by Jake Logan
Slocum rode it around and around the corral at a walk. He turned it this way and that. He stopped it, and then he made it go again. He talked to it as he did these things. Finally, he rode to the fence where Patterson stood waiting and watching. He patted the horse on the neck and looked down at Patterson.
“You did say you just wanted temporary work, didn’t you?” Patterson asked him.
“That’s right.”
“You’ll do,” said Patterson.
Slocum unsaddled the roan and turned it loose. Then he followed Patterson to the bunkhouse. Patterson showed him where to stow his gear and where he would sleep.
“Work at your own pace,” he said. “I’ll pay you for each horse you break, not by your time.”
“All right,” Slocum said, “but I won’t be lazy.”
He was thinking about the trail he was following, and he knew that the more time he took with the horses, the farther ahead his prey would get. He couldn’t allow the man to get too far away from him. He stashed his gear and walked back to the corral. Now and then, cowhands stopped by the corral to watch him and cheer him on. Occasionally, he caught a glimpse of Patterson watching, but mostly the old man was off doing something else. No one cowhand stood around for too long at a time. It seemed to be a pretty smooth-running outfit. Everyone knew his job and stayed busy with it.
Slocum rode down three more horses before he was called to lunch. The cook was good too, and Slocum really enjoyed his meal. He ate all he could hold, recalling all those long and hungry days on the trail. In a way, he was glad to have that other thing nagging at him, for if he had nothing else to do, he might hate to think of having to give up this job. Actually, he wouldn’t have wanted to keep this job for long. He was really thinking of an ordinary cowhand’s job. Busting broncs was rough work. He was already feeling sore. Well, he would just have to live with it for a while, till he could line his pockets some.
When lunch was over, he was back at the corral again. He tackled four more of the brutes that afternoon, and again, he only quit when he was called to dinner. He thought the lunch had been good, but the dinner was even better, and he was beginning to get acquainted with some of the hands. They seemed like a pretty nice bunch of boys, and Slocum had noticed that old Patterson ate in the cookhouse with the crew. He wondered if the old man was a bachelor or just a hell of a democrat.
When dinner was over, Slocum headed for the bunkhouse. A young cowboy called Saddler stepped alongside him. “You’re doing a heck of a job out there, Mr. Slocum,” he said.
“You can drop the mister,” Slocum said, “and thanks.”
“I never seen anyone ride like that.”
“It comes with practice,” Slocum said. “You worked here long?”
“A few months.”
“I guess old Patterson is a bachelor, huh?”
“Well, he’s a widower, I guess you call it,” Saddler said.
“He live alone in that big ranch house?”
“He’s got a niece living there with him. His sister’s daughter, I think.”
“How come he eats with the crew? Or how come she don’t?”
“Oh? I get it. He don’t usually eat with us like that. Beverly, that’s his niece, she’s off visiting somewhere just now. Ordinarily, they eat together in the big house.”
“I see,” Slocum said.
“What you planning on doing for the rest of the evening, Mr.—uh, Slocum?”
“I’m hitting the hay early,” Slocum said. “Those damn broncs have got me plumb sore all over.”
2
It had all started some time earlier when Slocum had been riding a trail in northern Colorado. He had just come from a job with some small ranchers who were bucking the system of the big ranchers and their political cronies, and he was not feeling real great. While he couldn’t say that he had been on the winning side, neither could he say that they had won. Somehow, after some people had been killed on both sides, the small ranchers managed to keep their spreads, but none of the big boys ever got prosecuted. It stunk as far as Slocum was concerned.
He was riding the trail south, and he came across a scene that churned his guts. A small gang of cowhands had a man on horseback, hands tied behind his back, sitting under a big oak tree with a noose around his neck. It sure as hell looked like Judge Lynch was at work, and coming from the kind of scene he had just been through, Slocum did not like it a bit. It made him think of the big ranchers he had been working against. His first impulse was to ride down among the cowhands and challenge them, but he decided that would be foolish. They outnumbered him. Likely, he’d get himself shot dead or maybe even beaten senseless, only to share the same fate as their intended victim.
