Abby and the Outlaws

We remounted and continued north at a steady trot. The land started to rise and trees grew more common. After an hour or so, Ethan chose to give up the road and we set out cross country. The terrain was uneven, and we made slow progress, but we kept moving, skirting along the edge where the forest was creepin' on to the prairie.

Before long, we were into the trees. It was pitch dark under their canopy and the horses picked their way along, step by step. But Ethan seemed to have a good notion of where we were goin'. After a while, we come across a slow movin' stream. It wasn't much more than a foot deep, so we rode along its bed for a good few miles.

Turned out, Ethan knew exactly where he was going. The bank of the stream grew steep on the left side, while the right was mostly flat and even marshy here and there. I heard a gurglin' sound and when we rounded the next bend, saw that another, smaller creek ran into the one we followed. Where they met, there was a tremendous willow. In the darkness, I couldn't see its top. Its branches dangled nearly to the ground. A few even dragged in the water. We parted them and entered into the circle under the tree.

There was just a low bank there and the horses made easy work of climbin' it. The ground was clear, covered with naught but low grass.

Ethan had found a tin box of matches in his saddlebag. He struck one to provide a bit of illumination. It was apparent that this location had been used before. There was a fire pit, near under the tree, and a few logs had been placed around it as makeshift benches.

Ethan dismounted, and put up his hands to help me. I ignored him and got down off the horse under my own steam. I wasn't about to let him start thinkin' I depended on him for a damn thing.

"I expect you been here a time or two," I said.

"Yep, known this spot since I was a youngin'. Ain't no one gonna find us here."

"This ain't the safe getaway you was talkin' about, or was that a lie, too?"

"No, this is just a stopover."

We used up a good portion of the matches for light, but managed to find enough kindlin' and small branches to start a bit of a campfire.

The jerkie hadn't gone far in easin' my complainin' belly, but I filled it with sweet creek water and that appeased it some.

I had reckoned that once I was warm and in a place I could rest, I would drop straight into slumber. But, instead, I found myself feelin' sort of jittery. It was excitement, I guess, at my improved prospects of livin' past the morrow.

We sat facin' each other across the fire.

"So, what do you reckon you'll do once free and clear?" he asked,"You got folks that will take you in?"

"Got no folks," I said.

"Where you from?"

"Missouri."

"Nobody there? No ma and pa?"

"Ain't seen my pa since he took it in his head to run off and join the militia."

"He was a reb?"

"Mostly he was an idiot. He got blown in two by a Yankee cannonball at Wilson's Creek, or so they told us. Me and Ma got evicted off the farm, so she sold me to the widow Jackson. Her house slaves lit out for California, so I took their place. Don't know what happened to Ma. I reckon she went to St. Louie. Probably done like me and took to whorin'.

"I been to California."

"Widow Jackson said there weren't nothin' in California but deserts and ne'er do wells."

"I didn't see no desert where I went."

"She couldn't understand why they all took off. Guess she thought they liked slavin' for her."

"I reckon you didn't care much for it your own self."

"You reckon right. Weren't long before I left too. Went to Kansas City. Worked a while doin' laundry and other such chores. When I got some older I figured that I could make more money on my back in bed than on my feet standin' over a wash tub."

"I suppose you do what you can to get by."

"What about you?" I asked him, "Where do you hail from?"

He frowned. "Back east," was all he said. He stood and walked over to the edge of the creek. A minute later, I heard his own little stream splashing into the water.

Now, you may be of a mind to think that a gal in my line of work would not be interested in the same pursuits in her off time that she partook of in her working hours.

But a sportin' gal is still a gal, and besides, the events of the day had me in a lively spirit.

Ethan stepped back into the glow of the fire, and I gave him a good lookin' over. I'd have settled for less.

He sat on the ground, leanin' his back against the log and stretchin' his legs out in front of him.

"I reckon we ought to get some rest," he said, "Be best if we get goin' again before first light. Won't take long to get where we're goin'."

"I'm feelin' a mite restless myself."

"Well, I can understand that you might be agitated some, what with the day's events."

"Seems I might need some calmin' down."

"Too bad we got no whiskey."

"That ain't what I had in mind."

I stood up and went around the fire. It wasn't much more than a few embers by then, but it give enough light for me to see the puzzlement on his face.

I stepped one foot over his legs and dropped down on my knees, straddlin' them.

