Chapter 17

Sam looked up at the first signs of falling snow and he was filled with sadness. Well, maybe it was more regret than sadness. The time for sadness was long gone. It was gone with the wind when the bodies of the massacred settlers started being seen floating down river from the fertile valley that sustained a lot of folks in this region of the long chaotic State filled with desperate people from all walks of life.

He had seen the battlefield out there in the Little Big Horn a few days after the Custer debacle and it seemed downright orderly in comparison. The sight of bodies face down in the fast moving water was a test of his already shattered nerves from recent violence.

The temporary lawman and head of the renegade Indian posse chasing those hounds from Hell that created havoc with the civilian settlers did his best to act concerned but not in the least overwhelmed. It was difficult to keep up that pretense but he knew how important appearances were when one was the leader and everyone else was looking at you to give them a calming sense of direction and closure.

Saul was not a bit shy in showing his emotions when he was mad or excited with passion and Sam was truly the opposite in every way. Sometimes, his female partners accused him of being too restrained and too gentle when they wanted wildness and rough treatment in the privacy of their night time hideaway. He knew it was a part of his personality that was instilled by his sainted mother.

“May she rest in peace!” was his automatic thought whenever her face popped into his brain at such times of remembering her words of wisdom.

His mother was much disappointed by the fact she never had any female offspring and she tried her bet instill an appreciation for sensitivity in her boys. Of course, that was doomed experiment in the Texas of that era and she had to be satisfied with their restraint from unacceptable violence unlike most of their Panhandle kin that had the reputation of being a wild bunch and to be given a wide berth when they were in their cups.

Sure, they had the heathen Indians tracked down and trapped on top of the Mesa, but they were not in custody in any stretch of the imagination and it looked like the closing of this sage would be a mite bit longer than even a patient man could muster.

The attractive widow ranch owner Hope had expressed her disappointment in his lack of focus in their nocturnal activities and he accepted the fact that she was a lot more hot-blooded than he had originally thought and he allowed her to move her gear over to his brother’s little shack down by the river. It was an amiable transfer of affection and they were all comfortable with the result.

In all honesty, the widow was beginning to grate on his nerves with her constant needs when he was in the middle of a sound sleep at a time when his curative rest was his way of restoring his homeostasis in the dead center of chaos and uncertainty.

He found that the injured former captive lady that had bounced down the cliff a short time ago was more than willing to throw her blanket next to his because she was beholden to him for his efforts to bring her back to the reality of the world outside the Indian encampment.

He discovered that she was now without any family at all because her spouse, her sister Angela and her two children were all killed in the Indian uprising and she had only escaped because Geronimo had a plan that involved the use of female hostages to bolster his trading capital.

Her injuries had healed well and she seemed eager to resume the duties of a nubile female on the frontier that was notably short on civilized white women from the east to bring some semblance of order to a lawless and violent society.

She had told him in great detail of her suffering with the renegade Indians and he was truly impressed with her descriptions of her total loss of feminine dignity and how cunning her captors were in molding her to their plaything for amusement. She had to take it all with acceptance for her status of slave and pretend to be cooperative just to keep her hair and a chance to live to see her eventual release.

She answered to the name of Sue and he liked the sound of it because it reminded him of his cousin down in Texas that had been the first female to touch his thing and she had even stroked him to completion as he knelt right next to her in the hard wooden pews of the windowless church with no heat to take the chill off the early morning air. His virgin cock was cold that morning but cousin Sue heated it up in a hurry and he fought off the urge to grunt each time she brought her tiny little hand down to the base of his shaft and squeezed him with all her strength making him head to his final explosion a lot faster than he would have liked under the circumstances. He saw his blessed mother looking over at him from the very end of the pew and he wondered if her perceptive nature could speculate that his younger female cousin was jerking his manhood covertly out of sight and her smile was more naughty than angelic in the way that young church-going females look on a quiet Sunday morning. He thought about how specific the Good Book said that was the way real ladies should behave at all times and not just inside the special atmosphere of the church when the preacher was in attendance and not off on a jaunt to convert the heathen in the badlands.