August Moone
Timing is Everything
Chapter 16
The Adventure Continues…

	There was the realization that he could have just as well stayed with the Ingalls, to see how it all worked out after all.  But he had had his fill and it was time to move on, perhaps mosey down to St. Louis, New Orleans, or Arizona…
	Strongly he felt that “getting back home in 2000” was a no-go.  It wasn’t going to happen.  He was still mystified as to how the Device ended up in his noggin’ anyhow!  There was naught to do but deal with it, maybe locate some of his old relatives, find his great-great-great grandma when she was young and hot and score with her!  That’d screw up the time line for sure!
	He knew his geography fairly well, the geography of 2000, the geography of 1875 he was a little fuzzy on.  And beings that it WAS 1875, Old West, it was wise to be wary and leery and on guard--Indians were still mighty unsettled and bandits roamed the wild lands, too.
	A mountain path took him up into some rough country, he spent a week just meandering around, finding a few stray cattle he helped himself to some fresh steak.  It was a little gross and he determined that in the future he would just order one from a restaurant.  Fishing was better and he nailed one deer.
	Living in the rough was alright, he did miss the Ingalls’ hospitality, Walnut Grove as a whole, as well.  When the first snows began to fall his thoughts rested solely on the Ingalls.  A nice warm fire, a bed, hot soup, cornbread, fresh milk.  His own grub was getting sparse, the weather turning on him the higher he went, but he wanted to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into new territory he assumed would be one of the Dakotas, or possibly Iowa, maybe even Nebraska, he wasn’t sure.
	Soon the days got as cold as the nights.  His horse was not approving of the weather change or the insistence of continuing the futile adventure.  August had to agree--he was getting no where fast.  The mountain path seemed to wind on and on and on forever.
	So he struck off on another path that supposedly led downward.  Now he was totally lost.  Another week went by, he ran afoul of a one pissed off territorial badger, chased for miles by an even pissed off bear.  He fell against a rock and bruised some ribs, clunked his head and knew that he had a concussion.
	His luck was not so good.
	Well, at least there weren’t any Indians…
	He did come upon a faded parchment-like poster tacked to a tree:
				  WANTED
				 Dakota Jones
				Armed Robbery
			        Stage Coach Robbery
			  Rape  Murder  General Mayhem
			Territorial Marshall Max Guillion
				Dodge City, Kansas
			Wanted Dead or Alive  $5,000

	A bad case of the heebie-jeebies August got after reading that.
	He kept riding.

	Come the beginning of his 3rd week out from Walnut Grove his horse he had come to call Tonto began freaking out.  Rearing up some and acting very goofy.  August was not amused and became very wary.  He wished his internal Device had some sort of ability to see objects he himself could not see, or at least detect them, or something.
	He was at length able to calm the horse down, August strained to listen and detect for himself what had spooked Tonto.  He figured either a snake, or Indians.  Either one he was not cool with.  Both were deadly, vicious, and deadly.  He wanted no part of either one of them.
	After backing his horse up a bit and securing him to a bush August slinked off into the rough, prowling, pausing and listening.  In one hand he bared a Colt revolver, the other hand a Bowie knife.  He had a Springfield rifle with the horse.
	There was nothing to hear but insects buzzing.  Nothing stirred.  August made a few more stalwart prowlings and finally came upon a man.  Laying down prone upon the ground with a huge blood stain on his backside.  He didn’t have any boots on, either.
	Flies were already swarming and so August assumed that the man had been dead there for sometime.  Carefully August stole out of the rough and up to where the man lay.  To his surprise the man was still actually alive.  But barely.  He had been shot in the chest and had lost a lot of blood.  He wasn’t going to be alive for very much longer, August had no way of reaching any doctor.
	August did what he could, though, trying to stop the blood.  The man gave his name as Max Guillion.  August had to think a moment.
	“Sweet Jesus, yer the Marshall?”
	The man nodded.  
	Frantically August gulped and thought, thought carefully, then looked cautiously all around him.  This was bad, this was very bad.
	“Jones--” the Marshall blathered.
	“What?”
	“Jones, Dakota Jones the man I’ve been tracking--”
	“He shot you?”
	Marshall Guillion nodded that it was so.  
	“How long ago, when?”
	To that Guillion couldn’t recall.
	August was in a fix, he knew that he was no angel, no saint, but he couldn’t let the man die.
	But he did.   Late that night he gave his final breath.  August fixed him up some trout and did the best he could to keep him warm and comfortable.  
	“He’s got my guns.” the Marshall had spoke, “Make sure they get back to my deputy.”
	August promised, but made no guarantees.

