by Jake Logan
From his balls came a cannon blast that shot a fountain of cum inside her, and she collapsed on top of him. Her hot fluids ran down his scrotum as she gasped for breath.
“Oh, that was wonderful.”
The same observation was on the tip of his tongue, and all the time he was wondering if he had another charge that strong left to give to her. He’d have to wait and see.
3
On their way the next morning northwest of Fort Smith, Slocum stopped in the middle of the road to talk with an Indian couple in a wagon going to a powwow. The wrinklefaced old red man with his large, younger wife beside him on the spring seat answered his question.
“Yes, I saw two white men—riders early this morning on this road. They asked me about buying some whiskey.” He shook his head under the sweat-stained, once-gray felt hat with two trailing eagle feathers. “I tell them those gawdamn Parker’s deputies, they catch you with whiskey, they will fine you twenty dollars, and if you don’t have the money they will take your team of horses and wagon. Yes, it was no use, I bet those two dumb bastards went to Coal Springs to find Marty Stillwater, who sells it.”
Slocum looked over at Katy. “You ever been there?”
She nodded and then he thanked the old man.
“You two should come to the powwow tonight. We have big time stomping, huh?”
“I bet we would. But I have to catch those two killers.”
With a very understanding nod, the old man clucked to his two unmatched horses. “You two have a good day.”
Slocum booted Spook on northward. On her mare, which she called Dreamy, Katy easily kept up with him. He was grateful she rode so well. Fort Smith had proven to be a dead end. No one recalled the pair, nor did he find any leads. A guy he knew from the stage line, which was recently replaced by the Arkansas River Line Railroad out of Little Rock, thought the Hudson brothers had already left for Chouteau up on the Grand River. That was maybe a hundred miles north, but Slocum had a notion his information was good and they had kept a low profile in the river city before hauling their asses out to Chouteau.
“You getting tired of this redheaded girl tagging along?” Katy asked.
“No, I simply need to push harder to find them.”
“Oh, I understand that. I hoped I wasn’t an anchor. This is some honeymoon for me. I bet I never get another one this neat.”
“How long have you been pulling tricks?”
“You mean screwing men?”
He nodded.
“Not long. Maw sent me off to finishing school up at Carthage, Missouri, when I was fourteen for four years. They were real strict up there. I hated the place. I’d always been a tomboy and used to go swimming naked in Hawk Creek with the neighborhood boys. I was skinny, flat-chested and all that, and aside from not having a dick, I don’t think they considered me a girl. Besides, they’d’ve got their asses beat off if they’d even tried anything—every one of them feared my maw.
“I had an affair with a full-blood, and Maw caught me and him doing it and drove him off with a broom. Then she said. ‘Girl don’t you give it away. Men will pay good money for your ass.’ ”
She shrugged. “Besides, I liked doing it. Beats washing dishes, scrubbing floors.”
“How come she let you go off with me?”
She smiled and winked up at him. “Maw always knows a good deal when she sees one.”
“So that boy who sold me your saddle wasn’t in on it too?”
“Oh, he might have had his finger in me a time or two, way back. But no, just a few of them cowboys ever had enough money, or if they did, they didn’t have enough balls to screw me. I had lots of them liked to sit cross-legged on my bed, look at me naked across from them, and pay me a whole dollar for the experience.
“Maw said there was no rush about me hurrying into the business. I had several good money-making years ahead of me if I played my cards right. She really knows how to do this business. Why, she can reach down, circle their wiener with her finger, and not let them come till she’s good and ready. It was all the things she taught me.”
“You’re looking for a cat house to work in on this trip?”
“Hell no. I’m having the time of my life with you. How far is this Chouteau anyway?” She looked around at the rolling grass country.
“Maybe a three-day ride. That too far?”
She shook her head and with a toss said, “Let’s trot. It’s not far enough if you’re going to leave me stranded up there. But besides, I can stand three more nights in the sack with you.” From the mischievous smile on her face, he imagined her skinny freckled ass shining in the sunshine as she swung on a rope out over a swimming hole in some creek before letting go and busting the water.
