by Tabor Evans
While he was doing that, she'd drawn the covers down and folded them neatly but swiftly less they windup spotted, as she delicately put it. There was something to be said for chambermaid experience when it came to making or unmaking beds.
There was something to be said for growing up Lakota when it came to doffing duds in broad-ass daylight, too. For Longarm was still fumbling with his shirt buttons after draping his gun belt over a bedpost when the tawny little gal dived across the mattress naked as a jay to roll face up with her chunky brown thighs apart as she asked him directly for some down-home tawitan. He knew that meant fuck.
He tended to learn the sassy words of any lingo first. Then she threw in some shocking gestures that made Longarm thankful for those lace curtains.
Summer sunlight lingered late at Wyoming's latitude, but he doubted anyone could see in through the wind-rippled cotton lace from across the way. So, not wanting them to hear her begging for it, down in the streets of Cheyenne, Longarm shucked his own duds to join her. It was easy, seeing she'd shoved a pillow under her firm brown rump to greet him with her legs flung wide as she could fling them.
He'd almost forgotten how swell that first thrust into a strange pussy felt, after all that purity around young Daisy and old Covina. So there was something to be said for staking out a hotel entrance Lakota style, as if he could have gotten out of it.
He knew what he was doing would have been a federal offense if she was still on the reservation, while turning down a Lakota gal who'd offered him some tawitan could take years off a rude gent's life.
The awsome rep Border Mex gals enjoyed for being dangerous to cross was largely due to the Indian blood and folkways so many of them denied. Ladies raised by Latin traditions were prone to be murderously jealous but practical about how far a gal could carry on with her man. But Indian women, while far less possessive when they'd been brought up Indian style, were too stubborn to call it a day whenever you did push one over the edge into wailing like a banshee and throwing anything they could lift.
So it was just as well the spunky little Sue only seemed out to count coup with her pussy and satisfy some natural curiosity about a man her nation found confusing because he tended to treat Indians firm but fair next to some others, red or white.
Once he had it all the way in and commenced to rub himself all over her, inside and out, the hot-and-bothered full-blood cried out, "Mitakuye oyasin! They were right about you! You feel so good all over and there is so much of you to feel!"
Longarm tried to assure himself his boss down Denver way might agree this was in the line of duty, seeing they needed her help as much as she seemed to need a good reaming. So he kept on reaming and didn't stop when she stiffened, bucked, and said she'd just climaxed. He growled he hadn't, and when she protested her crotch was getting cramped from gaping so wide, he rolled her on her belly with one of the pillows under her hips to raise her brown rump admirably.
She felt even tighter inside with her legs down together between Longarm's own as he straddled them to enter her from a whole new angle. He'd have never managed, had not her rear entrance been so slick with renewed desire and past satisfaction. Once he had most of it in his own desire renewed considerable and the inch or so left out in that position as her smooth sweat buttocks clasped them from either side.
They both wanted to make it last, and that position offered Longarm a much better overlook at the hotel entrance across the way. He wondered what that sassy walking gal down yonder in the Dolly Varden skirts would say if she knew what was going on up here behind these nigh transparent curtains. He wondered why he was picturing her in this very position with her frilly skirts thrown up over her blond ringlets. But the chambermaid he was screwing felt the effects of such dirty daydreaming and allowed he was surely a natural wonder.
He knew he could keep going indefinite if he humped her at an easy lope and let his mind wander some from her own sweet twitchings.
So he jawed with her as he long-donged her, and she seemed flattered he was willing to discuss the mission he was on with her.
When he asked if it made sense to her that inexperienced shemales could track down experienced riders of the Owlhoot Trail, the Lakota gal arched her spine to swallow more of him as she calmly replied, "Hear me. The blue-sleeved eagle chief your people called Custer had been riding the war path long. Very long. They say he won many good fights in that war between the blue sleeves and the gray sleeves. They say he won all the battles he ever fought with those who paint themselves, until that one last battle where the greasy grass grows beside the wooded waters."
