‘Yeah.’
‘Don’t look so arrogant now, does he?’
‘No.’
‘That bastard made my life miserable for every waking and sleeping moment of our marriage. Now it’s my turn. The wheel’s gone on round and now I’m the one on top.’
‘Yeah.’
‘You say anythin’ except Yeah and No, Crow? I’m gettin’ tired of them words.’
‘How about me asking you why you did all this? Killed those men back at your spread?’
‘Huh,’ she grunted. Kneeling down in the dirt by his feet. Sitting so that her skirt rode up across her thighs, letting him see the pale vee of her cotton panties in the shadows. He knew that she was doing it deliberately.
There was a shout from one of the men. Sounding like he’d just won a good pot at poker. Then the voices were quiet again.
‘They’ll be goin’ to sleep real soon, Crow. Maybe I’ll come out and see you again then. Would you like that, Crow?
He guessed that he wouldn’t like it at all, but he didn’t say that. She had shuffled closer to him. Resting her hand, warm on his knee. Rubbing it slowly up and down his thigh. Reaching a little nearer the top each time. Her breath was coming faster, and her thighs were wider spread. Despite his revulsion for her, Crow wasn’t able to control his body enough and she felt it. Giggling delightedly.
‘Why, I declare, Mister Crow!’ she exclaimed, in a drunken parody of an outraged female at a Sunday Social. ‘What is that?’ She gripped him hard, making him squirm against the pressure. Her fingers tightening and opening, making him swell even more. Helpless. Hating her for it. Yet unable to shut himself off from the raging lust that she had fired in him.
Out of the corner of his eye Crow noticed that Abraham
Verity was stirring. Perhaps roused by his wife’s voice.
There was the whiteness of the Mayor’s eyes flickering open. Martha also saw it.
‘Lordy me! My dear husband is awake and with us once more. Forgive me, Mister Crow, but I must go and exercise my wifely duties by administering to my dear Abe. But be patient. I shall return.’ She tweaked his bursting erection as she stood up. Resting her foot on his groin while she smiled down at him. ‘Yes. That’s a promise, Crow.’
He tensed his body, fearing that she was going to stamp down with all her weight, crushing him under the heel of her boots. But she- stepped off him with a laugh, mincing over to where her husband was watching her. Silent.
Crow felt a wave of rage fighting its way to the surface. Nobody treated him like that. Nobody! The way things looked, he wouldn’t be collecting any reward. But even if he could, he decided that he’d rather go for Martha Verity dead.
Abe Verity had been badly beaten. Crow had seen that from the start. He didn’t know what kind of bitter grudge fuelled the fires of Martha’s hatred for her much older husband. But it had driven iron through to her soul. Crow knew well enough the depths of cruelty that women were capable of. You couldn’t spend time with any Indian tribe without knowing that. But it was unusual in a white woman.
She’d used her whip with deadly intent. There were weals of crusted blood across his entire naked body. Crossing with fresh red cuts. Slicing into both cheeks of his face. Across the stubbled white hairs on his sagging chest. Over the protuberant belly. There were lash marks across both thighs. As Abe hung and turned, shuffling his feet desperately in the dirt to try and take the weight off his wrists, Crow had seen that the woman hadn’t spared the back part of his body. It was covered in bloody trails from the knotted tip of the quirt. The only part of Verity’s body that wasn’t touched. by the lash was across his groin.
Martha stood close to her husband, smiling up at him. Teeth gleaming in the silver light of the hunter’s moon. Reaching out for him with her fingers and, holding him, the way that she’d held Crow. Laughing quietly as the man responded to her, helpless against his sexuality.
‘See, Crow. I can do that to any man. Even my dear Abraham. And after all I’ve done to him. Poor Abe. He has had so much power in his life and now he’s brought to this. So very low. Yet he still wants me, don’t you, my dearest?’
Rubbing her body against him. Throwing her arms around his naked form, kissing him passionately on the lips. Her weight making the man cry out at the additional strain on his wrists.
‘Poor Abe,’ she crooned. ‘Does it hurt, then?’ Lifting up her skirt and pressing him against her. Using him to arouse herself. Laughing at his distress.
