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The Gun & The Whip

By: panama trick



At thirteen he had run away from home, a stowaway on the ship of one of his father's competitors. After two days at sea he was found and put to work scrubbing the galley and living quarters of the officers on board. When a disgustingly evil mate tried to rape him, he was to stab the man through the eye with a huge Bowie knife that seemed to disappear when it wasn't in his hand.

The captain had seen the knife before and was secretly pleased that the son of Captain Questor had found his way into his clutches. He made the lad his private cabin boy and spent long hours teaching him the trade of a buccaneer. The youngster spent three years in that position until one day, after a particularly nasty skirmish with a Queen's Navy vessel, he was promoted to mate. During the fighting he'd saved the captain's life and turned the guns of the galleon on the powder room while the crew fought on the decks. He was put in charge of training the men to fight. His skill with a blade was uncanny, and he had come to be a deadly shot with firearms of all sorts.

He had a strange habit of growling during combat like a jaguar from the jungles where the pirate Lords hid out and, like his father, his eyes would turn a strange blue when he was aroused in any fashion. Men learned to gauge his mood by those eyes and it saved the life of more than one of them when they angered him.

Two more years found the ship pulling into the piers of San Francisco, the destination his mother had been sailing to all those years ago when Captain Questor had taken a fancy to her, taken her from her family, and eventually made her his. The girl and the Captain were still together, true to their natures and their lust, locked for eternity in love.

The young man became a regular at the dockside bars and brothels and soon developed a reputation as a dangerous gun and a rabid womanizer. Unassuming, handsome, lithe and armed with a wicked sense of humor and a pair of Colts, he ran through the whores of the largest port on the West Coast like a hurricane, leaving broken hearts and bruised bodies behind.

As time passed and the young man grew into his height and weight he had already taken over two groups of bandits on the docks, and the surrounding gold mines. He had also begun to run in more refined circles and was often spotted at society parties and affairs courting the daughters and wives of the affluent. The day came when he was caught with the young wife of a political boss. After shooting him dead in his own home in self-defense, the young Questor was forced to flee San Francisco for parts unknown. There was much lamenting among the female population, but the men seemed glad to be rid of the scoundrel.

A man rode a black stallion into the east, looking back on the port just once, as a new chapter in his life unfolded...

The town of Dark River Landing had been established for only about 10 years. Here in New Mexico, things were slower than in California or the East. Originally the settlement had been a stopover for stagecoaches and the occasional Pony Express rider. More recently the railroad had brought new life to the small town. In the last couple of years the population had increased five fold and new stores, churches and schools had been added to the mix. Of course the river, the railway, and a rapidly growing town combined to also attract an influx of saloons and brothels. With them came the gamblers, the gunmen and the outlaws, in addition to the ranchers who brought their herds to Dark River Landing, loading them onto trains bound for slaughterhouses in California and Kansas City. Recently a few crop farmers had moved into the area and, in contrast to most cattle towns, they had been made welcome, as fresh vegetables and fruit were a rarity.

There was a modest town government with five members; a mayor and four councilmen who were mostly original settlers of the area. They owned stores and the livery stable, and two of them had massive ranches a little farther north on the river where they raised cattle and horses. The mayor was a likeable man. God fearing and dedicated to the town, he had built the original stagecoach stop, along with an inn that had grown over the years to become the finest hotel in this part of the country. He owned parts of several town businesses and, until the bank had been built, and had served as the financial guide for many of them. A proud father of three, his eldest son worked in the inn as the manager, the younger ran the railway station, and his daughter was usually to be found riding her white mare in the wilderness surrounding Dark River Landing.

She was an expert rider and had on more than one occasion loaned out her services to the local ranchers during branding and counting season. Good with a rope and a dead shot with a rifle, she was nevertheless the perfect image of womanhood. With her long black hair and hazel eyes that sparkled with a hint of fire, every young man for a hundred miles around had dreamt of wooing her, but she had not yet found a man who could hold her attention long enough to keep her.

As dusk settled, a dark figure on a magnificent black stallion rode into town. Dressed all in black, the rider wore his hat down low over his eyes, but those curious enough to look closely noted a hint of blue in his assessing stare and a sardonic smile on his lips. He stopped in front of the livery stables and, after completing arrangements for his horse, crossed the street and walked towards the hotel. A quick chat with the desk clerk and he was ensconced in a room on the second floor overlooking the main street. Moments later he left the hotel and walked in the direction of the railroad depot, turning into a saloon at the last moment. Heads lifted and eyes stared at the stranger, then the rumble of the patrons began again as he walked slowly to the bar. A couple of men noticed the way his colts hung low on his hips, one of them a quick-tempered cowboy from a ranch to the north and the other a deputy who kept to himself quietly in the shadows under the balcony.

"Whisky," the man said, and turned to survey the crowd, his eyes moving quickly and noticing everything.

Resting against the bar and sipping his whisky, the young man with the shielded eyes looked around and took it all in. He had a habit of noting the exits whenever he was indoors. He never knew when he might have to leave quickly and in a most unorthodox fashion. From his days running the bandit crews on the piers in San Francisco, to those of slipping in and out of bedroom windows, he had developed a sense of when it was time to get out while the getting was good. It had kept him out of jail so far, and probably kept a few people alive as he was not a good man to corner. He knew right from wrong, but he lived by his own standards and wasn't real partial to society's rules.

A girl walked down a long flight of stairs to the saloon floor. Blonde, pretty, and with dancing eyes, she had one of those walks that brought every man's eyes instantly to her. The young man was no exception, but he had a wry grin on his face instead of the adoring and lustful looks of most of the other men in the room. He'd seen her type a thousand times, had owned girls like her body and heart and used them for a moment's diversion. He suspected that this one would be no different.

The girl moved fluidly through the crowd of men, touching one on the shoulder, bending over to whisper in the ear of another and flashing a dazzling smile at yet another. Every man in the saloon watched her avidly. As she neared the piano, the young cowboy with the quick temper stepped in front of her saying, "Alice, why don't you just forget the singing and let's go back upstairs!"

She looked at him with alarm in her eyes. She obviously knew the man, and for some reason feared him. He wasn't large or possessing, but he had a nervous energy about him that spoke of snakes under rocks and spiders in dark corners. "Abel, we've been through this. I have work to do and you're keeping me from it." Her voice tinkled like bells, but her face was tight and drawn.

His hand curled into a fist and he raised it towards her. She stepped back quickly, tears springing to her eyes, "Abel, please, don't strike me." A murmur went through the room, but no one rose to stop the interchange. It seemed that the girl was not the only one afraid of Abel. Men watched and gritted their teeth but none moved. Abel's hand uncurled and he smiled evilly.

He grabbed her arm and spat "We'll talk about this later Alice. For now, its time for you and me to leave." 

Suddenly he leaned back and dropped her arm, his eyes wide, his hand moving quickly towards his gun. His hand froze on the handle when he felt the cold steel of the Bowie against his neck. "Boy, I'd suggest you move that hand away from the gun, turn around and walk on out of here," a cool voice growled in his ear. In the silence of the saloon every word rang out as clear as a bell. Abel lifted his hand clear of his gun and waited a second, rage filling his face, then spun and walked stiff-legged toward the doors.

Alice looked at the young man standing in front of her, the Bowie having already disappeared, and smiled softly, "Thank you Sir, but that wasn't necessary." He watched her face, noticed the relief as her features softened, then stated matter of factly, "well Ma'am, it sure looked necessary but I'll mind my own business next time."

Her face twisted through a variety of emotions, and she stuttered, but the young man had turned and was heading over to his whisky glass on the bar. At that moment, someone yelled "Look out!" By the time the young man had spun to face the doors both the Colts were in his hands. A second later Abel was blasted back into the street, blood already welling from the two large holes, one in his chest the other where his face had been. Even as the saloon doors swung back and forth the Colts were back in their holsters and the young man was asking the bartender for "another whisky."

The deputy moved out of the shadow and toward the man at the bar.

The deputy stopped in front of the young man, "feller, you're gonna have to come with me. The man in black, turned slowly, knocking back the shot of whisky like it was water. His blue eyes lifted and shone from under the brim of his hat. 

The deputy looked back at him, an imposing man in his own right, long reddish blonde hair, golden colored eyes and a nose like a hawk but with a strange Indian cast to his face. He reminded the young Questor of someone he'd known as a youth from his days back home in the Caribbean with his pirate father. The name escaped him at the moment, but he took a liking to this man right away. That was the second best thing that was to happen to the deputy that day. The first, though he didn't know it yet, was meeting the young Questor.

Alice called out, "Roger Eagle Feather, that was simple self defense and you know it. Don't you dare take him to jail!"

The deputy looked up and around, his face reddening, "its just plain ole Rog dammit Alice. How many times do I have to tell you that." The Questor chuckled, apparently this man didn't much like being teased, but a pretty girl can get away with damn near anything.

The Questor looked at Rog, "well I reckon you're gonna have to take me in just for legal purposes, so lets get this over with."

Rog flashed a look of gratitude at him, the man had helped him save face and shown that he was a man of honor and respect. He also took a liking to the young Questor immediately. He led the Questor out the door, never even unarming him and down the dirt street to the sheriff's office. The Questor took off his guns and placed them on the desk and walking over to an open cell, laid down on the cot and promptly dropped off to sleep.

Rog smiled, this was one cool son of a bitch he had in his jail and went to filling out the paperwork.

An hour later, the door opened and a dark haired beauty strolled in clad in a long skirt and a lace blouse that clung tightly to her figure. Her scent filled the air with joy and the deputy sat up a little straighter. She smiled, "Rog, I hear you have a man in jail here for shooting that bastard Abel. I've also been told that it was in self defense, that Abel was trying to shoot him in the back."