	The ground was not the best into which to make a grave, but in hopes of scoring points with the Man Upstairs he did the best he could and offered the former Marshall of Dodge City a prayer.  He then took his leave and scurried onward.  (in hopes of NOT encounter Dakota Jones.

					*****

	For the next few days he followed a path that turned into a trail.  The trail led along the side of a huge hill overlooking a great valley.  Some farm land could be seen way out in the distance, but between the bottom of the hill and the farm land--desolation.  Scrub oak and pockets of greenery here and there, but mostly high desert desolation.
	He could handle the coldness of it all if it weren’t for the dang wind, the wind was fierce and several times nearly knocked him off the horse, and several more times Tonto misstepped  and very nearly sent the both of them sprawling.
	August hoped that the trail led somewhere--why else would it be?
	Snow coated the boulders and ground, he saw not one deer, no birds, nothing.  He at length, though, smelled smoke.  That was good thing.  Urging his steed on he came upon a small abode, rustic and possibly a hunter’s shack or a rancher’s outpost.
	A horse was here and August infamous Narly Senses kicked in.
	A new nuance to the imbedded Device suddenly came to light:  zoom.
	Power zoom in fact, and also giving him the ability--and a tumultuous headache thereafter--of “seeing thru walls.”  It was not in color bad black & white, kind of gray with tinges of green along the edges--but what the hell, it worked!
	Tonto August brought around some huge boulders and where the wind wouldn’t be so fierce--and where Tonto would be unseen.  August himself utilized the Invisibility Stealthmode and trotted off to the shack.
	Inside it was warm with a nice blazing fire, a huge cast iron kettle over the fire, it wasn’t too light only a small lantern gave off any light.  It was rustic and bare minimum furnishing further instilling into August that the shack was either-or a hunter’s quick abode during a winter hunt or a rancher’s outpost.
	Inside was chaos, too.
	A terrified woman was already tussed up with a gag in her mouth sitting up against the back wall of the small shack.  She was terrified, terrified because center stage was a lean tall man bent on creating as much chaos as possible.  The woman-mother was terrified because the situation was getting out of hand.  In the corner by the fireplace were two young children, approx. 8 and 10 years young.  There, too, were two teenagers about 15 years young.
	In a way, a small way, August was okay with the center of attraction-bringer of chaos.  He was doing what August would do under the circumstances.  But when the man turned about, August froze.  (although he was already nearly frozen as it was…)
	Pinned to the man’s shirt was a badge, a US Marshall’s badge.  The man had long stringy black hair, wild fiery black eyes, a slight beard and terror to give in his eyes.  He was basically pissed off ’cause there weren’t no booze about.  So, in lieu of booze--narly business!
	August began blinking his eyes and concentrating, formulating a plan and a manner into which to get him out of the fucking cold!  Only the center of attraction, supreme bandit Dakota Jones was his target, he himself was still in invisible mode so that was no matter.  Dakota being so pissed off, though, capturing his fucked up mind was not easy.  ‘especially through log walls.
	Sooooo, August made some noise, tossing chunks of wood.  Dakota freaked out and hit the floor.  The teen boy of the cabin looked as if though he were about to take advantage of the situation, but held back.  The teen girl beside him just trembled in place.
	Dakota finally peeked out a small crack at the door.  He had a rifle and was wearing a gun belt, the former belt worn by Marshall Guillion.  The cabin/shack had only one window but it was boarded up for the winter.  The cabin/shack was desolated, set high up on the mountain ridge above the valley, it WAS an outpost for a rancher, used mostly in the late spring, though, when the cattle were prone to wandering.
	“Who’s out there!?” shouted Dakota Jones.  Caution was the name of the game, invisible or not a gun shot wound would not be a good thing, he was still a human, he could still touch things and things could touch him.  He waited to see if the murdering bastard would step out of the cabin.  His paranoia prevented him from doing such, though, and August had to chance it.
	The door was open just a crack, just enough to allow peeking at a minimal and the barrel of the Winchester sticking out.  Trying as hard as he could August carefully stepped out to be able to get a dead-reckoning eyesight to the very wanted man.
	But he was unable to get a lock.  This frightened August, the door shut and August sat befuddled.  “Son-of-a-bitch!” he moaned.  He deemed that it was probably because of the angle, the weather, or something like a combination of the two.  He didn’t know but it pissed him off.
	He could still see into the cabin, though, that was a plus.  He pulled his clothes up about him tighter and waited for an opportunity.
	Meanwhile…
	Annoyed and pissed off even more Dakota grabbed the pretty teenage girl Arlene.  Naturally the boy not her brother tried to intervene.  He was too small and wiry and not a threat and was thrust back to the floor--the Winchester twirled in the wanted man’s hand and pressed against the would be hero’s chest.
	“I’ll blow you clear to fuckin’ China you do that again, boy!”
	The man meant it and the girl wailed in desperation, “It’s all right, Mark.”
	To wit Dakota Jones got a laugh and jeered the hapless teenage boy, moving the rifle down to the boy’s groin.  “Don’t piss me off, boy, just don’t.” 
	The boy gulped and nodded.  He was wiry, thin build, blond hair and hazel blue eyes.  A farm boy or something close and not related closely to the others.  (he was a distant trouble cousin from a city)
	“Take off them clothes!” barked Jones.
	The girl’s eyes of green widened in absolute horror.  Her mouth hung agape and the barked order had to be repeated.  Her mother was going nuts, frantically pleading through the gag in her mouth.
	From the floor Mark made a pitiful noise as the rifle barrel pressed into his groin.  Arlene wailed and brought her hands together pleading.  The rifle fired.
	August jumped.
	So did everyone else.  Mark lost consciousness and everyone thought for sure that he had had his privates blown to China.  It was suddenly all quiet in the small one room.  Jones glared at the quietly sobbing Arlene, his nostrils flared and the look of all dead-out seriousness became etched on his face.
	“Now you looka here, missy--you best do as yer fuckin’ told ‘fore I get mad.”
	The hapless girl nodded and began undoing the pretty green lace of her citified dress.   
	“Come on, come on, speed it up!” bitched the man.
	August shuddered as the cold air was getting to him.  
	There was still no movement from the teenage cousin.
	Dakota cast his eyes to the two small children, Adam ten and Jennifer eight.  Arlene saw this and quickly strove to undress.  But she was too slow and the man brazenly began ripping at her clothes.  In a futile attempt to fight back she was knocked to the single table and held in position bend over against it.
	Mother Katherine Reecey was flipping out, bawling, screaming, losing it.  She had unwittingly allowed the “marshall” entrance to the cabin, her and the children had fallen on hard times and were without their father/uncle.  They had been with a wagon train but had fallen in with a notorious group of no-goodniks up to no good.  They lost everything but their lives and somehow managed to find the log shack.
	Their misfortune continued.
	Dakota fondled the distraught Arlene, spanking her still clothed ass, feeling up and down her torso.  August had mixed feelings--he was basically pissed that the situation was so out of hand--and that he himself was not inside doing the same thing!
	
