Ticket to Yuma

by J. R. Roberts

  And then they were laughing, trying not to laugh out loud.

  “Shh, shh,” she said, “we can’t let him hear us.”

  “What if he keeps knocking?”

  “He’ll stop,” she whispered. “He’ll figure I left the lights on and he’ll go home.”

  They stayed pressed together until the knocking stopped. They listened intently, hoping to hear footsteps walking away.

  “He’s leavin’,” she said.

  “Yeah.”

  She wiggled her hips.

  “You’re still hard inside me.”

  “And you’re still gorgeous.”

  He kissed her, tentatively at first—in case the knocking started again—but then more avidly, and in no time, they were lunging at each other again . . .

  * * *

  Ben stopped knocking, tried to look underneath the drawn shades, but in the end he decided his mother must have forgotten to douse the lights. He’d have to go home, get his key, come back, and put them out.

  He backed away, wondering where Clint might be. Maybe on the way home he’d stop in a few of the saloons and see if he was there. He was still hoping to get Clint together with Larry that night.

  Ben finally walked away from the café, turning once to look over his shoulder. His mother hadn’t left the lights on in a long time. He wondered what she had on her mind that made her do it this time.

  TWENTY

  Hannah pushed Clint away and got herself down off the table. Then she turned him around so she could get on her knees in front of him. He leaned back against the table as she took his hard cock in her hands, stroked it, cupped his balls, licked the shaft, and then took him into her mouth.

  Clint groaned as she began to suck him, her lips sliding up and down him wetly.

  “Mmm,” she moaned as she sucked him. She ran her hands over his thighs, up over his belly and chest, and then around behind him to grab his ass and squeeze it.

  “Jesus, Hannah,” Clint said, putting his hands on her shoulders, then on her head as she bobbed up and down on him.

  She started to make slurping noises, and he felt that if he didn’t stop her now, it was going to be over before he was ready.

  He reached down, slid his hands beneath her arms, and lifted her forcefully off his cock with an audible pop. He turned her, bent her over the table, spread her buttocks, and entered her from behind.

  Hannah almost screamed, bent over so that she was lying flat on the table, her breasts flattened beneath her, as he drove in and out of her. She gasped and cried out with each thrust, and copious sweat was covering both their bodies.

  Clint gripped Hannah’s generous hips and continued to take her that way. He felt the buildup of his release in his legs first, and then he was spewing into her, roaring as he ejaculated in powerful streams.

  Hannah felt the heat of his emission inside her, bit her bottom lip, but finally had to scream as she felt her own release push her over the edge . . .

  * * *

  Ben got back to the house he shared with his mother, found it dark. Annoyed, he entered and lit a lamp. It was obvious his mother had not been home. He wondered if he should go out and look for her, or keep looking for Clint Adams.

  On the other hand, if he remained where he was, maybe one of them would show up there.

  He decided to wait.

  * * *

  “Oh my God,” Hannah said, catching her breath. She stood in the center of her kitchen, naked, and looked around.

  “We didn’t do any damage,” Clint said. “I don’t think.”

  “It’s so hot in here,” she said. “I’ll open the back door to air it out.”

  Clint sniffed the room. She’d be airing out not only the heat, but also the smells of their lovemaking. It was probably a good idea.

  “What will Ben do when he gets home and you’re not there?” he asked.

  “I know my boy,” she said, opening the door. The breeze that came in immediately cooled the sweat on their bodies. Clint felt cold, but he couldn’t get dressed until he had dried off. He doubted there was a bathtub anywhere in the building.

  “I know what you’re thinkin’,” she said. “I have water, and cloths. I can bathe you.”

  “And he won’t come back?” Clint asked. “And catch us?”

  “No,” she said. “He’ll wait.”

  “Well . . . okay, then,” he said, “but I get to bathe you, too.”

  “Don’t you think that would defeat the whole purpose?”

  He stared at her breasts, her nipples still distended, and said, “I’m sure it would.”

  * * *

  He stood in the center of the kitchen while she dipped the cloth into a basin of water and washed the sweat from his body. When she got to his softening cock, it grew hard again as she dried it.

  “Jeez,” he said, gritting his teeth.

  She washed his balls, his thighs, and his legs, then dried him off with another cloth.

  “Oh my,” she said, looking at his hard cock, “you’re ready again so soon?”

  “It’s your fault,” he said.

  She laughed, then used the cloth and basin to clean herself. When she washed her breasts, and then her own crotch, his cock became even harder.

  “If we don’t get dressed pretty soon . . .” he said.

  “Yes, I know,” she said, and laughed.

  They went back into the dining room to get dressed. As he pulled his clothes on, he watched her don her dress, felt a sense of loss when her lovely body was covered.

  “Well,” she said, “now what?”

  “You better go and find your son, explain why he couldn’t get in here.”

  “And you?”

  “I have a meeting with somebody.”

  “To find the man you’re lookin’ for?”

  “To find out about him, yes.”

