He stepped off the porch and started walking toward them.
John saw Mort step down off the porch.
“Sam!” he shouted. “Unload in the barn first.”
Sam nodded and turned the team toward the barn. John continued to ride toward his other brother.
“Is it time?” Mort asked as John dismounted.
“Yeah, big brother,” John said. “It’s time.”
“Okay,” Mort said. “Come inside and let’s talk.”
FOUR
Harry Dial had been right about the steak. It was good, but it was not worth the long ride. Clint sat back and patted his stomach.
“You feelin’ better?” Dial asked.
“A little,” Clint said. “Okay, I know it’s not your fault, but I rode a long way for nothing.”
“I understand that,” Dial said, “and I’m sorry. I can probably scare up a game for you.”
“I’m not interested in a pickup game,” Clint said. “I was in the mood for some serious poker.”
“Well . . . there is a place you might find a game,” Dial said.
“Oh? Where?”
“Dexter.”
“What’s Dexter?”
“A town in the neighboring county,” Dial said. “We’re in Marion. Dexter’s in Orange County.”
“Big town?”
“Bigger than this one.”
“That isn’t saying much.”
“It’s big enough,” Dial said. “Got everything you’d need to salvage the trip.”
“Is that right?”
“Coupla saloons, with girls and games, some restaurants, two hotels . . .”
“Sounds like any other town.”
“Go to the Ox Bow Saloon,” Dial told him. “Talk to Eddie Randle. If there are gamblers in town, he’ll know. Say, since when did you become a big gambler?”
“When a good game comes around, I’m interested,” Clint said. “Wasn’t Bat Masterson supposed to be here?”
“Bat was the first one to cancel,” Dial said. “Ran into some trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Nothin’ he couldn’t handle,” Dial said. “At least, that’s what his telegram said.”
“Bat thinks he can handle anything—and he usually can,” Clint said.
They got up, paid the bill, and left.
“What are you going to do now?” Dial asked.
“Check on my horse,” Clint said. “Then I guess I’ll go to my room.”
“Come by my place first,” Dial said. “I’ll give you a couple of beers on the house.”
“You got a deal.”
Clint made sure Eclipse was fed and bedded down for the night, then went over to the saloon. Dial was waiting for him at the bar.
“Paul, a beer for Mr. Adams,” he said. “On the house, followed by a second.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And bring me one.”
Clint picked up his beer and took a couple of swallows. It was ice cold. He looked around. The place was almost empty.
“What are you doing here, Harry?” he asked.
“Here? This is my place.”
“You own the hotel, too?”
“Yup.”
“Why?” Clint asked. “This town looks like it’ll blow away soon.”
“I’m doin’ okay here, Clint,” Dial said. “The town’s gonna come back.”
“You really think so?”
“I’m gonna make it come back.”
“How much of it do you own?”
“About half,” Dial said. “Nobody else wanted it.”
“Why do you want it?”
Dial shrugged.
“I rode in here one day and just about the whole place was up for grabs,” Dial said. “I guess I saw a chance to own my own town.”
“And do what with it? Die?”
“We won’t die,” Dial said. “I’m gonna have a few of these games every month. It’ll help me raise the money I need to fix this place up.”
“Where are you going to get your supplies?”
“Well, until I can get the general store up and running again, I’ll go to Dexter. The Archer boys have a general store there.”
“Archer?”
“Four brothers,” Dial said. “They run the store, and they have a farm outside of town.”
“Well, I wish you luck, Harry,” Clint said. “I think you’re going to need it.”
“You make your own luck, Clint,” Dial said. “That’s what I’m tryin’ to do.”
Clint finished his beer and set the mug down.
“What about that second one?”
“Next time,” Clint said, although once he left Ajax, Indiana, he knew he’d never be back.
FIVE
“We’ll take the kid with us,” Mort said.
“What?” John asked.
“Sam,” Mort said.
“I know who the kid is, Mort,” John said. “Why would we take him with us?”
“It’s time for him to learn the family business, don’t you think?”
“Why?”
“Well, for one thing he wants to,” Mort said. “He’s been askin’ me when he can go.”
“Sam’s eighteen, Mort.”
“He’s a man,” Mort said. “And he’s got to pull his weight.”
“So put him to work here.”
“On the farm?” Mort asked. “Sam’s no farmer. Believe me, I’ve tried. Just like you and Thomas.”
“We have to run the store.”
“And the farm gets run into the ground.”
“Mort,” John said, “we can give up the farm.”
“No,” Mort said, “we need it. It’s a good cover.”
“So’s the store.”
“As long as we’re farmers and storekeepers,” Mort said, “nobody’s gonna think we’re also bank and train robbers.”
“Not to mention stagecoaches.”
“Yeah,” Mort said, “them, too.”
Sam came busting in the front door carrying a box of supplies.
“I got everything put away in the barn, Mort,” he said, putting the box on the table. “Here’s the rest of it.”
“Put it all away, kid.”
