Outcast of Lonely Rock

THE OUTCAST OF LONELY ROCK, CHAPTER SEVEN

"Upon My Visit to a Hacienda"

By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM

WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM

[Note: My Spanish is too sketchy to portray these two men properly. I'm using the few words I do have to add flavor. They are not meant as stereotypes, save that the entire Western genre plays heavily upon stereotypes of all kinds.]

If leaving Lonely Rock as an outlaw was an odd feeling, it was nothing compared to riding back trying to act innocent. I was as nervous as a cat in a yard full of dogs, but tried to be nonchalant, just another visitor to town. I'd come up with the ostensible plan of being in town to check on the funeral arrangements for Jobias, for the undertaker had said he'd be ready for burial today. It all seemed so surreal, the death in this small town, where everyone knew the real killers were still out there and none made an effort to do anything about them. Nobody besides me.

The sheriff was perched out on the porch in front of the general store which was next to his jail, sitting in his chair cocked back and his feet resting on the horse railing, and I licked my suddenly-dry lips and shuddered, but he just flicked his hat back from his head as I grew near, saw me, smiled and winked, and put his hat back down.

I heaved a sigh of relief. The sheriff had kept my name out of the jailbreak, all right.

With a freer heart, I checked with the undertaker, who also ran the tack-shop in town, so that we talked under hanging harnesses and surrounded by saddles, yet with a row of coffins along one wall. "We'll perform the ceremony at sundown when it will be cooler and more will be in town for the service." the undertaker informed me. "We can have a little procession with the coffin-barrow up to the cemetery at the other end of town. If you'll be here at that time, you can be chief mourner."

"Me?" I was surprised. "What about my uncle?"

"Your uncle has declared his intention of not attending the funeral." the undertaker informed me. "He has returned to his ranch with plans of taking tomorrow's stagecoach to Kansas City, or so he informed me. If I saw you, I was to tell you of this and that he'd buy your ticket East along with his if you would be ready by tomorrow morning at seven o'clock."

First I was mad at my uncle, then calmed down and considered it. My uncle couldn't feel very safe in town with Jobias' death, and the stagecoach only ran once a week. Either he made that stagecoach tomorrow morning early or he had to hang around with everyone knowing he had a good bit of money on him. Yes, after due consideration, I didn't blame him for his actions, even if they remained unkind in spirit.

With nothing left to do, I stabled my horse, then sought out the hotel and rented a room for the day only at a small fee, for I was exhausted. I slept fitfully, for the heat became unbearably hot as the day progressed. Finally in the late afternoon, sweat-covered, I stirred and arose, partook of the bath which I had also paid for, ate a light meal and, refreshed a good deal, I turned back in my room key and went to be chief mourner for Jobias.

We made a pitifully small procession through town. A few people ambled along behind us, rather pell-mell, more like curiosity-seekers than part of the procession. Two men waited at the cemetery, the preacher-man and the grave-digger.

It was a short service. I spent a good deal of it looking at the men attending, big men, strong men, all of them avoiding looking at me. Yes, they knew. They all knew.

It came the point when the minister asked if anyone had some words to say, and he looked at me, of course. I nodded.

I'll spare you the words I said that day, though I'm actually quite proud of them. I talked of our brief friendship and how friendship is the only thing that matters in this world. "Yes, I was Jobias' friend." I concluded. "He died and his killers are still free. I intend to hunt down those men, the ones who killed him. That's why I'm staying in Lonely Rock."

Then I nodded to the minister and he took back over. The sun had dipped below the horizon and darkness was falling. I left the gravedigger and the undertaker with the rest of the men at the service, black figures on a darkening-blue sky, as they piled the dirt and rocks over Jobias' grave.

"Señor?" came a soft call and I turned, looked behind me. Two Hispanic men were there, dressed in the clothing that indicated men of leisure for their culture. Not plain white, almost shapeless clothes, but neat matching pants and jackets, one tan and one gold, both fine-looking men with mustaches neatly trimmed, another sign of the upper-crust in Hispanic society. If I could trust my reading, which as you have seen had served me little in this past week.