The trail Slocum was riding was up on a high hill, and it was cluttered with boulders on either side. The hanging was taking place down below in a valley. Slocum had a sudden thought. He dismounted and, taking his Winchester, moved behind one of the big boulders. He cranked a shell into the chamber and took aim across the top of the boulder. It would not be an impossible shot. Carefully, he sighted in on the rope just where it lay over the branch of the tree. He had made more difficult shots. One of the men in the gang below raised a quirt, and Slocum squeezed the trigger.
The horse neighed and jumped forward. The man in the saddle leaned back, and the rope snapped. Horse and rider ran ahead at full speed. The gang of would-be hangmen looked around in panic. Each of them pulled a gun. Slocum fired a second shot into their midst, and they scattered. He watched and waited till he was sure that they had all gone in another direction; then he mounted up and rode after the man with the noose around his neck.
It took some hard riding, but Slocum managed to catch up with and stop the runaway horse. Amazingly, the man was still in the saddle, his hands still tied behind his back and the noose still around his neck. Slocum reached over to untie the man’s hands. His hands free, the man pulled the noose from around his neck and tossed it aside. “You came along just in time, friend,” he said. “Was it you that cut that rope?”
“It was my shot,” Slocum said.
The man stuck out his right hand, and for the first time, Slocum took note of the man’s appearance, all black clothes and shoulder-length hair. A handlebar mustache under his nose. Slocum took the hand and squeezed it.
“I’m Joe Cash,” the man said. “You’ve just made a friend.”
“John Slocum.”
“Say, Slocum, how come you did that anyway? We don’t know each other, do we?”
“Far as I know,” Slocum said, “I’ve never seen you before today. I just didn’t like what I saw back there. That bunch looked like a lynch mob to me.”
“That’s just what the bastards were,” Cash said. “They accused me of rustling. They never caught me with their cows and never tried to take me to the sheriff. Just decided to hang me.”
“I know their kind,” Slocum said. “Where you headed, Cash?”
“I wasn’t headed anywhere till those bastards decided to hang me. Now I guess I better move along.”
“I’m riding south,” Slocum said.
“South sounds good to me.”
They rode together after that. The trail led to one small town after another, and they stopped at each one to spend a night or two, get some good meals and maybe a whore each for a night. Then they rode on. They had no destination in mind other than the general direction “south.” Then they stopped at a place called Hell Town. It didn’t look like much, but it did have a saloon. They tied their horses just outside its front door and went inside. At the bar, they ordered themselves drinks. While the barkeep was setting up the drinks, Cash said to Slocum, “I don’t know about you, ole pard, but I’m getting tired of dusting my britches on that trail. I think we ought to look for a place to set a spell.”
“Find a job?” Slocum said.
“That sounds reasonable. Don’t you think?”
“Well, if we don’t do something like that,” Slocum said, “I’m going to be
plumb broke real soon.”
Cash put some coins on the counter to pay for the drinks. Over at a nearby table, a man stood up. He looked to be in his forties, maybe older. He wore a suit and a mustache. He walked over to the bar to stand beside Cash.
“Pardon me, boys,” he said.
Slocum and Cash looked at the man.
“My name’s Townsend. I own a spread outside of town. I didn’t mean to be eavesdropping, but I heard what you just said about looking for work. Were you serious?”
“Yeah,” Slocum said.
“It depends on the work,” said Cash.
“I’m just looking for good hands,” Townsend said. “A hard day’s work for a fair day’s pay. I have a good cook and a clean bunkhouse. A pretty good bunch of boys. What do you say?”
“You’d take a chance on a couple of strangers?” Slocum said.
“You look like good, seasoned hands to me,” Townsend said. “Tell me your names, and we won’t be strangers.”
“I’m John Slocum.”
“Joe Cash.”