Rog nodded, tongue tied at the sight of the girl. "Yes'm Miss Valerie, I saw the whole thing, but you know I can't just let people shoot each other, your daddy would have my hide." She laughed, a sound like small bells ringing, and said, "Well, my daddy asked me to stop by and see if everything was alright and to make sure the man was getting fair treatment." She glanced over at the man sleeping on the cot, and at that moment his eyes opened. She saw something which made her hand fly up to her throat and her eyes to widen in surprise. The man's eyes, a dark hazel when he opened them, swiftly turned a deep biting blue as he ran them over her form. She felt like the man had reached out and stroked her and the worst part was, she liked it.

At that moment, the girl Alice burst into the jailhouse, "dammit Rog, I've got bail money here from half the citizens of town to get this man out of jail. Ain't nobody gonna miss that sonofabitch Abel and you know it!"

Rog sighed, he'd been about to let the man go if he were to leave town and not return, but with the whole damn town up in arms about the young man he took the bail money and told the Questor, "don't leave town Sir, there's probably gonna be some more questions when the sheriff gets back to town."

The Questor smiled a wry smile, walked out of the cell, picked up his guns and knife and arm in arm with the blonde walked out of the building down the road back to the saloon. The girl Valerie watched silently, her eyes still large and her knees shaking slightly under the long skirt. She'd never been so affected by a man before. She watched the man and the whore walk down the street together laughing and lifted her nose in the air, "humph, just like all the others, put a pretty whore and a bottle of whisky in front of them and they're lost." Rog chuckled under his breath, he'd seen the look on her face and he thought to himself that if she were to meet the young Questor again that things might turn out a bit different.

The Questor and the girl Alice walked into the saloon to a rousing cheer. Whisky was poured for all around and there was much celebration. No one noticed the young man leading Alice up the stairs a short time later, and the sounds from the saloon were sure to hide any sounds from above.

He stepped into her room, his eyes burning. "Strip girl, let's see what I've bought."

Suddenly shy, the blonde Alice let her hand rise slowly to her throat. She fumbled at the buttons on the high necked blouse and seemed unable to get her fingers to work properly.

With a growl, the Questor crossed the room quickly, His hand reached out and tore her blouse down the front, the whalebone buttons exploding across the room and the girl gasping in shock. Underneath the blouse she wore a black lacy corset that lifted her full breasts and drew her stomach taut. The Bowie appeared in the Questor's hand like magic, and it was in less than a second that the razor sharp blade sliced through the tough thick fabric, even cutting the whalebone ribs like butter. The corset tumbled to the floor as the girl's hands flew up and covered her breasts. The Questor stared at her for a second, somewhat surprised that a whore would suddenly become shy and embarrassed, but he'd seen it before. His hunger was legendary in San Francisco, he took what he wanted, on his terms and with this girl it would be no different.

One arm snaked around her waist and pulled her taut against him, the other hand slid the flat of the Bowie blade against her stomach and slid it into her skirt band. She shuddered at the feel of the cold steel against her belly and when the tip slid over her pudenda she gushed. Her body reactions told him everything he needed to know about this slut, even though she was a whore, the woman in her reacted to a man who knew how to twist it out of her. He pulled the Bowie blade toward himself and the cloth slid apart leaving her suddenly naked in front of him, clad only in a garter and stockings. The Bowie disappeared as quickly and mysteriously as it had appeared and his hands roamed over her body, knocking her hands away from her breasts. They stood firm and proud, she was a young girl, the nipples hard and protuberant and a pale pink. The slight thatch of hair at her groin was almost white in its blondness and he noticed a sheen between her legs where the moistness was reflected from the candlelight.

He bent and bit her nipple savagely, her head arcing back in a low moan and a yelp, then he sucked hard until her knees quivered under his assault. His hand slid between her legs, finding the entrance to the moist cave of her womanhood and with a slight growl he drove two fingers into her hard and fast, lifting her to her tip toes with the force of his penetration.

She came on the spot, thinking to herself the whole while, "whores don't feel like this, its only business, I can't let him control me." When he pumped his fingers furiously in and out of her cunt she whimpered and gave in to his lust. Her hips pushed down, grinding against the invasion and she whimpered with need. It had been too long since a man had made her feel this way.

His other hand slid up to her hair and slipping into her blonde tresses he twisted her to her knees. She cried out when his fingers left off torturing her cunt and then was silent as he pressed her face into his crotch. Her hands flew up and unbuttoned his trousers, pulled the belt loose and yanked them down to his knees. 

Hungrily she watched his manhood rise before her eyes and when she felt his hand at the back of her head, she thrust her mouth over the purple swollen head and licked in a swirl around the mushroom then down the shaft, her lips pursing and following the trail her tongue had set. Soon her head was bobbing up and down, great gasping sighs bursting from her lips when he would back off enough for her to get air, then a gag, and a choke as he again thrust his cock into her gullet.

She sucked his cock for what seemed like hours, but could only have been minutes and felt him about to spurt in her mouth. Just as she doubled her efforts he yanked her hair and pulled her up .. spinning her rapidly he pushed her onto the solitary bed in the room on her knees, her face pressed flat on the mattress and with no warning and not a word, drove his cock into her from behind, slamming to the root in one fell stroke.

The girl screamed in a mixture of pain and lust. "So full, I'm so full," she repeated over and over as the man yanked back on her mane, pulling her back to his ferocious thrusts and pounding into her like a stallion into a mare. Her cries grew louder and louder until they almost drowned out the music and debauchery from the saloon below. He rode her mercilessly, each time she was about to cum, he stopped and held her still until her thrashing abated and then again he would push her harder and higher towards nirvana.

Finally, with a primal roar, he buried himself as deep as he could go, and bit out the word, NOW! As she exploded in the most violent orgasm of her life, he bathed her walls with hot sticky jism. The mixture of fluids squished from her cunt with each pounding stroke as he reamed and ravaged her continuously until all the juices in him had emptied with great force into her.

He pulled out, and stepped back. The whore collapsed to her belly, whining and cooing like a dove, her legs twitching in aftershock. She never even noticed him get dressed and throw a gold piece on the table. When she finally found the strength to roll over, he was gone.


The Gun & The Whip



The Questor walked down the stairs to the saloon, the party had gone on for hours and there was plenty of evidence of the results. Bodies were laying in corners, a few bleary eyed trailhands were still wandering aimlessly around the main room and even the bartender looked like he was two sheets to the wind. The only exception was a poker game going on in the corner, a girl moving back and forth between the table and the bar bringing bottles and Rog sitting on the stool in the shadows under the stairs.

The Questor nodded to Rog, watching the man for a second and shaking his head again at the familiar face and mien that he couldn't quite place. He strolled over to the bar and asked for a glass of water, then moved slowly toward the poker table. He sat down right outside the small circle of men playing and watched for a few minutes until one of them stood up with a curse, threw his cards on the table and staggered out the door. The house dealer glanced at him as he rose, and nodded when he looked questioningly at the empty seat. A reach into his black jacket pocket and he pulled out a leather wallet from which he removed a small stack of bills. The dealer reached for the money, and the Questor suddenly slid his hand out and placed it on top of his hand. He looked the dealer in the eye as he peeled off four twenty dollar bills, a rarity in a town so small and put the rest back in his wallet. Chips were passed, cards were dealt and everyone settled down to poker.

After just a few hands the Questor noticed one man who seemed to be having quite a run of luck. He was winning three out of five hands so most of the players didn't notice the trend. The game went on for some time like that, until the Questor figured out what was happening when he saw the dealer slip a card from the bottom of the deck into the man's draw pile. The Questor watched and played a couple more hands and then pulled his chips back to himself, cashed them in and strolled over to the bar.

He watched the game from afar, the man continued to win and after drinking a little too much whiskey even began to boast about it. The other players began taking notice of his winning and it didn't take long before one of them caught the same glimpse of the dealer's underhanded pass that the Questor had seen. He kicked his chair back and stood up, pointing a finger at the dealer and the player and growled out "Cheaters!" A blazing fast draw from the gambler put a bullet in the man's shoulder and he fell to the ground shrieking.

"Ya better be careful who you call out boy," the gambler said. He pulled his money together and quietly rose from the table, one hand close to the gun while the other players sat quietly holding their breath. The gambler threw a twenty dollar bill on the table for the dealer and started to back out of the saloon, only to run into the Questor.

As he did, he spun quickly as a cat, one hand flashing to the gun and pulling it half from its holster when suddenly a steel hard hand stopped the draw. The Questor had not gone for his gun, opting instead to stop the gambler's draw. His other hand raised quickly and forming into a fist as it moved rapidly through the air smashed into the gambler's face. The Questor yanked the man around and literally threw him into the street through the doors, following quickly. He passed a horse tied outside and noticed a bullwhip on the pommel, lifted it and quickly uncoiling it snapped it out and at the gambler. As it struck the man and he drew back to lash him again a bullet hit the ground next to his feet, causing him to start and turn to see who the hell had shot at him. He trembled with rage as he noticed Rog standing there, Colt drawn and ready. He took a step toward the deputy and the man smiled and said, "friend, please don't take another step, I'd hate to shoot ya dead right here in the street."

The Questor's eyes burned and glared and then softened as he got his temper under control. The deputy was right, the gambler wasn't worth dying for and he said, "Thanks deputy, I was wrong and you saved me from makin' a fool of myself." He then turned to the gambler who was lying on the ground looking up at him with clear hatred. "Thank the nice deputy for saving your hide thief," He growled at the man. He then turned and placed the whip back on the pommel of the saddle, turned again and walked down the street to the hotel, up the stairs without a word and into his room. The door closed quietly and a collective sigh went up from the people in the street who had gathered around the event. Rog leaned down and grabbed the gambler's hand. As he pulled him up, he slipped a pair of handcuffs over his wrist and twisting his arm up behind him then cuffed the other wrist. The two of them walked down the street to the jailhouse, never noticing a pair of wild red eyes that watched them from an alley between the saloon and a general store. The eyes then turned to the hotel, marking the room the Questor had taken, turned back into the alley, and a second later a horse broke out into the street, a ragged man swinging into the saddle and heading away at breakneck speed. In the jailhouse, Rog pushed the man into the cell. As he removed the cuffs the gambler looked at him and laughed. "You made a hell of a mistake today deputy, I'd hate to be in your shoes come tomorrow."