Crow knew that he would kill this woman. If he ever got a half chance, then he would kill her. With as little compunction as setting his foot to the neck of a crippled snake.
‘He made me do things for him, didn’t you, Abe. Used me and hurt me. Showed me off to his friends as his own little whore. That’s what they thought I was, Abe. You and your damned high-and-mighty family?’ She stood off and slapped him hard across the face, making him spin around on the rope. ‘Not so high, now. Not so fuckin’ mighty, Abe! Are you?’
‘Please, Martha.’ The moan was forced out from the swollen lips and Crow shook his head-for Mayor Verity. Knowing that the woman had been waiting for some sign of weakness from her husband. An acknowledgement of her own power over him. ·
‘Please,’ she mocked him. ‘I declare that I thought I heard you say something about pleasin’, Abe. Could that have been right? Did you hear it, Mister Crow?’
He didn’t answer her. She didn’t need an answer. As long as she had an audience, that was fine and dandy with her. Martha ignored him and carried on talking to her husband.
‘I recollect that I said “please” to you a whole mess of times. It is sweetness to my ears to hear you sayin’ it to me, Abe. Too late. Way too late.’
‘What happens, Mrs. Verity?’ asked Crow, trying to get her away from the Mayor.
‘What happens? I decide that. Shame you was so late in gettin’ here, Crow. We had us a real wing-ding last night, didn’t we, Abe? And my dear husband kept score for us.’
‘Kept score‘?’ Crow was puzzled.
‘Surely. Ike and the others, they all came over here with me. Pile of blankets. Stoked up the fire so that my dear captive eagle could see real good what was going on. Every time.’
There was a similarity between the woman and the wretched Angelina Menges. Late wife of Captain Silas Menges. The late Captain. She had delighted in her infidelity. But it had been born from misery and foolishness.
With Martha Verity there was something more.
Something malign and evil. Martha Verity took pleasure in humiliating her husband. Angelina Menges had taken simple enjoyment from the act of sex. The delight in being loved by a real man rather than the monster who had married her.
Martha Verity was something different.
‘That Ike is a mighty well-hung stallion. Ain’t he, Abe? You saw good, didn’t you. Saw Ike comin’ back for third and fourth helpings of the dish. Saw how I managed to take on three of ’em at once. Three. You’d have liked that, Crow. That’s the kind of woman I am. Not like this damned dog here.’ Slapping her. husband again across the face. ‘Least he knew how many. I gave him a kind of warming with my whip. Five for each one here.’ Touching herself between the legs. ‘Ten for each one in here.’ Sucking her finger, rubbing it around her full lips. ‘And an extra twenty for the ones that preferred it this way. Swinging around and hoisting up her skirt, showing her ass to Crow. Backing against Abe Verity and gently pressing herself against his thighs. ‘Sure kept score, my husband. Good at counting, now. You good at counting, Crow?’
‘I get by.’
‘Sure you do. I’m going out yonder there for a while. Have me a snort of liquor. Maybe sleep some. Then I guess I might come on out and see how good you are at counting, Crow. You better be able to get up to four or five, or you are goin’ to find I can get mighty cross. And when I get cross…Well, you can see that Abe gotten himself on the wrong of me. See you later, dear ones.’
And she was gone, walking towards her te
nt, feet crunching among the cool pebbles. Crow stretched, feeling the bite of pain from the bullet wound in his side. But it was becoming easier.
Bound to the tree next to him, Crow heard Abraham Verity, Mayor of Dead Hawk, crying quietly to himself.
The moon was sinking when she reappeared. Dressed the same, creeping through the silent camp towards the two men. Stopping in front of Abe Verity, prodding him in the belly with her fist to wake him from the dozing world of semi-consciousness. Kicking his legs to bring him round. Finally losing patience and grabbing him by the genitals, twisting them so hard that her husband tried to scream. But he was too weakened and all that came out was a low mewing cry, like a drowning kitten.
‘That’s better, my prince of honor, she said. ‘Didn’t want you missing seeing another little show.’ She turned to grin wolfishly at Crow. ‘Or maybe it’ll be a real big show from what I felt in those black breeches of yours a few hours back.’