“Well, boys, come on over and sit at the table with me. I’ll buy you another drink.”
Slocum and Cash took their glasses with them and moved to the table with Townsend, who poured their glasses full from a bottle he already had sitting on the table. It was better whiskey than what they had been served at the bar. While Slocum and Cash sipped at the good whiskey, Townsend told them a bit more about the jobs: what the hours were like, how much he paid and when. Then: “Well, will you take the jobs?” he asked.
“I’ve been on ranches where the boss said if a man works for him, so does his horse. No one but me rides my horse,” Slocum said.
“That’s all right with me,” Townsend said.
Cash looked at Slocum. Then he looked back at Townsend and stuck out his hand. “Sounds good to me, Mr. Townsend,” he said. “We’ll take them.”
Townsend shook Cash’s hand and said, “Hell, just plain ole Townsend will do fine. Glad to have you.”
Then he shook Slocum’s hand. “Now, boys,” he said, “the first thing I’m going to ask you to do is just sit here and drink with me tonight on account of that’s what I come into town to do. When we get sloppy drunk, I’ll pay for you to have a room tonight. In the morning, we’ll head on out to the ranch. How’s that suit you?”
“That suits us just fine,” said Cash.
Townsend was no cheapskate. He bought good whiskey, and he bought plenty. In a while, a saloon girl came to their table. Townsend told her, “Hell, honey, I’m too old for that, but maybe one of these boys might be interested.” Cash smiled real big, reached up, and took hold of the gal’s arm. She smiled back and sat on his lap.
“What’s your name, honeypot?” Cash asked.
“You just said it, cowboy.”
“What? Honey Pot?”
“That’s it. What do I call you?”
“Cash will do just fine.”
“Well, Cash, do you want to go upstairs with me?”
“And get some Honey from out of your Pot?”
“I think you got the right idea.”
Cash picked up his drink and drained the glass. Then he put the empty glass on the table. “Well, Honey Pot, let’s go,” he said. They got up and headed for the stairway, and Townsend poured his own and Slocum’s glasses full again. “I hope he ain’t had too much whiskey to have a good time up there,” he said.
“He’ll likely have himself a good time,” said Slocum. “Honey Pot might not, though.”
Townsend laughed and took a good sip of whiskey.
Honey Pot and Cash were at the top of the stairs. She was holding tight onto Cash’s arm, and she led him down the hall to a room with an open door and then on into the room. She turned loose of his arm long enough to shut the door, and then she took him on over to the bed. Cash reached his arms around her, pulled her in close to him, and kissed her on the lips. Breaking loose at last, Honey Pot began to undo her clothing. Cash took off his gun belt, refastened the buckle, and hung it up on the head of the bed. Then he started pulling off items of clothing as fast as he could and tossing them aside.
He was naked before Honey Pot, and he started helping her to get undressed. At last, she moved onto the bed, spread her legs apart, and reached her arms toward Cash. For a moment, he stood looking at the glistening, slightly damp, blond hairs that grew over her snatch. Then he moved on top of her, and she circled his body with her arms. They kissed again. Honey Pot reached with both hands underneath Cash’s body to find his rod stiff and ready for action. “Ooohh,” she moaned as she guided it into her already wet hole and then thrust upward with her pelvis. Cash responded with a downward thrust. His entire length was inside her channel.
“Ah,” he said, pulling back slowly until only the head of his swollen cock was still buried in her pussy. Then he thrust it back inside her as she shoved upward. Their movements were slow for a few more thrusts, but Cash got anxious. He began pumping furiously, and Honey Pot responded in kind. The mattress creaked, and the headboard banged against the wall rhythmically.
“Ah, ah, ah,” Honey Pot moaned.
“I’m going to come,” said Cash.
“Let me have it,” said Honey Pot.
A sudden surge of hot juice spurted from Cash’s cock into the depths of Honey Pot’s lovely love tunnel. Cash continued thrusting a few more times. At last he relaxed, still lying on top of her, his cock slowly growing softer inside her. Then it slipped out by itself, and slowly he rolled over to lie beside her on the bed.
