"A True Frontier Town"
Part 4
Mark Sherwood
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Jeb
The Clarkson operation was huge covering hundreds of acre of land. Sam Clarkson was standing by a fenced in corral watching his men attempting to break wild horses, as Jeb came riding towards them.
The majority of Sam's herd was born on the ranch. However, every so often a gang of wild horseflesh was found roaming the hills. The wranglers would round hem up, add them to the group, then work to break them into riding horses.
"Howdy men," said Jeb. "I'm looking for Sam Clarkson, can you tell me where about, I can find him."
"You're looking at him. I'm Sam," said an older heavier man.
"I'm fixin to ask for a job," said Jeb. The Ranch, with its popularity and star power, had been Jeb's dream of working and riding with Kansas finest cowboys, as they were known.
"Always hiring a good cowpoke. – what can you do?"
"Anything, name it and I'll do it. I understand horses better than I know myself," Jeb stated creating smirks from cowboys behind Sam.
"Anything – huh?" mumbled Sam, chewing on a piece of straw. "Can you stay on a wild horse for five minutes? I might be interested."
"Of course."
"Ha-ha-ha, maybe a wild pony with a bad leg," giggled a ranch hand named Burt Anderson. He was impressive, to say the least, and Jeb noticed right off, but he never starred at him. Burt was a big mouth bully.
"Let him ride "Hurricane," screamed Luke Bartlett, the best horseman on the ranch. Nobody, including Luke could stay on Hurricane for very long. Eventually, perhaps, but right now, Hurricane was too wild.
"Now, take it easy boys. No cowpoke is going to ride Hurricane. Aside from getting shot, that is the best way I know to get a body killed," declared Sam.
"Which horse is Hurricane?" asked Jeb.
Burt pointed to a coal black Mustang. This horse had untamed strength born wild with unmatched resilience. Hurricane was a lot of horse and nobody could ride Hurricane. There was no missing it.
"I can ride him," said Jeb, looking directly at Sam. "Want me to try?"
"You're likely to get broken up, so why chance it? Three minutes, tops on Hurricane, and your ass is on the ground. Three minutes is all anybody can do."
"If I stay on for five minutes like Luke claims he does; do I get a job?" asked Jeb now filled with confidence but slightly worried.
What's your name son," asked Sam.
"Yeah, what's your name, so we know what to put on your gravestone," yelled Burt, still being a jackass.
"It's Jeb Benson, and I won't need a gravestone. What do yuh say Mr. Clarkson, do I get a job or not?"
"Jeb, my boy, if you can ride Hurricane, you get a job. Now, does everybody here agree, we'll have Jeb partner up with us?" asked Sam.
"Yup, sure, we agree, but if you get thrown before the time is up, you shovel shit for a month. What do you say to that?" Burt added.
"Deal."
"You got it sucker, bring over Hurricane." Burt boasted.
There were several cowboys watching, however two left for the north meadow. Jeb was riding Hurricane for a small half dozen cowpokes, plus Sam Clarkson.
"Luke Bartlett had been looking at Jeb with his thoughts spinning out of control. Every so often, a cowpoke comes along giving Luke wild desires about getting into their pants. Although it happened only once, he stayed, fired up, time after time, hoping to pecker-poke, another wrangler. Dang, this cowboy, Jeb, was hot stuff, as far as he was concerned.
Jeb from the waist down, front and back was a step above most wranglers. Luke thought, "Imagine how he looks naked. The thought kept him close to Jeb as possible. Luke wasn't interested in romance, but he would trade his boots for a crack at Jeb's ass.
Two wranglers brought over Hurricane and walked him between two metal fence bars. The horse had no place to go wedged in that location.
Hurricane, the majestic black stallion, had to accept a saddle on his back. However, would he accept a rider? That was the million-dollar question.
Jeb climbed the rail lifting his leg over the horse about to lower his butt onto the saddle. Luke watched Jeb's pecker move in his pants. The fleshy buns of his ass jiggled like a breeze across his eyes. "Oh good Lord," thought Luke, "I hope nothing on that man gets injured."
Jeb was in position, but regardless of any position, this was going to be a rocket ride.
