say ye oughtn't to keep both eyes open and not stray too far from the rest of us, ye understand!'
'I'm not going anywhere,' she said with a shiver. 'Er, are those really mountains over there to the southwest?'
'Sure enough,' the wagonmaster replied. 'Them's the Davis mountains, ma'am, and we're gonna cut right through 'em. It's an easy run now that they've got the road. We'll spend a few days at Fort Davis, resting up and getting the wagons in shape, and then we'll push on through the mountains. Then it's out into the flats, over to the river and right on up to El Paso.'
Gloria marvelled at the matter-of-fact way he stated the route, as if he might be describing the path from a farmhouse to the barn. She knew that they were a good three hundred miles from El Paso and that much of the route would be travelling of the hardest, dryest sort, yet he made it sound easy and uneventful.
She waited until the third wagon was safely across the river before slapping her own team into action. Having seen the other wagons make the pull she now felt easier about it, although Henry had offered to drive; the mules took the water without hesitation and the crossing was far easier than she had imagined. They pulled out on the other side and, after a quick check to make sure that nothing had come loose, set out again.
It happened barely an hour after they had crossed the river. A shot rang out, puncturing the desolation with an angry report. She looked around, thinking at first that one of the outriders had spotted game, but then she saw one of the teamsters on a wagon ahead crumple to the ground. At the same time a series of blood-curdling whoops rang out to the side; looking in that direction she saw a group of ponies dashing toward them. At first they appeared to be riderless but then she saw the dark shapes clinging to the sides of the hurtling mounts.
'Indians!' Magee bellowed, spurring his own horse toward them at a rush.
Gloria looked anxiously to her left, where Henry was riding; she saw him set the spurs to his big Morgan gelding and guide the animal toward the advancing attackers, shotgun at the ready. She whipped the mules harshly, aiming them toward the other wagons as Magee had taught her to do in time of trouble. One of the teamsters had already pulled to a halt and was bringing his rifle up; she saw an Indian rise out of the brush at his side and hurl a long, steeltipped lance. The weapon lifted the teamster clear of the wagon and thew him to the ground.
Magee and Henry now began firing, again attracting her attention as she whipped the mules even harder. The boom of Henry's shotgun echoed across the plain and an Indian and his pony went rolling; another, however, closed and loosed an arrow into his chest at the same moment he fired the second barrel. Both he and his killer- for Gloria did not doubt that the arrow had struck home-tumbled to the ground. Magee disappeared into a cloud of dust, firing rapidly. Gloria drew up beside the one wagon with a teamster in it; he was already crouched behind the box with his rifle at the ready. She pulled the mules up short, wrapped the reins around the brake and got her own rifle out. Her heart ached for Henry but her instinct for survival was even stronger.
There was nothing to be seen for a moment, then the Indians appeared from another quarter. There were three of them and they were no more than fifty yards away. She triggered off a shot with no effect, then another that hit the pony and knocked him sprawling; the rider remained crumpled on the ground where he had fallen. Her fellow teamster shot another as they rode their shaggy little ponies up to the very edge of the wagons but the third leaped into the wagon, brandishing a stone-headed axe. He caught Gloria squarely on the chin with a backhanded swipe of his free hand, then brained the remaining teamster. She fell on top of the pile of goods, ears ringing and groggy; she weakly searched for her rifle but could not make her fingers obey her brain's command. Then she succumbed completely, sinking into a black pit of unconsciousness.
When she came to she was first conscious of a dull, throbbing pain in her head and a certain numbness in her jaw, where the Indian's iron fist had caught her. Then, trying to put a hand to her forehead, she discovered that she could not move. Opening her eyes and looking about, she found that her hands had been circled with a strip of rawhide and made fast to the wheel of a wagon. They extended above her head as she lay flat upon the ground.
'Huhh!'
Looking up at the harsh grunt, she saw a squat, thick-chested Indian at the tail of the wagon. He was going through her trunks, flinging dresses and underclothing aside with careless disdain. She swivelled her head around but could see no one else; they appeared to be the only survivors of the impromptu raid. She felt a sinking sensation, a mixture of fear, terror and despair, and closed her eyes.
