Chapter 22

Sam found that he was addicted to the older ranch owner’s hindquarters when his deputies started to automatically assume that was his location when they couldn’t find him either in the jail house vicinity or down at the saloon tamping down trouble before it started.

The still attractive mature woman called Henrietta Henderson was the sole owner of the Double Bar H spread and she owned so many acres and so many head of cattle that she hadn’t done an accurate count for years.

Still, the loss of fifty head of cattle from their staked out location on Devil’s Pass Creek was enough to garner his attention to finding them before other rustlers started to think there was no law in his bailiwick and moved in to fleece the farmers and the ranchers of their walking assets in the dead of the night.

Both he and Henrietta had a set routine that always started with a “down on her knees” position that robbed the church going woman of her middle-aged reputation for upstanding moral character.

After that, they both liked to move straight into the preferred “doggy” style form of love making that let her tits swing freely with the weight of gravity and lack of restraint on the bed. He loved the sound of his balls bouncing on her ass cheeks and feminine folds like they were a pair of young lovers just getting the hang of poking in earnest and didn’t have a care in the world.

He was initially put off by the fact that she liked the servants to watch her anal antics and the giggling maids and the nasty mouthed doormen sometimes seemed less than respectful when she issued an order for prompt execution. Sam finally realized it was all a show for his benefit and she was exceedingly firm with all the servants to the degree of dishing out all the corporal punishment with her own hand. They were all willing to let their rumps get reddened up by her corrections because she was most generous in the matter of compensation for their labors on her behalf.

Henrietta also had a small cadre of hard-cases that wore their shooting irons down low and ready and tied down for a split second draw that was truly life or death for the opposing parties.

The head honcho of the gunman brigade was a bearded former outlaw called Pecos Pete. Pete was a man of few words and he was likely to pull iron quicker than any of the others because he knew he was the fastest gun and that speed on the draw was usually the telling ingredient of any gunfight inside the saloon or at short range right out on the dusty or muddy street outside.

When Pete was first employed, he had taken to living inside the big house making no bones about the fact that he was poking the boss lady with enough enthusiasm to put a bloom of roses on her cheeks and spring in her step doing the early morning chores.

As to be expected, after a few weeks, Henrietta tired of the gunman/foreman’s huge man tool and sent him back to the bunk house to bully the other ranch hands and out of her private bedroom if he wanted to keep his employment. In fact, it had been a long time for the still attractive ranch owner without a man between her legs until the day that Sam had shown up to investigate the missing steers. Now, she was more than satisfied with Sam’s average other day visits to take the edge off her feminine needs.

The three mile long herd of trail tired cows slowly surged down the dusty town main street straight to the holding pens for fattening up before being loaded on the empty cattle cars sitting silent on the side rails waiting for their cargo. It would be at least a two to three week period of feeding to boost their weight to the slaughter house minimum standard. The stench of their waste deposits and the dust that was forced up into the cloudless sky was enough to make most residents wear a bandanna over their faces like a tribe of crazed bank robbers during that entire period.

Still, the foregone conclusion was that the filled pens meant a sizable infusion of income into the town coffers and almost everyone had a smile on their face with the possible exception of the always horny Henrietta Henderson on the lookout for Sam’s next visit. In all honesty, it would be a falsehood to claim that Sam was not eager to do that more often but he was doing his best to keep his domestic situation stable and the responsibility to keep peace in the saloon and down at the House of Joy was draining him of his vitality more than he would like to admit to those around him. It was different when Saul was around to take up the slack for him and handle his fair share of the dirty work.

The dirty work was usually the kind that involved a one-way trip to boot hill for some unfortunate troublemaker.

That same evening, Sam spotted the familiar faces of the Cassidy brothers sitting at the end of the long bar doing their best to stay out of the limelight of scrutiny. He felt reasonably certain they did not recognize him because he had shed his moustache and his pointed goatee that he had shamefully displayed in his earlier years as a sort of signature to his wild and wooly ways.

It was probably fortunate that his brother Saul was not at his side because his bulk and booming laugh would put them down as their chief opponents from the good old times when the blood flowed like water on the streets of Laredo.

Only at that time, there were no less than five Cassidy brothers. They were all a mean-spirited bunch and he would not turn his back on any of them without a deep-seated concern that they would take the opportunity to back-shoot him for fear of his deadly accuracy in a gunfight. The night they faced each other in the Butterfield corral was still vivid in his memory because that was the day they lost their brother-in-law Jesse. He was shot in the gut and Saul finished him off out of pure pity because a gut-shot cowboy screams a lot on the way to the grave. At least they managed to send two of the Cassidy brothers to hell in a hand-basket with no chance to be shriven for their sins.