by Gene Curry
After a while I got hard again. Then, by gestures rather than by words, she let me know that she wanted to get on top of me. Obediently, I rolled over without taking my shaft out. With Etta on top of me, it was truly like I was being fucked by a woman. Many women like to get on top of the man because, as one woman told me, it gives them greater freedom of movement and is a change from the missionary position: woman on her back with legs spread, man on top with stiff cock. No fancy stuff, just straightforward fucking.
But when Etta climbed on top of me I knew she wanted more than freedom of movement. Pretty soon I realized she wanted to fuck me as much like a man as possible. That was all right with me. We all have our own ways of doing things, especially when it comes to fucking. But after a gentle enough beginning she started to get rough, jerking herself up and down on my shaft. She indicated by impatient gestures that she wanted me to clamp my legs around her back the way a woman does with a man. It was a new position for me, but I did it willingly enough.
She grunted—she didn’t groan—as she pushed down hard on my shaft until it felt like she was driving into me instead of me into her. There was great anger in this lovely woman and she seemed to be punishing me for all the bad things men had done to her. Sweat coated her body and dripped from her face. Then she began to say “fuck” every time she drove my cock into her. Her body was rigid with lust and anger and when she finally came she kept on plunging like a man having a wild come. Gradually her plunging became slower, but she was still like a man trying to stretch out his come, not wanting to stop until his cock got soft.
Wet with sweat, she lay down on top of me, tired for the moment, just like a man. She didn’t protest when I turned her over on her back with my cock still in her. Then I fucked her as hard as she had fucked me. I wasn’t really rough, but there was no tenderness in that fuck. It was an honest fuck, nothing fancy about it. I made her spread her legs wide and I lay between them, driving myself in and out of her like a piston. She stared up at me with a strange look on her face. I didn’t suck her breasts. I put my hands behind her head, lifting it slightly off the pillow. That gave me more control and she knew it.
I drove in and out of her until I was ready to come. I raised her head even more so she could see my cock when I pulled everything out but the head. Then I squeezed the back of her neck and shoved myself in to the hilt and came hard, filling her hot cunt with my juice. That made her come, but this time she came like a woman. She arched her back, beat her ass on the bed and cried out in a frenzy of lust. Then, gradually, we both relaxed and I knew we could be friends again.
After a while she said softly, “I’m sorry, Saddler. You must think I’m an awful bitch.”
“I don’t,” I said. “No need to talk about it.”
“Then let’s talk about you and me, what you’re doing here.”
Here it comes, I thought, the real reason she’s here. With her hand between my legs she said, “You know, Saddler, it wasn’t right what Cassidy did to you. You’d be well on your way to Texas if he hadn’t dragged you in here all roped and tied.”
“I could have done without it,” I admitted cautiously, wondering if Butch had his ear to the door. But I didn’t think so because Butch had a heavy foot.
“Well, it wasn’t right,” she said.
“What the hell,” I said. “These things happen in life. Anyway, we’ll soon be out of here.”
She was counting my ribs on one side, as if to make sure I wasn’t missing a few. She said, “That’s what I want to talk to you about. What happens after we get out of here.”
“What happens?”
She took a deep breath, and looked like a troubled woman about to reveal some terrible and disturbing secret. “I don’t think Cassidy is to be trusted anymore. He’s changed a lot this last year. For sure he’s not the man he was. Harry agrees we can’t depend on him anymore.”
I didn’t believe a word of it. “The Kid said that?”
“He didn’t say it first. I did. But he’s been thinking about it and he says I’m right. This job is going to be Cassidy’s last, he swears. Harry and I think he’s going to double-cross the two of us, not just the boys.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
Etta pressed on with her argument. “Cassidy talks in his sleep. First I thought it was just his usual rambling. Then later when I’d heard enough of it, I began to piece some of the words together. One night he said, ‘I carried them long enough, but no more.’ Another night he said, ‘I got no real friends—nobody.’ ”
“Everybody feels like that at times,” I said.