They stopped for the night at a crossroad store. The owner’s Indian wife made them Indian tacos and stuffed them with ground pork. Lots of red pepper in the meat made beads of sweat pop out on Slocum’s forehead.
“Can we sleep in his hay loft?” Katy asked, washing her food down with a Mason jar of cool spring water.
Listening to the distant grumbling, Slocum knew a lateevening thunderstorm was building up over the hill. “He says that it’s fine, if you’ll go up and service him first.”
She forced an angry frown on her face. “Huh, you make a deal like that?”
“No, silly, I’m not about to let him touch you. But no candles or lights. He’s afraid that we might burn his barn down.”
“Good. I wasn’t afraid of him. It was his Indian wife, brandishing them kitchen knives around fixing our food. You didn’t notice?”
“No.” He’d noticed the woman had a good, willowy figure and she looked bored to death with her place in life. But he didn’t need her. Katy was more than enough for him.
Some distant thunder pealed across the land, threatening rain.
“We better go get inside.” She jumped up and went to gathering their things when the wind switched to the north and chilly breath blew on them. Big drops of rain felt cold soaking through his shirt to his shoulders. In minutes, he had all of their stock and stuff inside the barn, with the two big doors closed and latched. The storm shook everything that was loose. Katy pressed herself hard against him as large hail struck the cedar shingle roof like a load of rocks dumped upstairs.
He held her in his arms.
“I sure pray there ain’t no tornado out there tonight.”
“Fierce storms are usually over fast.”
“Yeah, like some of those young cowboys who are in such a hurry to get their tool in me, then puff, they go flat.” Her loud laughter over the notion pealed out against the crash of the forces and the pounding streaks of brilliant lightning. “I mean, they go flat right now and hell, you can’t get it back up either. ’Cause I’ve tried.”
An hour later it still rained hard with lots of thunder and strikes all around them. They wrapped up in two blankets in the hay mow. Scrambling on her back, she managed to shed her clothing. Naked, she was jacking his dick back to life. When he decided the storm was about to leave, he’d undressed for her. By then she was out of breath, worked up, and ready. He mused how it didn’t take much to get her ready either. He moved quickly to plug her gap with his hard erection and worked her rock-hard ass over. Attending to her energy and needs to satisfy her deepest desire was like riding a thrashing fish.
Another wave of rain swept in. Slocum heard something or someone trying to get into the barn, outside the door he had locked in place with a long two-by-four. His finger on her lips stopped her. Raised up, he could hear her breathing hard and feel her body trembling underneath him. But the swearing outside made him toss back the covers and put on his pants.
“Hold up,” he shouted. “I’m coming.”
Barefoot and with the six-gun in his fist, he climbed down off the loft ladder. He stepped cautiously on the straw-covered floor toward the doorway, ready for anything he might find behind the large wooden doors. Standing by the bar on the double doors in the darkness lighted by
a nearby lightning strike, he could hear two men demanding that he open the door at once, punctuated with threats of what they’d do to him if he didn’t hurry.
Slocum lifted the bar and the left door swung out, striking one of them and setting off another barrage of cussing. The slosh of the rain and wind made talking impossible. Slocum stepped back with his Colt in his fist. When the next close-by lightning strike’s blast of light revealed Slocum, the ready revolver, and his stance, both men threw up their hands.
“Who—who’re you?”
“Listen to me. The lady with me does not appreciate your swearing, nor do I. Now get your asses in here and shut up.”
The two men looked like half-drowned rats, but they pulled their horses inside to obey him. Slocum stuck the revolver in his waistband and shut the door when the wind swung it back. With the bar in place, he went back up the ladder in the dark to where Katy stood dressed and hugging her arms in the chill.
Again, lightning flashes through the small windows provided some blinks of light as he heard the men downstairs unsaddling their mounts.
