“Why doesn’t he speak for himself?” the deputy nodded toward Tall Elk, who simply sat glaring.
“He only speaks Spanish.”
The deputy started to reach for his pistol, but Rusty’s came out in a blur. The deputy paused, then snarled and pulled his pistol. Rusty’s shot cartwheeled him from the saddle. He was dead when he hit the ground. The horse started to turn and run, but Tall Elk leaped and caught up his reins, holding them until he settled down.
“Now what?” Nancy asked, looking from one man to the other.
“Dig a large hole, shoot the horse and drop them in,” Tall Elk said.
“What?” Rusty gasped. “Why the horse?”
“Because they can trace the horse back to us,” Nancy said in sudden understanding, stepping off the porch and petting the frightened chestnut. “Dishonest or not, it’s a crime to kill a deputy. Even if they believed you it would take a month of explanations and trials. Tall Elk’s right, dig a large hole back in the woods with the one-man scoop, shoot the horse and drop everything belonging to this man in the hole.”
“I’ve never shot a horse in my life,” Rusty shook his head. They chose a clearing in a grove of spruce trees at the north end of the valley. A one-man scoop is brutal to the man operating the scoop. At the first sign of clay, roots, or rocks, it pitches the operator over the handles and far, far away. Rusty was the only qualified operator. Tall Elk controlled the horse, while Rusty manned the handles on the dumpable scoop. He dug the scoop deep by lifting the handles and pushing the front edge into the dirt, and once the scoop was full he leveled it off and the horse pulled the scoop off to one side, where Rusty lifted the handles and dumped the scoop. At first glance the yellow sand was ideal for digging, but digging in the clearing revealed hundreds of large roots radiating out from the spruce in the grove. Tall Elk laughed the first time Rusty was thrown over the handles. But as Rusty’s face hit the dirt and grass, he jumped up with a look of rage in his eyes and his hand on the butt of his pistol. Tall Elk kept his laughter to himself. He even took his turn on the handles, and in the dirt. By afternoon they had a 20 foot deep hole big enough to act as the basement of a house. Tall Elk led the chestnut, with the deputy draped over the saddle, to the bottom of the hole and shot it. The echoes sounded abnormally loud in the quiet grove. They rolled boulders into the grave from the stone boat, then used the scoop to refill the hole. The stone boat smoothed over the sand when they were through. They threw the scoop on the stone boat and started for the ranch.
“Hold up,” Tall Elk stopped Rusty before they left the secluded clearing. “My hackles are rising again. Somebody is nearby.”
“By god, Tall Elk, we’ve got to take this war to them. We can’t keep dodging them like this. Let’s wound the guy and see where he goes. I guarantee it will be the 3L.”
Tall Elk nodded and faded away into the grove of spruce. Rusty checked his pistol and waited. It was better to leave the Indianing to an Indian.
The shot echoed off the hills. Rusty drew his gun and swung from side to side, looking for a target. In a moment he saw a horse running below him on the sandy road. He watched, motionless before sliding his pistol back into the holster. The man had a bloody leg. He would make it to 3L all right and since he needed help immediately, he would not hide out in the woods for a few days before returning to his headquarters. Rusty mounted the plow horse and kicked it into a slow gallop. He came racing into the ranch yard with dust billowing up behind him from the stone boat. Tall Elk appeared from around the corner. They saddled their horses, grabbed their muskets and power horns, and rode off without a word. It was seven miles to the end of the valley. They rode the first five miles uneventfully.
“Hold up,” Tall Elk said, pulling his horse to a halt. He glanced at the yellow sand then looked around the brush and trees for a potential enemy.
“He stopped here and tied something around his wound. He’s close,” Tall Elk studied the landscape again. A telltale plume of dust at the far end of the valley showed them where the would-be ambusher had gone. Tall Elk took the time to slide his musket into the straps which held it to the saddle. Rusty slid his own musket into the boot and checked his pistol. Tall Elk reloaded his empty chambers while they silently watched the dust disappear over the hill.
“It’s a good weapon,” Tall Elk said, sliding his pistol into the holster.
“I hear Colt made a revolving rifle too, but I also heard that one misfired and all six chambers went off at once, blowing a man’s hand off. I’d prefer his pistol,” Rusty smiled.
“Now,” Tall Elk kicked his horse into motion.
“So what is the snake for?” White Fawn asked as Willow Bud placed it into a covered basket.
“When the time is right, I will show you,” Willow Bud said in excitement.
“Why not now? Daddy won’t be back for hours, and Nancy is showing mom how to milk the cow.”
“Ok,” Willow Bud smiled. She began taking off her clothes. White Fawn hurried to take her own off. They immediately compared bodies as they sat naked on her parent’s bed. Willow Bud was slender with the traditional large nipples and dark areolas. Her pubic hair was black and shinny, consisting of a small neat patch above her pussy in the shape of a hand. Her dark face was small and delicate, as most young Indian women were at her age. Indian women aged quickly as they grew older. At the moment Willow Bud was at her prime.
White Fawn was named due to her light complexion. Her Indian heritage was obvious in the lines of her face, but her white heritage had formed tiny doll-like features which would last for decades. Her feet were so tiny that each would fit inside of a normal hand. As she sat throwing her hair behind her shoulder, her proud chest showed the light, delicate features of her Norwegian heritage. She had small, almost invisible nipples on grapefruit like breasts. Both girls were absolutely perfect, in their own ways. Both appreciated the assets of the other.
“Let’s get each other wet first,” Willow Bus smiled, advancing on White Fawn and pushing her back on the bed. “We are supposed to use milk, which is why I wanted to wait, but we can go without it.”
“There’s cream,” White Fawn perked up.
“Get it, we can do both. They like heat and milk.” When White Fawn returned with the cream pitcher, Willow Bud set it aside had her lay on the bed. She fell between her legs with a giggle and a smile. She kissed White Fawn’s inner thigh gently, then kissed her way up the inside of both thighs until she reached her delicate pussy.
“It’s really very beautiful,” Willow Bud said, petting White Fawn’s pussy and pubic hair.
“So is yours,” White Fawn smiled. She watched as Willow Bud lowered her face again and kissed, just inside the leg, next to her pussy. White Fawn tensed up, an urgent look appeared in her eyes. She waited breathlessly as Willow Bud moved to the other side and kissed that crease between the body and leg. White Fawn hissed with pent-up passion. Part of her wanted to hurry Willow Bud by thrusting her pussy into her willing mouth. The other half waited, knowing the first tendrils of pleasure would be stronger. With a smile, Willow Bud opened her mouth and clamped it over White Fawn’s sweet pussy. As she sucked viscously, her tongue snaked inside of White Fawn’s delicate pussy lips and flickered inside. White Fawn made a chocking sound and withered on the bed. With her legs open wide, she pulled Willow Bud between her legs and thrust her pussy into her hot mouth.