The Questor cleaned his guns in his room, watching the street from his window. He really should leave town now.

The man from the alley rode fast away from the town. He looked back over his shoulder several times to make sure no one had followed him and then turned to the badlands in the north. The boss would want to hear what was going on in town, his little brother was now in jail and there was some gunslinger running around town like he owned the place. With the plans that were even now being put into place there would be hell to pay if someone messed things up. He rode hard for most of the day and finally turned into a blind canyon surrounded by high walls. The first lookout had seen him coming miles away and was waiting by a large boulder near the entrance to the canyon, the sights of a buffalo rifle fixed unwavering on his heart. The red eyed scoundrel barely nodded to him as he charged past and into the shadow of the walls. About a quarter of mile into the canyon he slowed and then spotted the entrance to the cave. Riding into the cave a short distance he suddenly came out into the sunlight in a small valley, a ranch house and two bunk houses with a corral and a few head of cattle roaming the pasture above the residence. He rode straight to the big house, jumped off the horse and hurried inside.

He burst into the main room and approached the boss. The boss was a big man, six foot three, muscular, with evil eyes and a sour look on his face. Most of the men who worked for him had never seen him smile, the few who had wished they hadn't. The things that made him smile were usually very grim and bloody and the worse it was the bigger the smile got.

The boss looked at the red eyed hand and said, "what the hell are you doin' back here and where's my brother?"

The man who had just arrived took off his hat and held it nervously in his hands, wringing it almost into a knot, "well boss, he's in jail and there's some stuff goin' on back in town you're gonna want to know about."

"Well spit it out you stupid sonofabitch," the boss growled.

The red eyed man told the boss everything, the man who had faced his brother down, had shot the town bully, and who had turned things upside down in the two short days he'd been in town. The boss asked what the man looked like, and as the feller described the Questor, the boss sat up ... his eyes suddenly cold as a rattlers and his lips twisted into a snarl that was terrible to behold. When the red eyed varmint mentioned the eyes and the Bowie knife the boss cursed out loud. A gun suddenly appeared in his hand and a second later the man lay dead on the floor in the big house. The boss rose from his chair and as he walked to the door he kicked the corpse not once but twice in the head. (Apparently he didn't subscribe to the don't kill the messenger adage.)

He stepped out onto the porch and looked around, spotting two of his best men he called them over. One of them was a grizzled old snake of a man, gray hair and a wild look in his eye, the other a young buck who moved gracefully like a puma his hand never more than a few inches away from his weapon.

A quick word with them, a description of the Questor, and an order to find out when the payroll stagecoach was expected in town and he turned back to the big house. As he walked into the main room he noticed that the servants had already removed the body and a young Spanish girl was scrubbing the floor. His hand reached down and grabbed her hair, then he dragged her into his bedroom. Moments later there were terrifying screams from the room that no one seemed to notice, they went on for a long time and then abruptly ceased.

In the meantime, the two men saddled their horses, gathered their weapons, and mounted up. There was work to do in town and the boss didn't like to be kept waiting.

The boss walked back out to the porch and watched their dust rise as they rode off. He uttered one word "Questor", then turned back to the house.

There was gonna be hell to pay in Dark River Landing.

The two gunslingers rode hard and fast to Dark River. Their horses were trembling with exhaustion by the time they reined in at the livery stable. The stable owner looked at them with trepidation, the last time they'd been in town there had been some trouble and he still had a scar on his face where the young one had slashed him with a quirt because the horses weren't ready to go when they were hurrying to get out of town. He asked them if they were going to be around long and all he got was a grunt and an ugly look in reply. He decided that he would water and feed them and leave them in a stall near the exit saddled and ready to go. The men walked first to the stagecoach office. The younger one stood outside by the door while the elder entered and had a discussion with the agent. A short time later he had the information he needed and tossed a small purse of coins on the desk before spinning and walking back outside.

The two men looked at each other, their eyes mirrors of dark rage and walked as one to the saloon at the end of town. They seemed to melt into the shadows and disappear from sight unless they were crossing a street or walking past a lighted window or doorway.

They didn't sense the Questor watching from his window. He noticed the way the two walked and the way their hands seemed to stay close to their weapons. He'd seen the rolling walk the older man had before; it reminded him of the docks back in San Francisco. The younger one was light-footed, his boots barely making a sound on the wooden planks, his eyes darting back and forth not nervously but carefully. These were dangerous men, and he had an idea why they were in town.

As they entered the saloon, all eyes turned to them and an eerie quiet fell over the room. The two men moved to a table in the corner facing the entrance and ordered a bottle of whisky with three glasses.

Rog watched from his post under the stairs. He'd dealt with these two before, there was no love lost between them. He'd run them out of town two months before for beating and scalping a farmer who'd had a little too much to drink and decided to lay his hands on the older one. He hoped like hell, but doubted seriously that they were just passing through and would have a couple drinks before the moved on.

The Questor in the meantime traveled to the livery stable, checked out the horses in the stall and was surprised to see a brand that reminded him of a gang leader back in San Francisco. It was a blackened lightning bolt, many of the dock gang members had it tattooed on them and a couple had even been branded. There had been several bloody battles over cargo and territory between his men and the gang before the leader had left town suddenly with his top men. The Questor shook his head, if these men were affiliated with that gang there was something going on in Dark River Landing that he'd missed. He turned and headed toward the saloon.

The Questor walked into the saloon, again a quiet falling over the room for a second and then a couple of waves from men at their tables, a nod from the bartender as he set a glass of whisky on the bar and a tentative smile from Alice who was serenading the patrons over by the piano. The Questor smiled a grim smile back, then turned and faced the bar all the while watching the room behind him in the mirror. He spotted the two men in the shadows quickly and noticed that their eyes were watching him with unwavering interest. He noticed Rog under the stairs watching the two men at the table with the same intensity. He wondered what Rog would do if there was a problem, who would he back? A few minutes passed and he sipped his whisky, watching the room the whole time. Then the young man leaned over to the older man and after a couple of heated words rose and headed through the crowd to the bar next to the Questor. He turned his head casually toward the Questor and then spoke. "Why don't you come on over to the table and have a whisky on us Mister?"

The Questor looked at him as if he were eyeing a rattlesnake, "now why on earth would I want to do that neighbor? Are we acquainted?"

The gunslinger laughed, a dark and ugly sound like gas escaping from a corpse that had sat in the sun too long. "No, we're not acquainted, but the man we work for is familiar with you." "Well, now, isn't that interesting." The Questor replied. "His name wouldn't be Slash McKee now would it?"

The young man hissed, "Mr. McKee to you friend, he doesn't take kindly to the name Slash." The Questor laughed, "Maybe he shouldn't have cut so many people back on the docks, and I thought I recognized his mark on your horses. Tell ya' what boy, you run on back to your boss and tell him that the Questor has come to town. Tell him that I don't know what he's up to, and don't much care. Tell him that the next time he sends a couple of rats down here to take care of his dirty work that I'm gonna send them back to him in a bag. You got that boy?"

The kid was fast, very fast. The gun was out, the hammer back and his finger tightening on the trigger faster than anyone could see. The big gun went off, someone in the crowd screamed and there was a stampede towards the door. The two men stood there for a second and then one fell. The Questor looked down at the kid on the floor, bent down and pulled the Bowie from his chest. A trickle of blood ran down his pant leg from where the bullet had creased his thigh. He cursed and turned toward the older man who had already stood and was walking quickly towards them. The Questor's eyes were almost black and the deep blue filled even the whites of his eyes. As the older man came close he sized up what had happened. His hands went up away from his gun and he nodded to the Questor without a word. In the background Rog lowered the Winchester that he had trained on the man when the ruckus had begun.

The older man bent down and looked at the kid, when he lifted his head he looked at the Questor with grudging respect. "That was my nephew Sir," he said. "The next time we meet I'm gonna have to kill you, but now I need to get the body back to the family."

The Questor watched him drag the boy out of the saloon by his legs. He hadn't wanted to kill another man, but it had been unavoidable. He noticed that the warm blood had trickled all down his leg and was beginning to pool in his boot. He decided he better have somebody take a look at it and turned to Rog who had come over to stand by him. "Y'all got a doctor in town," he asked.

Rog looked him up and down, "well we ain't got a doc but Miss Valerie is purty good at cleanin' up gunshots and throwin' a stitch or two into a man. Come on over to the jailhouse and I'll have someone fetch her."

A short time later the two men were seated in the jailhouse, a runner had been sent to get Miss Valerie and when she arrived she looked as if she'd been pulled from her bed. Her hair was wild and free, where girls normally had it up in a bun or tied back, hers was long and full and framed a face that could stop a man's heart as sure as a bullet. She wore a simple dress and when she bent over to look at the Questor's leg he could see "clear down to there", as the saying goes. She caught him looking and blushed. Then she ordered him to drop his slacks that she was going to need better access to the wound. It was the Questor's turn to blush, and the red face felt strange to the man. This girl was affecting him in a way that hadn't happened since he was a kid. He felt his cock hardening under the long johns and hoped she didn't notice it or that his shirt tail was long enough to cover it.

She giggled and his face turned redder yet. She worked quickly and had the wound tended to before he knew it. Her closeness was disturbing, her scent, the way her hair hung down her shoulders, the flare of her hips all served to arouse him. Of course his arousal was quite evident and he had to bite his lip to keep from growling when the back of her hand ran across the swollen head of his cock. She in turn bent her head lower, her eyes fluttering and a soft sigh escaping from her lips. Rog, who was watching from the door, chuckled. He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying their discomfort. Soon she was done and gathering her skirts around her, she almost threw herself out into the street and down the road to the hotel. Rog watched her walk away quickly obviously flustered, and laughed out loud. Then he turned back to the Questor, "You know what my friend? I don't even know your name."

