Out West Ch. 08: Jack of Death

It was fascinating for Emma and myself to see how Martha had seen what, for us, had been a night of sheer unalloyed pleasure. The old West was more complex than it has so often been portrayed - but more about that as we proceed. Suffice it to say for now that by the time Martha's Journal continues, it takes us to a critical part of what was to become "the legend of Jack Anders."

You'll find it there in the yellowing files of the newspapers, and in the pulp fiction books telling "Stories of the Old West." So much hyperbole has been put out, but as one editor I knew told me: "This is the West, Ma'am. When the legend becomes fact, print the legend." Well that they did, and in spades. But here Martha offers us a glimpse behind the legend of the "Jack of Death." Whatever you read in those dime store novellas, this is the truth... as Martha saw it.

[Martha's Journal].

The next day we lay abed most of the day; we did not have to be aboard the riverboat till the following day, so we just rested, giggled, and talked of last night and our adventures. It ended better than it had begun from my point of view. My heart still ached, but my quim was happier.

We boarded the paddle boat, and I was glad to be shed of the town. Elizabeth met us at the dock, as did her manager, who again begged for Emma to accompany them. I finally took my revolver in hand to see it was loaded and listen to the cylinder clicks before he got the message and cleared off.

Elizabeth thought it a hoot. She kissed each of us on the cheeks like the French, but Emma square on the lips. That drew a look from Kate; I found my hand on my Colt, such an old fool.

"Oh, don't be jealous," Elizabeth said, as she stepped away from Emma and turned to me, "She loves you more than life itself." And she kissed me as well, although her breath could have used some sweeten'n.

"Take care of her; she is special."

She turned and was gone, waving as she reached land. I had missed the box she had given Kate; I would find out what was in it later.

The trip upriver to Pierre would take three days and nights. I was about ready to get this whole thing done; I never much liked water travel. I prefer good solid earth under my feet, not treacherous, snag-filled, muddy water, no sir.

The first day came and went, and amounted to nothing; we pretty much slept and ate. After dinner, I was sent to find out what I could, which turned out to be nothin' 'cept men's conversation in saloons isn't for women's ears.

The second day and night was more of the the same. I was not feeling much like eating anyway. Train travel was one thing, but this water! Pixie said it was nothing compared to a sea voyage, how it rolled and pitched and rolled again! That was enough for me. I lost my lunch more than once. The scamp was giggling and laughin' the whole time, with Kate and even Emma joining in the frivolity.

The third day, well it was different. The womenfolk told me to go to the saloon and bear the conversation "like a man". Well, truth to tell, the atmosphere in there had been gettin' mighty thick. I could see why men talked about women and their "moods". Whatever was eatin' at Kate and Emma was beginnin' to effect us all. I heard what sounded like laughter as I left, which was unexpected. Who knows? I recall thinking. And off I went to find information - and as it turned out - to my destiny.

I walked into the ship's saloon, feelin' as out of place as the Night Owl gala. But, in truth, it felt more natural at the gala. Then, at least there were women both in the audience and helpin' in the audience, in this place there was not a woman, and no woman was welcome. Jacob would have to be on top form. I shook myself and went in.

The bartender was polite but curt, not even given me a second glance. I watched and right soon got the lay of the land. I bought a shot of rye whiskey and saw the Pearly Gates - but not in a good way.

I was never much of a drinker, but rye whiskey was an experience I did not intend to repeat. I noticed some were drinkin' from their flasks, and I decided to follow their lead, as I thought I had a flask somewhere in the bits that Emma and Kate had purchased to complete my disguise; a little tea would do just fine for those as had eyes for what I did.

I was sent to learn what I could about what lay ahead and if anyone had heard of a Lord Timothy. The snag was that no one was talkin' - all just stood and drank, minding their own business, well except for those playing cards. So bar talk, well that horse had pulled up lame, I decided to change mounts.

