Renegade 23

by Lou Cameron

  The second mule hee-hawed and shot its wad. Pilar laughed, got up, and ran over to the lean-to through the rain, shouting, “Oh, I am so passionate this afternoon, Deek!”

  He said he’d noticed that as she dropped to the ferns beside him and pleaded, “Make me come again, por favor!”

  He shrugged, put his free hand in her lap, and proceeded to massage her slippery clit. She thrust her pelvis up at him and hissed, “No, not with your hand, querido! I have my own hands, if I wished for to come that way! I wish for to be filled with cock!”

  Somehow, that seemed more reasonable now than it had a few minutes ago. So he rolled her over, lifted her to her hands and knees, and got back into her dog-style. She giggled and said, “Si, that does feel beastly. Put it to me that way as deeply as you can.”

  So he did, enjoying his claro as he smoked and humped her at the same time. His casual strokes drove her wild and she did most of the work as they had sex that way. She lowered her face to the ferns, with her back arched to thrust her brown rump higher as she moaned, “That is muy fantastico, Deek. It could not feel any better. But I can’t help wondering what it would feel like if a woman could do it this way with a mule’s big thing in her! Do you think I could be a little crazy?”

  He said, “Yeah. Don’t ever try it. For one thing, it’d probably kill you. For another, while I might be broadminded about sharing you with a banana, I’ll be damned if I’ll go sloppy seconds with a jackass!”

  *

  The rain stopped later that afternoon. So they all got, dressed and moved on. Fat Concepción was walking a little funny, and the mules were easier to handle now. So Captain Gringo made a mental note to tell Gaston to take it easy with his newfound girlfriend, at least during daytime trail breaks. Pilar was chipper as ever, and he felt, if not really rested by his siesta, okay. Or at least he did until they topped a rise, he climbed another tree, and looked back.

  The smoke he’d spotted rising from the Red Cross camp wasn’t there now. They’d obviously moved on after the rain, too. But another column of smoke was rising above the treetops due west, between him and the village they’d left that morning!

  He climbed back down and asked Gaston, “Could you have left a lit cigar under your lean-to, Gaston?”

  “Merde alors, how? Everything was soaking wet by the time we broke camp. I built my own shelter a bit too low for a man aboard a rather immense femme who bounces awesomely, and so after she’d shoved my poor skinny derriere through the roof a few times—”

  “Never mind your sex life, dammit. I know I tossed my own butts out into the rain and we built no campfires back there.”

  “Oui. So what are we talking about, Dick?”

  “Smoke signals, I think. Can’t say if it’s rising from our siesta camp or just near enough to matter. But someone’s sending up a hell of a lot of smoke back there. Green wood, too, like the Apache use when they want to signal pals a long way off!”

  “Merde alors! Do you think we are being followed?”

  “Think, hell, isn’t it obvious?”

  “Oui, our secret admirer who played sneaky sneaky with our guns has to be tailing us for Los Rurales, unless the smoke you spotted is Los Rurales!”

  Captain Gringo shook his head and waved Pilar over to join them as he told Gaston, “If it was more than one or two scouts they’d have moved in while we were playing bare-ass slap and tickle in the rain back there. The real thing would hardly want to give their position away with a campfire. That’s why I wouldn’t let Concepción make coffee.”

  Pilar asked him what was up. He said, “We’re being tailed. One, maybe two people. Have you girls been getting along with your neighbors in the village lately?”

  She shrugged and said, “If we had any real enemies back there, they would have simply turned us over to the law by now, no?”

  He thought, nodded, and said, “Los Rurales don’t get over this way much, and when they do, they’re not after little fish, no offense. Some village two-face is after the rewards on Gaston and me. They contacted Los Rurales to intercept us and we got lucky. But to cover all bets, the informer or informers were keeping an eye on us and we didn’t throw them off our trail. The pricks are dogging us, trying to signal Los Rurales. So here’s where you and Concepción get to show how good you are.”

  “What do you mean, Deek?”

  “Hell, isn’t it obvious, doll box? We have to either ambush the sons of bitches or throw them off our trail. You girls know this country better than we do. So which works best?”

