“Don’t tell them! I’ll do anything.”
“I know. I’m going to have to tie you up. Not that I don’t trust you, you understand, but I’d never in this world be able to fall asleep with you running about maybe looking for knives and such.”
“I wouldn’t try again to hurt you. This person is afraid.”
“That makes two of us. I’ll tie you gentle, but I’ll tie you fast. You want to do anything, first?”
She started to protest, but she knew he meant it, so as Longarm rummaged through her things for a rope she pulled a chamber pot from under the bed and relieved herself. From the long, hissing sound, he knew she was badly frightened.
He found a length of cotton clothesline, tested it with a few snaps, and decided it would do. He brought the coil to the bunk and sat down, fishing in his pants for his jackknife. Dances-Humming rose to her feet and stood before him, resigned to his will.
Longarm cut the rope into four sections and got up, pulling the top blanket from the bunk. He threw it out in the middle of the floor and patted the quilted surface as he said, “Climb aboard and pick out a comfortable position; you’ll be in it for some time.”
“I sleep best on my stomach.”
“There you go, then. Face down, hands above your head. I’ll give you a little slack, but I’ll hear you if you get to Jerking it, and I’ll whup your bare ass for it.”
The treacherous little squaw lay across the mattress on her belly and Longarm lashed a wrist to each head post of the bunk while she sniffled and protested. He tied her ankles to the posts at the foot of the bunk, leaving her some slack to shift a bit. Then he sat down with his back to her and started pulling on his socks. She asked, “Why are you getting dressed?”
“To keep from freezing before morning, of course. I’ll throw the blanket over you, directly. Then I’ll hunker down in a corner in my duds, facing the door.”
“It’s so early. Even Many Ponies used to make love to me more than once a night.”
“Honey, you are full of shit as well as frigid. You won’t get out of them ropes by stirring up the love potion pot. I’ll allow it figures to be a tedious cold night, but what the hell.”
“Won’t you do it one more time? Now that this person has less fear, she remembers how nice you felt inside of her. She was too worried to let herself go, before. This time will be different.”
“Oh, hell, I got my socks on and you’re hogtied just right, and face down to boot!”
“I can raise myself high enough. See?”
He saw indeed, as the moonlight now lancing through one window shone on the firm, plump hemispheres of her tawny buttocks. He ran his free hand over her flesh, soothingly, and sighed, “Don’t know as it’s right to do it to a gal tied up with ropes. Read someplace about this French feller who liked to do it that way, and the book said he was touched in the head.”
“Untie me, then.”
“In a pig’s eye! You don’t want to get humped. You only want to have them ropes off you!”
“That’s not this person’s reason. Feel the way she’s gushing with her need!”
He explored the crevice between her writhing buttocks and warm brown thighs with his fingers, noting, “You’re drooling like a woman in love and that’s a fact.”
“Do it! For some reason this person is excited by the ropes!”
Longarm got up and climbed aboard the bunk, resting his weight on all fours as he positioned his knees up and to either side of her hips. It was awkward in this position, but as Dances-Humming felt his erection in the wet crevice between them, she moved herself into line and took advantage of the slack bondage to engulf him with a hungry sigh.
“Oh, it feels so… interesting this way!” she giggled as Longarm, getting the hang of it, began to rock back and forward on his knees. It was well for him that he was a practiced horseman with well-developed riding muscles; even so, his thighs began to cramp by the time it was too late to stop. The Indian girl began to gyrate wildly as she literally screwed herself on and almost off, biting her lip as she groaned delighted words in her own language, for Dances-Humming was not a white man’s love-toy now. She reverted to her birthright as a natural, hotblooded girl who a missionary, in his ignorance, might describe as “primitive.”
This time she didn’t fake an orgasm. She had one, then another and another as the man who’d mastered her pounded and pounded her from the rear. Longarm gasped, “Oh, Jesus H. Christ!” and let her rip. It felt funny as hell to come with both legs fixing to bust.
He was tempted to untie her and make a night of it, now that they’d become better acquainted, but he knew he’d need his strength, come sunup, and he still didn’t trust her far enough to spit.
He climbed off and got dressed, throwing the Hudson Bay blanket over the crooning, sex-drugged little squaw. He bent and kissed her on the ear. Then he went to a corner and slid down to squat Mexican-style with his holster pulled around between his thighs. He reloaded the.44. Then he crossed his arms over his raised knees and lowered his head to them, trying to think if he’d left any loose ends.
He couldn’t think of any. His saddle and possibles were stored in the Agency, along with Kim Stover. If any of the others got in trouble with squaws or corn squeezings it wasn’t his duty to worry about it. Agent Caldwell and the tribal council were getting paid to keep things down to a roar, hereabouts.
It was already getting chilly, as the thin air of the high country surrendered its stored sunlight to the stars. He knew he’d have a frozen ass by daybreak, but he’d been cold before, and he aimed to rise early and to be wide awake as soon as he did so.
He might have dreamed. He must have dreamed, for he was thinking about how cold it was out here on the picket line tonight with the enemy just across the river and no picket fires allowed this close to the front by order of the general when, somewhere, a rooster crowed, and he sat up, rubbing the cobwebs from his brain and shivering in the icy dawn.
