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There was the awareness that he could have just as well remained with the Ingalls, to see how it all worked out. 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 happen. He knew his location 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 smart to be wary and wary and on guard-- Indians were still mighty unsettled and bandits wandered the wildlands, too.
A mountain course took him up into some rough country, he spent a week just meandering around, finding a few stray cattle he assisted himself to some fresh steak. It was a little gross and he determined that in the future he would simply 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 entire. His own grub was getting sporadic, the weather turning on him the greater he went, however he desired to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into new territory 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 authorizing of the weather modification or the persistence of continuing the futile adventure. August needed to agree-- he was getting nowhere quick. The mountain path appeared to wind on and on and on forever. He struck off on another path that allegedly led downward. Now he was completely lost. Another week went by, he contravened of a one pissed off territorial badger, chased after 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.
August was not amused and became very wary. He wished his internal Device had some sort of capability to see objects 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 listen and identify for himself what had actually spooked Tonto. He figured either a snake or Indians. Either one he was not cool with. Both were fatal, vicious, and lethal. He wanted no part of either among them. After backing his horse up a bit and securing him to a bush August slipped off into the rough, prowling, 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 male. Flies were currently swarming and so August assumed that the man had actually been dead there for some time. He wasn't going to be alive for extremely much longer, August had no method of reaching any doctor. Compliance was not precisely complied to rapidly, the two teenagers did their best to stall and carry on-- forcing Dakota to again get 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 used was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter crammed into the lad's hole. Absolutely nothing was stated. Nothing needed saying, 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 rectum, sodomizing him well. His other hand he held on to the lad's hair, holding it up tightly, forcing him to view as cousin Mark installed Arlene and entered her. BASING 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 place himself on the table and place his dick into her mouth. The experience was unbelievable. If he weren't so ruthless, Dakota was August's kind of male. She was more sodomized with Dakota's cock. 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 noise. 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 disgusting job of licking Arlene's cum packed asshole, Dakota then just wrench the lad into a new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole tidy-- he mocked and shoved his gangly ultra-funky dick up against the kid's face-- Or you SUCK my dick!
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