He stopped deep inside her, holding back as her soft wet innards throbbed around his turgid shaft, and asked her what in thunder the Battle of Little Big Horn had to do with inexperienced young gals. He asked, "Are you saying them ferocious fighters Crazy Horse led at full gallop along Last Stand Ridge were inexperienced shemales?"
She began to corkscrew her firm brown rump enticingly as she said, "They might as well have been, as far as the eagle chief you called Custer cared. They say his Absaroka scouts told him there were many tipis, many, where my own nation had met with others at a place with plenty of water and good grazing. They say the blue sleeves had some of those medicine guns that piss bullets in a steady stream. But the eagle chief left them behind, along with the long knives that might have saved some of his men when the fighting got hand-to-hand at the end. They say he divided his own war party into three columns before he knew how many of us he was dealing with. They say the fight atop that ridge where he made his last stand lasted less than half an hour as you people count such times. I think he must have been a very good war leader who knew what he was doing when he led his blue sleeves to their last fight."
Longarm started to make an obvious objection to her odd line of reasoning. Then he followed her drift and started moving in time with her twisting as he declared, "You're saying an experienced veteran of many an almost one-sided victory could get in a whole lot of trouble because he was so used to winning he never considered how he might lose! Custer rode to disaster that sunny summer day because it just never occurred to him that enough Indians to override a cavalry column could ever be gathered in one place and mounted up all at once. He knew all about fighting Confederate Cavalry and traditional bands of Horse Indians, no offense. Just like many a rider of the Owlhoot Trail may know, or thinks he knows, how to bust the law and evade the usual consequences. Jailbirds hardly talk about anything but what the two of us are doing, or how to put one over on the law. But they consider womankind when discussing pleasure and mankind when discussing how to get away with most anything else."
She moaned she was coming. That made two of them, but Longarm was still able to mutter, "I figured right off they were overconfident enough to let a girl-child get the drop on them. But how could even an overconfident crook leave a trail for the sweet little thing to follow without help?"
Then they were too busy to talk for a spell as Longarm rolled her on her back to finish right with her firm breasts plastered to his naked heaving chest and her open lips panting puppy-like in his face, Horse Indian style, while he came in her all the way down to his curled-under toes and quickly bent them the other way as his calves commenced to cramp.
As he lay soaking in her, with some of his weight politely on his elbows, Sue smiled up at him and said, "They had some man helping them."
He kissed her, his way, and asked if there was any point to what she'd just said. The Lakota gal replied, "To scout those outlaws so some wasichuweya witko could shoot them while they were wondering how to fuck her. Don't you see how easy that would be?"
He started to object, nodded, and kissed her some more before he said, "I think somebody may have just pulled something like that on yours truly. Somebody who knew me on sight, just as I'd know him, went pussyfooting around until he knew I was in town and could make some educated guesses as to where I'd pass through rifle sights. If some less than heroic bounty hunter or professional informant
could track down a wanted desperado from a safe distance, then send for a pretty little thing to carry out the execution, a lot of pieces do fall into place. But to tell the truth, that theory leaves a whole new bunch of questions unanswered."
She switched her twat teasingly and asked what a theory was.
He said he was sorry he used big words when he was studying hard on a case and explained, "A theory is a line of educated guesses that might or might not add up to a proven fact. The jury is still out on Professor Darwin's theory about us evolving out of clams or something worse. The theory that there were Seven Golden Cities down New Mexico way has been proven false for certain."
She asked what the quests of Darwin or Coronado had to do with the case he was working on. Then she decided, "Never mind. I don't really want to know. I'm getting hot again. How do you feel about that?"
He said he had noticed a certain hardening in his attitude toward her. So they were going at it, slow and sensuous in the cooling draft from the open window beside them as they both knew without discussing it that they were really going to have to stop and rest a spell after this one.
