In summer Sherrod came riding up to the ranch on horseback. As usual he was grinning ear to ear. “Afternoon, Mr. Kavlo, sir. Right nice day, ain’t it, sir.”
Kalvo eyed him wearily. “I suspect so.”
“Came to have a chat with your ranch hand, sir. He at liberty?”
Swopes walked up behind Kalvo from the barn and stood shoulder to shoulder with Kalvo.
“Three white men come to town lookin’ for you, sidekick. Mad dog lookin’ sons of bitches. Little one, the boss man, he all cut up in the face. Say there’s a bounty on your head. Five thousand dead or alive.”
“You telling us straight?” Kalvo asked.
“Ol’ Sherrod ain’t never told no lie, sir. Miss Tessie gave ’em whiskey and women, no charge. Started flappin’ her jaw. Don’t know why but she got it out for you, Mr. Kalvo.”
The back of Swopes’s neck chilled. Those dead souls Kalvo had spoken of clutched him. He looked behind Sherrod and saw a bundle tied to his horse’s hind quarter.
“Where are you off to?” Swopes asked.
“When white men come ridin’ with a bounty one colored man’s as good to ’em as the next. I’m lightin’ out. If you smart, Swopes, you’ll saddle your nag and kick up dust on the double.”
“Where will you go?”
Sherrod said nothing. He doffed his bowler to them and began to whistle merrily as his horse trotted off. Before long he was a dark spot on the vast landscape. Then he was nothing at all.
They rode onto the property on Independence Day mounted on horses black as midnight and just as foreboding. Three of them, gun-strapped. Kalvo spotted them a mile down the road and told Swopes to take off to the mountains on his horse and not to come back til nightfall. Swopes tried to put up a fight; Kalvo wouldn’t hear it. Swopes scurried up on the roof of the main house and crouched behind the chimney stack. He kept his Winchester trained on them.
The runt of the posse did the talking. “Have a word with you, Rancher Kalvo?”
Kalvo approached slowly from the gravestones. He stayed calm but alert. His Remington was holstered. “State your business.”
“Name’s Taggert,” the piggish little man with the scarred face announced. “Looking for a colored man. Honey skin. Sad eyes. Answers to the name of Swopes. Folks in town say you got such a man employed.”
“No man like that here. Who is this fellow?”
“The culprit I’m looking for busted out of jail and choked the life out of some rich old coot back in Texas. He called it revenge; revenge for what I don’t know. The old man’s family wants this culprit’s hide and I aim to drag it back to Texas.”
“Wish I could help, but like I said—”
Taggert drew a Colt on Kalvo before he could finish. His cohorts followed suit. Taggert told him to drop his pistol, and he did.
“See here, Kalvo,” Taggert said. “I know you got that culprit stashed around here somewhere. Now, I’m a fair man so I’m gonna give you count of five to draw him out or show us where he’s hid. If not you get a taste of what’s waiting for him.”
Taggert got off his horse and walked toward Kalvo. “That old harlot who runs the whorehouse says you and this colored fella’ve gone sissy. To hear her tell it you’ve gone loco for colored cock.” He looked Kalvo up and down and scoffed then loped toward the graves. “Your missus is surely turning over in her grave.” He stood in front of the tombstones, unhitched his britches, and pulled out his pecker. A stream came next. Taggert chuckled.
Swopes opened fire, blowing a hole in Taggert’s chest. Kavlo dashed for his gun when Taggert’s men returned fire; he scrambled behind the large tombstone and fired on them. Bullets whizzed back and forth; horses whinnied and reared out of fear. Swopes hit one of the bounty hunters dead in the eye. He flew off his horse and convulsed on the ground for a few moments before he stilled. The last gunman emptied his gun firing on Kalvo. Before he could reach for another pistol Kalvo got him in the belly. Swopes finished the job, shooting a bullet into his chest.
Sitting over breakfast many months later, after dandelions had bloomed over the place in the west field where they buried Taggert and his men, Swopes asked Kalvo what he was going to say to him the night Adeline led him upstairs. Swopes pushed aside his coffee cup, reached across the harvest table, and tenderly grasped Swopes’s hand. “I don’t want you to leave me.”