  Pilar looked confused and said she didn’t know. He snorted in disgust and said, “Dammit, Pilar. You’re supposed to be a guide, not a don’t-know!”

  The mestiza looked like she was about to cry. Gaston said, in a gentler tone, “What my overexcited young companion is trying to say is that it is up to you to show us either to some jolly rise where we’ll have an open field of fire down our back trail or, better yet, lead us through some species of terrain where we might find it easier to lose them.” He turned to Captain Gringo and asked, “How far behind us are they at the moment, Dick?”

  “Who knows? The smoke signal’s a good four or five miles back. But there’s nothing saying they had to stay there once they’d lit it!”

  “Oui, and one can only see a few dozen yards through the shrubbery all about. I doubt they would be dogging us too closely. Regard how that disgusting species of mule left a clear hoofprint there and a steaming bowel movement over there, hein?”

  Captain Gringo nodded and said, “Right. We have to get to a mile or so of bedrock or rough gravel at least. That’s your department, Pilar. There ought to be some places in these hills where the bones show through better. So where do we go from here?”

  She said, “I do not know, Deek. I told you before, this is not the route Concepción and I usually take to the Sierra Madres!”

  The tall American muttered, “Oh, shit. Okay. Let’s just cut south for openers. We’re on a ridge. So there ought to be some rimrock some damned where along it.”

  There was. But it wasn’t close. It was almost sundown when the lead mule’s steel-shod hoof struck sparks on a slab of old lava and, better yet, pissed and moaned when Captain Gringo led it onto solid rock beyond.

  He slowed down, allowing the mules to pick their way gingerly across the smooth black shiny rock as it rose steeper. Gaston, leading the mule behind, was an even older hand at covering his tracks. So he didn’t ask what they were doing, and when his own mule dropped a turd, Gaston stopped, picked it up, and threw it into the nearest cactus patch.

  There was more cactus on all sides now as the ridge got too barren to support anything but dry country shallow-rooted vegetation. When Captain Gringo paused on a rise of the roller-coaster ridge, Gaston handed the lead to Concepción, joined the taller American, and observed, “If anyone is at all curious, within miles, they can see us up here, Dick.”

  Captain Gringo said, “I want ’em to. I don’t know how far this rocky stretch runs south. Moonrise should be about eight tonight, right?”

  “Oui. So what?”

  “The sun’ll be down in less than an hour. That gives us a couple of hours of total darkness. Come on. That next rise is even higher and dominates this stretch of open ground. We have to set up, up there, in broad daylight.”

  Gaston shrugged and went back to Concepción and the rear mule as Captain Gringo and Pilar led the way across the shallow saddle and up to the crest of the highest rise within miles. He told Pilar to hold the mule as he unlashed the machine gun and positioned it on a basalt outcrop to cover their back trail. Gaston led Concepción and the other mule beyond his improvised machine-gun position, tethered the mule, and walked back to Captain Gringo, saying, “Eh bien. Obviously anyone stupid enough to come along the ridge after us will be walking straight into a machine-gun muzzle. Mais just as obviously, anyone watching us from a discreet distance at the moment can see this if he has the brains of a gnat, non?”

  “I sure hope so, Gas
ton. But just in case they’re too shy to move in for a closer look, you’d better tell Concepción to make us some coffee. We can use it. We might not get much sleep tonight.”

  “You know, of course, that the smoke of even a discreet fire will be seen for miles if we build it atop this ridge?”

  “That’s what I just said.”

  Gaston shrugged and went to help Concepción gather fuel among the rocks. So in a little while they had a modest fire of dry yucca stalks and smokier cactus roots. By the time the coffee and beans were ready, Captain Gringo had forted his machine-gun position with an imposing wall of rocks and the sun was about to wink out on the western horizon.

  He joined the others around the little fire, hunkered down, and said, “Okay, boys and girls. Eat your beans and wash ’em down, pronto. We’ll be moving out in a few minutes.”

