Cory had found randy in that barn in early spring. Now, it was autumn.
You didn't need to have a calendar to feel the drop in temperature, the crispness in the air. randy had grown up in New England and was used to winter. Still, the rest of the rustlers laughed: "you ain't experienced winter till you experience one of these , kid", they would laugh, before talking about the snow drifts, the winds, and how there were times when you couldn't leave your shelter for weeks. "What do you guys do during the winter?" He asked Jackson one day, as the "right hankies" as the guys called them, were taking stock of what was in the chuck wagon. "Well, we kinda go our separate ways and agree to come back to some point at a certain point. It's all kinda up in the air. Something like "two weeks after the last snow," or "when the rabbits are born," something like that. Then we'll pick something like "Johnson's creek," some crap like that. " He laughed. "Somehow it always works. There are always a few guys who don't come back. That's why we pick up folks like you, during the warmer weather. If they last and stay, great. If not" He shrugged his shoulders. "Asi es la vida" they say in Mexico: "that's life." randy smiled at the Spanish. He had learned enough with his classical education to pick up languages fast, and he usually did the interpretation for the crew when they ran into Mexicans. He worked with Shem, one of the older wrestlers, who was the best haggler in the group. randy usually had to turn his head away when he was negotiating with Mexicans and Shem, because Shem had certain "tells" that randy could pick out, but no one else could. Shem was a red head, and he had a thick moustache. When he was interested in a price, the left side of his moustache would drop, almost imperceptibly, but randy noticed it. If the deal wasn't gonna happen, he'd start rubbing the nail on his left index finger. They were very precise "markers," and randy picked them up. One night, under Mister Cory's sleep blanket, he told him about noticing them. Cory paused. "Damn, you know I've been working with Shem for about ten years. He kicks my ass at poker when we play. I never noticed stuff like that. I'm gonna see what it does. " Cory began to win some of his matches after that. He rewarded randy by getting him a new belt buckle. A big silver one. He had it made special. It had a capital C and a small r. "Shows what's under those jeans belongs to me. Sure is purty though. " He came up and kissed randy. "Jess like what's under those jeans." randy had adapted to life as a rustler very quickly, and to life as randy's "right pocket." He really wasn't cut out for rustling, but he took over managing the crew's supplies, keeping a very careful inventory. He also managed the money when they sold a lot of rustled cattle, and he was Cooky's eyes in the mess tent. Then as he learned Spanish, he would do the talking when they met anyone who's English was not strong. Perhaps the skill that was most valuable to the troop, though, was his reading ability. randy was the only guy who COULD read, and they had a selection of books, not very good ones, but books nonetheless. With no movies, no tv, no nothing but music and the written word, this was their entertainment. randy started with the books they had. He would read for an hour every night, each rustler getting to pick what they wanted to hear. The one exception was Sunday. Cory, surprisingly (or perhaps not) was a very religious man. He imposed a rule: every Sunday morning, before they headed off to church, they'd get an hour of bible reading from randy. "How many of you guys know what's in the Bible?" he asked one night at supper. There was a lot of murmuring, and an occasional fart from Cooky's spicy beans, but no real answer. "Ok, by the grace of our Maker, you're gonna learn. randy, you're gonna start at page one, and you're gonna read that monster until we get through to the end." "DANG. We're gonna be the most blessed bunch of crooks in the West," Amos had laughed. "Seriously though Cory, you're right. We could all stand to learn a few things about what the good book says. " And it began. It began that spring and now, as randy was heading into what he thought of as "the good parts," the gospels, he was trying to accelerate or decelerate his readings so that they coincided with some religious event.
