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There was the realization that he could have simply as well remained with the Ingalls, to see how it all worked out. He had had his fill and it was time to move on, maybe mosey down to St. Louis, New Orleans, or Arizona. Highly he felt that getting back house in 2000 was a no-go. It wasn't going to occur. He knew his geography relatively 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 cautious and wary and on guard-- Indians were still mighty unclear and outlaws wandered the wildlands, too.

A mountain path took him up into some rough country, he invested a week just meandering around, discovering a few roaming cattle he assisted himself to some fresh steak. It was a little gross and he determined that in the future he would just order one from a dining establishment. Fishing was much better and he nailed one deer. Living in the rough was alright, he did miss the Ingalls' hospitality, Walnut Grove as a whole. His own grub was getting sparse, the weather condition turning on him the greater he went, however he wanted to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into brand-new area he presumed would be one of the Dakotas, or potentially 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 persistence of continuing the useless experience. August had to agree-- he was getting nowhere fast. The mountain course appeared to wind on and on and on forever. He struck off on another path that apparently led downward. Now he was completely 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.

Come the beginning of his 3rd week out of Walnut Grove his horse he had actually come to call Tonto started flipping out. Raising up some and acting very goofy. August was not amused and became really wary. He wanted his internal Device had some sort of capability to see things he himself could not see, or at least identify them, or something. He was at length able to relax the horse down, August strained to discover and listen for himself what had startled Tonto. He figured either a snake or Indians. Either one he was not cool with. Both were lethal, vicious, and lethal. He desired no part of either one of them. After backing his horse up a bit and protecting him to a bush August slinked off into the rough, lurking, stopping briefly 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 absolutely nothing to hear however insects buzzing. Nothing stirred. August made a few more stalwart prowlings and lastly came across a man. Laying down prone upon the ground with a big bloodstain on his backside. He didn't have any boots on, either. Flies were currently swarming therefore August presumed that the man had actually been dead there for some time. Thoroughly August stole out of the rough and as much as where the man lay. To his surprise, the man was still in fact alive. Barely. He had actually been shot in the chest and had lost a lot of blood. He wasn't going to live for very much longer, August had no chance of reaching any medical professional. The young boy's ass muscles flexed as he made every effort NOT to pump into his cousin's mouth. Arlene retched, gagged, choked, and almost threw up as she slurped on the two cocks, the balls and also licked up Mark's fracture. Arlene then needed to go back to the table and lay on it with her legs widened, hands to her side. Mark then needed to go to her, on his knees, and lick her. Compliance was not precisely complied to quickly, the two teenagers did their best to bring and stall on-- forcing Dakota to once again get a holt of Adam's young head and wrench him upwards ... then in a flash the lad's wool trousers were down and he was bent over Dakota's knee, the trap door of the long underwear the kid wore was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter packed into the lad's hole. Nothing was said. Nothing needed stating, Mark went to his knees, parted his cousin's cunny lips and continued in noshing. Dakota worked the barrel of the gun deeper into the young boy's rectum, sodomizing him nicely. STANDING on Mark's back Dakota took his turn and fucking young Arlene.

Arlene was ruthlessly wrenched over and spanked hard, Mark had to come and place himself on the table and place his dick into her mouth. The experience was amazing. Dakota was August's type of male if he weren't so callous. With the six-shooter, Arlene was quickly odorized. She was more sodomized with Dakota's dick. He slammed her deeply and non-stop until he could go no more. There was nothing but still silence in the shack, just the crackling fire in the slapping and the fireplace 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 resisted to the horrible task of licking Arlene's cum packed asshole, Dakota then simply wrench the lad into a brand-new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole clean-- he mocked and shoved his gangly ultra-funky cock up against the kid's face-- Or you SUCK my cock!

 

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