  “Who are you meetin’?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What if they mean to hurt you?”

  “They probably do,” Clint said. “I’ll have to depend on myself to keep that from happening.”

  “You need help.”

  “There’s nobody to help me.”

  “The law?”

  Clint shook his head.

  “They just want me to leave. I don’t think they’d mind if I did that by getting myself killed.”

  “But . . . if you don’t know who you’re meeting, why go?”

  “On the off chance they actually do have some information.”

  “Maybe Ben can help you—”

  “No, I don’t want to put him in danger. The only way he could help me is if he’s already found something out.”

  “Well then,” she said, “let’s go ask him.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  YUMA TERRITORIAL PRISON

  A FEW WEEKS LATER

  The two guards were named Ace and Danny.

  The girl’s name was Amanda.

  Ace and Danny had been guards at Yuma for the same six months. They had applied for the jobs and been hired at the same time.

  Amanda had been an inmate for three months. She was inside for clubbing her bank manager boss over the head, nearly killing him, and stealing $40,000. The money was never recovered, but she was captured the next day by the local sheriff. She went to trial quickly, was convicted in record time of robbery and attempted murder and sentenced to ten years in Yuma. The bank manager was dead before the trial was over, killed by his wife when it came out in the testimony that he had been sleeping with his bookkeeper, Amanda King.

  Ace was a big man, well over six feet, in his forties, with sloping shoulders, not muscular, but possessed of a rawboned strength not many men could match.

  Danny was in his late t
hirties, shorter and slighter than Ace, but smarter. For a while they had been on the wrong side of the law, using Danny’s brain and Ace’s strength to pull jobs. But they got tired of running from the law, so they applied for jobs as guards in Yuma Prison, and wouldn’t you know it, they got hired.

  Amanda was a pretty woman, slender with pale skin and auburn hair. Men liked her, which was something she used to her advantage. In Yuma, however, the advantage always fell to the guards. But that didn’t mean she—and the other women—couldn’t use their femininity to get what they wanted, like warmer blankets and good food.

  Some of the guards weren’t bad when it came to sex. These two men, they always liked to take a woman together. Today, they had chosen Amanda.

  They took her from her cell, walked her to a room the guards used. It had a bed, more comfortable than the cots that were in the cells. Sometimes they’d let her sleep awhile there afterward.

  Today they pushed her into the room and Ace said, “Take off yer clothes.”

  It looked like he might be in charge today. If that was the case, this would not be easy. Ace was a brute. Sometimes Danny controlled him, and sometimes he let the big man have his way.

  She undressed, folded her uniform, and put in on a chair in the corner. Naked, she faced them with her hands folded in front of her.

  She had small breasts, but they were hard, like peaches, with pink nipples. Ace licked his lips and undid his trousers. When he pulled them down, his cock sprang out, huge and pulsing.

  Danny stood off to one side, still dressed. Sometimes he joined in right away, and some days he watched. Today he was going to watch for a while.

  Ace approached Amanda, pawed her breasts, squeezing them, bruising them, biting them hard enough to break the skin on her tender nipples. She bit her own lip, so she wouldn’t cry out. When he was done, he pushed her down to her knees.

  “Open wide,” he said happily.

  She opened her mouth, and he thrust his penis between her full lips. She gagged when the tip hit the back of her throat, but then she began to suck him, working his cock in and out of her mouth, using her hands to further stimulate him. She knew she could get him to finish quickly if he let her. Sometimes he pushed her aside before he was done, but today he was carried away by the sensations of her lips, tongue, and hands, and before long he exploded into her mouth . . .

  * * *

  Clint had learned from Cates that the guards used the women for their own pleasure. He felt sorry for them, but he wasn’t there to save them. He was there for a totally different reason, but maybe—if and when he got to see the warden—he could drop a bug in the man’s ear. Of course, there was always the possibility that the warden already knew about it. Perhaps he was also part of it. Clint couldn’t know that without speaking to one of the women, but so far—after a week in Yuma Prison—he still hadn’t been able to do that.

  In fact, after a week, he’d accomplished very little.

  * * *

  Danny dropped his pants, bent Amanda over the bed, and entered her from behind. Ace continued to paw her while Danny fucked her. She didn’t mind Danny so much. Even erect, he had a small penis that she could accommodate with no problem. When Ace took her from behind, she felt like she was being torn up. It seemed like today she was just going to have to put up with a few bruises from the big guy, and not the usual abuse.

  Danny grunted and groaned and emptied into her, then withdrew. Hopefully, they were done with her. But when she stood up and turned, she saw that Ace’s cock was hard again.

  “On your back, baby,” he said, stroking himself. “Daddy’s got somethin’ for ya.”

  She obeyed, got down on her back, and opened her legs for him. As he drove his massive erection into her, she closed her eyes and tried to take herself somewhere else . . .

  * * *

  Amanda had heard that the Gunsmith was in Yuma. She had also been hearing talk about some of the prisoners wanting to kill him. She wondered how effective he would be as a killer without his gun. If they tried to kill him, and he managed to survive, maybe he was somebody she’d be able to use while he was in Yuma.