“But, Mort, I wanna go back to town.”
“Not yet,” Mort said. “John and me are talkin’ about our next job.”
“We got a job comin’ up?” Sam asked, excited.
“That’s right.”
“You said I could go on the next one, Mort,” Sam said. He looked at John. “That’s what he said, John.”
“I know it.”
“What’s the job?” Sam asked.
“We haven’t decided yet,” Mort said. “We’ll have to talk to Tom about it, too.”
“I can ride into town and get ’im.”
“Don’t worry,” John said. “He’ll be here as soon as he closes up. He knows we’re gonna talk about this tonight.”
“You got somethin’ in mind?” Mort asked John.
“We could hit the bank in Munro,” John said.
“We hit that bank already.”
“Yeah, but it’s the biggest one in the county,” John said. “We’ll just have to do the one job. Why? You got any ideas?”
“I was thinkin’ about somethin’ we never done before,” Mort said.
“Like what?”
“Like hittin’ two stagecoaches at the same time.”
“Yeah, that is somethin’ we never done before,” John said, “with good reason.”
“Right,” Mort said, “because there was only three of us, but now we’re four.”
“That’s right!” Sam said.
“You’re supposed to put the rest of the supplies away, Sammy,” Mort said.
“Yeah, sure, Mort.”
“Two stagecoaches,” John said.
“That idea appeal to you, Johnny?”
“Yeah, kinda,” John said, “but I don’t know if it’ll appeal to Tom.”
“You let me wo
rry about Tommy.”
Thomas Archer came out the front door of the store and locked it behind him. When he turned, he came face-to-face with the law.
“Hey, Sheriff.”
“Tom,” Sheriff Lou Perry said. “Closin’ up early for the day?”
“Yeah,” Thomas said, “gotta go out to the farm and help Mort.”
“You fellas sure are hard workers,” Perry said. “Hell, you’re my age, Tom. Farmin’ and storekeepin’, that’s hard work.”
“We ain’t exactly old, Sheriff, are we?” Thomas asked.
“Forty,” Perry said, “forty’s pretty old. In fact, I been feelin’ kind of old lately.”
“Yeah, well, just think about Mort,” Thomas said. “Poor guy’s forty-five.”
“Yeah,” the sheriff said, “I guess things could always be worse, right?”
“You got that right, Sheriff,” Thomas said. “Things could always be worse.”
SIX
Clint was about to reread Mark Twain’s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn when there was a knock at the door. He was rereading the book because Twain had not come out with a new one since its publication in 1884. He’d exchanged some letters with Twain where the man said he was working on something that had to do with King Arthur. Clint couldn’t wait to read that one.
He put Finn down on the rickety night table and took his gun from the holster that was hanging on the bedpost. He carried the gun to the door with him.
“Who is it?”
A woman’s voice said, “Harry sent me.”
“Harry . . . ,” Clint said, shaking his head.
He was still cautious as he opened the door, gun ready. Standing in the hall was the big-breasted, pale-skinned blonde who had been in bed with Harry earlier in the day.
“Remember me?” she asked, with a smile.
“Listen,” Clint said, “tell Harry I appreciate the thought but—”
“—you don’t pay for whores,” she finished for him. “I know, I heard. But I’m not here as a whore.”
“What are you here as?” he asked.
“A woman,” she said, “one who really doesn’t like standing in the hall.”
“What’s your name?”
“Sophie.”
“Sophie,” he said, “you’re a lovely girl—”
She laughed.
“I ain’t been a girl in a long time, Mr. Adams,” she said, “and I also ain’t been lovely, but I do have these.” She took hold of the front of her dress and pulled it down so that her bare breasts fell out. Her pink nipples were hard.
“You kind of noticed them this afternoon, didn’t you?” she asked.
“How could I not?”
“So?” she asked. “Do you want to leave me out here in the hall with my breasts hangin’ out?”
“No,” he said, “no, of course not. Get in here.”
He opened the door, backed up so she could enter, then closed it. By the time he turned to face her, she had her breasts covered.
“Hello,” she said.
“Hello,” he said.
She saw the gun in his hand.
“Sorry,” he said. He walked to the bedpost and holstered the gun. “Can’t be too careful.”
“I understand,” she said. “Harry told me who you are. Clint Adams, the Gunsmith. This is quite an honor.”
“Is it?”
“You’re very famous,” she said. “I’ve never met a famous person before.”
“I’m afraid I’m just like anyone else.”
She walked toward him. He was suddenly aware of the fact that he was half naked, his torso and feet bare. And the dress she was wearing was thin cotton, clinging to her lush body like a second skin. And she’d already proven how quickly she could take at least part of it off.
She came close to him, and he could feel the heat her body gave off, and smell the scent of her sex.
His body reacted naturally, and there was nothing he could do about it.
When she got close enough to touch him, she did. She placed her hand on his crotch, felt how swollen he was.
“Ooh,” she said, “not just like anybody else, I see.”