	Again he went through the motions of picking and choosing the Programs he wanted and Sending them.  He tasted a bit of blood from his nose and there was a ringing in his ear, too.  That was a bit unusual.  The extreme headache was not.  He figured these things came when he was utilizing the embedded technology a bit too much, stressing it out or something.
	But nothing.  Dakota went on spanking and pressing himself up against the girl, then stood back and aiming the rifle at the children, bid her to strip him down, take his pants down.
	Arlene was beside her, this was horrible.
	There was slight movement from Mark.
	On her knees she fought back the horror and tugged Dakota’s dark gray pants down.  He wore simple red long underwear and Arlene was commanded to “fish it out.” and he knew that she knew what that meant.
	“Nooooooo!” she stammered, as did her hysterical mother.
	Dakota clicked the rifle and Arlene fighting back the horror some more “fished” out Dakota’s cock.  It wasn’t too hard, but close counts.  “Stroke it.” commanded Dakota further.  Arlene complied but with eyes shut.
	She stroked and stroked and stroked, cupped his balls and squeezed his cock at the base.  Mark was sitting up, back against the only door, rubbing and holding his groin area, staring at the blasted hole in the floorboards where he had lain.
	“Kiss it.” came the ultimate command.  Arlene wasn’t about to.  She thrust her pretty head to and fro and Dakota in a fit of rage dropped the rifle--it fired off a round and Dakota slammed his cock into Arlene’s mouth.  
	Luckily the rifle round didn’t hit anything--or anybody.  Both little Adam and Jenny wet themselves.  August would have if it weren’t so damn cold.  He shuddered and kept trying with the Device…