  Gaston nodded. But the girls looked confused. So Captain Gringo explained, “We’re not making camp here. We want them to think we’re making camp here, see?”

  Pilar asked, “But, Deek, where are we to camp tonight?”

  He said, “Beats the shit out of me. If the moon stays up and the country’s open enough, we may wind up a hell of a ways from here before morning. Eat your beans.”

  They did, and, as each finished, Captain Gringo took their cans and peeled the paper off the shiny tin. Then, in the purple light just after sundown, he placed the cans artistically around his machine-gun nest to catch the next dawn light. Pilar asked him what the people following them were supposed to think the cans were, and he said, “Let them worry about it, doll box. Would you rush madly up a slope at anything going glitter glitter by the dawn’s early light?”

  Concepción said she was tired. Gaston made her get up anyway, and as they joined Captain Gringo and Pilar, he said, “Eh bien, I like it! Now, since it is dark enough, we backtrack, non?”

  Captain Gringo shook his head and said, “Why bother? Pilar says she doesn’t know where the hell we are anyway.”

  He picked up the Maxim, carried it to his mule, and lashed it back in place under its tarp as he explained, “We’re bound to leave signs going down the slope to the east. Doing so closer to them would just make it easier to cut our trail. How would you move in on this position if you were them, Gaston?”

  “I wouldn’t. I’d dig in at the tree line and wait for my Rurale friends to catch up with my smoke signals. They don’t pay police informers enough to rush uphill at machine guns, hein?”

  “Not unless they’re nuts. Okay. It’s too dark now for anyone any distance away to see what we’re doing. But it’s still light enough to get down the slope to the east without busting our necks. So what the fuck are we waiting for?”

  *

  Crossing the woody valley to the east in the dark was a bitch. They’d never have made it up the far slope had the moon not risen in time to give them a little light on the subject. After that the going got easier. They found themselves atop a flat mesa, paved with rimrock and open, save for an occasional clump of cactus or yucca. So they made good time, for a change, and moonset found them threading their way up a sandy dry wash. Concepción and both mules were starting to balk at going on, and not even Captain Gringo fancied tripping over chaparral in the dark, so he called a halt.

  Pilar flopped to the sand and told Concepción to build a fire. Captain Gringo said, “We’ll do no such thing. We won’t camp in this wash, either. I don’t like to wake up under a flash flood. We’ll bed down up above, in the brush. If we throw tarps over the branches we won’t have to leave lean-to evidence in our wake and we’ll still be dry enough if it rains again.”

  Nobody bitched about it much but the mules, who were tough to get up the steep bank. They tethered them farther into the chaparral, unsaddled them, and, since they couldn’t graze in such dry brush, watered them and put nosebags with some parched com on them. Captain Gringo told the girls not to jerk them off and set up his own bedroll under a tarp near the rim of the wash, with his machine gun handy.

  The night was clear and the tropic stars were bright, but it was still dark as hell, now that the moon was down. So he assumed the lady joining him right after he’d undressed and stretched out naked atop the bedroll was Pilar, until he started to take her in his arms and found his arms were full indeed. He frowned and asked, “Concepción?”

  It was a dumb question. Nobody else within miles could have been shoving such huge bare tits against his naked chest. But he had to say something.

  She snuggled closer, which was a little awesome when that much naked flesh was involved, and said, “Si. Gaston said to tell you he and I had made a ghastly mistake. I do not know what that means, but I think you are pretty.’

  “You’re pretty, too,” he lied gallantly. “But I’m not sure there’s room on this roll for you, me, and Pilar.”

  The fat girl giggled and said, “Silly. Pilar is with Gaston tonight. You see, when I told her of his odd habits in bed …”

  He laughed and said, “Yeah, she would want to try sixty-nine with a novel partner. But what was that about you and Gaston making some kind of mistake?”

  “He is crazy. Do you know where he wishes for to put his thing all the time?”

  “I sure wish you wouldn’t tell me. I’m having enough trouble adjusting to this weird situation. Suffice it to say you’re an old-fashioned girl, right?”

