Slocum and the Bixby Battle

by Jake Logan

  She blinked her startled eyes at him, then quickly obeyed. Drawing her fists toward her mouth as he turned her to face him, she tried to speak, but words never came from her mouth.

  “You ain’t half-bad,” he said, holding his hands on her slender waist. She trembled under his fingers. The notion of her fear only aroused him more. He dropped his boots to the floor and twisted around, drawing her between his legs and looking at her budding breasts under the thin blouse.

  His hands went up her rib cage and she drew in a frightened breath. Intent now in his purpose, he lifted the material, looking at the exposed brown skin until at last her pink-tinged, pointed nipples stared at him. With a jerk he pulled her closer and closed his mouth on the right one. From her throat came a suppressed half cry of protest. Her hands attempted to pry him from her breast, but that only instilled more desire in his inflamed brain.

  “Don’t . . . don’t,” she cried in a soft voice. “Please don’t!”

  By then he was so fired up, he hoisted her on the desk and pressed her to lie down with one hand while his other hand pushed up her skirt, exposing her shapely legs.

  He undid his pants, letting them fall to his boots, and looked down with a smile of pride at his engorged dick that popped out like a sword when he unbuttoned his underwear. She might have been taken by his nephew, but he would show her what it felt like to be screwed by a real man. Ahold of both of her legs, he dragged her to the edge of the desk and laughed aloud as the tears squirted from her eyes.

  “You’ll like this,” he promised her, crowding the desk and poking his rod into her.

  “No!” she moaned.

  Too late—he was hunching his butt to get his swollen dick inside her narrow walls. It felt so good to be within one so tight. His hands held her hips as he strained to insert more of his shaft into her. Damn, she was tight. She twisted and tried to escape him, but he was going to open her up or die trying. His butt pumping harder and harder, at last the resisting circle gave and he was inside her to the hilt and a loud moan came from her lips.

  He gave a cry of victory, intent on satisfying his own needs. With more vigor, he pounded his turgid rod in and out of her, his upper legs bumping hard against the desk edge.

  Had she fainted? He didn’t give a damn; he kept on going faster and faster, which only made his erection bigger and tighter, the skin so stretched he thought the head of his dick would burst. A great roar came from his throat, his heart pounded in his chest—but still no satisfaction.

  “We’ve got to do something different,” he gasped, out of breath. The excruciating pain in his swollen manhood was not going to end. He drew it out of her and took her by the shoulder.

  “Get on the floor on your knees,” he ordered the pale-faced girl.

  Her rheumy eyes looked with a dull expression at him. He half-lifted her off the desk and onto her knees. His hand behind her head, he forced his sore dick in her mouth.

  “Suck on it!” He wasn’t telling her again.

  The feeling of her tongue pressed hard against it struck like lightning to his balls. His seed rose in an explosion and he pressed toward her, filling her mouth and causing her to try to pull away.

  Then with a smile he reached down, like his daddy taught him to do to black wenches afterward, and squeezed her nose between his finger and thumb to force her to swallow his load. His pinch caused her throat to react and he felt her down it before he let go.

  She bent over in convulsive coughing. He stripped off the slime from his dick, wiped his hand on her blouse and put himself away. Not bad, but not near as good as it would be for him to screw that damn haughty Amanda. He would get her before this was over and make her beg for him to quit.

  He gave the girl a good nudge with his boot tips. “Get up, and tonight come to my bed.”

  Through her wet lashes, she stared at him in disbelief over his words.

  “You heard me. Get a bath, clean up and be in my bedroom at dark.”

  “But I am no puta . . .”

  “You are now. You’re mine. Get out of here!”

  Bixby stared out the window. One of the ranch’s bitches was coming in heat and the male dogs were having a snarling contest around her. He wondered if those two cowboys, Nichols and Taker, he had sent to follow Amanda were like those horny dogs, and were doing anything besides fucking whores in San Antonio. The night before he’d also sent his nephew Cave and one of his toughest men, Wilson, to check up on her.