"You ain't gonna bash my brains, like you done the deputy?" he asked. He said it like a joke, but for a minute I considered that it might be a fine idea. It wouldn't be hard labor to find a suitable rock.

"Maybe you shouldn't put thoughts in my head," I told him.

"Well, but when you see what I've got tucked away, I reckon you'll be more well disposed toward me than you were to that ol' boy."

"That ain't a great brag," I said, but as I was unbucklin' his belt and openin' his britches, I was awful curiously to see if he could prove his boast.

I would not call him an honest man, and I doubt he'd claim such himself, but on this topic, he had told God's honest truth.

He had one of the finest peckers I ever did see, and I'd seen more of them than Custer saw Indians. It jumped up when I tugged his britches down, hard as a steel rail and pointin' straight to the sky.

I took hold of it, and my fingers couldn't wrap around it. When I put my other hand on it as well, it stuck out above both. If he was a payin' customer, I may have charged him extra, 'cause he'd be payin' for more pussy than most men ever occupied.

"I guess I won't brain you," I said, and wrapped my lips around the big swollen head. I wasn't even goin' to try to take more than that in my mouth, but I gave him some tongue ticklin' around the edge and over the hole, and he made it clear that he approved.

I enjoy a good cocksuckin', if the fella is relatively clean and don't try to choke me on the damned thing, but I was as wet as a rainy day between my legs and all I wanted was to feel that big pole fill me up.

I moved forward and had to rise up just to get high enough to position myself above it. When the tip rubbed against my pussy lips, I almost jumped ship. But I wanted to fuck about as much as I ever had, so I took it in my hand and guided it toward its target.

His hips rose and I slowly lowered myself, but he hadn't gotten more than an inch in when the stretchin' became painful and I pulled back up.

He chuckled and for a second or two, I wished I did have a rock to crack his head with. Loosen up, I told myself, it hurts 'cause you're scared it will hurt. I took a couple breathes and tried to relax myself, then pressed down on him again.

This time, I managed to take in a couple inches or so before the pressure started to feel like it was too much to bear. But I reckon it felt fine and dandy from his point of view, 'cause he grabbed me by the hips and jammed that telegraph pole into me as hard as he could. If a posse had been near, I'd have given us away with the holler I let out.

I might have retreated from the endeavor right then, but he had me held tight. Pretty quick though, what I was feeling was something that was part pain, but a good portion pleasure as well. I wiggled around a bit and it started to feel more comfortable.

Ethan clutched the sleeves of my dress and yanked them down past my shoulders. I pushed his hands away, fearin' that he'd tear the fabric. I pulled them down and off my arms myself. That bared my tits and he took quick advantage, grabbin' them and squeezin' like he was kneadin' bread dough.

Meantime, I was movin' up and down on him, just a wee bit at first, but with each drop down, takin' in more, and more was feelin' better each time.

Before you know it, I was ridin' him like a buckaroo tryin' to break a wild mustang.

Now I will tell you an honest fact. Most gals, when with a payin' customer, ain't thinkin' about how handsome they are, if they are, which is rarer than an honest lawyer, or how good they fuck, 'cause few of them could make a train come if they were the engineer.

Mostly, she's thinkin' about what's for supper, or what she'd like to purchase from the Montgomery Ward catalog, or mullin' over the gossip around the saloon. I reckon most wives do about the same.

But with Ethan fillin' me up and hittin' that deep secret spot that most fellas never come near, I'm here to tell ya I weren't thinkin' about one damn thing. My brain shut right down and my pussy took the reins.

It was right lucky for Ethan that it was so thick, because the way I was bouncin' on his pecker, I'd likely have snapped a thinner one off.

When my climax come on me, it hit me so strong that I thought that I was seein' stars, but it was just sparks before my eyes. It didn't want to stop, neither, even when I felt his spunk runnin' down my thigh. He started to go soft, but I still shook with pleasure a few more times before he finally popped out.

I was wheezin' like a train engine climbin' a mountain. I flopped down on top of Ethan. He put his arms around me and hugged me like I was his school days sweetheart.

"Bet you wish you had more customers like me," he said, soundin' too damn satisfied with himself.

"Nope," I said, "If I did, I'd not be able to accommodate more than one a night." Let him feel cocky, I thought. It just makes a man easier to manipulate.