Etta had to work hard to hide her irritation. “There’s more, Saddler. Harry owns half the interest in a private gentleman’s club—all right, a whorehouse, but not Doxy’s—and the madam there is a good friend of his and tells him things.”
“Such as?”
“Well, there was this man who works for a riverboat company and he got roaring drunk and let a few things slip. The long and short of it is, Cassidy has been making plans of his own to get out of the country. Cassidy’s plan—a smart one—is to go all the way to New Orleans as one of the boiler-room crew. Below deck all the time, he’ll never have to show his face. If he shows it at all it’ll be black as a nigger’s. Who’s going to look for Butch Cassidy in the boiler room of a riverboat?”
“Pretty smart,” I agreed.
“This riverboat-man says he’s arranged the whole escape for Cassidy. The day he gets to New Orleans he’s to join the crew of a banana boat sailing for Honduras. Soon as he gets there, he can disappear.”
“Maybe this steamboat-man was just drunk and lying,” I said. “Some of them have got a mouth as big as a steam whistle.”
“Harry’s friend checked back on him through other friends. Seems one time this man tried to get Cassidy to rob a steamboat with gold bullion aboard.”
“Hold up a steamboat!” That was a new one on me. “Cassidy turned it down, but they did talk about it. That’s gospel. What more proof do you want that Cassidy plans a double cross?”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Etta, but it’s up to you and Harry to deal with it. I’m just a stranger here. You know Butch better than I do. He’s your friend, your partner.”
“But you’re part of it too, Saddler. A big part of it and we’re going to need your help.”
“To do what?”
“Help us turn Cassidy over to the Pinkertons. Here’s what we think. Go into town with Pearl, get the drop on her and turn her over to the Pinks. She’s wanted down south. They’ll telegraph and find out you’re telling the truth. They’ll think you’re a fine fellow. Then and only then do you tell them about Cassidy and what he did to you. Offer to make a deal for Harry and me. Sure we’re wanted, but not as much as they want Cassidy. Tell the Pinks we’ll turn Cassidy over to them. Say they can have Tracy and the others as a bonus. But you must make a deal for Harry and me. No jail time, not a day.”
“You think they’d make a deal like that? They’ve been after you and the Kid for a long time.”
“Sure they’ll make a deal. Cassidy is the Wild Bunch. The rest of us just follow along. What do the Pinks want most? To break up the Wild Bunch, that’s what. It’s like when two men commit a murder and the only way they can hang one is to let the other go if he turns state’s evidence.”
“You’d give evidence against Butch?”
“No! No!” Etta said impatiently, burned at my Texas thick-headedness. “They don’t even get to see Harry and me. You’re the go-between, the dealmaker. They get Cassidy and we go free.”
I looked around the cabin as if I might be overheard. Then I whispered, “But suppose they don’t hang Butch. If all they do is send him to jail, he’s sure to break out. You know what happens then?”
“They’ll hang him,” Etta said confidently. “How can they not hang him? They’ll hang him so fast he’ll get dizzy. But it has to be you that makes the deal. You collect the reward money on Cassidy and we’ll split it thre
e ways. Of course they’re not supposed to know you have anything more to do with us. They won’t care whether you do or not. Get it through your head, it’s Cassidy they want. There’s all kinds of money on Cassidy. Bank money, railroad money, Pinkerton money. Even the state legislature has a reward out on him.”
“A lot of money?”
“More than twenty-five thousand.”
“Not as much as we’d get from the robbery.”
“But a lot safer. We could all get killed going in there. Cassidy plans to rob that bank and then us.”
It was a hell of a story. “You sound bitter,” I said with my hand between Etta’s legs.
Etta squirmed but kept on talking. “Sure I’m bitter. I’ve got good reason to be. That son of a bitch stole every cent I had, all the money I was saving for a getaway. You know how many times I was shot at to get that money, and all the time thinking I could end up behind the walls for thirty years?”
I fingered her gently. “How do I know you and Harry won’t double-cross me?”
There was a dew of sweat on Etta’s upper lip. “Oh, we wouldn’t do that, Saddler,” she said, pretty sure she had me on the line. “Honest, we wouldn’t. We’re not like Cassidy. I won’t say he wasn’t all right once, but now he’s turned rotten.” To clinch her argument she began to stroke my cock.
