James Goes West
Chapter 1

Copyright┬ę 2005 by Old 1 Eye

Sex Story: Chapter 1 - James wants to go out west to seek his fortune. See how his travels unwind.

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Romantic   Historical   Harem   Slow  


My name is James Evans. I came from Dublin, Georgia. After I finished normal school (eighth grade), I told my father and mother that I wanted to go west and seek my fortune (I read that somewhere).

Dad calmed my ardor for travel by telling me some of the things I would need to travel safely and comfortably. Later I thought that he was trying to dissuade me from leaving, and that he truly did, for a while.

My family was not rich, but our good farm kept us in food and paid the bills with bale and a half cotton. We didn't own slaves, but I made extra money by doing jobs on neighboring plantations that were too dangerous for the expensive slaves to be risked.

I learned to fell trees and I could drive stakes with them if need be. I also learned to carpenter by working with our neighbor, Wyatt Kemp. He was a good rough and finish carpenter, and taught me how to build things, and to maintain my tools.

I never totally lost my desire to go west, so I tried to learn how to hunt and take care of hides and meat. I bought a double barrel shotgun in 16 gauge, and learned how to load and shoot it well. I also acquired a .36 caliber pistol, and learned to shoot it well enough.

After working and saving for three more years, I bought two mules and tack to go with them. Bob was a good size to use for riding or work, and Sis was a big mule to use for draft work.

Over the next year, using my good mules I was able to get additional work, and saved up a hundred dollars.

I talked about it with my father, mother and sisters. I wanted to go out west and try to find a place where I could farm, ranch or mine. I would write letters to them when I could. I planned to go in the spring.

During the winter, I worked and bought those things that Dad and I thought I would need for my trip. I had a small tent, some cookware, and a couple of water bags. I bought caps, powder and shot for the shotgun and pistol.

Wyatt gave me some of his "spare" carpenter's tools. I also bought three knives, an axe and a hatchet, as well as a good shovel.

My family gave me a Colt 1851 revolver in .36 caliber for Christmas. Momma told me she meant for me to be able to take care of myself while I was gone.

I learned to load shoot and take care of the new pistol. The caliber of both of my pistols allowed me to use the same balls for each. I thought that was very handy. I carried the pistol in my belt and the revolver in a shoulder holster that I made for myself.

One fine day in March of 1853 I left my family home to a tearful farewell, and told my mother I would write as often as I could. Dad gave me his compass and told me to trust it.

At the age of seventeen, I was off to seek my fortune. I had a good amount of supplies and tools, so both of the mules were called to pack duty. I was wearing my moccasins, since I would be walking. I headed west and enjoyed pleasant weather. I camped out instead of spending my money on rooms. I bathed in creeks and hunted for small game. I got to be a good shot with my pistol. It was more accurate than my revolver, and I could easily get hits on rabbits at 25 yards.

The mules were good foragers and I didn't have to augment their grazing too heavily. I crossed the Chattahoochee River on the ferry at Columbus and was in Alabama. I replenished some of my supplies at Opelika.

The people I met were mostly friendly. I followed my father's advice and stayed away from drinking and gambling. I had a good bit of time to think about things. I thought about what I wanted to do and dreamed about having a nice house and a good wife.

I ran into trouble in Montgomery. I had put my stock in a stable and was going to get something to eat. I had stepped into the street when a big man knocked me down. "Pardon me," I said, using my best manners.

"Boy, you need to watch where you are going," he slurred, obviously a bit tipsy.

I got up and walked toward the restaurant. "Hey, give me back my watch." He yelled.

I turned around and said, "Mister, I don't even have a watch. One of your drinking buddies must have picked your pocket."

He strode toward me. He towered over my 5' 11" height and must have outweighed me by 60 pounds.

Before he got in reach, I pulled my pistol from my belt, cocked it and pointed it at his head. "Mister, I don't know who you are, and I don't want to shoot you, but I'm not gonna let you beat me because you're drunk."

We had attracted a crowd by now. He was wearing a knife in a belt sheath, and reached toward it. "If you touch it, I'll shoot you," I said.

I guess something in my voice told him I meant it. He moved his hand away, turned and walked off. I watched him walk away, and went into the restaurant.

I had a good meal of pork chops, English peas and cornbread. The waiter/owner said, "Mister, that man is W. O. Bradley, he has a big farm near here and is a bully. I never saw him back down before. You need to watch yourself, he may come looking for you."

"Thanks for the advice. I am heading for Demopolis, so I don't think we will meet again," I answered.

I paid my bill, bought a few supplies and got my mules from the stable. I headed out from Montgomery.

I was walking through many big fields on the river flat. I found a place to camp that evening and watered the mules and staked them out to graze. I went to the creek after supper and washed up, and went to bed.

The next morning we got an early start and headed out. I had walked for about two hours and heard horses galloping up the road. I guided Bob and Sis over to the side of the road and held them for the gallopers to pass. They pulled up. One of them was Mr. W. O. Bradley. I eased my shotgun out of the scabbard and cocked the hammers. The left barrel was loaded with birdshot, but the right barrel had nine #1 buckshot, and I felt well armed, if I needed it.

"Mr. Bradley, I hope you are more reasonable and sober than you were yesterday," I said.

They had walked closer, and I could see that the one I needed to worry about was his sidekick. I was looking over Bob's back and I don't think they had seen my shotgun yet.

"You little son of a bitch, you won't humiliate me and talk about it later," he blustered.

I knew he meant me harm now, so I stepped back and shot him in the chest with the buckshot. He tipped out of the saddle. Bob and Sis didn't even flinch. I had shot around them plenty, by now. The second man reached and pulled a revolver from his belt. I shot him in the chest with the bird shot and pulled my pistol.

Getting shot spoiled his aim, and he hit Bob in the shoulder with his shot. Bob jumped and I stepped around him and shot the man in the belly with the pistol. He fell out of the saddle. I dropped my pistol and pulled out my revolver. I ran around to the side and shot him again as he was trying to aim at me. That shot settled him.

They were both dead.

I checked Bob out. He had been creased in the shoulder, but other than hurting, he was safe.

I decided that I was going to haul the bodies to the next town, and tell the law what happened. I searched them and found fifty dollars in Mr. Bradley's pocket and twenty-five on the other one.

Bradley had a pistol like mine plus supplies for it. The other man had a revolver in .36 caliber. Both of them had rifles, also .36's plus caps, powder and shot. Bradley had a bottle of whiskey in his saddlebag, so I cleaned up Bob's shoulder.

I found out the second man's name, it was Jim Davis.

I loaded Bradley and Davis across their saddles and headed toward Selma. At the end of the day I got to Lowndesboro and looked up the town law. He asked me what had happened. I told him the whole story from the bumping in the street to the shooting on the road.

He knew about Jim Davis. A hired gun is what he called him. He also knew who Bradley was, and told me he wasn't surprised. I gave him fifteen dollars to cover the burial costs. He told me he would write to the family of Bradley and tell them he had been killed in a fight. Davis had no family.

I left Bradley's horse to go to his family and I took Davis' horse. I wrote a letter to my family and asked the sheriff to mail it for me. He agreed and we parted the ways the next morning. I stopped at dinner and cleaned up all of the guns. Bob and Sis were getting used to following me on horseback now and were working much harder than usual, so we had a long rest at dinner and then took off for Selma again.

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