"I DID write "before they headed off to church." Yup. On Sundays, Cory made it his business to go to church. That meant he made it randy's business to go. The first time they stopped in one of the towns, he made it a point to make sure that randy had a "going to meeting" outfit: a white shirt, a bolo tie, clean black jeans, and a pair of boots that randy could wear on Sunday... and when Cory wanted to see how shapely they made his ass. randy would stand next to Cory in one of the pews, four or five of the other guys, standing around at different places, and he'd see how Cory's "discussions with God" (as Cory called them) could sometimes get very heated, or make Cory very sad. When THAT happened, and he saw tears form in Cory's eye, randy would reach over and take Cory's hand. Cory never pushed it away, and randy never found out what was making him so sad. In many ways, Cory was a very VERY private man.
He also seemed to be extremely roused after most Sunday services. randy rode in front of Cory when they went to church (he didn't ride well enough to have his own horse yet), and Cory would get "handsy." He'd whisper into randy's ear: what he expected when they got back to camp, or something about how the wiggle in randy's butt was making him hard, etc. They'd change out of Sunday clothes, and then Cory would take randy off to some secluded spot, and force him to his knees to suck him off, or lay him on his belly so he could fuck him, sometimes both. He'd almost always tie randy's hands while he did this, or unbutton randy's shirt so he could chew on his chest, or every now and then, especially if the ground weren't so sandy, and they had had a chance for a "Saturday night bath," (Usually a long soak in a river), he's snake his tongue up randy's ass, and randy would howl. Everyone at the campsite would know that had happened. At first, randy blushed, now he would just ignore the coyote and wolf howls that would start when he and Cory got back to camp.
In addition to his other tasks, Cory was adamant that randy would have to learn how to defend himself. He'd spent a part of every day either teaching randy how to use a gun, how to rope, how to fight, sometimes recruiting some of the other rustlers to help. randy remembered one day when he learned a good lesson. Cory was teaching him marksmanship. "Who do you think the best marksman in the group is?" "Gee, I don't know Sir. Is it you?" Cory laughed. "Hardly. It's Cooky?" "COOKY? He can't even see out of one eye." "HEY COOKY." Cory yelled, and Cooky limped over. "Yeah Cory? What's up?" "Anything worth adding to dinner out there? " They were in a flatland, no trees, lots of empty space. "Well, there's a rabbit about 30 yards away." "THERE IS?" randy asked. He didn't see anything. Cory just smiled and handed Cooky his gun. "Maybe it'll go good with stew." "Let me just get my arm up." randy saw him balance the gun on the arm he didn't use to stir with, take a deep breath and then, BANG - a shot across the space. randy saw the rabbit fly up in the air from the impact. Cory smiled. "Good job Cooky." He turned to randy. "Well, don't just stand there, go get it. About time you learned about skinning too." When they finished that lesson and randy excused himself to throw up, Cory just laughed. "Jackson was the same way," he thought. randy turned out to be an excellent marksman. Not as good as Cooky, but probably better than anyone else, a fact that would come in useful later on.
So that night, cuddled under Cory's blanket, randy asked "Sir, what happens in the winter?" He felt randy's dry lips kiss his neck. "MMM. Yeah, good question kid. Weather's getting colder. We sorta go our separate ways. Come back in the spring." Cory could feel the sense of defeat in randy's body as it sagged. He covered Cory's hand with his. "I don't wanna go back to Boston Sir. I wanna stay with you." Cory laughed. "Well, what gave you the idea you were going anywhere else? " randy was puzzled. No one had said anything to him. He felt Cory gently rolling him onto his back. He felt his wrists pinned down as Cory climbed on top of him. "I thought you understood. You're mine, randy. You belong to me. Winter without you? NAH. Not happening. It's probably another 3 weeks before we break up for the season. I rent a house from an old spinster woman. You're coming with me." He whispered as his chin found "the spot" on randy's neck that randy didn't even know he had. "Think I could go three months