It felt nice to just keep it hard enough to stay interesting in her as he reclined on one elbow, gazing out the window through the lace at the same time. The first stars were out and somebody had lit a streetlamp whilst they'd been too excited to pay attention.
That was something to study on. Even a familiar figure in a white hat and suit could slip in or out of a hotel entrance he was supposed to be watching in the time it would take to light a damned streetlamp.
He said so and she dreamily replied, "I don't care. I just want to keep doing this hunkesni, owihankeshni! Would it be better if I got on top?"
He sighed and said, "Nothing lasts forever and I dasn't let you get on top because I'm trying to keep one eye on that hotel entrance across the way."
She told him in that case to move faster, adding, "The Wasichu in ska may never come back. Or he may have already come back and you didn't see him."
Longarm growled, "I just said that. If he knows I'm still paid up at the Pilgrim he could be staked out, his ownself, anywhere on the premises! I ought to be whipped with snakes for carrying on this way whilst I'm supposed to be watching for Deacon Knox!"
Then he suddenly spotted a big blur of white moving along the far walk in the gathering dusk and paused in mid-stroke to declare, "If that ain't a paid-up member of the Ku Klux Klan after somebody else, it looks as if we guessed right about that son of a bitch scouting around town for this child in vain. Suppertime is clearly over, and he may figure I'm doing something like this, with somebody else, up in my vacated room across the way!"
She asked who else he had in mind. Then she wrapped her tawny legs around him and groaned, "I don't care. Finish what you have started with me! Don't tease me! Hi-yey! Hi-yey! Faster! Faster!"
He knew it would be faster to finish than to try to take it out, even had he wanted to. So he pounded her hard to glory and enjoyed it so much he almost passed out beside her when she suddenly went dishrag limp and let her arms and legs fall free from him.
He rolled off her instead, feeling light-headed as hell when he sat up to start dressing. When she blearily asked what he was doing he didn't answer. She murmured, "Onsika, you men are all the same. You would rather fight than fuck."
Then she'd dozed off again and Longarm was on his feet in his old army boots, strapping on his.44-40 as he smiled down wistfully at the voluptuous tawny curves he might never see again and murmured, "What can I say, Miss Sue? What can any man say at times such as these? When you're right you're right."
She called him something dirty in Lakota as he gently but firmly removed his Winchester from under the pillow her head was half dozing on. As he backed toward the door in the gloom, he could still make out the play of light through the fluttering curtains on her smooth warm skin.
As he eased out into the hall he muttered to himself, "There really must be something wrong with me. For this ain't the first time I've passed on a whole night of fine screwing in favor of one son of a bitching get-together with another asshole with a gun!"
CHAPTER 11
Longarm circled wide in the gathering dusk to enter the Pilgrim Hotel by way of its connections to the stable out back. He snicked his Winchester off Safe as he eased up the back stairs to the dark upper hallway. They hadn't lit the hall fixtures yet. But there was enough light from outside to see the pale match stem on the darker hall runner near the bottom of his hired room.
He didn't try to open the door. He eased on by and used a certain blade of his pocketknife to open the cheap lock of the room next door he'd hired for little Daisy.
He followed the muzzle of his Winchester inside, crouching low, to see her room was empty. He moved through the gloom to the bath shared by both rooms. Daisy had naturally left the door on her own side unbolted because the bolts were on the insides of both doors for the sake of private bathing.
He glided across the tile floor on the balls of his feet to find that Daisy, bless her, hadn't bothered to bolt the door leading on into his hired room. She'd offered right out to fuck him, thinking back on such free-and-easy bathing. The asshole-puckering part came next. There was no better way to manage. So Longarm set the Winchester on the floor tiles and drew his six-gun for close-quarters chores as he gingerly reached for the bolt with his left hand.
He took three deep breaths, held the last, and hunkered down to charge into the room beyond in a crouch, crabbing to one side as he snarled, "Drop your hardware and grab some ceiling you son of a bitch!"