Finally, I sat at a table to play some cards;. I could play poker, but there was no game, only a Faro dealer at the very edge, his back to the rail and the pitch black of the far shore; a couple of travellers one on either side were playing as well. I watched and learned the rules pretty quickly. It weren't a headscratcher game like bridge or some others women play. It was much faster, played from some contraption which gave cards. Four or five men was playing at any given time, but it was obvious that those on either side had spent time there; the seat I was in was the only one that seemed to change. I had watched for the better of the evening quite a few hands. I got the basics - and more. The rules was simple, but I watched some poor young farmer get cleaned out. As my pockets was deeper, I thought it a decent chance, though costly. No one took his place, and it seemed my last resort.

I sat down to a warm reception from the man with the box of cards. He was dressed right nice, but his clothes had seen better days; those on either side said nothin'. Turns out the man with the box is called a 'banker' and I bought some wooden chips called 'checks' from him and we 'punters' played against the bank and each other. Later, Pixie and Kate found that particularly amusing but never told me why!

All commenced right well, the dealer shuffled the worn cards and placed them into the box. I held my own, even winning a couple of hands; my pile of checks stayed largely unhurt. I watched the two on either side; their stacks waxed and waned but stayed much the same. In time I noticed a subtle change in the crowd. Men started to take notice of the game, some even gathering round. I took it as an opportunity to mention some of my business, that I was on my way to provide a bit of news to a man named Timothy, who had been working claims way out the west side of the Dakota territory. A couple said they heard of him, and one even said he had seen him once but could not recall where he thought out west. I let it lie.

Then I noticed the game changed. After winning a hand, I ordered a round of drinks for the room. At once I became a hero, with more stories of Tim, some contradicting another, one said he had gone back to Ireland, other to California, a third said he had built 'is own town and was playin' king with 'is own hareem which seen to his needs every night.' I had long since given up listening, knowing they just wanted the free whiskey to keep flowin', but what had my attention was the game.

It had become clear to me that these three varmints runnin' the table were in cahoots.

I can't say what it was, a flourish of a hand, a twitch of a cheek, or perhaps a glance, but something. My stack of checks was diminishing, but not my fellow punters; they stayed the same.

Jacob said I had the eyes of an eagle and the reflexes of a cat. Perhaps he was right. I was not the woman I once was when I caught a china cup as it fell from a tray next to our table. A full cup that did not spill a drop. But I could still hold my own.

"You know," I said as I pushed a little way from the table. "It is remarkable how well you play."

Both men looked at me; the dealer had lost his smile.

"I mean, given that I have lost the last three hands and one of you knew exactly when to hold his bets, an' the other knew when to use the copper while I was so injured. Almost supernatural, ain't it?"

From the sound of shuffling feet and squeaking chairs, it was clear that the crowd behind me was rapidly finding somewhere's else to be - generally across the room.

"Mister, are you accusing us of bein' cheats?"

The dealer or banker, or whatever he called himself, was trying to intimidate me. He showed a worn long-barreled Army revolver in his belt - which along with the rest of his clothes, had seen better days.

I leaned back a little, clearing my holster from the chair.

"I just noticed the farmer had the same bad turn of luck, ain't that amazing? So no, I am not accusing, I am statin' it as a fact. You got any objections?"

The next few seconds seemed like a lifetime; it was for those three.

The dealer reached for the Army pistol; he never cleared his belt. My right hand was holdin' some checks to keep their eyes off my left, which did the work. My first round caught the smiling jack dealer square in the chest; the next rode the muzzle rise through his right cheek and out the back of his head. The one on the left was faster; he cleared his holster but not the table when I gut shot him; the next one through his heart; and the one bastard on the right only had a knife, so I put two in his lungs. Then I drew my right pistol and put him down with one to the head. They was gone sooner than it took to write of it. Weren't the first time; it showed.

That jeweller in Marion had worked miracles on these pistols; they were smoother than a baby's bottom, triggers were light, crisp, and clean. The whole fight took on maybe two heartbeats. I would have to send him a gift, as I holstered the right.

That is when I heard the sound of breaking glass.

With all the commotion, I had missed the farmer who smashed the bartender across the head with an entire bottle of rye as the barkeep drew a shotgun on my back.

"That was amazing!"

One man said, a skinny little thing, with a bowler hat and round glasses. "I had hoped to see something, but that was amazing."