It weren't long before we felt the night's chill. It was just about as dark as the bottom of a deep well under that big willow, but we managed to find enough kindling to get the fire kicked up a bit, and once it did, we could see to find a few bigger pieces.

I laid down across the fire from Ethan and pulled the slicker tight around myself. I checked the slicker's pocket and assure myself that the knife was still there. I didn't really want to go to sleep. I figured that the chance of me wakin' up hogtied were as good as the chances against it. But it was been a long day, and I'd ridden hard, both on horse and man, and before long, I was dozin' like a babe in arms.

I woke up in the dark, but could see through the branches of the willows that it was near dawn. Somethin' smelled good. I sat up and saw a long stick propped over the fire. There was a trout skewered on it, looked to be about eight inches long.

I didn't see Ethan anywhere, but I could hear splashin' from the creek. I walked down that way and saw him in the dim light, sittin' in midstream, splashin' water up under his arms.

"I reckon it's mighty cold," I said to him.

"Not too bad once you're in."

I kicked off my shoes, took off the slicker and pulled my dress up over my head. As I stepped into the creek, Ethan let out a whistle.

"You are a fine lookin' gal," he said, "How about we have another go round this mornin' before we hit the trail?"

"Uh uh, I'm a sore as a whipped mule down there."

"You can always suck on it for me."

"If I wanted to strangle I'd have stayed in the Shoshone jail."

He stood and looked down at himself, "It's shrunk up now," he said, "But I'm sure if you ever want more it'll grow."

I didn't doubt that, and besides, even after shrinkin' in the cold creek water it was still bigger than most mens at their full attention.

"I need to make sure that trout don't burn," he said.

"How did you catch it anyway?"

"Scooped it up in my hat. I told you that hat was lucky."

He walked back through the curtain of willow branches. I cleaned myself the best I could. I was quick about it. That water was cold and the fish was smellin' good.

I got out and shook and rubbed myself as dry as I could, then got dressed and went back to the warmth of the fire. Ethan tore a piece off the fish, then handed the stick to me. I declined to eat the head, but picked every other bit of meat from that fish's bones. It was pretty tasty, even if a bit burnt.

We saddled up and rode the horses out into the stream. It was still dark in the shade of the trees, but overhead the sky was blue.

"I thought you wanted to be well underway before now," I said.

"Didn't expect to be this tuckered."

"Don't bellyache. I done all the work."

"Well, I'll oblige and take the lead next time."

"So, you think there's gonna be a next time?"

"Don't you?"

I expected there would be, but I didn't tell him so.

Now ladies, I will advise you from experience, if you're going to fuck a man with a cock like a horse, you don't want to be travelin' far on a genuine horse the next day. The first hour or so we were picking our way through the woods and that wasn't too bad, but when we come to clearer land and picked up the pace, that saddle was mighty uncomfortable.

At least it didn't feel like we were in danger anymore. Ethan was pretty confident that we'd lost any pursuit when we turned up the river. We were in high country now, passin' through meadows filled with wildflowers. At one point we come over a rise and scattered a herd of twenty or more deer before us.

After another hour I was feelin' numb not just between my legs, but in my head as well. Suddenly, Ethan reined in his horse and signaled for me to do the same. There was a rider atop a ridge about a hundred yards in front of us. All I could make out was a silhouette, but Ethan recognized him and waved.

The rider waved back.

"It's Sarge. He's a friend," Ethan said. We headed up the ridge. He's your friend, I thought, that don't make him mine.

I got a better look at him when we got nearer. He was a big burly cuss, with a bushy red beard.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," Ethan said as we rode up to him.

He spit a stream of tobacco juice to the side, then gave me a hard look. "You find her on the trail?" he asked Ethan.

"Nope, we busted out of the Shoshone hoosegow together."

Sarge grunted. "So you're the whore what killed Henderson?"

I hesitated, wonderin' if it might be a good idea to just claim the deed with these outlaws.

"Makes no never mind to me," he said. He looked up at the sun. "Well, it's noon. You ought to be swingin' right 'bout now."

I tried to hold a poker face, but a cold chill went up my spine. The eerie notion come to me that I was dreamin'. The breakout and getaway, the romp with Ethan under the willow, all in a dream, and at any minute rude hands would rouse me from my slumberin' and drag me to the gallows.

"You alright there, gal?" Ethan asked, breakin' my mind away from those unpleasant thoughts.