The Questor looked at him sharply, he was a very private man but this deputy had shown that he was a man to be trusted. "My friends call me Rick. Why don't you do the same?"

Rog smiled, and then stepped toward the Questor. "I'd be honored to call you what your friends call you Rick. Please, call me Rog." With the amenities out of the way, the Questor sat down and put his feet up. "Rog, I'm a newcomer to the town as you know. What can you tell me about it?"

Rog spent the next hour filling the Questor in on the goings on in Dark River Landing. He pointed out the major businesses in town and talked a bit about the founders and their vision. The train station was the latest step in making this a way station between San Francisco and the cities to the east like Dallas. The stagecoach that served the gold fields of California ran through here as well. All in all, Dark River was growing by leaps and bounds and opportunity was everywhere you looked.

The Questor then asked about the men who had been in town today, the gunslingers. He listened closely as Rog told him of a man who had come to town a couple of years before with a small group of hard cases. They'd had some trouble in town and then had moved out to a small ranch somewhere in the badlands. Since then there had been rustling, highwaymen stopping travelers and robbing them, and every once in a while someone in town got shot in a barroom fracas. Rog and the sheriff had yet to tie the man to any of this conclusively, but they were pretty certain he was the focal point for all the crime in the area.

Finally the Questor, with a shy smile on his face, asked about the girl. Rog smiled, it was obvious that his new friend was smitten, just as every other young man within a hundred miles. He filled the Questor in on the girl, she was an exceptional horsewoman, could drive cattle with the best of them, was a dead shot with a handgun or a rifle, and was the ultimate lady when she wanted to be. She was also the daughter of the most powerful man in town.




The Gun & The Whip



The Questor thanked Rog and told him he would see him later. He then left the office and walked to the livery stable where he saddled his horse and rode out of town without another word. He headed east for a short time and then cut north toward the badlands. He rode easily, comfortable in the saddle and his eyes scanned the entire area as he moved along. His horse whinnied and raised his head, "he must smell water," the Questor thought. He turned toward a small canyon and rode into the shadow of the walls. The deeper he moved into the canyon the cooler it became and he suddenly could hear a noise like a large creek flowing and almost taste the water in the air. As he rounded a final bend in the canyon he came upon an unexpected sight. There was a small waterfall that filled a large pond, trees growing around it in a thick woods and wildlife visible everywhere.

A quiet little Dale in the midst of nowhere, he half expected to see a small cabin or a house at least but the area seemed deserted. As he rode out of the woods onto the lawn surrounding the Dale he noticed a mare grazing off to the side. His eyes narrowed and his hand slid back to the rifle on his saddle. He looked around and then spotted someone swimming out of the water toward the mare. He backed his stallion quickly into the shadow of the woods and watched. In a moment, the girl Valerie stepped from the pool and walked to the mare. His eyes widened, she was naked and her body was immaculate in the soft sunlight with the water dripping from her curves. She walked straight and proud and his breath almost stopped at her beauty. She reached the mare and ran her hands up the side of the saddlebag as he spied on her from the woods. Suddenly she turned with a rifle in her hand. Pointing it directly at the woods where he was, she sang out "whoever that is, you better come out here with your hands in clear sight or I'm going to pump you full of holes."

He thought for a second that he could make it back into the woods and leave without any more confrontation, but a bullet in the tree next to him convinced him that she meant business.

He rode out onto the sward around the pool, a tall dark figure on a black stallion, his hands at shoulder height and a small smile on his face. She watched him come and her eyes narrowed as she saw who it was. She stood braced for anything, the rifle leveled right on his heart and her nakedness belying the threat she posed. He watched her carefully; she knew how to handle that rifle that much was sure. He approached slowly, with his hands raised to shoulder level trying not to alarm her. However, the closer he came to her, the more anxious she became. Finally she told him to stop, "don't come another inch closer Mister or I'll blow your fool head off."

He stopped, a naked girl with a rifle was about as deadly a sight as a man was likely to see, and it sure wasn't the first time for him. He looked her up and down, "that was one fine woman there," he thought.

She in turn eyed him suspiciously, "well, you never did answer my question, what the hell are you doing here?"

He explained to her that he had been riding, trying to get a feel for the land around the town and had just accidentally wandered into the canyon when his horse smelled water. They both glanced over at the horses; they were grazing side by side and seemed to be getting along a damn sight better than the two of them were. With her eyes watching the horses, he moved. Quicker than a disturbed rattler on a hot day he struck. His hand moved like lightning and suddenly he had the rifle in his hand.

The girl gasped at his speed, she'd never seen anything like it. Then she flushed a bright red as she realized that he was in control now. Her heart beat fiercely in her chest, "oh god, what is this man going to do?" She felt shy and embarrassed now and tried to cover herself.

He grinned, "Oh no you don't, put 'em up where I can see 'em!"

Her face was beet red, and unbeknownst to her, her nipples were hard as pebbles. He chuckled at her, "well now, what am I gonna do with you Ma'am?"

A single tear ran down her cheek, she knew what men in the West did to naked young women. She'd be damned if she was going to make it easy for him but she knew that here in the wilds it was the stronger one that made the decisions.

He could read her mind, an evil glint came into his eye and he roared with laughter when he realized what she was thinking. Then deliberately and surprisingly, he ratcheted the shells from the rifle onto the ground until it was empty. He passed the rifle back to her and smiled. "You ought to be more careful who you point that thing at girl," he said.

With that he turned away and walked over to his horse. In a single move he swung up into the saddle, turned to the girl, and touched the brim of his hat as he nodded. "Have a nice swim, Ma'am, as delightful as the company is I'm going to have to go now."

She watched him ride away, a mixture of surprise, shame, and anger running through her. "What, I'm not good enough for the likes of him?" she thought to herself. She realized suddenly that she was still standing there naked and once again a blush ran through her as she imagined the things that he could have done to her. She found herself almost wishing that he had tried and finally with a sigh she dressed and mounted her mare riding off down the canyon in the same direction as him.

He had turned back as soon as he was out of sight and slipped through the woods back toward the Dale. He'd seen something by the waterfall and wanted to check it out. He watched her get dressed, all the while shaking his head. He'd never let a naked girl get him so flustered before and the gentleman act didn't exactly come natural to him. For some reason he got all anxious when he was around her. As she rode off into the canyon he thought to himself that he hoped it wasn't the last time their paths would cross.

When she had rounded the bend in the canyon he slipped from the woods and headed for the pond. Disrobing quickly, except for the Bowie, he swam over to the waterfall. His life as the son of a pirate captain stood him in good stead in the water, he swam like an otter and he moved damn near as quick in the water as he did on land.

Under the falls he saw the shadow again, lifting himself to a small ledge he walked up an ancient flight of steps into a small cavern. There was just enough sun shining through the falls to barely illuminate the walls. He noticed old Indian paintings on the walls, for some reason there were a large number of mountain lions depicted there. A small fireplace was carved into the stone and what looked like an altar protruded from the rock in the back of the cave. He wasn't sure exactly what this place was, but he felt at home for some reason. His nerves were alive, his senses extremely acute in this place and he felt rather than saw the passage at the back of the cave that wound its way up into the mountain.

Reluctantly he went back to the entrance of the cave and swam back across the pond. He dressed quickly and mounted the stallion, then rode out of the canyon and looked around.

His eyes turned toward town, that way there was whisky and gambling and women. Maybe he'd even run into that Valerie girl. He sighed; there was something going on that he could feel in the air. He turned north and continued riding until he came across a slightly weathered trail heading into the badlands. The horse tracks seemed to indicate that there was a fair amount of traffic riding in and out of the rocks in this direction.

He pointed the horse up the trail, never feeling the rifle sights on him.

As the Questor rode into the rocks and the finger tightened on a trigger high above him, Valerie was just getting back to town. She'd been muttering to herself the whole way about men who invaded her privacy when she was bathing and took advantage of her nakedness for their own pleasure. She whimpered slightly under her breath when she realized that he hadn't actually done anything to her, he'd been a total gentleman and had walked away from a very interesting situation leaving her intact. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, and found herself wondering what it would be like to have the man take her as if her desires didn't matter. She shook her head at the thoughts, but was so caught up in them that she rode her horse right into a carriage parked outside the hotel. The impact jolted her off her horse. She rose and dusted herself off, fixin' to give the owner of the carriage a piece of her mind when she noticed it was her father's. He was looking at her like she was crazy, no one had ever seen her unhorsed before and after she quit beating the dirt out of her skirt he asked her if she was okay.

She smiled, "yes Daddy, I'm fine, I was just thinking about something."

He slid down from his carriage and said, "Well honey, why don't you tell me all about it over lunch."

She coughed; there was no way she was going to tell Daddy about the young man and the incident at the Dale. Knowing him, he'd either marry her off to the man or shoot him; there wasn't a whole lot of in between for him. "Sure Daddy, I'd be delighted but can I change out of these trail clothes first?"

He smiled and dismissed her and went in to talk to his son behind the counter. While they caught up on news around the town, he heard about the young man who had recently ridden in and thrown everyone into a tizzy. The man sounded like quite a rascal, and the mayor decided he was going to have to make his acquaintance. While his son regaled him with stories of the young mans exploits, Rog walked into the hotel. At the same moment, Valerie came down the stairs. As usual, all heads turned to watch the girl. Every man in the hotel sighed at the vision of her as she greeted her father and brother with a smile and a soft kiss on the cheek.

As Valerie and her father moved into the dining area and were seated, Rog moved forward. He held Valerie's chair out for her and nodded to the mayor. "Miss Valerie, have you seen Rick today?" he asked.

