How Lucky Can You Get? - Cover

How Lucky Can You Get?

Copyright© 2011 by aubie56

Chapter 10

Western Sex Story: Chapter 10 - Join Hannibal Walker in his 5-year journey from Philadelphia to Willow Run, TX. He arrives in the West as a young semi-ignorant tenderfoot and grows into a confident young man with four wives and a growing family. He starts out as a wagon train guard and scout and becomes a bounty hunter. From there, he evolves into a vigilante out to help anybody who needs it. There is some sex in the story, but that is not the focus of the tale.

Caution: This Western Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft   mt/Fa   Consensual   Historical   Humor   Polygamy/Polyamory   Violence  

June started out again and didn't stop until the posse was out of sight. That's when she stopped and rang the bell for me to come in. By the time I got there, all my family was standing around the lead wagon and discussing what the deputy had said. When I got there, June brought me up to date. We decided that, in this open country, I wasn't accomplishing much, so we decided that I would tie my horse on behind June's wagon, and I would ride with her. The catch was that I would ride back under the canvas cover so that I wouldn't be seen. That way, we might catch us some bad guys. Anyway, we figured that it was worth a try, since we certainly were not accomplishing much the way we were doing.

It was two more miles to the swampy area, and I was already getting bored sitting back under the canvas. I did have some relief that came from talking to June, but we were already running out of things to say. It was hot, and I was getting sleepy from the lack of activity. Therefore, I was slow to react when two strange men rode up to the wagon. I finally came to my senses when June rang the bell.

One of the men said to June, "Ya look like ya're a tasty morsel. I just might keep ya ifen ya show some spirit while I fuck ya. Now, ya just stop where ya are and strip off yer dress soz I kin git a good look at ya."

June sort of acted like she was following orders, but she suddenly jerked her pistol from her shoulder holster and put a bullet through the gut of the man who had been so insulting. She didn't pause as she changed her aim and put a bullet through the chest of the other man. By this time, I had realized the danger and had stood to move to the front of the wagon. I had hardly taken a step when June's two shots rang out.

I asked, "Honey, can you see any more bad guys?"

"No, I can't. These look ta be the only ones around."

I apologized for being so late to react and promised not to be such a laggard again. June brushed the whole thing off as if she had to defend herself all of the time. Well, in a way she did, what with being a woman in this country.

Anyway, I got out of the wagon and checked to see if either man was on a wanted poster. No luck, there, so I used the talkative one's horse to drag them off the road. He was not dead, yet, but he would be soon. He was in considerable pain, but we all thought that he was only getting what he deserved. By this time, the other two wagons had caught up, and we tied the two new horses behind the two other wagons. I was happy that Johnny had not been there when I screwed up because I did not want him to be disappointed in me.

There was very little loot from the two men besides their horses and weapons, and we wondered if we could find where there might be more hidden. A little discussion caused us to forget such a futile search when June reminded us that the deputy had said that they had searched the swamp when they were looking for the bandits. We figured that we could not do any better, so we gave up the idea.

The cow tied behind the last wagon had proven to be excellent cover, so we decided to stay with our present alignment. I vowed not to slack off this time as I crawled back into the wagon. We traveled for nearly two more hours before we decided to stop for lunch. We could hear Hannah announcing that she was hungry, and that was enough to affect the rest of us. Mary fed Hannah from one of the bottles of milk, and the little girl drank it down like she had not had food for days.

Meanwhile, we parked the wagons in a triangular-shaped pattern and the women cooked our food in the open space inside the formation. Johnny and I kept a lookout while the food was being prepared. Each one of us was sitting in the driver's seat of a different wagon so that we could have a reasonable chance of seeing danger before it got to us. Let me tell you, Johnny may still be a small boy, but he has a sharp eye for trouble.

He shouted, "EVERYBODY, EIGHT MEN ARE RIDING TOWARD US PRETTY FAST, AND THEY DO NOT LOOK HAPPY!"

We all looked in the direction he was facing, and it was only moments before we saw the gang approaching us. I shouted, "TO ARMS, EVERYBODY! DOUSE THE FIRE AND BE READY TO FIGHT!"

Of course, the men may not be the least bit interested in us, but there had been enough time for them to find the two men June had shot. Therefore, we had to assume that they were chasing after us. We were not going to shoot first unless they forced it, but we were going to be ready for any trouble that might show up.

Hannah, Amy Sue, and Johnny were sent to hide in the sturdiest of our wagons. Johnny had his pistol, so he was well prepared to defend himself and the girls as long as they stayed below the lip of the wall of the wagon bed. The rest of us took up our Henry rifles and crawled under the wagons. Under the wagons was a good place to be as long as the attackers stayed on their horses. This gave them a very poor angle to shoot at us, while we had them silhouetted against the sky. Once they dismounted, the fight would be more even, but men on horses rarely seem to think of that.

As it turned out, we did not have to make a decision about shooting at the men riding toward us because they began to shoot at us long before they were within decent range of their revolvers. On the other hand, they were well within range of our Henrys, so we had all of the advantages.

The men were in a bunch sticking to the road as they approached us, so that gave us an even better target. I called out to the women to select a target and shoot at him, not at the bunch of men. They did not have time to acknowledge my order because the men were too close by then, but they started firing at what I considered an excellent distance.

Four women shot and three men fell from their horses, and a fourth man sagged so that he had trouble staying in the saddle. Any sensible leader would have pulled his men back to reassess the situation when he was met with such devastating killing power, but this bunch seemed to be on a power trip. They never slowed down, but dashed past us, still firing their revolvers. They kept going down the road until they were out of range. There they stopped and reloaded before turning back toward us.

I moved the women to cover us from the new direction of attack, and I wondered what the four remaining men had in mind. So far, they had done nothing to make me think that there was a smart maneuver coming up, but they still might hit one of us with a bullet, no matter how foolishly it was fired. Therefore, I warned the women to keep down in order to present the minimum target to a stray bullet. They could see the good sense in my warning and followed instructions.

I was right. The men charged at us just as they had done before, and I wondered if they were Comanches just dressed as White men because they were using a variation on Comanche tactics. Oh, well, I guess that you can be dumb no matter what the color of your skin.

The one variation this time was that the men did weave around a bit as they rode toward us, and that did make them a more difficult target. However, the women waited until the men had gotten to that "cannot miss" range before they fired. The result was four more hits. All four men fell from their horses this time and seemed to be dead.

I called to the women to cover me as I ran out to check the men. All seven of them were dead, either directly from a bullet wound or from the fall from the horse. The only live one was sitting on his horse a few hundred yards down the road from us, so I unhitched my horse and rode him out to check on the man. I did want to question him if he was still able to talk.

The man did not have long to live from the wound I could see in his upper chest near his left shoulder. He was suffering, and that was the right word, from a bullet hole in his lung, and a combination of air and liquid was coming out with every breath.

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