THE CATTLE IN THE CORN
Brent Archer
North Dakota, 1933
Damn it. Slim’s cows are trampling my crop. Again. Bob Utecht stormed across his field clenching his shotgun. As he neared the edge of the tall, waving grain and the beginning of the cornstalks, he aimed into the air and shot two rounds. The cattle snapped their heads up from chewing on the tall shoots of wheat and stared at him. He reloaded and fired again. The frightened animals bolted, trampling several cornstalks as they escaped through the hole in the fence.
Third time this week. Bob followed and surveyed the broken barrier. The fence still hasn’t been fixed. He fired off one more round in frustration and watched the herd of Angus run.
Fuming, he marched the half mile down the narrow dirt road to the old wooden house Slim Martinson owned. Even after the hike, his anger hadn’t abated.
Bob banged his fist on the wooden screen door.
After a few moments and some loud thuds from within, Slim’s ranch hand, Mark Tetrick, cracked open the door with a red face framed by messy dark curls. His eyes, the color of prairie grass after a spring rain, stared wide. “Uh, hello, Mister Utecht. How can I help you?”
“Where’s Slim?”
More shuffling came from behind the door, and a shirtless Slim moved into Bob’s view. “Right here. You look madder than a bull in heat. What’s wrong?”
Bob stormed past the ranch hand and into the house, glaring at Slim. “Your damned cows were in my cornfield again.”
With a frown, Slim ran a hand through wavy blond hair. “Shit.”
“You said you’d fix the fence last week?”
Mark moved to stand by Slim. “Some things came up.” He glanced at his boss. “We didn’t get to it.”
Narrowing his eyes, Bob stabbed a finger at Slim. “I suggest you get to it soon. I fired in the air this time, but my aim might improve if I catch any more of your cows trampling my crops.” Following the line of his pointing, Bob’s gaze traveled down Mark’s muscular frame and followed the flat stomach to the crotch of his blue jeans. His mind wandered momentarily to the farmhand who pleasured him several years ago. The taller man next to Mark shifted his weight, and Bob’s gaze swept across his tall, lean body and bulging pants. They’re both big.
Lowering his hand, he snapped his stare up to Slim’s blue eyes.
Slim and Mark exchanged a quick glance, and Slim stepped toward Bob. “We don’t want no trouble. We’ll fix the fence tomorrow.”
Returning his eyes to Slim’s chest momentarily, he swallowed and turned on his heel. “One more time and I’ll have beef for the next year.” He marched out the door, the screen slamming behind him.
Roosevelt gave the nation back its beer. How about some rain for us farmers, Mister President? Bob tossed the newspaper on the table in disgust and glanced out the window as the late afternoon sun slipped behind heavy clouds. Black and grey thunderheads advanced across the North Dakota prairie. Looks like twister weather.
He stepped away from the window and picked up the box of emergency supplies he kept near the door in case of tornados. After grabbing the old family pictures off the wall, he hurried out into the yard.
The old windmill next to the barn creaked as its metal blades spun in the accelerating wind. He glanced toward the cornfield through the dark hair whipping his face, and a chill shook him. A swirling green cloud extended to the ground. Shit, that’s a big one.
He turned and ran to the cellar next to the pump house, clutching his box of supplies. As he reached the door, Slim’s red ’32 Ford truck turned into his yard. The two cowboys jumped out and ran toward him
.
Slim reached him first. “We were out fixing the fence when the storm came in.”
Mark arrived next. “No time to get home. Can we use your storm cellar?”
The thought of being cooped up in a hole in the ground for a few hours with the tall, lean rancher and his muscular buddy sent a thrill through him.
“Of course. Let’s go.” Bob wrenched open the door, and the two guys followed him down the steps.
“Bolt the door, Mark.” Bob placed the box on a small table against the earthen wall as something thudded against the door. He lifted a lantern from the box and lit it, setting it onto the table. A pale flame illuminated the room, and the two neighbors held back by the door. Three simple wooden chairs adorned the small space.