"Rick? Who is Rick?" she said.

Rog laughed; of course she hadn't been there when the Questor and he had introduced themselves to each other. "He's that young man you patched up today Miss Valerie."

Her father looked to her, "patched up a young man? That wouldn't be the man I've been hearing about I hope."

Valerie turned beet red, she was unprepared to talk about the Questor and here was her father questioning her with his eyes. She could see that he saw the blush, and was made even more curious by her reaction.

"Ummm, I ran into him riding out on the plain Rog, but I don't know where he was going." She damned sure wasn't going to tell about the Dale or the events that had transpired there.

Rog smiled, he'd seen the blush too. He suspected that more there had been more than just bumping into each other out riding but decided this wasn't a good time to press the subject. "Do you know which direction he was headed Miss Valerie?"

"I think he was headed north into the badlands," she said. "But I'm not certain."

Rog tipped his hat and headed out the door, moving quickly to the sheriff's office he grabbed a Winchester and some extra ammunition for the rifle and his colt. He slid up onto his horse and headed out of town at a canter, breaking into a gallop as he left the vicinity and headed north. If Rick had gone out there looking for trouble, he was likely to find it. He'd taken a liking to the man, almost as if they had known each other before.

The Questor rode into the valley; suddenly he sensed something and slid down off the saddle quickly. Moving behind the stallion he looked around the entrance to the valley. There was a glint high on the rocks and he knew that someone was sighting in on him.

He moved into the shelter of a large boulder as the first bullet ricocheted off the rocks where he had been standing. "Shit, that girl got me all flustered." he thought to himself. He'd never allow himself to ride into an ambush otherwise. He settled in to a comfortable space behind the boulder, he suspected he might be here for a while.

In the distance a dust cloud moved quickly towards the canyon entrance.

The bullets periodically twanged and ricocheted from the rocks in front of the Questor. He checked the ammunition in his pistols and the rifle, situated the Bowie for quick access and waited patiently. When the shooting stopped he was going to have to think quickly, it meant that reinforcements were coming and he'd have little opportunity to escape. 

He heard them before he saw them, horses coming down the canyon were loud enough to create an echo, and he estimated from the sound that there were a half dozen of them. A vicious smile curled his lip; the rocks would be stained with blood today that much was sure.

Suddenly the air was full of lead, bullets ricocheted off rocks, horse whinnied at the loud echoes, men cursed and yelled back and forth. A few minutes of deadly hail from the guns and they got their nerves under control. The canyon became deadly quiet.

A familiar voice rang out from the group in the rocks, "hey Questor, is that you?"

The Questor started, it couldn't be, he'd heard that sonofabitch had died in a train robbery gone bad about a year ago. "Yeah, it's me, is that Johnny One Eye?" The Questor was the reason they called him Johnny One Eye, a knife fight over a stolen cargo back on the piers of San Francisco had turned in Questor's favor. Johnny was a dangerous man regardless, bloodthirsty, savage and vengeful. The Questor did not expect any kind of mercy out of him; they had a score to settle.

"Yes you mother fucker, it's me. I got your ass right where I want you now so why don't you just come out with your hands high up in the air and we'll take you to see the boss."

Questor responded by rising up with the Winchester and slamming a few bullets into the area of the canyon that the voices came from. On the third shot he heard someone scream, a high pitched squeal like a pig getting its throat cut. He grinned, a savage look coming over his otherwise pleasant features. One down, that kind of sound meant someone was hurt bad enough to put him out of the battle.

Soon the crew in the canyon started taking more risks, the boss didn't take well to cowards and didn't like to be kept waiting. One Eye hung back a bit, he'd tasted the Questor's steel and knew that he was more than capable of handling a few men. He conferred for a second with an Indian who rode with them and then sent him around the canyon wall.

Questor began picking the men off one at a time. Three more had fallen before he was surprised. The Indian had covered his horses hooves with cloth, muffling them and rode around behind the Questor while he was busy watching the entrance. The war club crashed down on the Questor's head just as he spun towards the smell emanating from the man. Even though he got a shot off and wounded the Indian in the thigh he spun down into darkness from the impact.

The Indian signaled weakly to One Eye and the remainder of the men came quickly. One of them lowered his gun at the Questor's head and pulled the trigger back. One Eye backhanded him and sent him tumbling, "you stupid shit, the boss wants us to bring him alive if possible."

The man climbed up from the ground muttering something about, "It'd be a hell of a lot safer to shoot him right now and leave him for the coyotes and vultures.

One Eye laughed, "By the time the boss gets done with him, he'll wish he'd been given to them!" They threw the Questor over his saddle and rode up the canyon to the cavern entrance. They were 4 men short but they were coming home with the prize.

Rog rode across the badlands, feeling as if he were too late. He knew these men, they wouldn't take kindly to the Questor snooping around. Hell, they weren't going to take kindly to him showing up either he suspected.

The Questor came to in the ranch yard. His arms were tied above his head to a tree branch and Slash McKee was standing in front of him gloating.

"Well Questor, I thought I was rid of you but here you are turning up like a bad penny." He laughed loud and with obvious delight, "I plan on you not being around for too long, but first I'm gonna let my boys play with you a bit."

The Questor's head rolled back as McKee smashed his right fist into his face. A trickle of blood ran down from his nose and McKee chuckled then turned to One Eye. "Go ahead boy, have some fun. But I want him to stay alive for a while, you got it?"

With that McKee turned and headed back to the ranch house, on the porch a young Indian girl watched the beating with a tear in her eye and a wince when the salt ran into the fresh lightning brand that had been burned in her face.

The Questor cursed and spat at his tormentors but eventually lapsed into unconsciousness and hung from the tree branch. The sun went down in the west, the coyotes cried out from the hills and the men slowly moved away to eat and drink and sleep. They left a guard who promptly pulled a chair up by the tree and leaned back.

Rog, rode into the canyon. A ghost would have made more noise. The guards were away from the entrance, something was definitely wrong here. Before he reached the cavern entrance he tied his horse to a scrub pine in the rocks and snuck the rest of the way on foot.

Looking into the dark cave, he took a deep breath and entered.

Rog had made it through the cave without being seen and slipped into the bushes by the exit. He planned on circling around the ranch house to see what was going on over by the corral. He could see most of the men gathered there and recognized McKee walking back into the house. As he circled the house he suddenly heard a scream of pain from one of the rooms in the back of the building. Curious, he edged up to a window and looked through. McKee had a young Indian girl tied to a pair of rungs on the wall and was whipping her. The lash curled and slashed into her smooth brown skin and Rog winced as the welts rose and the blood trickled down her back.

In town, Valerie was sending a telegram to San Francisco. She had an acquaintance there that was a private detective and had done some work for her father. She wanted to know more about this young man. She blushed when she remembered the way his eyes had drunk her in at the Dale and wondered where he was. Come to think of it, she hadn't seen Rog all day either. She walked over to the saloon, that's where he usually was. The Questor was awake again, still hanging from the tree. He kept his eyes closed though to allow himself time to regain his strength and get a feel for his situation. His lip was swollen, he had a cut under an eye, his ribs felt like a mule had kicked him and his arms were falling asleep from being suspended by them, but all in all he was okay. He cracked one eye and took a quick look around. Only one guard was on duty, which could prove to be a mistake. He started working on the ropes that held him. Rog watched McKee torture the girl; he growled low in his throat when he heard her pleading for him to stop. McKee ignored her and continued beating the girl. Finally, reducing the girl to tears and huge gulping sobs he laid the whip down and stepped out of the room.

Valerie entered the saloon, looking around for Rog she didn't notice the look that the girl Alice cast at her. It was unbridled jealousy, rage, and a determined look of revenge that would have warned any man who had seen it that this was dangerous ground to tread on. Valerie asked the bartender where Rog was and he just shrugged and kept cleaning glasses. She smiled and turned and swept out of the saloon, perhaps the liveryman could give her some information. Alice watched her leave, her jaw tight and her eyes blazing.




The Gun & The Whip



Back at the ranch in the canyon, the Questor had worked one hand loose. He pulled himself up the rope a bit and slipped the other arm free. Dropping to the ground quietly he moved like a ghost towards the guard who was nodding in his chair. A quick move and the guard lay dead on the ground, his neck broken. The Questor leaned down and picked up the man's weapons and then slipped quietly into the house.

At the same time, Rog was cutting the Indian girl down, she collapsed into his arms and he laid her gently on the floor. He'd begun to develop a real disliking for McKee and he silently snuck through the door into a long hallway leading to the main room.

The Questor found himself in an alcove off the main room, looking around he noticed a room off to the right and he moved quickly to the door and let himself in. He smiled, there were his pistols and from the desk drawer in the small office he heard the keening of the Bowie. The weapon had been in his family for generations and had an attachment to the Questor who carried it that was eerie to say the least.

He moved back out into the hall, now armed with his familiar weapons, his eyes a dark disturbing blue that left no room for doubt what his mood was like. He heard voices coming from the main room, well, no time like the present.

Rog came from the other side of the room, his shotgun lowered and ready to use. The Questor saw him as soon as he entered the room and grinned an evil grin. Both of them looked at the man standing by the big chair and suddenly the Questor's hands were full of Colts and Rog was locked down on him with the shotgun.

McKee laughed, "well boys, I guess ya' got me huh?"

The Questor looked around, this sonofabitch was a little too pleased with himself, something wasn't quite right. Rog and the Questor noticed the men in the shadows at the same time. Guns lowered, jaws set, hell was about to open up for someone.

The Questor and Rog threw themselves behind a couch, looking at each other with set eyes then both nodded at the same time. Two men stood and turned, two colts and a shotgun roared. Three men died instantly. The Questor and Rog stepped backward toward the door that Rog had entered. Their guns blazed again, three more men bit the dust and McKee disappeared behind his big chair. An errant shot hit Rog in the shoulder and a splinter of wood buried itself in the Questor's leg, but they fired again and again.

