Chapter 2

They all huddled close together as soon as the sun went down because the chilling cold took over the atmosphere and the hot, burning sun was a memory kept close for comfort.

The youngish plain-looking girl with the soft bottom and inquisitive hands parked herself right between his knees and he fell off to a troubled sleep wondering if she had any prior experience in getting poked good and proper.

The doddering old man that headed up their wagon shouted out to the wagon train master that they were “breaking off” and the muscular woman with the dirty blond hair like to have a fit turning those animals away from the beaten path.

They didn’t seem much inclined to follow the trace of a trail up into the foothills on the other side of the dangerous mountain range they had just navigated for the better part of a week.

Their Conestoga had no less than seven females ranging from fifteen to fifty and a young boy barely old enough to have a little hint of hair on his chin along with a quartet of little piddlers with a listless look that showed they were bored with the constant travel and wanted to get stop and get out start playing as soon as possible. They all had long hair and wore dresses, but he suspected that only one of them was a girl and the rest were boys from the way they opened and closed their knees and the fact only one of them actually squatted down when she had to water the flowers.

The Kid noticed that off in the distance some Indian smoke signals were raising into the early morning air.

Considering the distance from them and the smoke, he figured it was for some other dramatic scene not involving them at all. That was just fine with him because He only saw a couple of weapons on the wagon and neither one looked like it had gotten any care and maintenance recently. He had a strong yen to fill his hands with his Navy Colts and he hoped the lawman in town shot his foot off not realizing how swift was the hair triggers on both of them.

The old man sent the young lad off up ahead with instructions that the Kid could not hear and he knew something was up because a few of the nervous females were starting to look more energetic than their normal subdued stares of beaten down despair. Even the young ones had perked up a bit like they knew something that he was not aware of.

The young boy returned within an hour and excitedly blurted out that the settlement was only a short distance ahead and the council of elders was sending out a relief party to help them reach their farm located not far from the tent that served as a church until the real church was built to specific instructions from Salt Lake City.

The sound of the riders was a source of joy to the travelers with the exception of the Kid and the servant girl that was looking forward to a life of slavery with very little compensation for their labors except the satisfaction of a job well done.

After his sorrowful exposure to the Mormon society in the past, the Kid was none too hopeful that he had any chance of finding happiness except in a speedy escape and resumption of his hard-riding and slow-humping ways that gave him some enjoyment out of a harsh life on the wild frontier.

The girl was simply called “Hey, You!” by the Mormons and she never did tell him her name even when she took time to stroke him under the blanket when the wagon was nice and dark. He never objected because it suited him just fine to be her toy all tied up and easy for her to control in whatever way she wanted with her female needs for some loving without other folks knowing her devilish desires.

None of the other females seemed to take any interest in him because in all honesty he did appear to be a bit puny in comparison to the big-boned Mormon boys with their lusty loins and grasping arms that constantly pestered the female sister wives for feminine favors providing their disinterested old-man husbands looked the other way.

Even though the Kid was sort of lean and mean-looking at times, he was in tip-top shape and he could have licked any of those Mormon boys with one arm tied behind his back and that is not a lie, all things considered.

Besides, with a six-gun in his hand, he was about as dangerous as any fellow could possibly be in a place where danger was all around in every corner both day and night without exception.

He might not be Cole Younger, but he had inherited his famous guns and his outlaw uncle had given him demanding lessons and endless hours of dry shooting out behind the barn. The outlaw gangs all knew him and they steered clear of his path because he had the reputation of taking offense at the slightest sideways glance or a word that struck him as being ill-intended and letting his six-guns make his case.