There came no answer. The room was empty. Longarm put his six-gun away with a sheepish grin, muttering, "Shit, just as I was starting to enjoy myself!"
He moved back the way he'd just come, picking up his Winchester and leaving by way of Daisy's door. He didn't bother to lock her door with his pocketknife. The hotel's keys were where he'd left them to be found by the chambermaid. He wondered idly what that one looked like as he moved down the front stairs, this time wondering why a man who'd just shot his wad in one chambermaid cared what yet another one might look like.
As any experienced housefighter knows, sneaking up a flight of stairs is way safer than sneaking down one. Because when anyone might be laying for you up or down, your head popping suddenly into view offers a poorer target than almost all of you, pussyfooting down the stairs before your fool head can see where its going. So while the tall deputy and his Winchester tried to move quietly, they just went down the last flight of stairs in a sudden bunch, ready to return any fire aimed their way.
But as he got to the bottom, Longarm saw that nobody seemed at all interested in him. He could only make out some of the desk across the lobby and two ladies sitting at a dinky table under a potted paper palm between him and the front entrance.
So he circled the stairs he'd just come down to ease into darker shadows with his back against a solid wall. When nothing happened, he moved along the wall until, sure enough, on the far side of those descending stairs, he spotted the white-clad Deacon Knox seated sideways to him in a big leather easy chair, smoking a cheap-flash cigar as if he didn't have a care in the world.
Longarm swept the shadows all around with suspicious eyes. But if it was a trap, it was a new one on him. He slid along the wall until he could beeline in to gently but firmly shove the muzzle of his saddle gun between the top of the chair and the back brim of that big white planter's hat.
Deacon Knox stiffened as Longarm warned in a conversational tone, "One twitch of your dick and your head winds up in a side pocket. For this ain't a pool cue I'm holding against your brains, you two-faced tinhorn rascal!"
Deacon Knox sighed and kept looking straight ahead as he replied, "Use your own brains, Longarm. Would I be sitting here like a big-ass bird with both hands empty on the arms of this old chair if I meant you harm?"
Longarm left his rifle muzzle where it was as he asked, "How come you picked my lock and tossed my room upstairs, you harmless cocksu
cker?"
Deacon Knox soberly replied, "I never went up there to commit crimes against nature or yourself. I've been waiting here a spell. Knowing you'd been marked for death, I finally let myself into your quarters to pay my respects to your remains, read your mail, or whatever. I saw by the keys you'd left on the bed you meant to be leaving town tonight. I've been all over town trying to catch up with you and tell you not to do that. I finally came back here because it occurred to me that since you'd asked your office to wire you in care of this hotel, you might come back to check with yonder desk before you left."
Longarm withdrew his Winchester from the nape of the tinhorn's neck and moved around to face him with the rifle pointed a mite less rudely. He reached for a nearby bentwood chair, spun it around so he could sit it astride while facing the older man in the easy chair, Winchester across his spread thighs and.44-40 hanging handy, before he declared, "They told me about the con you pulled at Western Union. I'd like to read that wire you intercepted, now. Reach for it slow."
Deacon Knox smiled sheepishly and said, "I threw it away lest it be found on me. Your boss, Marshal Vail, wants you to meet with the county board of supervisors, convey his suspicions to the sheriff in command of the whole shebang, and head back to Denver unless you come across something really new. He says others have investigated other shootouts all over this great land without managing to indict even one of those Wyoming wildwomen."
Then he took a drag on his big cheap cigar and added, "What's a Wyoming wildwoman, old son?"
Longarm said, "I was hoping you'd be able to tell me. But let's talk about you. What the fuck have you been up to, Deacon?"
The tinhorn wistfully replied, "I wish I knew. I thought I knew until you bigger boys commenced to play too rough for this delicate child. You know me of old, Longarm. Did I throw down on you or try to get somebody else to gun you after you'd treated me so mean over Nebraska way?"