They fell through the back exit from the room and turned to sprint down the hall. Crashing through a window at the end of the hall they found themselves out in back of the ranch house. Under a tree they noticed someone with two horses saddled and ready to go, as they got closer Rog recognized the Indian girl. The Questor leaped into his saddle, Rog climbed a little slower with his wounded shoulder, finally allowing the Indian girl to help him. As they were about to leave he reached down, if they left the girl here she would be dead within the hour.

She swung up behind Rog, whispering thank you Sir in his ear. Her arms wrapped around him and she rested her head on his good shoulder. The Questor and Rog broke for the opening of the cave.

Somehow they were quickly clear of the madness at the ranch and were racing across the night desert back to town. Rog felt the girl clinging to him and shaking and a small smile slipped over his face.

Back in town, three men slipped into the stage office, tied the station head up and waited for the payroll coach.

The Questor, Rog and the girl rode from the canyon toward town. It was late in the evening so they pulled up and built a fire in a small copse of trees. The ground was high enough here that they could see someone coming for miles and the moon was full that night.

The girl tended to Rog's shoulder, the bullet had gone clear through and had not damaged the bone or torn an artery. He was lucky.

While she took care of Rog, the Questor rode out a short way from the trees and found a small stream with a little pond close by. He took the horses down to water and then returned with them to the trees. They were brushed down and resaddled, it was wise to keep the horses ready for a quick escape in case McKee and his boys decided to come looking for them.

Rog shot a rabbit and the girl skinned and prepared it. The Questor spitted it and put it over the fire to roast, soon the succulent smell of meat rose to their nostrils and they all realized just how hungry they were. The rabbit was eaten quickly and as twilight set in the girl grabbed a cloth and headed for the pond to wash up.

Rog stopped her, "what's your name girl? I'm uncomfortable saying hey you or girl."

She smiled briefly, "they call me merl Sir, I'm from the Blackfeather tribe, and they can't quite pronounce my given name."

"Okay merl, well I'm going to go down there with you. Its dark, and there are coyotes and more dangerous critters wandering around the plains here at night. You get your bath and I'll keep an eye out!"

The Questor chuckled under his breath. It was obvious that Rog was interested in the girl who was actually quite pretty except for the brand on the side of her face. She had the Indian features and the long flowing hair past her shoulders. He watched as the two of them headed for the creek and then put out his bedroll and laid by the fire.

Rog escorted the girl to the pond and took up a guard position from behind a tree where he couldn't really see the girl, but he could hear her. The way things were arranged here the only way into the pond would be past him.

The girl stripped and waded into the cool water, goose bumps rose on her arms and her nipples tightened as her breasts entered the water to float naturally on the surface. The whip marks on her back were soothed by the cool water and gradually the tension started to leave her body. As she floated peacefully and her eyes started to relax a bat flew out of nowhere and skimmed the surface of the water next to her in pursuit of an insect. She screamed and splashed around which of course caught Rog's attention. 

Racing from the water she ran right past Rog who caught a glimpse of her in the moonlight. His heart stopped, her body was beautiful, her long hair running down her back, the cloth wrapped around her hips, a frightened look in her doe eyes. He approached her from behind, making enough noise that she would know it was him. "Merl, its okay, there's nothing here that can hurt you," he said as he reached out and touched her shoulder.

She melted back into his arms, her body warm and tense as he wrapped them around her. A pretty sigh escaped her lips as her head rested on his shoulder bringing a wince from him, but not a sound. He held her for a moment, relishing the feel of her against him and then realizing that he was being a bit forward released her and stepped back.

She turned and looked at him with a quizzical look. She was used to being taken by men when they had hunger. She had been a slave to McKee, a toy for his amusement and expected harsh treatment from men. She had in fact developed an appetite for the pain, it made her nerves alive, and it served to remind her of her place. This man had saved her from a terrible beating and yet he was treating her like a princess in her eyes.

His eyes roamed her body, "god she was beautiful!" He reacted as any normal man would, his eyes filling with her, his breath coming short, his cock hardening in his pants, all easily seen by her.

A smile on her lips she moved to him, her face turned up as she pressed her breasts into his chest and she kissed his chin.

With a growl Rog threw all caution to the winds, he crushed her against his chest, his lips met hers and in just a moment they were entwined on the soft grass surrounding the pond. She bit his shoulder above the wound, causing him to cry out and then grab her hair. He yanked her head back and sank his own teeth savagely into her neck while his hands tore the cloth away from her body and he insinuated himself between her legs. She arched to him as she felt his manhood press against her cunny, her hands moving quickly to undo his belt and then with her strong legs and feet peeled the pants down his legs as she ground against him. It would be hard to tell whose hunger was greater as he sank into her heat and she moaned out in her native language. A coyote came down out of the hills to drink at the pond, but stopped by the trees surrounding the pond. The noises and the smells from the two filled the air and kept the beast from the water. Back at the campsite the Questor heard the girl cry out and Rog roar as they completed their union and smiled. He rolled over and dropped off to sleep.

Back in town the men who had tied up the station master played poker and drank whisky. The stage would be here in the morning and the plan was to meet it on the outskirts of town, take the payroll for the train workers and head out to the hidden ranch. These were men who had no qualms and killing the station master and the coach men was part of the process. The older gunslinger that had crossed paths with the Questor previously secretly hoped he'd have an opportunity to avenge his nephew, but if it wasn't this time it would happen soon. As night fell over the town and the streets became quiet with the exception of the saloon at the end of the street, Valerie walked to the coach station. She had a package she wanted to send to the private detective in San Francisco who was finding out information about the Questor and it would go out on the coach in the morning. Rog and merl walked back to the campsite together, their eyes never leaving each other. As Rog slid his arm around her he brushed against the fresh weals from the whip and she whimpered in pain. He swore to himself that he would exact revenge for her. They returned to the campsite and merl stretched out on a blanket looking up at Rog. He smiled and picked up his rifle, set his back against a tree and took the first watch.

Valerie walked into the stagecoach office; two sets of guns pointed at her and directed her to a seat in the corner. The older man slipped a cloth in her mouth and tied it there with a bandana then tied her hands behind her to the chair.

The Questor dreamt of raven black hair and dancing eyes.

The sun rose and the Questor was already up. He'd switched places with Rog in the early morning hours and let the two sleep while he fixed some coffee and watered the horses. He tied Rog's horse to the tree and mounted his stallion, then rode off to town while they slept. He had a feeling that it was time for him to ride on out and he needed to settle his bill and get the rest of his belongings.

As he rode he thought of the girl, she was becoming an obsession and he didn't need the distraction. He was a solitary man, he was often afoul of the law and he needed to be able to move quickly. A girl like that would slow him down if he let her.

He noticed a dust cloud coming from the east and rode across the plains toward it. About five miles out of town he ran across a stagecoach racing along the trail. As he rode up to it the guard in the seat looked down at him and cocked his rifle. "What can I do for ya' Mister?" he said.

"Well to tell you the truth, I'm heading into town myself. You mind if I tag along?" The guard looked him over, he looked like a dangerous man but he'd done nothing to arouse suspicion. "Sure ya' can Mister, you just make sure you ride out front where I kin keep an eye on ya', okay?"

The Questor chuckled, "fair enough." He pulled alongside the horses to the coach and rode quietly beside them. 

As they rounded a bend in the trail, two men came out of the rocks pistols blazing. The driver of the stagecoach was hit immediately and fell off the seat while the guard tried to level down the rifle on one of the men. As the driver fell, the horses felt the reins drop. The noise of shooting spooked them and the stage was suddenly jerked to one side causing it to tip over.

The guard somehow managed to land on his feet and hunkered down behind the coach. The Questor was out there all by himself, but the two waylaying the coach had not planned on him. His colts appeared magically in his hands, bullets spewing out of the barrels one after the other. The first man was hit four times in rapid succession. Two of the shots took out an eye and blew the back of his head off; the other two were in the heart. The second man was a little luckier, or a little less lucky depending on how you saw it. A shot caught him right in the gut and threw him off the horse he was riding to land in the dust next to the coach.

The Questor was off his horse in a flash. He knelt down beside the second man, the Bowie in his hand and glared into his eyes. "Alright you bastard, who do you ride with? Are there any more of you? Come on spit it out or I'll cut that damn bullet out of you right here in the dirt."

The man groaned, some blood mixed with spittle running out of his mouth.

The Questor cursed, the gunman wasn't going to last long and he wanted to find out who had sent him and what the plan was before he died. He grabbed the man's hair and drew the blade across his scalp. Blood poured down his forehead and into his eyes and the man cried out as her realized that the Questor meant to scalp him. "It was McKee, McKee sent us! We were supposed to hijack the coach and take it back to the ranch."

The Questor cut a little deeper, "are there any more of you out here?"

"One other, but he's already headed back to the ranch, he kidnapped the mayor's daughter and he's taking her to McKee." The man coughed, a lot of blood pouring from his mouth and a foul smell rose from him.

The Questor cut his throat. There wasn't much worse than dying for a gut shot, so he was doing him a favor. The truth of the matter though was he wanted to hurt someone bad. The girl was in the hands of that sonofabitch McKee. That crazy motherfucker would hurt her and use her for things that she'd never dreamt were possible. He was going to have to go back to the ranch.

He checked on the driver, he was going to live but he was pretty torn up. He had a bullet in him, a couple of broken ribs and he wasn't going to be walking on his leg anytime soon. The guard was okay, a little shaken up, but nothing a bottle of whisky and a willing whore wouldn't take care of.

The Questor told him that he would send help from town. He was going to have to go back to his room and get some things he'd left there. A train pulled into the station back in Dark River Landing. Three men got off. One was a private detective, the other two were scary looking men who walked like they had spent their whole lives at sea. The taller one was going gray, but he had eyes that were a disturbing blue. The other moved like a bird in flight, his hair was a golden red and his eyes were a gold hue that seemed to see forever.

