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There was the awareness that he could have just as well stuck with the Ingalls, to see how all of it exercised after all. He had actually had his fill and it was time to move on, maybe 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 occur. He understood 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 hesitant and careful and on guard-- Indians were still magnificent unsettled and bandits wandered the wildlands, too.
A mountain path took him up into some rough country, he spent a week just meandering around, finding a few roaming livestock he helped himself to some fresh steak. It was a little gross and he determined that in the future he would simply purchase 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 entire. When the very first snows began to fall his ideas rested entirely on the Ingalls. A good warm fire, a bed, hot soup, cornbread, fresh milk. His own grub was getting sporadic, the weather turning on him the higher he went, but he wanted to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into brand-new territory he assumed would be one of the Dakotas, or potentially Iowa, perhaps even Nebraska, he wasn't sure. Soon the days got as cold as the nights. His horse was not authorizing of the weather change or the insistence of continuing the useless adventure. August needed to concur-- he was getting nowhere fast. The mountain course seemed to wind on and on and on permanently. He struck off on another course that apparently 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 versus a rock and bruised some ribs, clunked his head and knew that he had a concussion.
Come the beginning of his 3rd week out from Walnut Grove his horse he had actually come to call Tonto started freaking out. Raising up some and acting really silly. August was not amused and became very careful. He wanted his internal Device had some sort of ability to see things he himself might not see, or at least spot them, or something. He was at length able to soothe the horse down, August strained to identify and listen for himself what had startled Tonto. He figured either a snake or Indians. Either one he was not cool with. Both were fatal, vicious, and deadly. He desired 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, lurking, listening and pausing . In one hand he bared a Colt revolver, the other hand a Bowie knife. He had a Springfield rifle with the horse.
August made a few more stalwart prowlings and finally came upon a man. Flies were already swarming and so August assumed that the male had actually been dead there for some time. He wasn't going to be alive for really much longer, August had no method of reaching any physician. Compliance was not exactly complied to quickly, the two teenagers did their best to stall and bring 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 boy used was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter crammed into the lad's hole. Absolutely nothing was stated. Nothing required 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 kid's anus, 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 needed to come and position himself on the table and place his dick into her mouth. The ordeal was incredible. If he weren't so callous, Dakota was August's kind of guy. She was further sodomized with Dakota's dick. There was absolutely nothing but still silence in the shack, just the crackling fire in the slapping and the fireplace balls versus 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 tidy! Dakota sneered. When Mark resisted to the revolting task of licking Arlene's orgasm loaded asshole, Dakota then just wrench the lad into a new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole clean-- he jeered and shoved his gangly ultra-funky dick up against the boy's face-- Or you SUCK my cock!
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