	After several pumps in the mouth Dakota stood back and finished disrobing, he masturbated, scratched his ass and balls and then leered at the pretty Arlene.  He said something but August missed it, the wind was beginning to pick up and if he didn’t get his ass inside that cabin he was going to be as frozen as the chunks of wood he was with.
		One of the Marshall’s six shooters Dakota removed from its holster, he examined it and walked casually over to the two horrified ultra frightened kiddies.  He grabbed up the little boy by the head of the hair yanking him to his feet.  The little girl naturally jumped up to attack, so did Mark and Arlene.
	Dakota fought them off, slinging the little backwards and sending her crashing headlong into the pile of wood.  She lay very still thereafter.  Arlene was thrown back against the table and Mark was popped in the mouth and found the six shooter barrel in his mouth.
	“How’s about I change from blowing yer balls off to blowin’ yer fuckin’ brains out the back of yer fuckin’ head?”
	The boy sensibly and wisely ceased all attack actions.  (he too had pissed himself…)
	Dakota then turned his attention back to Arlene.
	“You aint outta them clothes YET!” he barked.

	Once Arlene was butt naked, she lay out on the table, legs open, body trembling.  Dakota massaged his organ, licking his lips.  Young Mark couldn’t help but gaze upon the young girl, his cousin.  August couldn’t tell if the lad had a boner going or not, but supposed that he did.  Despite the freezing cold, August had one going himself.
	With the six shooter still in his mouth, Mark wasn’t likely to put up any fight or protest.  He stood absolutely still, even when the Intruder barked his next command--commanding Arlene to come over and strip down her brother!
	The command was carried out, with the mother sitting in the background with rent wrists and ankles, completely exhausted from her frantic doings of futile protest.  There was still no movement from the little girl and August thought the worst had happened to her.  The little boy cowered in a dark corner.
	Once Mark was nude, Arlene had the task of massaging the boy’s bone--it was stiff.  It got stiffer with Arlene gripping it, clutching his nut sac, rubbing his ass, the whole nine yards.  She, too, KISSED it and kissed Dakota’s again, too.
	She sucked on both cocks.  August was miffed, this was HIS doing!
	The boy’s ass muscles flexed as he strove NOT to pump into his cousin’s mouth.  Arlene retched, gagged, choked, and nearly vomited as she slurped on the two cocks, the balls and as well licked up Mark’s crack.  Arlene then had to return to the table and lay on it with her legs opened wide, hands to her side.  Mark then had to go to her, on his knees, and lick her.
	Compliance was not exactly complied to quickly, the two teens did their best to stall and carry on--forcing Dakota to once more grab a holt of Adam’s young head and wrench him upwards…then in a flash the lad’s wool pants were down and he was bent over Dakota’s knee, the trap door of the long underwear the boy wore was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter crammed into the lad’s hole.
	Nothing was said.  Nothing needed saying, Mark went to his knees, parted his cousin’s cunny “lips” and proceeded in noshing.
	Dakota worked the barrel of the gun deeper into the young boy’s rectum, sodomizing him nicely.  His other hand he held on to the lad’s hair, holding it up tightly, forcing him to watch as cousin Mark “mounted” Arlene and entered her.
	The mother finally lost it completely and passed out.