“Ain’t no lantern in here?” one of them asked.
Slocum said, “No lamps in here. The owner figures that someone careless might burn his barn down.”
“Yeah, well, it would sure help me unsaddle,” one grumbled.
“You heard him. The man don’t want no fire in here.”
“Fuck the man—oh, sorry, ma’am,” he said to Katy in the darkness frequently lit by lightning flashes.
“He ain’t got no better way to talk,” the older man said. “We won’t be up cussing long, mister. We’re tired from being in the saddle all day.”
In the dark loft, Slocum scowled and shook his head at Katy in disgust. Should have left them out in the storm; they were nothing but scum.
Silently, he undressed again, then lay in his bedroll and listened to the drum of the rain on the cedar shingles overhead. None of the leaks dripped on them, and they cuddled in each other’s arms. Soon they went to sleep.
Slocum wasn’t sure when the cursing one pointed that pistol in his face and jerked Katy screaming out of his bedroll. Then things went black when the attacker struck him hard over the head with his gun barrel several times.
It was still dark out when he recovered enough to hold his aching head and stagger around. Katy’s mare and army saddle were gone. His spooky horse was still there, and so was his tack. Where in the hell did they take Katy? Those two sonsabitches were going to pay for this and pay dearly.
He saddled his gelding. Then checked the Winchester in the scabbard. They must not have seen it in the dark or they’d’ve stolen it too. His head hurt—but having the rifle was a good deal. Where had they taken her? Damn, she was not their piece of tail to take. He had a vision of her snakelike, lithe body and felt the rise behind his fly. Ordinarily he’d have been having a heated session of sex with her at this time in the early morning.
Which way had they gone? The rain had stopped so at least he had muddy tracks to follow—they were headed north.
He went into the store, which had a light on inside, and bought a stick of sausage and a loaf of bread to eat on the road.
“Where’s that little mink that you had last night?” the store man asked.
“Those sonsabitches that you sent up to the barn last night hit me over the head and kidnapped her.”
The storekeeper looked in disbelief at him and then he laughed. “You mean Bates and Yarby got’cher woman?”
“It ain’t funny.” Slocum scowled at him.
“I didn’t mean nothing, just funning you.”
“Who are they and where do they hang out?”
“Up by Claremore.”
Slocum narrowed his gaze at the man. “What do they do?”
“Bootleg and rob folks on the road. Parker has a hundred dollar reward on each of ’em.”
“What’s their given names?”
“Tom Bates, Gunner Yarby.”
“They damn sure robbed the wrong one this time.”
The store man agreed. “She was a mighty interesting little piece of ass to look at. I’d be mad as hell too if she’d been mine and they took her.”
Slocum nodded and started to leave the stupid man. “She was better than that.” The dumb bastard had no idea how much more than that she was. Slocum mounted Spook and stuck the sausage and bread in his saddlebags, then took off in the predawn up the muddy road, riding in a lope on the grassy shoulder.
Midday, he stopped a drummer in a van wagon on the rutted way and asked if he’d seen two men and a girl on a spotted horse. The man nodded. He half turned and indicated it was back about two or three miles.
“She looked like she’d been crying. They said she was a crybaby.”
“Thanks,” Slocum said, and swung Spook on the road. They’d think they were crybabies when he caught them. He pushed his horse harder and knew he was nearing a small town. Since this was Cherokee land, he knew there were no bars, only illegal liquor, but there was always some of that around. More than likely those two had stopped to find some shine. They had no more sense than that. So if they were around this place, they were looking for something to drink.
He circled the small town and thought he saw her piebald behind a chicken coop with some other bay ponies. He turned Spook onto the street and started in that direction. A block away, he found an Indian boy playing with a stick and hoop.
He dismounted and asked the boy if he would watch his horse for him for a while. He took a bill from his pocket, tore the dollar bill in half, and handed the boy half of it.
