Page 22 of Working the Lode

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Joaquin

The doctor cradled Zelnora’s breasts in his hands as he kneeled before her, leaning her up against a large rock.

As he slurped from the tips of her nipples, she squirmed with delight. He humped her leg with his admirable penis that distended the crotch of his fancy buckskins until it seemed he may climax inside the leather. He was a thoroughly fierce grizzly bear, his dazzling white shoulder muscles shimmering as his shirt slid off his torso. She flipped him around and shoved him back against the rock.

She dropped to her knees. It was her turn to suckle at his body. She smeared her face all about his jutting erection, eliciting deep rolling growls that Joaquin Valenzuela could hear from his hiding spot behind an oak.

“Let’s do it,” said Three-Fingered Jack, clinging to Valenzuela’s back as was his habit, cocking his pistol next to his jefe’s ear.

But Valenzuela could not be moved to give the order, as Zelnora was now unbuttoning the leather broadfall, lifting Bowmaker’s tantalizing, hefty cock in her hand, and smearing the glistening braids of her coiffure all over it. Bowmaker arched his pelvis to her and threw his head back, slack-jawed, the perfect vision of a virile buck in the throes of lust, his muscular throat swallowing his moans. His shirt slid farther onto his elbow, revealing an erect, delicious nipple. Valenzuela’s mouth watered, his breathing quickened, and he was glad his serape hid his own erection.

“Mi dios, que grande,” Jack giggled derisively. “How can she eat all of that?”

Irritated, Valenzuela shoved the majordomo off his back, into the open where Bowmaker could have easily seen him, had he not been focused on pumping his cock into Zelnora’s mouth. “We should get him when he’s unaware…” he muttered. “Right before he climaxes.”

Valenzuela forced himself to remember his innocent days when first coming to California, when he was a monte dealer in raucous newborn towns. He’d borrowed a horse from his brother only to find out it was stolen. The ensuing mob had gone after both him and his brother, though his brother had paid for the stolen mount. Spaniards were held in low esteem, and the trial was a travesty where they were only allowed to bring forward their own testimony, no one else’s. His brother was hung upon the nearest limb and Joaquin, tied to the trunk of the same tree, flogged nearly to death. He was released and told to leave, but he’d vowed revenge upon norteamericanos in general.

Many people just viewed him as a cruel brutal cutthroat, without awareness of the incidents that had created the modern Joaquin Valenzuela. The abuse that Spaniards endured allowed him to easily gather his band of slovenly ill-tempered brigands that included Reyes Feliz, the brother of Valenzuela’s murdered wife.

He had rubbed out nearly all of those responsible, but it seemed his group of banditshad gathered such momentum that they could not stop this lucrative business now, and their fame was such that they had to continually enact bigger and more vicious acts in order to keep the fear of them alive, and their fortunes stocked.

Bowmaker appeared ready. The slick, shiny root of his cock strained and his outspread thighs were vulnerably open to the woman’s suckling.

“Let’s go,” Valenzuela said, and the four men surged forward down the rocky riverbed, their colorful serapesflowing like a flock of tropical birds.

They were quiet as could be, having already cocked their pistols. The other three men wore black silk kerchiefs covering the lower part of their faces, but Valenzuela didn’t bother, having just made the couple’s acquaintance at the fandango. It took nearly a minute for the orgasmic mountain man to note their arrival, and his eyes popped open. Instantly Bowmaker grabbed Zelnora by the shoulders and shoved her behind his body. Maybe she was accustomed to this rough sort of play, for she merely cowered behind his thighs while his glorious, donkey-like penis slowly shriveled and returned to what must be its natural everyday state…much to Valenzuela’s regret.

The bandits came within ten feet of the mountain man, leveling their pistols at his head. Valenzuela did not plan on Bowmaker drawing his own formidable Colt revolver, and he admired the furious rage that lit up the other man’s eyes.

“What is it you want?” Bowmaker barked, stuffing his penis back into his buckskins with his free hand. He tugged his white shirt back over his satiny shoulder, but his alluring nipple, stiff with stimulation, was still exposed.

He must have known he was outgunned. Even though Zelnora now brandished a laughably tiny pocket pistol, if they shot any one of his men, Valenzuela’s men would shoot back, so there was nothing to be gained.

“Your gold, Bowmaker. Tell us where you’ve câched it and we’ll take you back to Lion Island.”

It was amazing the way Bowmaker held the heavy Colt absolutely steady, not shaking an iota unlike Valenzuela’s fellow bandits, who apparently couldn’t lift anything heavier than an aguardiente bottle. “These doings won’t shine in this crowd…Valenzuela. I ain’t telling you about any câche, just so you can whale upon every single other Lion Island miner.” He pressed down on Zelnora’s shoulder to urge her to stay her trigger finger.

Valenzuela grinned, glad for the opportunity to challenge the white man. It would not have been any fun if he’d surrendered right away. “Sin ventaja, no salen.”They never attack without odds.

“If you don’t leave, you’ll be in a frightening fix,” Bowmaker said.

What “fix” exactly, Valenzuela had no idea. Four pistols were aimed at one and a half, and the woman could easily be subdued. It would be scintillating to see how the mountain man reacted to such an event, so Valenzuela ordered Garcia and Feliz to remove her from her hideaway behind his legs.

As Garcia yanked her round to Bowmaker’s side, to Valenzuela’s surprise the mountain man brought a swift and deadly elbow into Feliz’ jawbone, cracking it audibly. Feliz fell away to the rounded rocks below, blood rushing from his mouth below his mask, along with most likely a few teeth. As a natural reaction Garcia pressed his barrel directly onto the white man’s temple.

Alarmed, Valenzuela shouted, “No!” to his henchman. Mi dios, he should not have uttered that, for now Bowmaker knew he did not want him harmed. “Drop your pistol, Señor.”

Reluctantly, one finger at a time, Bowmaker let his Colt fall to the rocks. Valenzuela tossed Feliz a lariat with which he tied Bowmaker’s hands behind his back. With his leather broadfall still unbuttoned hanging from his thighs, Valenzuela had a good view of his sinewy pubic region, outthrust in his anger, the root of his cock brilliant in its potent strength. He was relieved he was now able to lower his pistol, for it was getting rather heavy, Valenzuela not being any more robust than his fellow bandits. He sat on a flat rock and gestured for Garcia to bring Zelnora to him after cutting another length of lariat to hitch around her wrists.

Garcia, not being a great lover of women, or anyone for that matter, tossed her with disgust onto Valenzuela’s lap. She wriggled in frustration, but it only served to bring Valenzuela’s cock to attention, expanding and burgeoning against her bottom. Garcia returned to guarding the mountain man. Bowmaker could hardly have been expected to do anything with his hands bound as they were, yet lickety-split he shot out one booted foot like greased lightning, bashing Garcia directly in the kneecap, bowling him backward about ten feet. Three-Fingered Jack again raised his pistol to Bowmaker’s head, shouting at Valenzuela,

“Now, jefe? Now?”

“Quedate quieto!” Valenzuela yelled back. Stay still! “Si lo matamos, no vamos a saber donde está el oro.”If we kill him, we won’t find out where the gold is. So Jack satisfied himself with clouting Bowmaker on the cheekbone with his pistol grip.

“Don’t tell them a thing, Cormack,” Zelnora wailed, her hair all in lovely disarray around her face. Bowmaker said nothing, but his eyes narrowed, as though formulating a plan.