He yammered on awhile, trying to get me to give him a name, I never did. With all eyes watchin', I went through the dealer's pockets then the other two. Everyone saw me expose the cards that had mysteriously ended up in opportune locations.

"Cheats" were the only word that was used. I took my money back to the penny, put some extra paper in a different pocket for expenses. I took some of the silver money left and gave it to the farmer and a nice bonus for cold-cocking their other little helper.

The barkeep was still breathing but ragged. The crowd did not care; they stripped them all and tossed the four over the side. I knew the three was dead, figured the fourth might as well be, but the thumping sound that the paddle-wheel made along with the red wash confirmed their fates.

"Only heard one shot," Mister spectacles kept repeating, "Please, sir, what is your name?" I did not respond, I just walked by. "Lefty? One-Shot?" I shook my head, smiled a little, and went to the bar.

"Here," I said as I gave the farmer a pile, added a nice gold piece, and said, "don't do that again. It wasn't worth it."

He shook my hand; he was young, young enough for Emma. He had the haunted look of seeing too much. "I was just trying to make enough - there is this girl I want to marry - and buy a farm."

"You ain't gonna make it by gambling, son," I responded and started to go.

"Mister, the man you are looking for is away west. In the Dakota gold country, built a town Shelly Springs or some such, he is living pretty high off the hog when I saw him. I needed money faster than working for him, but he was nice and all, honest too by all accounts. No, maybe it was Shelby Creek, something like that." He turned away.

I dug deep and gave him most of the foldin' money I had taken from the bodies, I figured nearly a thousand worth. I decided he needed it more than for me. I planned to buy drinks or favors, and besides, he told me all I needed to know, and after all, the bartender was swimming downriver.

"Thank you, son. You take care now." I left him open-mouthed.

I walked back to the room; I paused; right outside the door was a couple of boys too young to know better; they had their hands in their trousers working away while listening to the girls.

"Clear off..." I said; my voice lacked an edge, but it was clear that I would put up with no-nonsense. I did not let them boys see my smile or get a glimpse of what was beyond the door.

'Funny, I would have thought all the noise would have attracted more attention.' I thought to myself, "Riverboat life must be lively as Hell." I reached for the door; it was then that I noticed the spots on my left hand, three new bloody brands that only I could see. I put my hand on the door knob, tired, and kind of hopin' the girls were asleep, I couldn't abide more of that bickerin'.

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Martha's Journal ends here, and the next part was written some days later, so let me take up the tale.

Martha seemed oblivious to the tensions she was causing with Kate and Emma, though I could not see how that could really be so. I'd enjoyed playing with her, but Kate and Emma were her passions. It was only gradually that it dawned on me what was going on.

Kate had been sulking all day, and she'd been snappy with Emma, who, having as she saw it, done nothing, was on edge and snappy back. When Martha left to go to that Saloon where she inadvertently created the legend of Jack Anders, I attempted to broker a peace back on the domestic front. The weapons weren't Colts, but tongues can be more cutting than the sharpest knives, and if we did not take care then by the time we reached Tim - if we ever did - our "family unit" would be in ruins. It was time to do something - and it was the noise of their demurring, not laughter, that Martha heard as she went off to become a legend.

"Kate, Emma, we have to talk."

"It's her fault..." they both began.

That was what made us all laugh - and was what Martha caught as she walked away.

Looking square at Emma I said:

"You're puzzled aren't you? Martha loves you, fucks you and then wants Kate. And that confuses you too Kate?"

They looked at me, then at each other.

"Why?" said Kate, "do you want a piece of her too?"

I looked, and felt hurt.

"No, no Kate, I am your girl, but I am falling for Emma, who loves Martha whom you love - it's an infernal version of the eternal triangle, and if we don't do something, we're going to lose each other."

They both looked surprised.

"You do know, Emma," I said, striking while the iron was hot, "why Martha blows hot and cold?"

"I don't, and it upsets me," Emma admitted, tears coming to her pretty eyes.

"She knows you want babies, and she loves you enough to give you up so you can have them. That's why she changed her mind about you being her 'wife' - if you were, none of the men we meet would see you as a potential mate."