The three men walked to the saloon as the Questor rode into town.

The Questor stopped by the stagecoach office. He found the manager tied to the chair and gagged. He released the man and asked what had happened to the girl Valerie. Listening carefully to the man's story he gave him some water and asked specific questions about the events that had transpired here. He was relieved to hear that the girl had been okay but frightened when she left with the older man. When the manager finished his tale he headed down the street to the hotel.

At the hotel he quickly dashed in and went to his room. He dug in his belongings and pulled out an extra Colt and a buffalo rifle. He also pulled five sticks of dynamite out and wrapped them carefully in oilcloth.

Out of the hotel and down the street to the saloon he went. Inside he leaned over the bar and talked with the bartender for a second. He told him to tell Rog when he got to town that he was going back out to the ranch. He didn't notice that the girl Alice was listening carefully or that she snuck out when she heard what his plan was.

As he started walking toward the door to leave he felt eyes on him. He spun around, his hand sliding naturally to his Colt. In the corner under the stairs was a table where three men were sitting. Something about them peaked his interest and he walked toward the shadows.

As he came up close one of them rose, his face still shadowed but his carriage very familiar. The light suddenly caught his face, and the Questor choked back a reaction. "Well hello son," the man said. "It's been quite a while." The Questor was stunned. What was his father doing here? How had he found him? He hadn't seen or heard from the man in over 10 years and here in a small town in New Mexico he suddenly appears?

He replied, "Well yes Captain, it has been a long time. How's mother?"

Captain Questor smiled, "She's good son, happy to hear you're alive. Do you remember my first mate Raj?"

The Questor looked over at the redheaded man sitting at the table. Here was the man who Rog reminded him of. They had the same look about them, reddish blonde hair, golden eyes and a calm, yet deadly air about them. He vaguely remembered the man from when he was a child, for some reason he never seemed to age.

"What are you doing here, Captain?" The Questor watched the man carefully. He'd left home under less than ideal conditions and his father wasn't known for his generosity or good nature.

"Well son, this private detective was nosing around down on the docks in San Francisco looking for information about you. It came to my attention and I convinced him to bring us here." The Captain smiled fiercely, his eyes that same blue as his son's. "I've been looking for you for quite awhile you know."

"And now that you've found me?" the Questor said testily.

"That's up to you son, I've found you and I can tell your mother you're alright. Of course I'm sure she'd rather hear it from you, but you have to make that decision. I understand that you've been getting yourself into a bit of trouble here, anything we can do to help?"

The Questor sighed, he could use some help. There were probably thirty men at the ranch. He sat down and told his father everything that had transpired since he came to town. By the end of the conversation the Captain had a faraway look in his eyes and Raj was leaning in to catch every detail. It was decided that the Captain and Raj would join the Questor in getting the girl out safely.

As the conversation lingered and plans were made, the girl Alice rode as fast as she could to the ranch. She'd seen the Questor with the girl Valerie and was jealous of the attention he paid her.

Finally the three rode out, the Questor armed with his Colts, the rifle and the Bowie. His father eyed the Bowie, it had gone missing the same time as his son and was a treasured heirloom of the family. He mounted his horse, also wearing Colts, and a sword that matched the Bowie. Raj wore cross belts of ammo in the Mexican style, a single colt and a strange glove made of silver. He carried a bow and arrow of a strange design, built for mountain hunting and extremely powerful.

As they left town they ran into Rog and merl. A quick discussion led to Rog heading back into town to put together a posse. The girl stopped them before they could continue and told them that trying to access the ranch through the regular entrance would only get them killed. The Questor asked her if she had a better plan and she replied that there was a tunnel that came through the mountains and opened out behind the ranch house. She'd heard it was an old Indian path that led to a strange altar somewhere in the canyons.

The Questor grinned an evil grin. He knew where it came out, he'd seen the tunnel in the cave with the altar behind the waterfall. The three men and the girl rode out to the Dale.

Back at the ranch, McKee was delighted. Just like the other men around town he had looked at the girl Valerie and wanted her for his own. His plans for her were not honorable however. There wouldn't be much left for her father to ransom if he had anything to say about it.




The Gun & The Whip



The girl sat in the dark, a chain on her leg, shivering in the damp of a dank basement. Her mind turned to thoughts of the young man with the blue eyes.

Alice rode into the canyon and was escorted to the ranch house by a vicious looking half-breed Apache. McKee had been told that there was someone coming and was waiting out on the porch. When he saw the girl his face twisted unpleasantly and then a smile curled his lips. If you'd been close you would have seen that his eyes were dead, there was no humor in them. Alice dismounted and climbed the steps to the porch stopping in front of McKee. The way he looked at her made her feel dirty and creepy but it was too late to change her mind about what she was doing. She quickly told McKee about the young man and the two men who were riding to the ranch to break the girl Valerie out.

McKee noticed a strange note of rage when she mentioned Valerie's name and his smile grew broader. He knew Alice from the saloon in town and her relationship with Abel, but he'd never had the opportunity to taste her charms. A million vile ideas ran through his mind quickly and then he looked at her, held his hand out and said, "Alice, please come inside and have a nice cool drink. I think you should spend the night here rather than try to ride back to town in the dark." He nodded to the Apache, "prepare the room for her," then led her into the main room and had the servant bring some whisky and ice. While he entertained the girl, he sent a group of his men to the entrance to the canyon to wait for the Questor and his band of men. He then turned his attention back to the blonde whore, "Alice, your room is ready; let me show you to it."

Alice was repulsed by the man and felt guilty for telling him what was going to happen, but again it was after the fact. She was glad her room was ready, she was tired and planned to lock the door, get some sleep and ride back to town at first light.

McKee led her down a dark hall and opened a door. As she walked through the door she felt a sharp pain in the back of her head and blacked out. When she came to she was strapped on a device that looked like a big X, her hands bound above and to the sides of her head and her legs spread apart and bound at the ankles. McKee stood in front of her, clad in a light silk shirt and black leather pants. In his hand was what looked like a whip with several strands that appeared to have been used many times before. She went to scream and noticed that there was a gag in her mouth secured with a strap.

She started trembling and tears poured down her face, she knew now that she should have never come out here. No one knew she was here, no one would look for her for a couple of days. The first bite of the whip was excruciating. Her body thrashed and strained but there was no relief. The second lash was worse, the tendrils of the flogger biting into the already sensitive flesh and cutting across them. The ends of the strands tied in knots ripped into her breast flesh and then the third blow followed. After seven blows she fainted.

A pail of water thrown on her brought her back to her senses, she shook her head her eyes wide with fear and noticed that now the girl Valerie had been brought into the room and tied to a chair where she had to watch the events as they transpired. She looked as scared as Alice, and tears were pouring down her face at the sight of the pretty whore's body cut and bruised with little rivulets of blood trickling from her breasts and belly down her legs and dripping on the floor.

McKee growled, he was enjoying this, both the beating and the look on the girl Valerie's face. Sweat ran down his chest as he repeatedly flogged Alice, the whip slashing and cutting in a pattern that crossed and recrossed her body. His face was twisted into a cruel mask and his eyes were at last alive, malignant glee shining from them as he brutalized the poor girl.

When he started to move down her body and slashed across the rise of her mound a scream came through the gag on her mouth and Alice shook almost constantly. Her body was bound in a way that made her private treasure available to the whip and McKee ravaged her with the lash repeatedly.

Valerie was stunned, she'd never seen or heard of anything this twisted or brutal. What was even worse was that for some strange reason she found herself damp between her legs, her nipples hard and aching. She couldn't possibly be enjoying this could she? She wanted to turn her head away, to close her eyes, to block her ears, but found herself fascinated and unable to tear herself from the sight before her.

McKee stopped abruptly and walked to the door, he gestured into the hall and the cruel Apache half-breed joined him in the room. Together they lifted Alice from the cross and bound her face down on a short table with her legs hanging off one end and her head at the other. She moaned as the cool wood pressed against her tortured flesh and choked when the gag was ripped from her mouth.

"Please, no more, please, don't hurt me anymore, I beg you," cried Alice. She was cut off mid sentence when McKee stepped to her face grabbed her jaw in one hand, pried her mouth open and stuffed his cock into her gullet with a savage lunge. The Apache on the other end penetrated her cunt from behind and they both began sawing away viciously.

Valerie watched in horrified fascination. She was a virgin, she couldn't imagine the sensations Alice was feeling and was trying to deny the feelings that she was experiencing watching this. She found her hips moving with the same rocking motion that the Apache and McKee had fallen into and a moan burst from her throat as she realized that her crotch was soaked.

McKee had the girl Alice by the hair and lifted her head to an angle where he had a straight shot with his cock into her throat. He was slapping his groin into her face repeatedly and uttering obscenities over and over. "Fucking whore, you like this? Is this what you get paid for harlot? How much will I owe you for this?" He laughed then, a frightening sound. "How about your life girl, is your life payment enough?" As he pounded faster and faster into her mouth, the Apache pulled out of her cunt and rammed his tool into her ass, McKee cursed as she inadvertently bit him and slapped her face so hard she almost blacked out. Within moments the Indian and the rancher had erupted into opposite ends of her shaking tormented body and pulled away from her.

She gagged and coughed and juices ran out of her mouth in a long string of drool to the floor, down her buttocks to her thighs and dried on her calves. The two men laughed and McKee said, "Let's go get a drink before we start on the other one."

Valerie became dizzy and almost fainted at those words, and when the two men had left the room she broke into huge gulping sobs. She looked over at Alice who had mercifully blacked out again and cried for her as well.

The three men and the Indian girl reached the cave behind the falls. It was time to find their way to the ranch.