"What can I do for you?" I said softly. I had noticed them at the service, standing well back from the crowd, but present along with a few others of their people.

"You said that you wish to find the men who killed your friend?" one said to me.

"Yes." I settled for saying.

"My brother and I, we waited for our brother outside the saloon. We saw the men who killed your brother."

I looked around at the crowds that were watching me, the attendees of the funeral, plus others who had arrived at town. "Can we go somewhere and talk?"

"We can go to our hacienda, Señor." the second one said. "It is only a little ways out of town."

"Fine." I said. "Let's go." And I walked with these two dark-skinned men. We talked on the short walk, perhaps a mile. They were twins, fraternal not identical, they didn't resemble each other very much. Their names were Alonso and Ignacio, and they had been born only two years after Danielo, their elder brother. All three had been raised by their grandparents, along with two aunts and an uncle upon their mother's death, but now only the three lived in that big house where they were now taking me, along with an old servant who took care of things.

I waited until we were settled in their main room before broaching the subject of Jobias' killers. "All right, you know who killed Jobias? Who were they?"

"It was two men, and they had covered up their faces with a kerchief." Alonso said.

"Yes, their faces were covered." Ignacio chimed in.

"Then you didn't see their faces."

"Yes, we saw their faces. They ran into the stable after the gunfire, but we saw. We waited and then they came out again as if they were innocent." Alonso said.

"With those kerchiefs still around their necks." Ignacio agreed.

"By then they'd already grabbed the stranger and were taking him to jail." . "But we know it wasn't him."

"All right, you did see their faces." I said patiently. "Who were they?"

"Two men, they work for King Carson."

"I figured that already." I said grimly. "Seeing how it was Carson's men who fingered Hunter."

"Sí, we only know their first names." Ignacio said. "I remember it because it is much like mine. He is called Nat."

"Nate?" I asked. "Nathan?"

"Sí, and the other one...."

"Farley?" I said in a horror I hoped I didn't feel.

"That is his name, Señor." Alonso finished. "They are the men who shot your friend. We saw, they did not even give him a chance to draw, they had their guns out already and just shot him when he reached for his own gun."

I stood up, shaking, not feeling at all brave. Those two. It had to be those two. God, I didn't even want to look at them, and now...how could I face them down, under any circumstances?

These two men, they saw the look on my face. "You know them?" Ignacio asked me softly. . "Yeah, I know them." I said.

"You do not wear a gun, Señor." Alonso pointed out. "How can you avenge your friend's death?"

"You could lay in wait for them upon the trail to Carson's Ranch." Ignacio said. "They ride it often, you would only wait for them a day or two. Then...muerto." he nodded grimly.

"But he is not ready yet, to face these men." Alonso pointed out to his brother. "It is not enough to point a gun at a man and pull the trigger. You can miss. He will need to practice shooting a gun first."

"Yeah." I said, almost in relief. "I should practice a while first." Honest, I wasn't afraid of these men, not really, not in the way where I was afraid they would harm me. My fear was born of the memory of their hands upon me, their cruel faces laughing into mine, their...their cocks that thrust into me. I just wasn't ready to face them, to see their faces as they recognized me, their smiles as they would remember what they had done to me. I can't prove it wasn't cowardice, for it was a close relative, but it wasn't. I couldn't face them, I just couldn't.

"I am good with a gun." Alonso bragged. "I shall teach you how to shoot."

"Sí." Ignacio said. "And maybe, when the day comes, when you lay in wait, Alonso and I, we wait with you."

"Yes, and there are others who would help." Alonso agreed. "Many who do not like this King Carson and his men who kill because he tells them to." . "So we will help you." Ignacio said.

I looked at these two men, who spoke in such an interlinked way, almost bemused. "But where am I to stay? I have almost no money, no job, nothing."

"You will stay here with us." Alonso said.

"Verdad." Ignacio concurred.

"What would I do?" I said. "I don't know ranching, not yet, or, or anything you would need."