“How would you go about delivering him to the Pinks?”
“The Kid and I will get the drop on him. He won’t be expecting it, so it’ll be easy. He’ll be ready for delivery by the time you get back after making the deal. You take him back in and wait for the reward money.”
“What about Tracy and the rest of the boys?”
“When you deliver Cassidy to the Pinks that’ll be the only big news in Mansfield that day. Who’s going to be thinking of the bank, with Cassidy in irons? We’ll tell Tracy and the others to go in and rob the bank like we planned. And who do you think will be in the bank?”
“About fifty Pinks and posse men.”
“You got it, Saddler,” Etta said, stroking harder. “They’ll be shot to bits. And so ends the Wild Bunch.”
“It’s neat,” I said. “Except for one thing.”
Etta looked eager. “What’s that, Saddler?”
“In a minute,” I said. “Just let me ease the tension a bit.”
Etta was impatient, but she let me slip into her. I came quickly because this time she was helping. She wanted to hear my answer.
After I pulled out she said, “What were you going to say?”
“Just that you’re a fucking liar. That whole thing is a bullshit story, and you know it. Go on back to Cassidy and tell him it didn’t work. Tell the son of a bitch he can stop testing me. I’ll keep my word as long as he does.” Dark-faced with anger, Etta kicked at me savagely and jumped out of bed. “You fucking bastard!” she raged.
I held my gun ready while she pulled on her clothes and boots. She started for the door and spun around when I called to her.
“Hey, Etta,” I said. “What happens if it gets hard again?”
“Pull it,” she said, and the way she banged the door nearly knocked it off the hinges again.
Cassidy was taking an awful lot of trouble with me. If I knew then what I was to know later, it wouldn’t have puzzled me so much. I put my pants on in case there might be more visitors that night.
Nine
A bucket clattered at one end of the porch just after Etta left, and I knew it hadn’t been blown over by the wind. I had seen it when I moved into the cabin. The rusting bucket was filled with clean, white sand, the kind used to keep floors clean in muddy weather. When the sand was strewn on floors it picked up the mud and could be swept out when it got too dirty.
I blew out the lamp and got out of there fast. The light was bad, but then I saw Tom O’Day picking himself up out of the mud. I yanked him to his feet and he stank of whiskey, but his eyes focused on me faster than the eyes of a drunken man ought to have. Then they glazed over. I guessed then that he was a lot less drunk than he pretended to be, but he made it appear that I had to hold him up.
“Out for a stroll, are you, Tom?” I remarked, still keeping a grip on his coat collar.
O’Day swayed on his feet and hiccupped. “Was coming to pay you a visit, Saddler. Got an attack of the cabin fever, decided to come on down here and say hello. Thought we’d swap a few yams. Goddamn bucket!” O’Day kicked at the sand bucket and missed. He grabbed at me so I could give him support.
“Tripped over the bucket, did you?” I said.
“Hell of a place to leave a bucket!” O’Day complained. “A man could break his leg in the dark.”
“Good thing you didn’t, Tom.” O’Day had tripped over the bucket all right, but he had fallen the wrong way. If he’d been coming instead of going, he would have fallen the other way. I knew I could be wrong, but I didn’t think so. O’Day had been on the porch, listening. When Etta had left so abruptly, he tried to get away fast. Too fast. Hence the bucket and the stumble. I wondered how much he had heard.
“Goddamn bucket!” O’Day repeated. This time he kicked right and the bucket rang.
“Come on in and wipe off,” I said, taking a hard grip on his arm.
O’Day was plastered with dripping mud. “I’ll just muck up your house, Saddler me boy. I’ll just get on home and sponge off.”
Still holding his arm, I steered him toward the door. “Be glad to have your company, Tom. Was feeling kind of lonesome. Besides, you got a bottle and I’m all out. Been having a few nips, have you?”