“Sit down a spell, boys.”
Pulling two of the chairs next to each other, Slim and Mark each took a seat and faced him.
Slim shook his head. “I hate these storms. I’ve been here since I was twelve, and I’m still not used to the twisters.”
The door rattled against the bolt as the storm raged outside. Rain pelted the wood while a boom of thunder echoed through the shelter, making the rancher jump.
Mark patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’re safe down here.”
Reaching into the supply box, Bob lifted out a deck of cards. “I usually play solitaire when I’m waiting out a storm, but how about a game of poker?”
Mark glanced at Slim with a smirk. “Sure, but what are you betting with?”
Unsure he wanted to engage in any gambling, Bob narrowed his eyes. “I’ve got a couple of sawbucks and Lincolns on me.”
With a shake of his head, Slim stood. “We’ll need our cash after this storm. How about something more interesting?”
“More interesting?”
A grin swept across Mark’s lips as he nodded at his boss. “Like strip poker.”
Heat surged through him as his cock hardened. “I don’t know, guys.”
“Oh, come on.” Slim stepped forward until he was nose to nose with Bob. “You were staring at our dicks more than complaining about our cows.”
“I…I don’t know what you mean.” His cheeks burned as he stepped backward, his back bumping the wall and fear shaking his body. They’d caught him looking them over, and he didn’t want a repeat of the beating he’d taken in Moorhead five years ago when he made a pass at one of the suppliers at a farm show. He’d misinterpreted a smile as interest and paid the price.
Slim pressed his hand against the crotch of Bob’s jeans, making him grunt and bite his lip. The palm pressed against his cock, and the damned thing betrayed him, hardening under the warm pressure.
Rising from the chair, Mark stepped next to Bob. He ran his hands across Bob’s tense chest and massaged his fingers into the muscles. “Let’s skip the cards and get right to the main event.”
Slim continued to rub Bob’s now throbbing hardness through his jeans. “Yeah, Farmer Bob. Let us cowboys show you how we make love.”
His fear and resistance melting, Bob swallowed hard. “Make love?”
Mark pressed his lips against his neck, sending small shock waves along his spine. “That’s right. I’m his ranch hand to the neighbors, but we’re lovers. We’ve had our eye on you for a long time, but never thought we’d get lucky enough to get you naked.”
The tall blond in front of him dropped to his knees and unfastened the fly of Bob’s jeans. “We’ve wanted you in our bed since the first time you came over to complain. Dark-haired guys like you and Mark light a fire in me like nothing else.” He pulled the fly open, and Bob’s erection slapped against his stomach.
With legs shaking, Bob pressed back against the wall as Slim sucked on the head of his dick. He ran his hand through blond locks of wavy hair, and rested his head back as Mark licked up to his ear, gently biting the earlobe.
Increasing his suction, the rancher took Bob’s shaft deep into his throat, nestling his nose into the tangle of dark hair at the root. When he constricted his throat and sucked hard, a moan forced its way from Bob’s core out his lips as his shaft pulsed.
The familiar sensation before his release tingled through his balls. “I’m going to blow.”
Slim backed off and bobbed his head up and down, swirling his tongue around the head. His increased rhythm brought Bob over the edge, and he roared as he unloaded into the blond man’s mouth.
Mark wrapped his arms around Bob’s chest and back, keeping him from sliding to the floor. “Nice work, buddy.”
As Bob turned his face to the side, Mark leaned forward and their lips met. He closed his eyes, savoring the intense pleasure surging through him. Slim joined their kiss, alternating between Bob and Mark. The passion of his kiss increased when he tasted the remnants of his release on Slim’s tongue.
With wobbling knees, he broke the kiss and grabbed a needed breath. “I should sit a moment, guys.”
Mark eased him into a chair, and Bob wiped the back of his hand over his forehead. “I can’t believe that just happened.”
Sharing a worried glance, Slim and Mark stared at him with furrowed brows.
Bob chuckled. “Don’t worry, it was the bee’s knees. Just took me by surprise.”
Silence settled over the shelter as the wind and rain stopped. A chill ran down Bob’s spine as he heard a rumble like a freight train grow in the distance. “It sounds close.”
