Chapter 8

It could have been the presence of the Pinkertons or the changing challenge of a new season, but the valley quieted down inexplicably for the next couple of months. It was an opportunity for all sides to consider their options in a fast-changing environment. There was no doubt that the tides of war were changing in favor of the Cattlemen’s Association. That was due more to financial logistics of the confrontation and the fact that most of the family-oriented settlers were more and more inclined to “move on” rather than risk the loss of the family’s main bread winner from an overdose of hot lead delivered in the dead of night.

Sam Chisholm was conflicted about the wisdom of risking all to support the side that was unlikely to win the open range showdown with a gang of vermin willing to back-shoot anyone on the other side and had little conscience about women and children getting caught in the crossfire.

His female boss was away visiting her family and he was making do with the maid filling in for her mistress’s absence with submissive cooperation. It was nice getting steady loving twice a day just by reaching out and patting Maria’s ample rear end with his long supple gunfighter fingers. She never hesitated to fall into his favorite position knowing he loved to feel the delightful curves of her dark-skinned buttocks fitting perfectly into his muscular thighs and happy groin. He hadn’t quite decided if he liked doing her in the early morning or late at night when their noisy coupling blended into the racket from the nearby saloon with its all night celebrations of simply surviving for another day.

Maria more than compensated for his loss of Belinda, his oversexed boss-lady with her tight feminine opening that seemed only slightly stretched from virginal denial. He knew she had taken it from other men but still had that air of innocence that inspired him to draw sustenance from her perfect feminine folds. Her status in station allowed her to have daily baths drawn for her wherever she went and she often required her maids to brush her hair and attend to other personal needs strictly in a female to female manner.

Sam regretted his decision to take sides in the range war because he knew with deep conviction that it was the quickest way to make the short trip to Boot Hill for any person old enough to pack a shooting iron.

He made his way to the barber shop knowing his facial hair was getting a mite too long for mixed company. His mother had influenced in such matters and he had never lost his sense of personal hygiene instilled by her fastidious nature. There was a customer in the chair and he waited on the walkway outside leaning against the solid wood of the log siding. These town structures were built to last and were not of the thin split rail type used in the transient mining towns that closed up faster than they were opened without a single excuse for played out veins of gold, silver or other interesting ores that would bring a nice price on the Saint Louis market.

As he lit up one of Maria’s tiny black Mexican cigars, he watched a slow-moving settler’s wagon pull up and stop only a few feet from his dangling spurs. He had taken recently to wearing the spurs even when he was not planning to ride anywhere because a pretty-faced settler’s wife had told him,

“Those spurs are so sexy, Mister Chisholm, please don’t take them off when you make me take it. It like the way it makes me feel all excited and helpless in your arms.”

It had inspired him to shove his business so far up the young woman’s privates that he was certain she would be sporting a round belly for the next nine months and convincing her husband that it was God’s will despite his lack of interest.

The wagon had a pair of milk cows tethered to the rear platform and he suspected the family was planning to find a place for the night not inside the confines of the overloaded wagon. He knew it was unlikely because even the cowhands bedded down next to their horses in the stables behind the house of pleasure waiting for the first light of the new day after they had delivered the cream to some pretty senorita or some slant-eyed, pig-tailed beauty from the other side of the world.

The man and woman on the front bench totally ignored Sam because they were caught up in a conversation with an unseen female inside the wagon that was calling upon them to find them a room where they could stretch out and not worry about Indians or rampaging steers frightened by preying animals or lightning from a storm.

The young woman from inside the wagon dismounted over the back platform leaving it up because of the dairy cows tied snugly to the back. He was sitting at just the right angle to see a beautiful flash of nubile skin that went all the way from trim slender ankles to a hint of errant hairs peeking out from her private parts. As soon as she landed on her feet and turned to face him, she locked eyes with him and he knew without a doubt that she was fully aware of the betrayal of her dismounting process in giving up her secret picture of female goodies for his viewing pleasure and she was none too happy about it.