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The showdown finally came. The foreman and the big blond cowboy, squared up to each other. Abe Bradburn a big man, with close-cropped black hair and beard, was half a head shorter than the huge swede, who, with his long blond hair pulled back into a thick plait and his huge walrus moustache, was known as Viking by the ranchhands. Bradburn was a hard uncompromising man, who expected his orders to be followed to the letter. Although not liked particularly by the men, he was respected for his toughness and fair-dealing. But Viking, in the short time he had been at the ranch, had earned little respect. The hands found him cocky and loud, and he intiminated them by his sheer size. They gathered round exitedly, eager to see which one of these tough sons-of-bitch would bite the dust.
Bradburn's deep voice held the unmistakable ring of authority as he said, "I'll forget what you said, if you get your ass back to the bunkhouse."
"Like the fuck I will asshole," Viking sneered in his heavily accented English and threw a wild haymaker at the foreman. Bradburn ducked and as the huge fist whistled over his head, stepped forward and delivered two hard blows to Viking's body. The cowboy staggered back and Bradburn came inside the bigger man's reach again to drive a right cross at his head. The blow rocked Viking on his feet and in desperation he drove his right fist hard up into the foreman's belly. The punch had all the bigger man's weight behind it and Bradburn, giving an explosive grunt as he was propelled backwards, stumbled over his feet and went down. One of ranchhands yipped and yelled, "C'mon Viking, stomp on the bastards's bollocks," his face flushed and his stiff cock tenting the front of his levis. But the foreman was on his feet in an instant and as he straightened up, slammed his fist into Viking's belly. Now it was the cowboy's turn to grunt and, as he bucked forward, Bradburn's right arm swept up, in a terrific uppercut. Viking's head snapped back, his body arched and he went down onto his back. There were howls of delight from the hands as Bradburn, reached down and yanked the dazed cowboy to his feet. "Ready to do what you're told mister?" Viking made no reply as he brushed sand from the arms of his torn shirt. "Yeah, blondie, say yes real nice to the man," a ranchhand yelled and all the men roared with laughter. Viking looked around at the jeering men before turning his face back to Bradburn. "My God, you'll pay for that," he hissed and drove his fist into the foreman's mouth. Bradburn rode the punch but felt the salty taste of blood on his tongue as he dodged aside.
The two men traded punches, but Bradburn's were harder, more telling and the hands began to cheer as the bigger man weakened. The foreman drove the bruised, bleeding cowboy around, grudgingly admiring the guy's capacity for taking punishment before he finally sank to the floor. The last thing Viking heard, before darkness closed over him, was the hand's whoops of delight. They'd pay.
Vengeance, of a kind, was soon forthcoming. Hearing of the fight, which the Boss termed a beating, he summoned Bradburn. They had heated words and the foreman was fired on the spot. Seeing Viking as a big tough man and feeling misplaced sympathy for him, the Boss made him the new foreman. Methodically, Viking picked on the guys who had mocked him giving them all a good hiding. He'd started with the softer targets, gaining experience att the time, until he had improved enough to take on the tougher men. When he had all the hands on the ranch under his domination, he began to take on the dudes that came in all the time on the drives. These were real mean bastards and several times he'd gotten the worst of the encounter. But he learnt how to fight with fist, boot, knee and any weapon he could lay his hands on. He loved to subjugate the really butch ones and would make them lick his boots until he was quietly told that these guys expected more it they got beaten.
They wanted total humiliation. They expected to be fucked in the ass. The first time he'd rammed home his thick eleven inches the dude had hollered and begged for mercy. It had been the best fuck of his life. For Viking everything seemed to be going just great until he heard that Bradburn had showed up in Tyler, the nearest town His skill with his fists and gun had gotten him the job of Deputy and very soon he was promoted to Marshal.
Chapter 2
In The Last Chance Saloon, Deputy Marshal Corky Drew stood at the bar. At just under six feet, he was a good-looking dude. The small neat nose over the auburn moustache made him look younger than his 35 years. He was broad-shouldered and his tight muscular body was the inheritance of farming as a youngster and the many hard years railroading. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the bar and the denim pulled tight across his beautiful butt, round, hard and sassy. He turnd his head to look at the man propping up the bar beside him, "How's your Maw takin' all this Jose?"
"Oh she's okay, Cork, she feels safe enough with me and my brothers. Anyways, Paw will be back from Red Butte by now. Abe said he'd take him back to the ranch on his way here to Tyler."
As he looked at his friend, Corky felt a stab of jealousy. He'd been seeing too damn much of Abe recently. He was about the same height as Corky but leaner. He had a small, slightly aquiline nose, large deep brown eyes and high cheekbones. He wore a neatly trimmed black moustache over his full, sensual lips and his beard-shadowed jaw was firm and square. He was also, Corky knew, as horny as hell. And Corky had fucked him in barns, corrals, out on the prairie and even in the Jailhouse office.
He didn't seem to be able to get enough cock up his tight little Spanish ass. And by Christ, thought Corky, there was plenty in the nearly all male town. He pulled out his watch and, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice said to Jose, "The Marshal said that they'd leave Red Butte at sun-up. I guess he'll be here any minute now."
Jose had seen the look on Corky's face when he'd mentioned Abe by name and felt a tinge of guilt.
It had been two weeks now since the rustlers had attacked their ranch. The had smashed the fences of one corral, taken a dozen horses and fired the barn before Jose's father. brothers and hired hands drove them off. Abe Bradburn had telegraphed the brand details down to Red Butte but it looked more like an Injun raid and it was very unlikely they'd see their horses again. One of the hands had taken a bullet and had been hurt bad, and the Marshal had lifted the young Mexican into his huge arms and carried him to his horse. Then holding him as gently as if he'd been a babe, he rode down to the doctor in Tyler and Jose had felt a tightness under the heart. With the wounded boy in safe hands, Bradburn had returned to the ranch, stripped to the waist and laboured alongside his Paw and brothers, repairing the fences and partly-burnt barn. It was then that Jose had felt a tightness some-
where else. The Marshal's torso, wide-shouldered and deep chested, was awesome. The biceps and
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