"I think we could find something he could do for us, don't you think, hermano?" Alonso asked Ignacio.

"Yes, I am sure there is something he could do." Ignacio said. And he grinned at me. And then Alonso grinned that same grin, and he cupped his crotch lewdly in one hand. . "I think I have something here you could help me with." Alonso said.

I looked at him and then I said, "And if I told you that if you force me to do this, I will leave this town and never come back?"

Alonso took his hand away from his crotch. "We meant no harm." He said. "Please, stay with us."

Ignacio, too, had lost his grin. "This town needs someone with your courage." he pleaded. "There is no one else. Please, we will promise to never touch you if you will promise to stay."

I smiled. "That's more like it." And I knelt down at Alonso's feet, reached for the buttons of his fly. "In that case, I'll be happy to stay."

Alonso's fly burst open with a warm smell of maleness that filled my nostrils. His cock was just beyond this too-small opening, the shaft bulged out like an infected wound that needed to be lanced. Instead, I grabbed his cock and yanked it to freedom, leaving the balls still trapped within those tight, golden pants of his.

Alonso remained still, perhaps still stunned by my ultimatum, but when his fat, dun-colored cock slid into my throat, he let go with a slow groan and then a whispering of Spanish syllables.

Ignacio chuckled as he watched me suck his brother's cock, feeding that long Hispanic dong into my throat then releasing it all slimed and shiny with my saliva; soon, I was bobbing upon that fat schlong with a full frenzy of lust.

Alonso reached for his belt, but I grabbed his hand. "No, not this time." I said as I released his cock briefly. "This time, you will simply stand there while I bring you to your passion's edge. Later, I will permit you to take greater liberties with me."

"But I..." Alonso gasped out, for I was manipulating his pud with my hand, the slimy organ making a shlorp-shlorp sound as it was pumped in and out of my palm.

"No, don't move." I bent over and took his slick prong back into my mouth. Alonso groaned as I again engulfed him. . "Ah, ah!" He gasped out, bending at the knees in weak pleasure.

Ignacio grabbed his brother around his ribcage with both strong arms and hoisted him back up. "Steady, my brother." he said. "If we would keep this man with us, we must let him become comfortable with us. For now, that means to do just as he says, and no more."

Alonso didn't say any more, for he was sagging within his brother's grip while I pumped his cock in and out of my mouth, really giving that plump cockhead a ride, feeling the thick foreskin like wadded velvet that rolled and crumpled as it rippled up over the bulbous glans, and then I would smooth it back out flat once more, pressing it back against his body, so that it was now a nearly-dry coil about the base of his cock, and his pole pulsing inside of me.

Alonso was now like a limp rag rather than a man, only Ignacio's strong arms held him up still, his knees were splayed wide, his feet rested upon the balls of the feet rather than the heels, and that golden jacket of his was rumpled up in Ignacio's embrace.

"Ah, no más, no más!" Alonso groaned. His cock was a fiery branding iron in my mouth, and I was a demon upon his prick, milking that arrogant Latin pud out of this no-longer-arrogant hulk of a man, he was so much pliable clay in my arms that cupped his buttocks.

Deciding to put an end to his misery, I sped up my assault upon his cock and he groaned, his face blushed a most startling shade of purple, and then with a roar from Alonso and a groaning encouragement from Ignacio, Alonso's cock burst its load into my mouth and I drank him down greedily, savoring that deliciously acrid tang of Hispanic jizz, and Alonso was sobbing in his brother's clutch, and sagged down out of the tight hold to his knees, me following him down and continuing to wring every ounce of fluid out of his jizz-pipe, drained him dry and raised up, wiping my mouth on the back of my hands, and Ignacio, who had also went to his knees with Alonso, trying to hold up his brother, looked up at me.

"Now it's your turn, compadre." I smiled at him.

He gulped hard and rose up, leaving his brother a gasping wreck at his feet. "How do you want me?" he asked.

"Same as your brother." I said. "Take it out, but that's it."