“God damn,” he said.
“You like that?”
“Oh, Honey Pot, you were just fine.”
They stayed like that in silence, except for heavy breathing, for another couple of minutes, and at last Honey Pot asked him, “Do you think you can go again?”
“I don’t know, Honey Pot,” he said. “You might have taken all I had.”
She rolled over and kissed him on the lips, a long and lingering wet kiss. Then, she slid down a bit to kiss and lick his chest and his nipples. He moaned with pleasure and anticipation. Her hands sought his still-wet and sticky cock and fondled it, one moving down to cup his balls. He groaned again. “You’re damn sure welcome to find out for yourself,” he said. She moved down lower and, gripping his limp cock in one fist, kissed it on the head. Cash flinched. “Oh,” he moaned. Honey Pot licked it. “God damn,” said Cash. Honey Pot then started licking it all over. She licked until she cleaned the cock off.
Then suddenly, she opened her mouth wide and sucked the head in. Cash’s cock grew hard again, and he thrust it upward. Honey Pot took it all in. She bounced her head up and down, slurping along the length of his hard tool. Cash began breathing hard again, and every now and then, he moaned. All the while, Honey Pot’s hands stroked his thighs and played with his balls. Finally, she pulled off long enough to ask him, “Do you want me to finish you off like this?”
“Oh, no, Honey Pot,” he said. “It’s good, but why don’t you move over on your hands and knees?”
“Ooh,” she said. “I like that.”
She was positioned in a quick moment, and Cash was up on his knees behind her. As he moved his engorged rod into position, Honey Pot reached back with one hand between her own legs, found it, and maneuvered it into her slimy slit. “Oh, yes,” she said. “Give it to me, baby. Ram it in.”
Cash did not need to be told twice. He pounded himself over and over into her round, white ass. He could see her titties shake and bounce with each thrust. Honey Pot lowered her head and shoulders to the mattress, leaving her smooth ass poking upward, and Cash pounded harder and faster.
“Fuck me, Cash,” she cried out. “Fuck me hard.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. Take that. Take that.”
Cash finally slowed down. He was panting for breath. This second go-round, he was lasting much longer than the first. He made a few slow thrusts, then a few faster ones. “You want to lay down and let me get on top?” Honey Pot aske
d. Cash pulled out and flopped over onto his back. Honey Pot quickly straddled him, took hold of his throbbing cock, and once again guided it into what was by now her sloppy wet hole. Then she sat down on it, taking the entire length up inside her. She rocked forward on her ass and moaned with pleasure.
“Oh, cowboy,” she said, “I could ride you like this all night.”
She rocked faster and faster, until she cried out with pleasure and delight and fell forward to lie against Cash’s chest. She kissed him on the mouth with her lips parted wide, and her tongue shot into his mouth and licked around. Then she straightened up and began rocking again. She came at least a dozen more times until at long last, Cash’s tool had done all the work it could. He felt the pressure building up in his heavy balls. He was thrusting upward with each of her forward motions. He thrust faster and faster, and she did too. Then suddenly, he gushed forth.
“Oh,” she said. “My God. You’re filling me up.”
But then she could feel much of it running back out and down onto his belly and legs. He felt it too. They were both perspiring heavily too after all that action. Honey Pot lay down on him again, wrapped her arms around him, and rolled them over so that he was on top. Cash made a few more feeble thrusts, and she responded, but then he went limp again. His cock slipped free. He started to move off her, but she held him tight.
“Stay there for a while,” she said. “Just relax. I like to feel your weight press down on me.”
“You’re quite a woman, Honey Pot,” Cash said.
“You ain’t so bad yourself, cowboy,” she said. “You feel like you got your money’s worth?”
“And then some.”
“Cash,” she said, “you was so damn good, I almost feel guilty taking your money.”
“I ain’t paid you yet.”