“Sophie—”
“Shh,” she said, reaching for his belt. “I’m not askin’ for any money, Clint. Can I call you Clint?”
“Sure,” he said, his mouth going dry.
“Harry said you had nothin’ to do tonight,” she told him, “said you were leavin’ in the mornin’. All I want is a little bit of your time.”
“My time?”
She slid off his belt, undid the button on his trousers.
“One night, then,” she said. “One for both of us to remember.”
She reached into his pants, inside his underwear, to take hold of his swollen cock.
“Ooh,” she said, “you’re hot.”
“So are you,” he said. “It’s coming off you in waves.”
“I know,” she said, lowering her voice and licking her bottom lip. “I get like that. Men have commented on it before.”
She stroked him inside his pants.
“I’m gonna take this out of your pants now,” she said. “You can stop me if you want.”
He reached out, hooked his finger inside the front of her dress, and pulled it down until her breasts spilled out.
“I don’t think I want to stop you.”
SEVEN
She lowered Clint’s pants and shorts to the floor, and his erection popped free.
“Ooh,” she said, getting down on her knees.
She took him in both hands, licked the head of his penis until it was very wet, then slid it into her mouth. She began to suck on him and, at the same time, stroke him with one hand.
“Jesus,” he said.
Her wet mouth took more and more of him in, until, at one point, she had his entire length in her mouth. She held him there for a moment, then released and gasped, catching her breath.
“Jesus,” she said, “you could choke a girl.”
“I wouldn’t want to do that,” he said. He reached down, pulled her to her feet, then hastily removed her dress, peeling it off of her. When she was completely naked, he stepped back so he could look at her. She had a fleshy body—big breasts, wide hips, strong thighs and calves. She was a large woman, not fat—not yet anyway. In her later years she’d probably go that way, but at the moment she was mouthwatering.
He moved closer, took her breasts into his palms, and hefted them.
“I know,” she said, “they’re heavy, but you don’t have to carry them around all day.”
“Well,” he said, thumbing her nipples, “you might have complaints, but I don’t.”
He lifted her breasts to his mouth, sucked each nipple until it was very hard, then bit them.
“Oooh, yeah,” she said, “bite ’em hard.”
While he sucked her breasts, she reached down and stroked his dick.
“God, it’s gettin’ even bigger,” she marveled.
“So are your nipples.”
“I know,” she said. “Sometimes I think they’re so ugly.”
“Ugly?” He stared at her. “Are we looking at the same nipples? They’re a beautiful pink.”
“But they’re so big.”
“Makes it easier to bite them,” he said, demonstrating.
“Ouch.”
“Sorry.”
“No, it’s fine,” she said, “but how would you like me to bite you?”
He smiled and said, “Yes, please.”
She got on her knees again and began to nibble on him. Eventually, though, her tongue came out and she started licking up and down the length of him—up one side, down the other. While she sucked him, he reached down to cup her breasts, tweaking her nipples. Then he put his hands in her armpits and lifted her to her feet.
“Time for the bed,” he said.
“What’s the hurry, big boy?” she asked with a smile. “We got all night.”
“You’re making my legs weak.”
> “Ain’t you sweet,” she said, then licked her lips and added. “Well, yeah, you are. Come on, I wanna suck some more on that salt lick of yours.”
He pulled her to him for a deep kiss, and walked her to the bed while still in the clinch. When they fell onto the bed together, she once again maneuvered herself between his legs and began to suck on him. Lying on his back, he put his hands up over his head and began to move his hips in unison with her mouth, so that eventually he was fucking her mouth.
“Mmm, mmm,” she moaned, digging her nails into his thighs.
Just when he thought he couldn’t take any more, she release him and gripped his penis tightly at the base to ward off his orgasm.
“See that?” she asked. “I’m an expert. I could keep this up all night.”
He took a deep breath and said, “Lucky me . . .”
It was the most exquisite torture he’d ever endured. She would suck him for what felt like hours, and refuse to let him climax. Finally, though, she allowed him to explode into her mouth. He cried out, lifted his butt off the bed, and let loose. He flopped around until she had sucked him dry; then she released him and settled back onto her haunches, grinning at him while he tried to catch his breath.
“That was . . . That was . . . ,” he said.
“Memorable?”
“To say the least.”
“Think you can match that?” she asked. “And please remember, I’m a professional.”
“That’s okay,” he said. “I’ve been doing this for a long time, too.”
“Okay, then,” she said, settling down onto her butt and spreading her legs, “get to it, mister.”
EIGHT
The Archer brothers talked all evening, even while Mort cooked dinner and they all sat at the kitchen table, eating.
“I like Mort’s idea,” Sam said. “Two stages in one day.”
“Or two banks,” Mort said. “Either one.”
“You ain’t got much of a say, Sam,” Thomas said. He wasn’t all that happy when he got to the farm and discovered that Mort and John had agreed that Sam would be part of the gang now.
“He’s our brother,” John said. “It stands to reason he’d be part of the gang.”
East of the River Page 2