without that ass of yours? Or that mouth? Damn, I'm not even gonna get through tonight without it." randy moaned. "Yes sir. Thank you Sir. Should I open my jeans for you?" "Nah. I'm gonna do it myself. You had a busy day, young man. It's about to get busier." Early on, one of the rustlers had told randy he was gonna have to get used to being sore, because Cory was voracious. He was. Today, the fucking he was getting was only the second one. Most days, it was three, and sometimes, 3 and a blow job. Yeah, he was sore, but Cory knew what he was doing. He paid attention when he was taking randy, and learned more hot spots than randy had any idea he had. Cory was working one of them now, rubbing his cockhead along a very small stretch of the left side of randy's sphincter wall. Every time he rubbed, randy moaned louder. He got so loud, that Cory shoved a bandana in his mouth. "Hush boy. The other guys wanna sleep. Too much noise, and they'll wanna watch. " "I'm his property. Can property fall in love with a man? " randy was thinking. He couldn't decide if he saw Cory as a father, a big brother, a lover, a husband? He just knew that learning that he'd be with him over the winter, was the best news he had learned in a long time. I mentioned how good randy had gotten with a gun. It turned out to be invaluable one Sunday afternoon. They had gone to church, had a quick social dance, and now Cory was playing a game with randy he had invented. He'd give randy ten minutes lead time, to try to get away , then Cory would come hunting him. He had to capture randy, and bring him back hogtied, like a calf. If he did that, he got to pick what they did for sex. If randy won, he could pick. randy never won, so it was a moot point. The game was more to teach randy about roping and lariat work, and he WAS learning, even if a lot of it was paying attention as Cory tied him up. That Sunday though, something was different. randy had been out in the open for about half an hour and he didn't hear or see Cory. That was odd: The landscape had been bleached very thoroughly by the sun, and Cory's black clothes, unlike the white "going to meeting shirt," randy hadn't taken off that afternoon, stood out against it. "There must be some shadows in the rocks. Must be there." randy started walking toward them. He wanted the game to be over, because he felt like he needed Cory's dick in him. He hadn't fucked him that morning because there was too much work to get done as the season was ending, so he was eager. That's when he heard the voices. "DAMN YOU CORY I BEEN WAITING FOR THIS FOR A WHILE.' He saw that Amos had Cory tied up up against the rocks. His ankles, his wrists, all tied really tightly. The "gag" Amos was using was one that they used to break horses, and he could see Cory's mouth had just the smallest trickle of blood on it. "Ain't no one gonna mind much when I take over this group again. Let the damn sun bleach you white, who cares? That pretty boy of yours? Well, he'll make a good substitution for Jackson : "I'm about tired of him anyway." He saw Amos reaching for his revolver. He wasn't sure if Cory saw him : Cory said he did, but who knew? He steadied his breathing, said a quick prayer, and then let off one shot. Amos dropped to the floor. randy hadn't intended to kill him, and he had aimed for his hip. "DAMN YOU FUCKING BITCH. DAMN YOU. YOU JUST LOST YOUR ONE CHANCE FOR A GOOD FUCKING LIFE." randy ran in and got to work untying Cory. "You ok, Sir? You ok? " Cory shook his head yes, trying to smile through the bit gag. He loosened that himself, because it was a difficult contraption for a greenhorn to do. "You did well, randy. You'll kill your first man one of these days, but aiming to wound... that was the right thing. " He looked at Amos. "I oughta leave you to die. Right here. Some animal will get you. But no... The guys will try you. Help me randy. Let's get this varmint back to camp." When they got there, the troop heard the story and set up a detail to keep Amos under guard. They were heading close to a town, so they'd have Amos examined by a doctor when they got there. When everything had settled down, Cory looked at randy. He put his hands on his shoulders. "You ok boi?" "Yes sir. I think I'm fine. I may have bad dreams, but... I'll be fine." "Well, I'll do what I can to protect you in sleep." He dropped his hands from randy's shoulders, and took his hands. "You risked your life for old Cory." "There wasn't a question