in handy if they encountered any more wild tribesmen. The old Jivaro chief had said there were no other Jivaro in the area, but he wouldn’t have that collection of shrunken heads if every other tribe had diplomatic relations with the Jivaro, and the way the slave raiders were stirring things up in the selva, a lot of tribes might not be where they were supposed to be these days.

  They crossed the small side stream Susan said her missionary party had been camped beside when they were jumped. There were no signs of her old campsite or missing companions, dead or alive. They’d crossed at another ford apparently. Or the ravenous jungle life had simply absorbed the pathetic remnants. People were always telling bullshit stories about finding skeletons in the jungle. But you seldom saw so much as a monkey bone, even though they had to be dying all around all the time. The calcium-starved red laterite soil sucked bones into it like ice melting in the constant moisture. Prowling ants and beetles took care of anything softer, fast. Paper, leather, cloth, or flesh just vanished. Metal rusted away in little more time. So the kids the flagelados had murdered hadn’t even left a stink to remember t
hem by.

  The rebel who’d led them over the mountains had no idea where they were, either, by this time. Captain Gringo had Nunez out on point anyway. This wasn’t just to spare the guide’s feelings. Somebody had to take the point. He had Pancho out on the left flank and Jose was scouting to the right. They had orders not to stray too far. He knew where he was going, sort of, thanks to the crude map the Jivaro had drawn for him in the dust back there. But the Indians were hazy on some details. So he only had a general idea where the infamous Dom Luis and, more important, his jungle runners might be hanging out. His own people had enough to worry about without running into an ambush. Most of them had seemed to think he was crazy when he’d outlined his plans to them before leaving the Jivaro. But when he’d said he was open to suggestions, not even Gaston had offered anything better than simply skipping the whole deal and trying to work around the rubber baron’s empire.

  But, aside from being cowardly, as he’d pointed out, bypassing the vast holdings of Dom Luis meant one hell of a detour and, in the end, might lead them from the frying pan to the fire. The Indians had said there were other Brazilian adventurers encroaching on Colombian territory now. Some seemed to be nicer guys, which would be easy, and others were said to be as bad, which took some doing. At least, as he’d explained, they knew what they faced if they bored on down the Putumayo drainage. A two-faced murdering son of a bitch, but a known quality. Why go out of the way to meet the devil you didn’t know when the shortest way led through the devil you did?

  They camped in the selva that night. He allowed small smudge fires to keep the bugs at bay and rousted everybody up well before dawn. It wasn’t easy for him, either. Diablilla had insisted on a lot of vile. He noticed Gaston was walking sort of funny, too. But the two girls just looked sort of like Mona Lisa as they rested their thighs by walking with them a lot closer together.

  He missed Jose during the noon break. Pancho and Quico suggested looking for him. But Captain Gringo swallowed the Jivaro smoked parrot he was trying to get down and vetoed the suggestion. He said, “We can’t stay here that long. He’ll either catch up or he won’t.”