I nodded and we headed out, traveling along the ridge line. I figured it would be a good idea to get a better read on Sarge, so I rode up alongside him.

"So, do they call you Sarge 'cause you were in the war?" I asked him.

He let go some more of his chaw juice, then said, "Yep."

"Which side?"

"Don't make any difference now, does it?" he said, then spurred his horse ahead to where Ethan was ridin', about ten yards in front of us.

They had their heads together and every once in a while one or the other would take a gander back at me, so it was easy to figure they were talkin' about me. I reckoned they were decidin' whether they would leave me dead in a ditch or double fuck me back at their camp.

Wasn't much I could do about it either way. Stickin' with them was my best chance at survivin'. I had neither money nor food, and had no idea where I was. And if I did try to vamoose, Sarge had a long rifle holstered to his saddle. He'd put a bullet in my back before I could get fifty yards.

After a short while, the ridge divided in two. We rode into the gap, and before long, were under tall trees, splashin' along another creek. The sides of the canyon closed in and it was as dark as dusk. But up ahead, I could see a strip of blue sky.

Before long we come out from the trees and into a small grassy hollow. The creek we'd been followin' ran off to the right. In front of us was a gentle slopin' meadow of switchgrass and columbine.

Over to the far side there was a ramshackle log cabin. Smoke was comin' from the chimney and something was cookin' that smelled better than it was likely to taste. There was a privy off to the side, ten yards or so, and a wagon with cockeyed front wheels, almost hidden in the tall grass. There were three hobbled horses, grazin' on the flowers. So five men total, I reckoned.

Five men was a number I could handle if they all had a mind to take their pleasure. And there was always a chance they'd get to scrappin' over me. With any luck, they might all shoot each other. When it comes to pussy, even good men can be unreasonable, and these scalawags weren't good men.

A young fella, blonde haired and wiry, appeared in the doorway, then ducked back inside. He reappeared, quick like, with another towhead, bigger, older by a bit. His brother, no doubt.

"Where'd you get those horses?" the elder asked Ethan.

"Why, the gentleman runs the stable said we could have 'em for a gift."

"And the gal?"

"Well, Clem, I guess you could say that we shared the sheriff's hospitality."

"She's the whore what killed Henderson," Sarge said as he dismounted his horse.

"Thought they hanged her," Clem said.

"The lady raised some objections to that," Ethan said.

"Don't know that you ought to have brung her to camp. There must be a posse out searchin' for her."

Ethan shrugged his shoulders. "Well, if they come by here lookin' for her, they'd find us whether she was here or not."

Ethan got off his horse, then helped me down from mine. I could do it on my own, but I didn't turn down his aid, thinkin' it might give the others the idea I was his woman. Just 'cause I could handle five stiff peckers in a night didn't mean I wanted to.

Sarge gestured toward the horses. "Luke, hobble them and let 'em graze," he said to the younger brother.

He didn't respond at first. I looked over at him and he was starin' at me like he'd never seen a live woman before.

"Luke!" Sarge barked, "Get to it."

Luke set straight to the task, but every time I looked in his direction, I caught him eyein' me again.

The other men all went into the cabin, and I followed them. Not one of them had said a word to me yet, and that was fine with me. I kept my own mouth shut, as I was unsure as to the lay of the land.

The fifth man was standing in front of a Franklin stove, stirrin' something in a cast iron pot.

"What's that you got cookin' there, Pappy?" Ethan asked.

Pappy looked to be a hundred years old, but the way life on the frontier aged folks, I'd reckon he was more likely sixty or so. They all called him Pappy or Pap, but it weren't ever made clear if he had actually sired any of these mutts.

"Rabbit stew," the old man said.

"Probably gopher," Clem muttered.

"Hungry as I am, I wouldn't care if it was rat," Ethan said.

There was a rough plank table with four chairs in the center of the room and two sets of bunks against the wall. Four beds, I thought, Luke must be sleeping on the floor or else doublin' up with one of the others. No tellin' what lonely men will get up to.

All but Pappy sat down round the table. I made sure I pulled my chair closer to Ethan's. There was a plate of biscuits in the middle of the table. Ethan took one, and handed one to me. It was hard as oak and had a flavor to match, but I was hungry enough to work at it till I could bust off a piece and chew it until it got soft enough to swallow.