The wide-eyed boy quickly agreed, and Slocum hitched Spook close to the fence. “You watch him good for me.” He waved the other half at him.
With a firm nod, the boy said, “I will be here. So will he.”
With his rifle from the scabbard in his hands, he headed around the lot fence and planned to come in from the back side. Closer to Katy’s hipshot horse, he stopped in the post oaks and tried to see or hear what they were doing at the shack.
An Indian woman came out of the chicken coop with a jar. She looked both ways and then, concealing it against her body, ran for the house. Someone met her at the back door. A tall, black-headed Indian male looked around, then hustled her inside.
They were celebrating. He could hear them. Someone had a drum in there. Those other two were having fun, no doubt at Katy’s expense. He dried his hand on the side of his britches, then re-gripped the rifle and trigger. When he reached their horses, he loosened the cinches so they would fall off if they tried to leave.
He slipped outside to the slab-sided coop wall. The distance was a hundred feet to the back door, and that door opened outward. Not a door to kick in; he knew if it was latched, he’d never get inside. But if he could get it open, he’d get the drop on the yowling dancers in the house. Some were traditional Cherokee and some of the yells came from drunk white men. He could easily sort the two apart.
He was undiscovered in his run to get beside the back door, though there were few windows on this side of the small house. He tried the door and discovered that it was not locked. Ready to charge the room, he swung the door open and fired a shot into the ceiling. The gun smoke fogged the room. A woman’s screaming sounded so shrill it hurt his ears.
“Hands up. The house is surrounded by posse men. Come out here or die.”
The wide-eyed woman rushed out first, and he shoved her to the ground. The Indian man came next and obeyed Slocum’s orders. Then the short kidnapper, coughing hard, spilled out on his knees.
“You don’t want to die, get out here.”
“Who in fuck are you?” The other, very drunk kidnapper staggered out.
Slocum used the rifle butt on him and he fell on his knees, then went facedown. “Which one are you?” Slocum demanded of the short kidnapper.
“B-Bates.” He was shaking.
“Where is she?”
“In-inside. Don’t shoot me.”
“Get on
your belly and don’t move. Or I’ll send you to hell.”
“I will. I will.”
Slocum backed inside into the smoke-veiled room. He saw the crying, unclothed Katy tied on top of a bed. She looked like a naked schoolgirl and had been crying. With his jackknife, he cut her binds.
“You all right?” he asked.
She nodded, sitting up, then took the remains of rope off her legs and wrists. “I will be when I get my clothes on.”
“I need to watch them.”
“Go do that. I’ll be all right.”
“They have a bounty on them.” He headed for the back door.
“Good. I’d put a bounty on them too.”
Out the back door, he found both kidnappers seated on the ground. The Indian woman had run away screaming.
“I don’t need you,” he told the Indian man, whereupon the man jumped up and ran off too.
Katy was dressed in her pants and shirt when she came out, pulling on her boots and looking angry enough to castrate the pair with her bare hands. He found a clothesline to cut and used it to tie the two up.
“What’re you going to do with us?” Bates asked.
“Send you to Judge Parker. He’ll pay a hundred dollars apiece to get to hang you.”
“Huh?”
“You’ll see soon enough.”
“I’d do worse than that to both of you,” Katy added with her eyelids half open.
Slocum hugged her shoulder. “There’s a telegraph office at Chouteau. We can wire for one of them marshals to come get them.”
“Good.”
“Did they hurt you?”
“Yes.” But she didn’t elaborate, which suited Slocum.
“Here’s half a dollar bill. My horse is down the street, and the boy watching him earned this half.” He pointed out where Spook was at.
“I’ll get him.” She took off running.
He tightened the cinches and brought the kidnappers’ mounts around with hers. In minutes Katy came riding back on Spook. Unceremoniously, he loaded the prisoners on their own horses, with a loop around each one’s neck. Then he tied the end of the rope to the back of Katy’s army saddle.