Crow had never felt less like making love to any woman in his life. As far he was concerned, females were simply there for him to make use of when he felt that the need had become overpowering. But it was always done on his terms, and most times he paid for it. It was easier that way.
‘Now, Crow. Let’s you and me get to some bundlin’. And recall I got me that lash over in my tent. And there’s a little skinnin’ knife in my belt. If’n you don’t pleasure me real well, then I guess I might figure you wasn’t worth keepin’ alive?
‘Why have you kept me alive, Mrs. Verity?’
‘You can call me Martha seein’ as how we’re about to get better acquainted.’
She had walked to stand near him. Looking down at him like a miser examining a pot of gold just found at the end of a rainbow.
‘Jesus! But you’re a skinny bastard, ain’t you? I seen you in that jail and I figured you for a killer, Crow. A real bad one. Ike’s like you.’
‘Much the same,’ agreed Crow.
‘You asked why I’m keepin’ you this side of the great divide, Crow?’
‘Yeah. Why?’
She eased herself down at his side. For a moment it crossed his mind that he could, with his legs untied, kick up and have a good chance of breaking her neck. But it wouldn’t get him free.
He waited.
‘You got hired to bring us both back?’
‘Right. Your brother-in-law.’
She wrinkled her mouth up and spat in the dirt. Though the moon was close to down Crow could still see her face clearly. The hatred and anger in it.
And something else.
There was madness there.
‘You understand somethin’, Crow,’ she hissed. Her breath soft on his face. Ruffling the curling black hairs above his ears. ‘I just want to get my own back on Dead Hawk. By takin’ Abe there I rip the heart out of the place. Cut off its head.’ She dropped her voice to a whisper, absently allowing her hand to fall on his thigh. Stroking him gently. ‘I don’t care about the money. Revenge for the way they all looked down on me. Everyone. Him most.’ Jerking her thumb back at the motionless Figure of her husband.
‘Why me?’
‘I might need a message takin’ back. Seein’ on how things pan out.’
‘If you don’t care about the money, then what about Ike and the boys?’
‘I knew Ike, way back. Owed me a favor. Got in contact with him. Brought some muscle to help out at the spread. Now they’re waitin’ for the payout.’
‘It won’t come, Martha.’
He waited for her to explode, but she simply nodded.
‘Hell, Crow, I know that. But I aim to play the game on through to the end.’
‘Send me back and say I failed.’
‘Right. Hey, you are surely gettin’ good and warm there. Wait on while I get out of these clothes.’
She stood up again and lifted her skirt, tugging off her underpinnings. Dropping them in the dirt. ‘Guess I ought to drape them over Abe’s head like last night. But I figure he’s not in the mood for ’ppreciatin’ that.’ The skirt followed the white scrap of cotton. Then the blouse, freeing her breasts. Martha had a fine body. Swelling where it s should swell, and hollowed valleys to balance it.
‘Like what you see, Crow?’
‘I’d be a liar if I said not, Martha,’ he replied.
‘You got a beautiful voice, Crow. More like a poet than a killer.’
‘Yeah.’ Martha Verity wasn’t the first to say that. And it was a comment that tired Crow.
She bent over him, unbuttoning the front of his pants. ‘Lift your damned ass so I can get them down over your hips. Unless you’d rather I had you strung up along of Abe!’
With an effort, sighing as it put a strain on the wound, Crow managed to lift himself so that the naked woman could slide his breeches down to his knees. He felt the cold night air strike chill on his body. Shrinking his lust for the woman.
She saw it and laughed. ‘Soon find some way of tuckin’ that big bastard up snug and warm, Crow. And you really are big. Fifty caliber like good old Ike.’ Raising her voice so that her husband could hear her. ‘Not like Abe with his stinkin’ twenty-two. And that misfires most of the time. Or goes off before you even pull the trigger.’
From where he lay, Crow could see that Abe Verity had slipped into unconsciousness, far beyond the reach of his wife’s crude baiting. The gunslinger wondered just how Martha Verity was going to handle the gang when they found there was no chance of the ransom being paid by Abe’s brother. Maybe she’d just up and run. From what he’d already seen of Ike Holton she’d better get herself a real good start. Ike didn’t seem the sort of man who’d just fling a grin over his shoulder and chalk it to experience.