Sir. You risked yours when you took me in." "We're even randy. If you wanna head home this winter - I mean to Boston - I'll make sure you get on some kind of ranch coach to get you back. Just say the word." "I'm staying with you Sir. " Cory smiled. "Well, I much appreciate that cause I like your company. For now though, I think I gotta relax a lttle. " He squeezed randy's ass. "I want those soft lips on my monster." "Tell me where Sir. I'm ready. " Cory and randy wandered off to a place where they thought no one could see them. Jackson did. So did Marty, who put his hand on Jackson's shoulder. "Amos is out of the picture now." "For a while, at least." He smiled. Martin whispered into his ear. "Tomorrow I'm going to Cory and claiming you, jackson. " jackson smiled. "I'll say yes."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx A week later, on the way to town, one of the scouts, Jaybird, came hurrying back. "MR CORY. LARGE GROUP OF CATTLE, COWBOYS, ABOUT FIVE MILE SOUTH." Cory sat up. "How many cowboys, how many cattle?" "Cattle? At least a thousand. Cowboys? Hard to say. "OK. Time for a counsel. " He summoned his three lieutenants and they developed a plan. A thousand cattle was more than they could handle. They would try to pick off about two hundred from the back. "Jaybird, you and your fellas... split it 50/50? " "Works for us." Jaybird was a native American. He and his tribesmen had an encampment about ten miles from where Cory's group was positioned. There were about 25 of them. The plan: Jaybird and his guys would attack, war cries and everything and try to drive away the cowboys. Then the rustlers would move in, take out cowboys if they had to, and get what they could of the drive. "You'll stay behind in the wagon, randy. You're a good shot, but you're not ready for this. These attacks are dangerous." "I worry that you're going Sir. Your luck hasn't been that great lately." Cory smiled. "My luck isn't gonna change. It's been good since I wandered into that barn. " He kissed randy. "They call you a right pocket. I'm gonna start calling you something else. We'll talk about it when we're done." He left randy in the wagon with Cooky. The kiss and Cory's words had lit something in randy. Cory didn't approve of him taking care of his own sexual needs without him there, but this time, well.... randy knew the rawhide punishment well, and he'd risk it. The guys were gone for the whole day and most of the night. It was eerily quiet. "randy, you feel like reading? Just pick something? It may make the night go faster," Cooky suggested. "Sure. You got a favorite Bible story Cooky?" "The one about the bread. And the fishes. I love that one. I think of it when I don't think there's gonna be enough food." randy laughed. Cooky's idea of enough food was different than everyone else's . No one in that troop could say they went hungry. Indeed, randy had noticed that the combination of doing physical work - he could haul a 50 pound sack of beans on his own by now - and Cooky's food, had filled him out. He had been called "rangy" at home; now he was "solid." He had passed down his old clothes to some of Jaybird's troop, because they were too small for him. Cory liked him in tight fitting clothes, but even so, he was a size up, all around from when he had come west. If he dressed comfortably, it was two. As randy was reading, Cooky put his hand on his wrist. "SHHHHHHHHHHH. Someone's coming. I can't tell if it's Cory or the cowboys. Let's pray it's Cory." randy listened closely, and he did hear the footsteps. Then, he heard the voice. "MOVE, C'MON. DON'T MAKE ME USE THE WHIP." "CORY'S VOICE! They were fine. But why was he threatening the whip?" Twenty minutes or so later, the guys came into sight. There was whooping and shouting: a successful rustle meant money for all. "WAY more successful than we expected Cooky. Four hundred head. Easy. Caught em completely flat footed. One took a shot in his ass as he tried to get away, but ... all ok the rest." randy saw two cowboys being led in. They were yoked, and their wrists were tied. "Sir, who are they?" Cory smiled. "Boston, we done found ourselves two more right pockets in that troop. " randy looked: they were both younger than him. Handsome. A bit beaten down, but nothing that some cleaning up wouldn't fix. "Boys are getting tired of playing with themselves. Had to do something to make it right. We'll talk more about this tomorrow. For now, though. FANDANGO."