'Huhh!' the Indian again grunted, punctuating his growl with the toe of his moccasin-clad foot.
She looked up at the man. He barked at her, short, sharp sounds which might have been either Spanish or an Indian tongue. She shook her head, showing incomprehension, and the Indian stalked away. She looked more closely at him as he scuffled around the wagon. He wore a pair of moccasins with attached leggings which came up almost to his knees. A leather thong circled his waist, catching up the flaps of skin which hung down, front and rear. Apart from these and a battered hat that might have come from the U. S. Army, he wore nothing. His war club hung from a wrist, attached by a rawhide lace; a tattered knife peeped from a sheath hanging on his waist string. He looked to be of medium height and was powerfully built.
Gloria wondered why she had been spared; it was quite clear that every other member of her train had been killed, though she could see no bodies. The Indian stalked around the wagon, muttering under his breath and rustling through boxes and trunks before coming back to her side. Then it became clear why she too had not been killed: the Indian unfastened the thong around his waist and dropped his breechclout aside. Gloria gasped aloud when she saw his cock, already half-erect and thoroughly menacing.
The Indian grinned, a cold expression without humor, and reached down to tear the skirt from her dress. She attempted to lift a foot and kick him in the groin but he anticipated the move; he caught her ankle and pressed her foot down to the ground, dropping a knee across her shins as he ripped the clothing from her body. When she was completely naked from the waist down, except fof the heavy shoes she wore while on the trail, he stepped back to survey his achievement.
Gloria's face turned scarlet and her heart pounded heavily. She pressed her thighs together, though she knew that she could hardly prevent him from doing whatever he chose; she could not tear her gaze away from the rapidly stiffening prick at the base of his belly. It was the first time she had ever seen an Indian's sexual equipment, naturally, and she could not help remarking to herself how similar it was to Henry's tool. To be sure the coloring was not the same, but otherwise there was very little difference. If anything, the Indian's cock was larger, and certainly his balls were constructed on a more massive scale; they looked to be the size of hen eggs and hung down several inches.
The Indian grunted, obviously elated at her frightened reaction, and came toward her. Again she drew back a foot to kick him but he evaded the blow with ease, catching her aakle and holding it with a grip like a bear trap. He mounted her, forced her knees apart with his own and aimed the head of his prick into the mouth of her cuat.
'Oh, no! Please don't!' she moaned, closing her eyes and throwing her head from side to side. 'Oh, don't do it to me, you can't!'
Her words counted for nothing, of course; she later came to realize that he had understood nothing she had said. He pressed down upon her, relentless and powerful. She tried to shrink away from his prick but there was nowhere to go-she could not prevent him from sheathing the coppery projectile in the mouth of her cunt. He grunted, a sound of animal lust, when he felt her cunt close around him. Although she was far from aroused the opening retained enough of the natural lubricant she had generated earlier in the morning, when she had tormented herself with thoughts of Henry, and he slipped easily into the tunnel leading up into her body.
'Agghh! Don't! You're killing me!' she moaned. 'Oh, no, you can't be doing this to me!'
Seeing that her struggles were having no effect, she willed herself to relax. If she could not resist him, she told herself, she would show her displeasure by feigning unconsciousness. This tactic worked no better than resistance, however. To her shocked dismay, she discovered that her body was responding to the Indian's brutal assault! She refused to believe it at first but there was no mistaking the symptoms; her pussy was gaining in feeling and her clitoris was beginning to swell angrily as the Indian's cock pistoned back and forth in her cunt.
No, it can't be! she told herself, horrified. Why, he killed your husband! You can't be wanting to fuck him now!
Although she did not know whether this Indian was the one who had killed Henry or not, she did not distinguish them in her mind; they were all savages and killers to her. This made it all the more incomprehensible when she felt her body heating up and answering the fierce, driving thrusts that brought the swollen head of his