	STANDING on Mark’s back Dakota took his turn and fucking young Arlene.  He squeezed her nipples, nipped and bit them, creamed deeply into her pussy and jammed the barrel of the revolver up into her well deflowered fucked cunny, worked it around a bit and then made her suck on the barrel.
	Arlene was ruthlessly wrenched over and spanked hard, Mark had to come and position himself on the table and insert his cock into her mouth.  The ordeal was incredible.  Dakota was August’s kind of man, if he weren’t so ruthless.
	With the six shooter Arlene was promptly odorized.  She was further sodomized with Dakota’s cock.  He slammed her deeply and relentlessly until he could go no more.  There was nothing but still silence in the shack, only the crackling fire in the fireplace and the slapping balls against Arlene’s ass made the only sound.
	When done, Dakota wrenched Mark up from the floor and pressed his face into Arlene’s tormented ass--”Lick it clean!” Dakota sneered.
	When Mark fought back to the disgusting task of licking Arlene’s cum laden asshole, Dakota then simply wrench the lad into a new position--”Either you fuckin’ lick HER hole clean--” he jeered and shoved his gangly ultra funky cock up against the boy’s face--”Or you SUCK my cock!”
	The boy chose to lick his cousin’s corn hole.
	Thereafter he was put to his knees and sodomized roughly with the six shooter--before Dakota stepped up and fucked him himself.
					*****
	Katherine Reecey awoke just as her nephew had completed the task of licking her pussy.  Hours had passed and the boy’s cock had sufficiently recovered enough to proceed.  Dakota, too.  August was near frozen stiff outside the woodpile and didn’t know how much more longer he could stand it.
	Katherine had been stripped down to her Birthday Suit by Arlene and Mark, Mark had licked her out and Arlene sat on her face.  Katherine did NOT flick her tongue into her daughter’s snatch, she was out of her mind and no longer capable of processing information.
	Mark put his dick into the womanly love tunnel and humped while being mercilessly spanked by the man’s belt.  When Mark showed signs of orgasming he pulled free and fired a load both onto Katherine’s midriff and belly as well as onto his cousin’s chest.  Naturally demented Dakota made Arlene go down and suck on cousin Mark’s cock, then lick up the juices from her mother’s cunt.  Dakota himself then re-entered the girl’s tight tormented asshole, smacking her hips and riding her for several minutes.
	When he was done he prompted Mark to rear enter his aunt.  Arlene, still poised on her mother’s face held back the legs while Mark scooted about on the floor and angled his cock into his aunt’s backdoor.  Again Arlene had the unmitigated task of cleaning Mark’s cock as well as her mother’s asshole.
	