  Bixby was busy working on his books. If he didn’t have all that Yankee gold he had amassed during the war, this range war business would have already drained a damn poor man. He chuckled to himself—he still had a piss pot full of gold left.

  “Señor, the sheriff, he is here.”

  He looked mildly at the short Mexican houseboy and nodded. “Send him in.”

  “Hey, McKlein, what’s new?” He stuck out his hand for the gray-headed lawman in the road-dusted brown suit. “You look like you’ve been doing some riding.”

  “Got word that bitch’s hired some tough gunslinger in San Anton.”

  “Who told you that?” Bixby frowned at him.

  “I got my sources.”

  “Here, have some good whiskey. How could one man be a damn threat to us?” He handed the lawman a glass half-full and poured himself one.

  “These damn greasers are a damn sight tougher than I ever thought they would be.” McKlein scowled at the glass then tossed half of it down.

  “Come with me. I intend to end that bitch’s indecision about selling to me.”

  “What’ve you got?”

  “Come along. It’s in the shed.”

  Bixby led him out of the house and to the wagon in the shed. He climbed up and drew back the tarp covering it.

  “Where they hell did you get a goddamn cannon?”

  “Mountain howitzer. It will make them Messikins shit in their pants and run like hell.”

  “But you promised me that ranch of hers out of this deal. I want it intact.”

  Bixby clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. A few rounds from this baby and they will abandon the damn ranch.” He laughed aloud over his plan, until McKlein finally joined in.

  Damn, Bixby thought, he would like to screw that Debaca woman, but he better use his dick on that house girl for the time being. His time for Amanda would come. He needed to be patient was all. “So, my friend, are we in business or not?”

  “We’re in business,” McKlein agreed.

  3

  They left the fandango early and hurried up the street. Slocum pulled Amanda by the arm into a dark alcove, then he checked to be certain they were alone before he kissed her. The fire of her breath threatened to melt his freshly shaved upper lip. A deep aroma of flowers saturated his nostrils’ lining, and her body molded against him with the same need he felt growing in his pants. The newfound richness of her lips made his head whirl. He knew the bulge in his pants pressed to her upper leg signaled his excitement and need for her.

  Hands clasped, they began their frantic flight up the stone sidewalk.

  “My room,” she hissed.

  “Fine,” he said, searching the moonlit square to be certain there was no apparent threat for them. It paid to be vigilant; especially when they both were so worked up and heady, Slocum knew he must use some caution.

  “Where have you been all my life?” she asked, looking starry-eyed.

  “Here and there,” he said, feeling more secure and ready to make the El Grande Hotel entrance a half block away their next goal. She kissed his cheek, and they rushed forward to the open french doors, into the dimly lit lobby and up the stairs.

  Halfway up the staircase, Slocum surveyed the potted palms and the sleepy-eyed desk clerk ignoring their obvious entry. Nothing looked out of place. He nodded in approval, and she held her dress up to climb to the landing. On the second floor, they hurried down the dark hall. She let go of him and fetched a key from her pocket. The lock set clicked and they were inside.
/>   Her back to the closed door, she turned and stood on her toes to kiss him. “No lights?” she asked softly.

  “No lights,” he agreed and looked at the muslin curtains flowing into the room from the cooling night wind. Still on edge about their security, he kissed her again, then let go of her to check the balcony. He stepped out into the shadows and looked at the street below. Nothing appeared out of place.

  “Something wrong?” she asked from inside the room.

  “No, just being careful.”

  “Good, I had forgotten about—everything. We’ve had such fun tonight.”

  He saw that she was undoing the buttons on the front of her dress.

  “It’ll be all right. There’s no sign of any threat to us.” With the toe of his one boot he pushed off the other one and watched her undress in the shadowy light. His gunbelt hanging on a chair close by, he undid his britches, took them off and put them on the dresser. Turning back, he could make out the outline of her body as she took the camisole off over her head. The silhouette of her quaking breasts made an inviting outline.