  She had to think of a way to meet him, get to talk to him, maybe get to know him a little, and win him over to her side. With somebody like the Gunsmith on her side, maybe she wouldn’t have to put up with the indignities heaped upon her by these guards anymore.

  TWENTY-TWO

  PRESCOTT, ARIZONA

  EARLIER

  Clint and Hannah found Ben at the house, waiting for them.

  “Hey,” he said when they walked in, “I was lookin’ for you two.”

  “I was looking for you,” Clint said, “ran into your mother along the way. She offered to bring me here to see if you were here.”

  “I went to the café, Ma,” he said. “You left the lights burning when you locked the door.”

  “I realized it later, dear,” she said. “I went back and doused them.”

  “Why were you looking for me?” Clint asked.

  “I found somebody you can talk to about Harlan Banks,” Ben said.

  “Who?”

  “A desk clerk,” he said. “He’s a friend of mine. Banks stayed at his father’s hotel, where he works.”

  “Well, let’s go and talk to him,” Clint said. “Maybe he can save me the bother of having to go to this meeting tonight.”

  Ben looked at his mother.

  “Go ahead,” she said. “I have to get myself washed up. When you’re done, you can both come back here. I’ll have a pot of coffee on.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Clint said. “Lead the way, Ben.”

  * * *

  Ben took Clint to Kellogg’s hotel, found his friend Larry still behind the desk.

  “Is your Dad around, Larry?” Ben asked.

  “Naw, not tonight.” Larry was staring at Clint with eyes as wide as saucers.

  “Larry, this is my friend Clint Adams,” Ben said. “Clint, this is Larry Kellogg.”

  “Hello, Larry.”

  “Muh—Muh—Mr. Adams.”

  “Relax, Larry,” Clint said. “There’s no need to be nervous. Understand?”

  “Yuh-yuh-yes.”

  “Good,” Clint said. “Ben tells me you know something about Harlan Banks.”

  “Um . . .” Larry said.

  “Come on, Larry,” Ben said. “Tell him what you told me.”

  “Uh, well, Mr. Banks did have a room here, but then he disappeared, and a page was torn out of our register.”

  “Who tore it out?”

  “I don’t know,” Larry said, “but I figured it was my pa.”

  “And why would he do that?”

  “My pa does what he’s told.”

  “By who?”

  “By the town council,” Larry said, “or by the mayor.”

  “And the chief of police?”

  “Him, too.”

  “And what about you? You don’t do what you’re told?” Clint asked.

  “I do what my pa tells me to do,” Larry said. “To the others, I’m nobody.”

  “Where’s your pa now?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Would he talk to me?”

  “No,” Larry said, “he’d be too scared.”

  “Okay, Larry,” Clint said, “thanks for your help.”

  They turned to leave, but then Clint thought of another question.

  “When Banks disappeared, did he leave anything behind in his room?”

  “Nope,” Larry said. “The room was clean.”

  “Who cleaned it?”

  “I figured Mr. Banks took his stuff with him.”

  “What happens to stuff people leave in their rooms?”

  “We got a room in the back,” Larry said. “Pa ke
eps it for a while, then sells what he can.”

  “Can I see that room?”

  Larry looked at Ben, who nodded.

  “Okay,” Larry said. “This way.”

  He led them down a long hallway to a back room, which was cluttered.

  “Where would the newer stuff be?” Clint asked.

  “Against that wall,” Larry said, pointing.

  Clint walked to the wall, looked at the saddlebags, weapons, books, clothes, carpetbags, and other things piled there.

  “Nothing is marked with the room number they came out of?”

  “No,” Larry said.

  Clint bent down, started to go through the saddlebags. There were clean and dirty shirts, bandannas, letters, and receipts. There were rifles laid against the wall but no pistols. The rifles looked as if they’d need to be cleaned after being there for so long, but one—a Winchester—looked newer, cleaner. He picked it up. There were two initials scrawled into the stock—small letters, but legible. “H.B.”

  “I’m going to take this,” he said to Larry.

  “Uh, okay.”

  “If your pa notices and wants to know where it is, tell him you don’t know.”

  “Okay.”

  They left the room, walked back to the desk.

  “Thanks, Larry.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Ben nodded to his friend, and he and Clint walked outside.

  “Is that Harlan Banks’s rifle?” Ben asked.

  “I think so,” Clint said. “His initials are carved into the stock. Too much of a coincidence for it to be anyone else’s.”

  “So now what?”

  “Now I’ll keep my appointment,” Clint said. “See what else I can find out.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then I’ll have to come to a decision,” Clint said. “Do I leave town, or do I press on?”

  “If you stay, the mayor and the chief won’t like it.”

  “Yes,” Clint said. “I know.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  They went back to the house, where Clint decided to leave the rifle, with Hannah’s permission.

  “I don’t want it to be found in my room,” he explained.