Ignacio obeyed and I knelt and again, from that tan-pants interior, there came the ambrosial scent of male musk. His cock was a bit longer than Alonso's, but perhaps not as large around, and his foreskin was longer, leaving a small hollow-topped cylinder of dark gray-brown foreskin at the tip of his cock.

I took his silken-skinned organ in my hand and I did not yet touch its tip to my mouth, but worked it like that, watching in a marveled gaze as the foreskin refused to relinquish his cockhead, but clutched it tightly even when I pushed back the foreskin as tight as it would go. Only the very top, the slit and a bare oval of the glans, would appear.

So instead of gulping him down, I reached over, and grabbed that foreskin-tip and gripping it in my lips tightly, I pulled it upwards. It was like stretching out stiff taffy not yet warmed by the buttered hands of the cooks working it, stiff and resisting. I took this recalcitrant, disobedient foreskin, in both my hands and I began to stretch it out manually, reaching down with my lips and tongue to moisten it as I moved. The foreskin stretched out over both my thumbs as I pressed them below the opening, and I shoved my tongue into that dank interior, tasting old sweat and bitter smegma ensconced inside. My tongue-tip danced upon the glans, and despite its tender and delicate touch, Ignacio groaned happily as if I were massaging him hard and fast rather than with the most ginger of touches.

"Ah, my brave-hearted amigo." He gasped out. "Take this my manhood and make it your own, drain the very courage from my heart and the fighting spirit from my soul, take it into yourself and lead us to triumph at last over the men of King Carson."

Now I had stretched out the foreskin, I again grabbed and pushed it back and this time the glans proclaimed itself, still strangled at the edges by the tight foreskin, but proudly pink-faced and exuberant and ready to be touched by me.

I kissed this exposed glans and Ignacio groaned. "Ah, tenderly, tenderly." he pleaded with me. "It is alive with your every touch, I could not bear it if you were rougher."

I pressed my saliva to the glans with my tongue's broad top, curving it to the cockshaft and pouring my spit onto the cockhead this way, then I swirled my tongue over the glans and Ignacio's cries of delight were deep and from his very soul's bottom.

"Oh, oh!" he gasped out. "I shall be as weak as my brother, and there is none to hold me up."

"Then let's prop you up." and I pushed him back against the stove which stood there, un-needed in this summer day and only taking up space, his buttocks could rest upon the top of this round-bellied black-iron object and he could stand while I slathered his love-muscle with my saliva and kissed it all the way around at once.

I fed it into myself a little at a time, relishing the musky flavor, pressing the foreskin taut as I went, and as I pressed it back against his body with my mouth, I felt the cockhead, ravaged and denied for so long, burst free at last and rest itself from its labor of birth on my tongue.

Heavy, musky-flavored, I cleaned it off as I released his cock from my mouth, and I suckled all the juices out of that heavy-soaked skin and soon it was a clean, slippery, shaft of manhood that slipped into my throat and the cockhead reveled there in its new freedom, matched by the groans of appreciation from Ignacio.

I felt then, the careful hands at my waist, for Alonso had crept up behind me and was unfastening my pants from behind. "What are you doing?" I cautioned him.

"Only to repay you." Alonso whispered in my ear. "Only to repay you."

And so I let him open my pants and ease them down, and then he laid down and like a timid crawling mouse, he edged around my legs and pushed his head up into my crotch and I felt his mouth upon my cock in a sudden warm grip that pressed down upon me in a ring of sheer delight.