  His shirt next and he was down to his one-piece underwear. She came over and began to help him undress. They stopped to kiss and he felt her strong hands push the union suit off his shoulders. A swish of the night wind swept his bare skin, stealing some of his body heat. Her long fingers rode down his sides as if measuring him. Hands on her shoulders, he stepped out of the last layer.

  They came together like starving critters, his erection against her belly. She fondled the head of it with one hand then, as if unable to wait any longer, led him to the bed. On her back, she scooted over to the center of the mattress then held out her arms for him.

  Silky legs brushed against the sides of his hips, and she parted them wider and raised up for his invasion. A sharp cry of pleasure escaped her open mouth at his entry. He smiled at her wild abandonment and soft moans as they became one hard-pounding mesh. Her stomach muscles met his rip-corded ones and they sought the most of each other.

  The walls of her vagina began to constrict his efforts. Her short breath roared in and out of her throat. She raised her face up so her chin was pointed at him in her effort to reach for even more pleasure. Then she clutched him like someone in deep fear of drowning and he braced himself to come.

  Her cry was sharp, and he felt the blast come from deep before it flew out the end of his painfully swollen dick. The explosion pulled the plug on him and he had to brace his letdown on her, then roll aside.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  She rolled over to face him and mumbled, “No, I don’t know where I’m at.”

  “Good,” he said and patted her smooth, bare leg.

  “It has been a long time since I felt this way,” she said, getting the long hair back from her face. “I never thought I’d ever—”

  “Why not? Life goes on.”

  “Slocum, my life has not been going on.” She closed her eyes and shook her head in the room’s dim light.

  “Well, let’s change all that.” He turned over on his belly and propped himself up on his elbow.

  “I’m game. When can we do this again?”

  He rose up on his knees and opened her legs. Kneeling between them, he put her hand on his dick. His soldier needed no instructions, and with her subtle fingers’ persuasion he soon stood at attention.

  “How’s that?” he asked her.

  “Amazing.” She snuggled downward in the bed to get him inside her nest. “Real amazing.”

  He smiled, lowering himself down, pushing his hard-on in her slick gates. So are you, Amanda Debaca.

  Slocum crossed the cobblestoned way, and when he reached the doorway of the gunsmith, he turned back to look at the two familiar horses traveling down the street in his direction, their riders finding their way through the jumbled traffic of street peddlers and carretas. Both cowboys wore bandages over their right ears. Hats cocked to the side to accommodate the covering, they were heading north, pushing their ponies between the peddlers, goats, carts and buggies. Why, those two must be looking for some new country, Slocum decided. With a shake of his head, he entered the store that smelled of black gunpowder and oil.

  “Can I help you?” a man in his forties asked, wiping down a Colt in his hand with an oily rag.

  “How long will it take to put in a new trigger spring in my Colt?”

  “Twenty minutes. You have the time?”

  “Fine,” Slocum said and drew out his Colt, unloaded the chambers and pocketed the cartridges. “I can wait.”

  The gunsmith checked the cylinders and examined the barrel. Then he cocked the hammer back and dry fired it. “It needs one.”

  “I thought so.”

  “Weakest link in Sam Colt’s design was this spring.”

  Slocum nodded. Curious about the pair of departing cowboys, he wished he knew more about their experiences of the previous night. Obviously they were not headed for the hill country in the west.

  “Howdy,” the deputy marshal said, coming in the front door.

  Slocum nodded to the man in the black suit wearing a star. The gunsmith stood up, calling the lawman by his name. “How you doing, Fred?”

  “Fine. Been a helluva night. Two drifters got beat up in an alley last night and damned if whoever did it didn’t cut notches in their ears.”

  “What for?” Slocum asked, frowning at the lawman.

  “Hell, I’m not certain. The two that got notched were pretty closemouthed about their business and acted like they were in an all-fired hurry to get the hell out of San Antonio.”