						*****

	The cold air was getting too much for him, the Device embedded into his noggin’ was winking/blinking out.  Dakota Jones had tied up Mark and Arlene, helped himself to some beans cooking in the pot, looked to the still lifeless form of the little girl, kicked the boy, then settled onto the small cot-like bed.  August worried about the little girl, then worried more about himself.
	He then thought of Tonto.  Out in the front there was the man’s horse, he assumed was actually Marshall Guillion’s.  Slowly he moved from the cabin/shack and back to where he had left dapple gray horse.  On the lee side of the great boulders the wind was not so fierce, the air was still cold, but the lack of wind made it more tolerable.
	He petted the horse, apologized and considered hard his next move.
	Which was preempted by Tonto reacting to something August wasn’t aware of.  After hunkering down he caught sight of movement in the woods.  A long time he held his breath and waited; a deer, bear, cougar?
	No such luck.  It was a pair of Indians.  
	Most Indians August figured he could deal with, he went on the assumption that he was in the Dakotas, north or south but he wasn’t sure.  Only the Blackfeet and a few other tribes were mostly dangerous, the Lakotas, too.  Among others.  Sucking in a cold swath of air August maintained his position--hunkered down and entering into stealth mode without the use of  the Device.  
	The Indian pair were in stealth mode themselves, slinking through the rough and pausing at the edge, their eyes feasting on the lone cabin with smoke billowing out of the chimney.  August got a bad-bad feeling.  That feeling was intensified when he saw the markings on one of the Indians’ bare shoulder--the same markings of those Indians from the massacre!
	He gulped.  He wanted no part of those sons-a-bitches.  
	The biggest Indian--outweighing August two times over (or was that out muscling) moved silently and quickly across the broken path into the boulders and disappeared.  The other held his position until the other had disappeared and then he moved keeping low and slinking along the lone  lodge pole fence.  He paused at the horse, the horse of Marshall Guillion’s now near frozen stiff didn’t move.  The Indian made for it and hunkered by it, removing the saddle and other belongings.  (including the rifle)
	August continued to watch, he himself holding the reins of his own mount, ready to bolt and make good his escape (he hoped) at a moments notice.
	Suddenly the other Indian appeared, leaping up onto the shack that was nestled into a rocky hill mound.  He carried with him some pine branches.  August watched, waiting, ‘what the fuck?’  The Indian at the horse laid down, rifle aimed at the cabin.  The Indian on top of the cabin began piling the pine branches onto the chimney stack.
	Ohhhhhhhh.
	Damn, them Indians were smart!
	The door suddenly flew open and a naked Dakota Jones came out coughing and sputtering, six shooters in hand.  He couldn’t see for nothing, though and fired recklessly.  The Indian under the horse could see well enough and popped the wanted man square in the chest.  The Indian topside jumped down and wrestled with Dakota, coming up and slicing the man’s throat.
	Both Indians jumped around with glee, screaming and being very pleased with themselves, then stole a look inside the cabin.
	Smoke billowed out of the open door, August was tormented with what to do.  At length he pulled his own rifle out and crawled up onto the frozen boulder.  One of the Indians had already gone inside, there was screaming going on and August could only imagine.  The other Indian was still at the door, he took a lingering look around--possibly suspecting that something was up.
	August took careful aim, smiled, held his breath, and pulled the trigger.
	The Indian was struck, he was flung backwards against the cabin wall, August had only hit him in the shoulder.  He was so cold he couldn’t stop shaking so the aim for his chest was a little off.  August pulled the trigger again and hit the cabin.
	By now the other Indian had come out.  August fired again, striking the Marshall’s horse in the rump.  “Damn!”  the two Indians were charging, August had to reload.  He lost his grip on the boulder and slid down it losing the rifle as he hit the frozen ground.  He whirled up and came firing as the Indian he had shot came around the boulder.  The Indian again stumbled backwards, shaking it off.  August fired again and then was pummeled by the other sneaky Indian who had climbed the boulder.
	Both rolled on the ground, a pine branch stabbing August in the backside, another tore into his leg.  The Indian was big and rough, outweighed him and definitely out muscled him.  A few more weeks working on Mr. Ingalls’ farm would have been good…
	August felt the blade against his throat, he pushed himself back into the big Indian and feigned right, went left and back kicked into the Indian’s nut sac.  There was no time to check on the other Indian’s status.  
	August shook off quickly the attack but was charged and the Indian’s blade sliced into his thigh.  August let out a nice howl and thrashed with the Indian, sending him stumbling over the fallen branches.  It was then that Tonto got into the act, kicking the big Indian in the backside knocking the breath out of him.  He came flying back into August who was just catching his own breath and standing up.
	They grappled a moment and the blade was once more slicing into August’s skin.  Then, the big Indian fell away, his eyes rolled and he seemed to be sneering as he crumbled to the ground.  August stared at him, curious and in amazement that the big bastard was nearly topless, bare chested save for a buckskin vest and lots of beads, human hair trinkets, bear claws.
	Up against a tree August held onto for support, his mind was dizzy, ears ringing.  He looked up and saw standing up on the boulder Mark.  He had a rifle and smoke was still wafting from the barrel.  At his feet August saw the big Indian with a huge hole in his backside.
	August sighed relief and stumbled towards Tonto.
	“Who are you, mister!?” demanded the still naked Mark.
	“Uh, uhm,” August struggled to even remember his name, “August.” he said at last.
	“This is November.” shot back the boy, who hadn’t let his guard down.
	August stared at him, how many times in his life had he been laughed at due to his monthy name.  August gave the boy a long hard stare, “August Moone, it’s my name.”  his hand came to rest on his holstered six shooter.  From the corner of his eye he saw movement.  The boy did to and whirled in that direction, the rifle jammed and misfired, the boy careened off the boulder.
	August whipped his Colt out fired.
	The other Indian, the first one he had shot, finally took a bullet to the chest.  He slumped to the ground growling his last breath at August.