Luke spoke to Jeb. I have tried often to ride Hurricane, and he is such a powerhouse, it taint easy. Don't kill yourself, for a job – just sayin. There is something I want to ask you later," whispered Luke.
Jeb connected immediately, recognizing that Luke was pecker hunting, he was sure of it. It's possible to be mistaken, but one's eyes are the windows to whatever you want them to be, and Jeb was seeing "homo" in Luke's face.
"I won't, I want to hear what you've got to say. – Let him loose," yelled Jeb.
Hurricane shot out the gate like thunder, bucking around the corral trying to throw Jeb off his back. The horse bucked, shook, and reared every possible way to rid himself of the unwanted rider.
Jeb, for sure, was taking a physical beating, however, held on hurting his shoulder, with every slam coming from Hurricane.
The wranglers let out a whopping – hollowing blast of noise when Hurricane started to buck. However, now, with Jeb holding on, they became silent staring in amazement. Jeb was beating Luke's record. That wasn't possible.
Sam Clarkson stood by the fence with a stopwatch observing the minutes ticking away. Jeb was heading towards nine minutes.
The bucking didn't stop and Jeb was showing signs of pain. Sam signaled him to stop.
Hurricane slowed down giving Jeb a chance to slide from the saddle, when he suddenly reared once again. This time he threw Jeb into the steel fence, like a sack of potatoes. The men picked up Jeb and he was okay. His hip was aching, his shoulder hurting, and he had trouble walking.
The men returned to work in the north pasture and Luke stayed behind to help Jeb to the bunkhouse. It took an expert to fool Jeb and there wasn't an expert in sight; only wranglers and a homo named Luke.
"Lean on me partner," said Luke, putting his arm around Jeb. Luke held him close walking him to the bunkhouse where they would be alone. Luke's face was inches from Jeb's head and he wanted to lick him, but of course, that didn't happen.
Inside the bunkhouse, Jeb sprawled on a bunk belonging to Luke. He laid flat on his back. Jeb's hat was off and the silky golden waves of his hair looked like window dressing against the pillow. His legs were straight out and parted slightly. Luke could see a bump in his crotch, but didn't touch him; at least, not yet. However, that bulge sure kept the wheels turning in his head.
"Where's it hurt buddy," asked Luke.
"My hip and my leg."
Luke massaged Jeb's hip, then his leg, finally touching his crotch, rubbing his hand across the bulge between his legs. Luke finally squeezed his cock.
Jeb opened his eyes. "Pull the pants down, if you want my pecker, it's okay go for it, "He said to Luke. " This is what you wanted to ask me, am I right?"
"I'm embarrassed."
"Stop, you're not embarrassed. But, you better get a move on; somebody could open that door any minute."
"Pants down is okay, but I want to see you completely naked," admitted Luke, working his hand without much success, under Jeb's cheeky warm ass.
"That's not going to happen. I shouldn't even be doing this much."
"Huh, so you got a boyfriend, that don't make this no never-mind."
"You nailed it," Jeb replied. He was lying, but this was a good time for lying.
"Tell yuh what, began Luke, "Suppose I throw a fuck into that sweet little corn hole, sorta quick-like. You're ready for poking getting you all wet to be our bunkhouse whore.
"Naw, let's talk later. I'm sore and aching from riding Hurricane, I'll pass.
Jeb left the bunkhouse, saying nothing more to Luke. Many things rushing through his thoughts about the Clarkson Ranch were unsettling in a way, new to him. Luke was definitely not his type.
Riding a wild dangerous stallion was a tough way to discover how mistaken he was about the cowboys who worked there. Most were decent enough cowpokes. It was the smart-ass jerks, such as Burt Anderson, that he saw as trouble. Jeb wasn't against sex; however, he was nobody's whore. Even hearing the spoken word disturbed him.
Jeb could not stop thinking about Austin. He wondered what he was doing in Dodge City. Did he like his job, was he happy?" The wondering never seemed to stop.
Jeb mounted Charlie, his horse, and rode towards Sam Clarkson's house. Only he didn't stop there, and passed by, heading toward the Santa Fe Trail.
The Clarkson Ranch meant nothing to him any longer, but Austin did. Jeb had to find him, and do what needed to be done.
Dodge City was five miles away.
Part 5 "Dodge City"