  “Si. I do not mind a little silly business with an hombre, if he treats me right once I am inflamed. But Gaston and I do not seem to have been made for each other.”

  He was too polite to observe that she didn’t feel like she was made for anyone, save perhaps an elephant seal. She had to weigh two fifty or more, and she was short. He had to admit her smooth skin felt sort of nice against his as she moved ponderously to press more of it against him. But when she slid one huge thigh over his waist it felt like a side of beef.

  Even knowing that her movement had positioned her love box, wide open, inches from his own confused virility wasn’t doing as much for him as she no doubt expected it to. She hugged him closer with an arm as big around as either of his legs and asked shyly, “Aren’t you going to kiss me, querido?”

  That seemed fair. Her face, at least, hadn’t been too awful the last time he’d looked. She wouldn’t have been half-bad, in fact, had she been maybe a hundred or so pounds lighter. But he had to think about this situation. Damn that goofy insurance company. Couldn’t they have hired a couple of better-looking girl guides, if they had to be nymphomaniacs?

  She sobbed, “I knew it. That damned Pilar always gets the good-looking ones. Everybody thinks I am too fat!”

  “Well, fair is fair, Concepción. Maybe if you cut down on starchy foods …”

  She started to cry. He said, “Oh, for God’s sake,” took a deep breath, and kissed her. It wasn’t as awful as he’d expected. She kissed back sort of sweetly. More like a little girl than a sea elephant in fact. But from the way she tongued him and ran her hand down between them to grab his confused manhood, he knew she was no blushing virgin.

  She whimpered as if in pain when she felt, still kissing him, how soft he still was. He kissed her harder to cheer her up, put a hand to one of her huge breasts, and, what do you know, he wasn’t quite as soft anymore. But it still felt weird as hell to fondle and kiss so much female all at once. He felt revolted and attracted at the same time. He knew she’d be hurt as hell if he stopped now. So, since he needed her services as a guide a hell of a lot more than he desired her as a woman, he gallantly rose to the occasion and threw caution to the winds. But even after he’d made up his mind to give her the old college try, it was sort of complicated.

  He rolled Concepción on her broad back and got on top of her. He sure as hell didn’t want to be under her. He had it up enough to serve an average woman now. But Concepción wasn’t an average woman. She was fat as hell. Her big belly felt like an extra, misplaced breast, a big one, against his own, and though she’d spread her huge thighs as far as they’d go, his hips were still
cushioned in a soft smooth cradle a hell of a ways off the ground. Her huge rump, however, presented her pelvis at an angle most women would have needed two pillows or more under their hips to manage. So it tended to even out, and with some effort he was able to get the head in position to enter her. When he did, she sobbed, “Oh, glorioso!” and bear-hugged him tightly to her big soft torso as she dug her heels in and thrust her considerable hips up to meet him. He was pleasantly surprised, too, to find such a nice love box throbbing along the full length of his now fully aroused shaft. So the rest was easy and not bad at all, if a man enjoyed playing bouncy bouncy on a feather bed with a very pleasant hole in the mattress.

  She crooned, “Oh, you are so big, Deek!” and didn’t get it when he laughed like hell. She giggled and said, “Si, I know we are both being wicked and we shall no doubt land in hell someday. But tonight I am in heaven and, quién sabe, the padres could be wrong, no?”

  He kissed her to shut her up. She was fat and stupid, but not a bad kid, once you got to know her. So he concentrated on knowing her, in the biblical sense, and since she’d started out a lot more eager to get laid than he had, she came first.

  It felt sort of like screwing an earthquake. Her big body heaved and trembled under him in wave after wave of passion as he just hung on for dear life, afraid to fall from such a height, while she moved it inside her with no effort on his part at all, until near the end, when he pounded her hard and ejaculated in her deeply, They both went limp in each other’s arms and Concepción sighed and said, “Oh, that was so lovely, Deek. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. That was just the way I wished for to be loved.”

  Love was a pretty strong term for the way he felt about the fat mestiza, but she was a nice change from the prettier but dirtier—in every way—Pilar. So he kissed her again, as a pal.