Slim kicked the dirt of the floor, fists clenching and eyes squeezed shut. “Damn it.”
The roar grew louder, and Bob cringed at the sound of snapping wood outside. He pulled up his pants, and the three men huddled against the earthen wall. The door rattled and shook violently.
After a few minutes, the rumbling died down. They stayed on the floor for some time, no one saying a word as they listened to the retreating storm. Eventually, beams of sunlight shone through the door and birds chirped outside.
Bob stepped toward the stairs. “Storm’s over. Let’s see what’s left.” He pulled the bolt from the doorframe, and shoved open the heavy, wooden door. Fresh air rushed into the room, scented with rain and dust. He peeked outside.
The house and barn still stood, though the blades from the windmill were torn off and stuck into the side of the barn. Mark and Slim’s truck rested on its side.
With a sigh of relief, he emerged from the shelter and hurried to the house. Looking back, he frowned as he noticed half of the barn’s roof missing. Could’ve been worse.
Mark and Slim stepped into the daylight and surveyed their vehicle. Slim shook his head. “Damn. Our new truck.”
The ranch hand circled the sideways truck, his hands in his pockets. Bob returned and stood by Slim as Mark joined them. “Looks like just a broken windshield. The axles aren’t bent, and the frame doesn’t look damaged. Let’s see if we can get her back on her wheels.”
The pulley wheel still perched on the beam jutting from the hayloft on the barn. Bob nodded toward it. “I’ve got rope in the barn. Tie some to the winch, and we can pull her slowly so there’s no damage when the tires hit the ground.”
Slim helped Bob get the rope set up. Once everything was attached and ready, Mark stripped off his shirt and stood in front of Bob as they pulled. Bob clutched the rope tighter, almost losing his grip as he glued his eyes to the bulging muscles of the cowboy in front of him. Slim pushed on the top of the cab, and once the truck started moving, he rushed over and helped them pull on the rope. Muscles straining, the three men eased the truck back onto its wheels.
Bob dropped the rope and willed his cock to soften as he turned away from the glistening skin of Mark’s chest. “Nice work, guys. Let’s go take a look at your place and see if everything’s okay there.”
Pulling his shirt from the waistband of his jeans, Mark flexed his muscles as he slipped the fabric over his shoulders. He and Slim climbed in the truck while Bob jumped into the back after untying the rope from the truck frame. Mark started the engine, and they drove down the road.
Bob’s st
omach tightened as they turned down the long driveway of the ranchers’ property. Only the chimney of the house remained intact, surrounded by splintered wood. He slung his legs over the side of the truck and jumped to the ground as the vehicle rumbled to a halt. What a mess.
Mark got out and put his hand to his forehead, his eyes wide.
Slim joined him, brow furrowed. “Not much left.”
Two horses trotted up the driveway. Mark hurried to catch them while Slim stood next to Bob. “At least our horses are alive.”
Bob turned to Slim. “I’m mighty sorry about your place.”
“Nice of you to say. We’ve got you to thank for the tornado not taking us. If you hadn’t come about that fence, we’d be dead. We usually spend Saturday afternoons screwing.”
Staring at his feet, Bob regretted threatening to kill their cattle. “Guess I have a few fences to mend, too.”
Slim patted his shoulder. “Nah, you were right. You caught Mark sucking me the day you came over. We both got a laugh out of it when you stared at the crotches of our jeans. That’s when we decided to see if you swung our way.”
Heat rose in Bob’s cheeks.
Mark led the two horses to the truck and tied their leads to the back bumper. “I think they’re okay. We’ll have to ride out later to see if we can find the herd. Wonder how many we lost?”
Slim strode toward the remains of the house, his back stiff and his voice strained. “Hopefully not many. We’ll need to sell some of them to rebuild.”
Bob followed and helped Slim pick through the debris. Lifting a cabinet door, he found a framed photo of the two men. They had their arms across each other’s shoulders, and the farmhouse stood behind them.
Slim glanced over. “What you got there?”
Cowboy Up Page 3