She looked thunder-struck - as did Kate. I could see that the five-dollar coin had dropped.

Kate looked at me, then Emma did the same.

"Oh I've been a fool," said Emma.

"I've been a jealous bitch," said Kate.

"Well girls," I said, smiling, "what about you two kiss and make up."

"You okay with that Pix, want to join?" Kate asked.

"I am fine, can I watch?"

"You little perv," Emma giggled, "you like watching don't you?"

"I like watching you two. You both know so much more about sex than I do, and so I learn a lot."

"Oh," Kate laughed, "so it's like you're at sex school. Well, watch and learn young lady, but I want you to ruck up those skirts and play with that pussy while you watch. No climaxing though."

The way she spoke, the way they both looked at me, the prospect of what was to come, or a combination of the three, had my pussy wetter than it had been since I had posed bare-breasted on stage. It seemed as though making an exhibition of myself turned me on.

What they did next certainly did, and my hand was on my kitty rubbing as soon as I could get my skirts up.

As though released from a huge burden, Kate drew Emma to her, kissing her and fondling her breasts.

"Are these mine, Emma, can I fluff you for Jacob, get you ready for him to breed you?"

Wherever that had come from it hit the spot. Emma gasped and the look of lust she gave Kate sent tingles through me. I rubbed harder, then stopped, not wanting to spoil it. I pulled my dress off my shoulders, brushing my hands over my hard nipples as I did so.

Seizing Emma's big breasts, Kate handled them roughly, drawing sighs from her. Ah, I thought, one of the disadvantages of being my size, I would never feel that, though my own nipples were, by then, throbbing; so I pulled and squeezed them.

Pulling Emma's drawers down, exposed her newly-bare pussy, Kate pushed her back onto the bed.

"Make yourself useful squirt," she urged me, smiling, "put that quim on her face and use her tits - I want her quim."

With Emma flung back on the bed, and Kate lifting her legs over her shoulders, I needed no second bidding. Divesting myself of my drawers, I squatted across her face, facing Kate, which meant that ever and anon I was able to rub my sensitive asshole across her lips. I was, I was discovering, liking anal play more and more. I made a note to check if that meant I was a pervert, as I thought only men liked that sort of thing. Oh, but her tongue on my pussy, oh my!

Emma knew what she was doing. I repaid the favour by bending forward to lavish attention on those stiff, crinkled reddened nipples by licking and sucking on them as I I pressed my pussy back onto her exploring tongue, while Kate went to town on her pussy. I knew, from experience, what a wonderful pussy-eater Kate could be, and so it was no surprise when I felt Emma's moans vibrate my own clit. To say she made a meal of it is only the half of it. Her tongue was exploring between Kate's lips, alternating between that and flicking her clit. Then, judging Emma wet and open enough, I heard a squelch as she plunged two fingers into the heart of her wetness. The frantic licking on my pussy was beginning to drive me to the edge, and of a sudden I felt it overwhelming me. I came, pressing hard on Emma, which tipped her over the edge. Kate's other hand must have been at her own pussy, as she, too came. Somewhere in the distance, as we came, the sound of gunshots could be heard; we we oblivious, lost in the joy of our love's efflorescence.

When Martha came back later she seemed shaken, almost morose.

"Smells like a whore house in here," Martha growled.

We giggled in unison.

Martha looked puzzled.

"'tarnation, what's a happen'd here? Peace broken out between you?"

"Well," I said, while you have been, if that blood on your face is any evidence, making war, we have been making love. Emma has something to say to you - and then Kate and I will retire to deck for a walk."

Emma looked at a totally puzzled Martha. She stood; she kissed her.

"I understand now, Martha. You love me enough to let me go and have the babies I want, and you will need Kate for then. Well, darling Kate has well prepared me for you - some come, make sweet love to me and forget your cares."

It was a pretty speech, and from the heart. Kate looked at me, I looked at her, and we left the love-birds to it. The legend of Jack Anders may have been exaggerated, but Emma spoke only the simple truth of her love for Martha - and proceeded, in best Missouri fashion, to show and not just tell.