	Inside the cabin/shack it was still smokey.  August firstly brought the Marshall’s horse over to Tonto, then adorned them both with spare blankets.  “We’re gonna get the hell off of this mountain as soon as possible.” he promised them, “Too damn cold up here.”
	The little girl Jennifer was alright, unconscious but breathing.  She had lost some blood and all, but August assumed that she would be all right in the days to come.  The mother--well, her mind was no longer present, it was empty and voided.
	Arlene seemed to be okay, just kept her eyes on August and didn’t trust him, when he tried to tend to her minor wounds she fought him back and looked as if though she were to gouge his eyes out.
	August kept his cool, and kept his eyes from wandering up and down her naked bruised body.  ’But don’t piss me off, sweetie--you won’t like me when I’m pissed.’
	Mark was helpful, he asked a shit load of questions:  who the Indians were, Dakota Jones, the Marshall, who he (August) was, was there any other Indians about, etc.
	August had few answers and kept busy tending to the horse, pulling the pine branches off of the chimney, tending to the kids.  By nightfall it was snowing, the temperature had dropped way down to way below freezing.  The only food was a pot of beans and some cornbread.  It would do.
	Little Jenny was kept under some blankets, she was fed some water but couldn’t really swallow.  August hoped that she would be all right.  Adam was all right, still frightened from the experience with Dakota Jones and then the Indians, but otherwise okay.
	Mark was the same.
	Arlene huddled under some blankets by the fire and didn’t communicate period.  Their mother/aunt was virtually a zombie.  August didn’t know what to do, he didn’t feel like being saddled with them, but he didn’t want to spend the winter up on the mountain, winter hadn’t even sarted yet and it was already freezing his balls off!
	When it seemed as Arlene had dropped off to sleep, cuddled with her two young siblings, August entered into a light convo with the boy, Mark.
	“Sooooo, Dakota made you do your cousins?”
	The boy stared at August questioningly.	
  	August smiled and smirked, “I’ve been trailing this no-count, he’s got a reputation of finding stranded alone families and having his fun with them, making them enjoy each other--it’s how he gets his jollies.”
	The term “gets his jollies” was new to Mark, but he understood it.
	“Well,” August amended, “we all want to have fun with our siblings, our sisters especially.”  (or cousins…)
	There was no answer from young Mark, his mind was still fresh from the day’s events.  Living in the old west was something, wasn’t it!?

	After some rest, some grub, more rest, young Mark seemed none the worse for wear for his harrowing experience.  August lightly tapped with the help of the Device; asking pertinent questions August already assumed.  
	Yea, Mark DID enjoy scroggin’ his aunt and cousin Arlene, but not in the manner of which it had happened.  He had wanted to scrog them since his uncle put him with the family to accompany to their new homestead.  When at night and one (or all) of the girls had to pee, he snuck looks and listened as they did so beside the wagon.  
	Casually and carefully August doctored the boy, his mind.  There was nothing that could be done for the mother/aunt, she was gonesville.  Arlene wasn’t too far behind, either, but she would recover.  So would the two youngest ones.  August couldn’t determine if any brain damage had occurred to the little girl, Jenny, but in the days that followed he tested her and determined that she would be fine.
	In the days that followed it got colder.  August and Mark went naked inside the cabin, and for brief periods during the day trudged out to check on the horses and trudge back.  Jenny and Adam were “doctored” to accept the new nuance and as well went ah natural.  Arlene, too.  August just didn’t like her looks when he “doctored” her.  She gave him such a look.
	But as a test to see if she had accepted the new mind-link input, August had her suck on Mark’s cock.  Mark was all for it and unaware of August’s doings.  Mark definitely enjoyed the free blowjob.  He seriously got into it and didn’t mind (or care) that the kids were watching.
	When the kids WEREN’T watching he scrogged his aunt some more.  August did likewise, taking the back entrance and sandwich fucking the “Lights are one but no one’s home” woman.
	Mark took her in the back door, doing the doggie style position while August slammed himself into the woman’s mouth.
	But Mark truly enjoyed himself scrogging his cousin Arlene.  Over and over, repeatedly; in the twat, between the tits, in the mouth, and up the ass.  And while he carried on with her August carried on with the young’uns, specifically Jenny and Adam.  To both August humped in the mouth and up between their cracks, then positioned little Jenny on his lap.
	Adam at ten years young had enough umph in him to get a nice stiffy and poke his sister.  August helped him into Jenny’s backdoor and soon Mark was watching in earnest as Jenny was sandwiched.  Adam got to sink himself in Jenny’s busted poon and after a bit of clean up, some rest, he mounted Arlene and Mark took over sinking himself into little Jenny.

	It was plain to see that the mother wasn’t going to get any better, not for a long, long while.  Arlene was slowly coming around, but mostly to August’s tedious task of re-wiring her.  
	There was no way August intended on staying up on the mountain, especially thru the winter.  He collected the family and the horses and head down into the big valley.