A new energy seized me at this time, and I grabbed Ignacio roughly by the hips and I began to thrust his cock into my mouth bodily, not sucking him as much as forcing his body to fuck my face, him all unprotesting, emitting his rumbles of joy, letting me do with his body as I chose to. . My cock was alive, it was as if it were a thing apart from me, this one part of body, the part inside Alonso's suckling mouth, was living in a moist paradise away from the rest of me, sending only telegrams of his happiness which sped along my body into my brain which read them with joy. I hunched into Alonso's mouth and I fucked my face at Ignacio's crotch, feeling that turgid pud like a steel shaft within me, and I was delirious from the heat, from the dry air, from the loneliness of my life, all of these things somehow found voice in this moment of rut, and they voiced themselves as a clamor within my skull that uttered moans of enraged ardor. . Ignacio suddenly grabbed my head with his rough hands and he began to fuck at me harder still, he was ramming his cock into my mouth and I didn't grunt any protest, I let him fuck my face while I used my own hands to grab Alonso's black-haired head at my groin and I began to fuck at him, and in this energetic burst of sheer male lust, in this time, my timidity at facing Nathan and Farley vanished for good, for I was now loving two men and it was my choice and my life and my decision, and this control was mine alone and could not be wrested from me by even the threat of violence, it could only be briefly relinquished, then it returned to me forever, and I was now truly unafraid, it was as if I had drunk courage from these two men, and I surged against them, shoving my face into Ignacio's crotch and my legs brushed against Alonso's broad chest, caressing him with my knees, the only part of my body in position that I could spare, and I felt the sheer power and strength of these two Latin studs, and I groaned, my cock felt as if it grew to an enormous size in Alonso's mouth, until it was as large as me, and I was a cock inside a mouth, and a mouth with a cock inside it, and nothing more of me existed or was important, and I strangled my joy upon Ignacio's cock and it surged in purple heat within my mouth and I burst in sticky exultation into Alonso's mouth and I felt the rapid spatters of salty jizz that poured into my mouth, and I was a conduit from one brother to the other, feeling the joy of transportation, drinking in and pumping out sperm-wads, disappointed when the flood dwindled quickly to a trickle and then stopped, and I sucked at him, lifting out those last few precious pearls and I felt Alonso performing the same service to me, and I gulped for air while still holding Ignacio's prick in my mouth, and finally, I stood once more, mortal once again, but feeling in place a bond with these two dark-skinned stallions.

"Well." I said. "That will do for a starter, I think. Let's get something to eat and then we'll discuss how best to handle those two skunks who killed my friend Jobias."

And this time, I said it without tremor. I didn't know just how I would do it, but the very next thing I would do was bring my friend's killers to justice. One way or another, alive or dead.

We ate and then talked, and it was decided that I would return to town the very next day and purchase a gun Alonso had noticed in the general store's merchandise, lighter than the one he wore at his waist, but as he said it, "Plenty enough gun to kill a man, and the light weight will make it easier for you to draw."

They had to tend to their ranch, for in these hot days the morning was the best possible time to work, so I left them behind in the early dawn and ambled into town. I saw the stagecoach and I went up, intending to say my farewell to my uncle. . "There you are!" the stagecoach driver, the same who had brought me out the last leg of my journey to Lonely Rock. "Where's your uncle?"

"Isn't he here?" I asked, puzzled. "I know he was going to take the coach today. I came to say good-bye."

"Well, it'll be good-bye to an empty coach." the man grumbled. "I'm already a half hour late waiting on him, and I'll have to make that time up on the road."

I watched the stagecoach leave, not really worried, but determined to go check on my uncle. Something had come up and he had decided to wait after all, I decided. I would go tell him where I was staying.

The ranch was quiet when I arrived, and I looked inside the house to find it empty. Then I went out to the barn, and there, with the horse still half-harnessed into the wagon, I found my uncle.

Lying on the straw of the barn floor, a pool of long-dried blood that led from a gash in his head. His belongings had been rifled. I leaned over and searched; the money my uncle had gotten from King Carson was gone.

I stood up. Alone and without aid, I took my uncle's body in to Lonely Rock and the undertaker there. Then I walked in to the sheriff's office to report the crime. All this time, I didn't shed a single tear or cringe in fear. My uncle had not been a likeable man, and I had come to like him even less in the brief reacquaintance we'd had the last week. But he hadn't done anything to deserve dying over. I now had two deaths to revenge.

It struck me as I walked to the general store, the money from the Salcedo brothers a comfortable certainty in my side, bound to purchase the gun that I would learn to use to punish those who had taken the lives of my friend and my relative.

Sometime between my arrival in Lonely Rock and this time, I had become a man.

END OF CHAPTER SEVEN

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