The Questor and Raj lit torches that were in brackets on the wall near the altar in the cave. Lifting them out they started searching the back of the cave until they found the passage leading into the mountain. While they were looking, merl was perusing the paintings on the walls of cougars and Indian warriors hunting together as if they were part of the tribe. Some of the paintings were very odd as if the cats had somehow transformed to manlike creatures or vice versa. Raj walked over to where she stood transfixed by the paintings and looked them over. A curious look came over his face as he thought to himself how familiar it all looked. It reminded him of his youth in the mountains of the Himalayas and a valley where Captain Questor's great grandfather had held sway for almost a century. He shook his head at the similarity and then followed the Questor into the dark tunnel, the Captain and merl taking up the rear guard.

Back in the ranch house, McKee and the Apache had just finished up with Alice and were taking a breather before they came back to start on Valerie. The raven haired girl sat cross legged on the floor, manacled by the ankle and watched life slowly come back into Alice's body. The blonde whore suddenly awoke and looked around in terror. She spotted Valerie and burst into tears. "Help me, please help me!" she cried pitiably. "They're going to come back and kill us both, oh god please help me!"

Valerie understood her fear but was damned if she would let them see her in such a state. Her mind twisted through dozens of scenarios of escape and then she sighed as she realized that she was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by god knew how many men and under the control of a man who obviously would stop at nothing. She sat quietly and watched the door, listening for footsteps in the hall.

Back in the mountain the four rescuers moved through the blackness, the way lit only by the torches. They came to a place in the mountain where three tunnels branched off a small cave. The four of them looked at each other and talked in muted voices about which one to take. Finally, one that looked as if it were going up instead of down was the one they chose. The four of them marched single file into the narrow passage and proceeded on into the bowels of the mountain.

After a while they started to become restless, could it be this far? Were they lost? Would these tunnels swallow them and lose them and keep them trapped in the mountain forever? In the back of the group the girl merl suddenly heard a padding sound behind them. She reached up and stopped the Captain who in turn halted the Questor and Raj. She raised her finger to her lips and they waited in the silence for a sound. Finally a faint rustling behind them reached their ears. It was almost totally silent and if they had been moving they would have never heard it. The sound grew a little closer and then stopped.

They sat for several minutes in the tunnel, listening, almost holding their breaths and heard nothing. Eventually, the Questor signaled to keep moving and Raj slipped to the back of the group. He slipped his strange silver glove on and followed at a short distance. Further and further they wound their way into the mountain, the torches starting to burn down and sputter until one went completely out. As the darkness intruded closer they huddled together, again listening for the footsteps behind them. A burst of sound like gravel falling from a ledge erupted a short distance behind. The four sped up and moved as quickly as possible into the tunnel hoping for a door or a place that they could stand and defend themselves if it were men from the ranch.

They almost fell into the cavern, a small rivulet of water trailed through it into the rocks and they could hear the river above the ceiling of the rocks. The room was filled with crystals and the light of the remaining torch was reflected and magnified by their glory, looking like the night sky over the desert, bright and shining.

The four moved to the opposite end of the cave and could not find a way out except where they had entered. The sound behind them changed, they could hear breathing, a wet heavy sound almost like panting. The padding of quiet feet became louder and suddenly what appeared to be a huge mountain lion burst into the cave. To their surprise the creature moved from walking on all fours and rose to a two legged stance, all the while a mist gathering around its form and altering. A few seconds later they were all stunned to see a man like creature with feline features standing before them, a feather in its short mane and green eyes that cut through the darkness to see them clearly.

As it drew nearer it became clearer that the creature wasn't entirely human or cat but a were-cat of some sort. Raj watched the creature with a bemused look on his face; he'd had quite a bit of experience with strange beasts and other worldly creatures in the distant past, but had seen nothing like this since leaving his home in the valley. The creature stopped right in front of Raj and sniffed, Raj's golden eyes narrowed as it growled slightly in its throat and then turned to do the same with his other three companions.

The Questor stood firm when the creature approached him, the Bowie magically appearing in his hand. The creature glanced at the dragon carving of the hilt and it dropped to a knee with its head bowed.

The other three watched in amazement as the Questor looked down at the massive were-cat kneeling in front of him. He slipped the Bowie back into its sheathe on his back and the creature rose. It moved into the darkness at the back of the cave and slid a huge boulder to the side effortlessly. Cool night air rushed in from an opening to the outside and the sweat on the four dried almost immediately.

They stepped through the hole and out onto a ledge that overlooked a small valley. In the midst of the valley sat the ranch house. Lanterns were burning in a dozen places and men were moving back and forth from the bunk house to the stables. McKee stepped out onto the porch and roared at his men, the words unintelligible from this distance and half of them mounted up and rode out to the entrance to the canyon at full gallop.

The Apache stepped out behind McKee and looked across the valley as if he sensed something there. He looked into the darkness as it settled over the valley and then turned and spoke to McKee. There was an evil nasty laugh that rode on the wind and then the two stepped back into the ranch house.

The Questor and the band watched as lookouts posted themselves and the remainder of the men entered the bunk house. Soon the lanterns started to snuff out and there was only limited light coming from the ranch.

The Questor smiled and lifted the dynamite out of his saddlebag. It was time to move. In the ranch house McKee and the Apache re-entered the room where they were keeping Alice and Valerie. Alice was still bound over the table and Valerie was manacled by the ankle hiding in the shadows of a corner. As McKee passed Alice on his way over to Valerie he drew back his gloved hand and slapped her bared pussy with a savage chuckle. Her body quivered and shook, and the noise she made was difficult to translate as pain or pleasure.

Valerie's heart beat faster and faster as the vile man approached her. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted and her tongue ran over them incessantly. She felt wetness between her thighs and again the horrified thought that she was enjoying herself ran through her mind. Her nipples hardened and a trickle of sweat ran down between her breasts.

McKee stood in front of her. He grabbed her hair and dragged her roughly to the cross. As she started to fight, he backhanded her once, cutting her lip and stopping her dead in her tracks. When he looked at her, he didn't see fear, but hatred. She wasn't used to being hit by men and she was going to do something about it if she got the chance.

While these thoughts raced through her mind the Apache strode over and helped McKee tie her to the cross. She screamed as she felt the Indian run his hand up her thigh and under her gingham skirt. When he touched her pussy through her bloomers she wailed. "No, you mustn't touch me like that, I'm a virgin. Please let me go."

On the ledge overlooking the ranch house, the stalwart group of rescuers started their descent to the back of the building. The were-cat led the way, silent, massive, a dark shadow on the ground that moved with frightening speed. Raj fell in behind him and for the first time a discernible limp was obvious in his gait. His pant leg rode up over his boot and a flash of silver beamed out reflecting the moonlight. The Captain followed behind them all, his rolling walk no match for the quicker younger man and the strange crew he was traveling with. He watched the Indian girl move to the side and approach the back of the house through a ravine not evident from above. The Questor walked forward determinedly, checking his colts for shells and preparing the dynamite for use. He tied three sticks together with a piece of rope and twisted their fuses into one.

Rog had put together a small posse. Several of the townsfolk had joined in since the stagecoach guard had finally reached town. The driver was resting comfortably back at the overturned stage, and the doctor had been sent out with a wagon to fetch him and the payroll gold. The posse rode quickly to the canyon entrance where they were welcomed by McKee's army of gunslingers. The air was filled with whizzing bullets that ricocheted off the rocks and cries of men on both sides could be heard as the slugs found a mark.

McKee had pulled out a large knife from his collection of tools next to the cross. With only a couple of motions he had sliced off Valerie's skirt and blouse and was sawing away at her bloomers. As her body came into sight the Apache drooled at the sight of the sweet woman exposed to his lecherous gaze. He moved forward to touch her, only to be met by McKee's knife slashing across his hand. "She's mine you heathen! Keep your nasty hands off her, maybe I'll let you have her after I'm done but in the meantime keep an eye out."

The Apache grumbled but stepped away from the girl and slapped Alice awake. He reached under her and twisted her nipples till she screamed in pain and he laughed, a grotesque sound that chilled the bones. As McKee stepped back and grabbed a flogger, the Apache tortured Alice with pinches and twisted flesh, finally bending to bite her ass till it bled. Again she screamed and again the vile laughter filled the room. Valerie cried out from the cross, "oh dear god help me. Anyone, someone, please help me." McKee turned and raised the flogger, his eyes sunken deep into his face in an animal sneer. As the flogger came forward he crowed out loud, "this is what you deserve you slut! When I'm through with you you'll beg for mercy!" The back wall exploded in a blaze of fire and splintered wood. A strange creature came through the hole and launched itself onto the Apache. They rolled together into a corner and the Apache screamed as the were-cat's teeth found his throat.

The Questor stepped into the room, calmly, quietly, with a look in his eyes of utter contempt. The eyes were strange, a mad blue, no white just a gleaming bright hue like the desert sky on a clear winter day. McKee shook but redirected his swing with the flogger and struck the Questor across the face, drawing blood and leaving a scar which would be there forever. The Colts spoke, bullets slamming into McKee's hand that held the flogger and his left hip. McKee went down hard and lay lifeless on the floor. The remainder of his men burst into the room through the door.

Hell came to the ranch.

Back at the entrance to the valley, the posse was being held off effectively by the men in the rocks. Suddenly there was a loud explosion, followed by the sound of multiple guns going off. The men in the rocks turned and raced back to the ranch. Rog got his posse together, got them mounted on the horses that were left after the ambush and then rode after them like a hellhound on the trail of an escaped soul. Valerie, still bound to the cross and her nakedness showing, watched with wide eyes as the Questor shot McKee, the were-cat and the Apache tumbled out through the hole in the wall, and a group of men exploded through the door to the room guns out and blazing.

Two slugs tore into Alice, one ripping off two toes on her left foot the other shattering the bone in her forearm. As the Questor ducked behind a table, another man entered the room through the hole. Valerie was struck immediately by the similarity between the Questor and this new man, especially when she noticed the same blue eyes and the maddened sneer on his handsome face.