Ike didn’t look like a man who’d be all that good at either forgiving or forgetting.
The next couple of hours passed for the man called Crow. Part dream and part nightmare. .
Some of his experience of living with Indian tribes had given him the ability to close down part of his mind to discomfort. Even to pain. But there was no way he could shut himself off from Martha’s insistent lingers. Her warm wet lips. The heat of her body as it closed around him, sucking him into her.
It hadn’t taken her long to rouse him. Crawling to him and kissing him on the face. Her tongue fluttering across the stubble on his cheeks. Touching his ear. Licking his eyes. Probing deep into his mouth so that he could hardly breathe.
Whispering to him what she’d do. Keeping her obscene promises. Rubbing her breasts in his mouth, so that he had to nuzzle them, tasting the hardness of the nipples between his lips. The taste of sweat on her body.
She squatted astride him, lowering herself very slowly on him. Guiding him with her cool fingers. Moaning as he impaled her, sinking down so that she was completely filled. Rising again so that he nearly slipped out, and then down once more.
Despite his hatred of her, Crow couldn’t help responding to Martha Verity. Lifting his hips to meet her downward plunging. Breathing harder with the effort. Her nails raking at his shoulders and neck and cheeks. Head thrown back almost as if she was being strangled. Mouth sagging open.
Calling out.
Panting her way towards her climax, ignoring Crow’s own needs.
Collapsing forwards on his chest as she came, breath rasping in her throat. Eyes closed. Nestling her face to his neck like a little child. Sighing as she wriggled against him.
‘That was nice, Crow. Jesus, but if you’re like that when you’re tied up, what the Hell are you like normal times? Must be like gettin’ fucked by a panther in a hurricane!’
Seeing that she wasn’t likely to wait for him, and guessing that the night would go on, Crow hadn’t bothered much to try and climax himself. Saving himself for what was to come.
It was a good decision.
‘You never managed but one, and that was so damned fast it wasn’t worth notin’,’ called Martha to her husband. Heaving herself stickily off Crow for the fourth time. Padding over to stand in front of Abe. Grinning up a
t him.
Crow lay back and watched. Shepherding his reserves of strength. Wishing that it would all end and the woman would allow him to get some sleep. His body was sore. Chafed where her nails had tom at him. As she walked back he looked up at her. Seeing the simpering look of vacant pleasure on her face. The yellow hair tangled around her shoulders. Still naked, apart from the riding boots that she’d never bothered to tug off. In the fading light he could see that her pubic hair was matted thickly with the mute evidence of their prolonged love-making.
It wasn’t love-making. That wasn’t the word.
It had been fucking. Like a pair of animals rutting, and it had been carried out with a passion that both of them knew had its roots in hatred of each other.
He licked his lips. They were dry and sore. And he could taste the sour flavor of her body, where she’d rubbed her groin against his mouth to heighten her own depraved enjoyment.
‘I’m getting tired, Crow, my dear lover,’ she hissed.
Kneeling again beside him. The dirt around her feet scuffed and trampled by their activities. Her eyes seeming swollen, the skin looking bruised.
He had lost track of time. Locked into her needs, helpless to do anything to stop her. All he could do was add it to the tally. The killing of the two men at the ranch and her behavior towards her husband didn’t bother him much. Crow was his own man and he looked only after himself.
But Martha Verity had imposed herself on him. Shot him. Tried to kill him. Used him as her plaything. The tally was long filled up. But he didn’t see any chance yet of paying the score with her.
‘One more time, Crow. Then you can sleep. Until tomorrow. Then…’
Afterwards he managed to sleep, despite the discomfort and the pain from the wound.
Waking with the first pink light of dawn in the east. Wondering what the new day would bring.
Chapter Fourteen
Martha Verity slept in late.
It was Ike Holton who came over a little after sun-up and sat by Crow. Tugging up his trousers for him and fastening the heavy brass buckle on the belt. Grinning at him while he did it.
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