Chapter 1

It was hard to believe that in only one short year, the entire country would pass from the nineteenth century into the unknown future of the twentieth century. The nasty smelling prisoner with the dazed look in his sad but innocent eyes huddled in the corner of the filthy cell pondering the mistakes of his short and infamous life.

The other prisoners tended to stay away from the dispirited lump of humanity because he had already sent two of their number to the sawbones for some serious work to put them back in decent working order just for asking him if he had an extra smoke. It was a good thing that they kept the drunks in a separate tank from the holding cell that housed the more criminal-minded residents because it was just like some old time story from the bible with the sheep and the wolves and how the two don’t mix.

The whispers behind cautious shielding hands imparted the knowledge the dangerous one was called simply “The Kid” like everyone would know immediately who they were talking about and no other questions were necessary. Of course, the drunks and the cowboys in the overcrowded tank were more interested in the long-awaited arrival of early morning release time. It was standard practice to let everyone go that wasn’t scheduled for a hanging because the county didn’t want to pay for their room and board. Not that they had anywhere to go at that time in the morning, unless it was to a hidden bottle of booze. because all the self-respecting bars and houses of ill repute would be in that golden hour when everyone was sound asleep and not plotting some illegal endeavor.

The Kid wasn’t much to look at.

He was young, but that was not unusual. Most of the male population was on the young side because life spans was notoriously short with lack of medical professionals and no hospitals to care for folks with real problems. He was short and solidly built, not at all like most of the “Nervous Nellie” gunmen that couldn’t keep their hands off the slick handles of their shooting irons for more than a few minutes. His boots seemed a bit naked without his customary sharp silver spurs and he kept his legs out of sight like he didn’t feel quite right in their absence. His famed pair of pistols was hanging in the Captain’s office with their ordinary wooden handles and the initials carved in the base.

Those initial were “C.Y.” and speculation was rampant about which fugitive wanted poster belonged to him. Most bets were placed on the woman-killing Cole Younger, the only survivor of a spectacularly murderous family of outlaws known across the entire scenic panorama of the West all the way to the Pacific coast. The sheriff knew he was too young to be that bearded badman because everybody knew he already had two sons that had gone bad as soon as they could handle a peacemaker.

They had scooped up “The Kid” in Mama Maria’s den of iniquity after a fight that left two of the anonymous bearded guns for hire ready for a short ride to Boot Hill. One was stabbed repeatedly just above his ass crack and it looked like one of Mama’s girls had taken revenge for some slight to her long forgotten virtue or more insulting shortage of cash to pay for services already performed. The other victim had a neat little hole in the center of his forehead and most of the back of his head was scattered across a dismally garish room used for illicit humping and always in constant need for a change of sheets. That room alone kept two Chinese ladies working non-stop in the nearby tent where the hot vats were filled with dirty linen and towels from the two competing whore houses both located on the railhead side of the single wide street through the middle of town.

There were strips of boards crisscrossing the wide street because the spring rains had turned the dust into mud that would suck the boots off with a single misstep. The Captain had no doubt that “The Kid” was not involved in either incident but he was overly interested in the dangerous looking gun rig the Kid was packing and he had hopes of liberating the unique tools for his personal use when he sent the young fool up to the State Prison in Yuma. A fair share of the inmates sent to Yuma prison never made it to the end of their specified term of incarceration and he figured the odds were in his favor that he would never see the outlaw ever again.

Actually, the Kid was embarrassed to be inside the local jail because his upbringing was strict and his mama had constantly reminded him that such a circumstance was a reason to reevaluate his lifestyle and make proper amends. He figured it was God’s punishment for his pure enjoyment of the Chinese whore that had made him seek familiarity with her rear door business. He hated to be like one of those perverted Easterners with their delicate hands and need for unnatural poking deemed more sinful than ordinary. He generally just humped without passion to get the kinks out of a need for female flesh. The combination of the pretty Chinese girl and the half bottle of rotgut made him passive enough for easy capture and he knew it was his own fault for falling victim to his own urges in pursuit of carnal bliss.

The Chinese girl was called Mie Ling and she was one of those fastidious whores that shaved her pussy closer than a scalped trooper. He was not complaining about it, just making an observation of her unique difference from one of the round eye soft bottoms from civilization back east that generally sported a bush of magnificent density.

The last Eastern gal he had poked was a librarian from Saint Louis and she insisted on wearing her horn rimmed glasses even when he was buried to the hilt in her happy bush territory and with her long slender legs craftily encircling his powerful thighs. His opinion of librarians changed after he had poked that Miranda a few times. She was truly a “wet one” with lots of agile bottom for a nice long ride. Most of the other whores were either played-out cast-offs or some imported senoritas from south of the border or China gals with dark mysterious eyes. The civilized gals from back East were more talkative and greedy for any token of gentle treatment to remind them of a better time in their unfortunate existence.