A bottle stuck out of O’Day’s pocket and he pulled it out to show me how much he’d been drinking. The bottle was about half gone, but it was no proof that the Irishman was drunk. Coming back from Jackson Hole I had seen him empty a full pint of whiskey in three swallows. And that pint was just to open his eyes. After he got it down he was able to sit his horse straight and talk in a sensible manner. Now, steering him toward the cabin, I figured he wasn’t drunk at all.
When we got inside he flopped heavily in a chair and grinned at me. He held out the bottle to me and I filled two cups. “Sure there’s food as well as drink in whiskey,” he said. He drank off his cupful of whiskey. “On such a rainy day as this it’s good for what ails you. Wards off chills and fevers and is good for snakebite.” O’Day held out his cup for another one.
I was careful not to look at him as I filled the cup a second time. But I could feel him watching me carefully, and it wasn’t just to make sure that he got a full measure of redeye. When I turned back to him his eyelids were drooping and his mouth was slack.
“Here’s looking at you,” I said, taking a pull on my own drink.
O’Day grinned. “To temperance!” He downed the whiskey and a smile spread across his ugly, whiskery face. “Did I ever tell you about the time I was courting this rich widow? Guess I didn’t. Well, sir, I had her just where I wanted her till one night I showed up drunk. Mad as hell, this widow woman says to me: ‘Lips that touch liquor shall never touch mine.’ Quick as a wink I says back to her, ‘That’s all right, Mrs. Breckinridge, I don’t drink nothing but beer.’ How do you like that for a quick comeback?”
“It’s a knee-slapper,” I agreed, just as O’Day’s eyes closed and he began to snore. He snored too hard and too loud, and I knew he was watching me through slitted eyes. I let O’Day pretend to sleep for a while.
I sat down and drank some whiskey, trying to decide what to do. Cassidy didn’t know it yet, but he was in a mess of trouble. I was certain the sneaky Irishman had heard some, or maybe all of what had passed between Etta and me. I knew Etta’s elaborate plan of a double double-cross was just Cassidy’s way of testing me. But O’Day, foxy but not given to hard thinking, could easily take it for what it seemed to be: a plot to do them all in. O’Day had hoped to tag along when Butch left the country, and he had been promised as much by Etta, who always had a smile and a meal for the ugly Irishman. O’Day, the most loyal of all Cassidy’s men, would feel the most betraye
d, and for my part I couldn’t decide what to do about him.
I suppose I could have shot him dead where he sat pretending to sleep. But I didn’t think I could bring myself to do that. If I did kill him, how was I going to explain it? Butch might have believed my story, but what about the rest of them. O’Day was the mascot of the Wild Bunch, always good for a windy story and a laugh. I could hardly say I had killed him in self-defense. Nobody would have believed that. Tom O’Day was no killer. You can well believe that I roundly cursed Cassidy and all his stupid trickery. I would have to tell the stupid bastard about O’Day. That was all I could do, then the hell with the rest of it!
Tom O’Day woke up and grinned at me. “Must of dozed off. What you been doing?”
“Drinking your whiskey. There’s a big drink left.”
“One for the road then,” O’Day said. “Then I’ll be off to my bed. Good talking to you, Saddler. We’ll have another visit real soon.”
The sneaky Irishman gulped his whiskey and went out. Maybe he was out there watching me when I went down the hill to Butch’s cabin. The lights were out when I got there, but they came on quick when I rapped on the door. Butch, came naked to open it with a gun in his hand. Pushing past the cocked pistol, I said roughly, “You’re so smart you’re stupid, Cassidy.”
Cassidy led down the hammer on the pistol, but kept the gun in his hand. “What’re you so mad about? Don’t tell me Etta didn’t make it worth your while.”
The Kid had enough decency to pull on his pants before he came out of the bedroom. “What’s going on here?” He saw me in the dim light and lowered his pistol.
“I didn’t cook that up, Saddler.” Butch said. “What did you do, think about it for an hour, then get madder and madder?”
“What I’ve been doing for the last hour is listening to Tom O’Day snoring. First he told a joke, then he snored.”
Cassidy said, “In the morning, Saddler. We’ll talk about it in the morning. You kind of interrupted something.”