  “Well, don’t that beat all. Guess they’ll wear them notches from now on,” the gunsmith said, getting a handgun out of the case. “Got yours fixed. New pin was all. No charges. I don’t charge the law. May need your protection.”

  “Well, thanks,” the deputy said, holstering his piece and nodding to Slocum as he headed out the door.

  “Don’t that beat all?” the gunsmith asked, shaking his head over the notching incident.

  Slocum agreed, busy watching the craftsman disassemble his Colt. One thing for certain, they’d damn sure be ear notched for life.

  An hour later he rapped on her hotel door.

  “Slocum?”

  “Yes.” At his reply, dressed in a bathrobe, she let him in.

  “Those two rode out this morning a little worse for wear.”

  “They did?”

  “Yes, I guess the guys who beat them up wanted to be sure they’d recognize them next time.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Marshal said that they notched their ears.”

  “Oh, my, you do play rough.”

  He shook his head, standing behind the curtain with an eye to the street below. “That wasn’t my idea. But they’re out of your life.”

  “Fine, but I must warn you, the Colonel seems to have an endless supply of their like.”

  “One at a time, we’ll get them all notched and worked.”

  “Oh, no, they didn’t—”

  Amused, he looked at her and shook his head. “No, not this time. Who told you about me?”

  “I asked some men who knew my father about you when I arrived here two days ago. They said you were the man, if I could hire you.”

  She was standing under him with her face thrown back. “I’m a woman without shame. I will do anything to save my ranch and those of my neighbors.”

  Her eyes never left his. Her fingers undid the knot in the belt on the robe. The front fell open and she put her hands on his shoulders, then she hugged him, driving her hard breasts like nails into him.

  He swept her up and delivered her to the bed.

  “If I can afford you—” she managed, before chuckling at his attention toward her.

  Amused at her laughter, he began to take off his boots and undress, studying her well-proportioned body lying on the sheets.

  “I’ll never get my shopping completed—”

  “My dear,” he said, climbing on the
bed, “that can all wait.”

  “I agree,” she said, nesting herself on her back in the mattress.

  Slocum drove the light wagon and team; his saddle horse he called Buck jogged along after tied to the tailgate. Amanda rode beside him on the spring seat, using her parasol for shade. The drive west took the main road to Boerne. They arrived at the village close to sundown, the horses weary. He left her and the luggage at the one-story hotel and drove the wagon up the street to the livery. When he was satisfied the animals would be rubbed down, grained and cared for, he strode up the dark street past several noisy cantinas and found her in the hotel lobby looking refreshed and smiling.

  “Oh, Señora Slocum,” the desk clerk said to her. “Will you and the señor be staying longer than one night?”

  “Ask my husband,” she said.

  He shook his head and the desk clerk nodded, satisfied.

  She put on the shawl as they went out the door. “Strange to be called Mrs. Slocum,” she said, under her breath.

  “Like I said earlier, it saved you the price of another room.”

  She nodded with a smile. “Besides we would only use one bed anyway.” Then she hugged his arm as they crossed the shadowy street for the restaurant.

  The food was flavorful, and Slocum was eased back in his chair when two noisy men came in the front door. Amanda glanced over, and with a dark look on her face, she turned back quickly to tell him, “There’s two more of them.”

  Slocum frowned in mild dismay. “He must have an army.”

  “Hey, look what we’ve got us right here. If it ain’t Señora Debaca, Clyde.”

  The dark-haired, lanky boy of perhaps eighteen with narrow, weak shoulders strode over to stand close to her. He wore a six-gun with the butt pointed out on his right hip. He was dressed in dust-floured drover’s clothing, but the expensive red rag around his neck marked him as more than a simple cowboy. His angular face looked beardless and his steel blue eyes held a rattlesnake’s coldness that Slocum recognized as deadly.

  “Sure enough. Why, howdy, ma’am. You’re sure a long ways from home, Peaches.”