Chapter 17: Riders on the Storm
Old Man Loomis took the lead. Immediately behind him riding abreast were Chili,
Jorge Mendoza and Luis Amundo. Behind them rode twenty-five of Loomis' toughest
cowboys.
They rode at a trot breaking into a canter occasionally, hunched forward
slightly, their wide-brimmed hats slouched from the heavy downpour coming from
the northwest. Their yellow slickers glistened like glazed candy as their bodies
rose and fell rhythmically to the strides of their horses . . . .
Susan Holbarth rubbed Zeke's muzzle, patting his neck and shoulder. The big,
gray gelding had been her husband's. Since all her hands had deserted her after
her husband's death she hadn't been able to let the animal graze freely because
of the Apache. She held onto the halter and led the horse to the rear of the
barn and turned him loose in the corral. But he didn't like the idea of going
out into the rain, and she had to swat him on the butt.
She tramped back to his stall and began mucking it out with a long-handled
shovel. While she was about it Zeke stuck his head back in the rear entry and
cautiously slipped into the alleyway and shook himself.
When Susan finished, she filled a large bucket in the stall with rainwater and
forked some hay into the rack. Zeke hurried into the stall when she stepped out.
The rain on the roof drowned out most sounds. Susan took off her leather work
gloves and hung them on a nail by the front entry. She slipped on her black,
rubber coat, grabbed her shotgun leaning against the wall and started for the
cabin.
She was unaware of the two men, one on either side of the door, and as she
stepped out they grabbed her arms. The one on the right yanked the shotgun from
her and flung it off into the mud.
Everything happened quickly.
A man, wearing a sombrero and yellow slicker, stood on the porch of the cabin
watching. Susan recognized him. It was the one called Chili. The two holding her
were Mexicans also. She could smell whiskey and stale cigar. She struggled,
twisting this way and that, kicking with her rubber boots, her brown skirt
rising up revealing flashes of her thighs.
The man on the porch, Chili, raised his hand and motioned. On a nearby hillock
Susan saw a mass of riders approach. She recognized Loomis in the lead. His
white hair hung down to his shoulders in wet strands, his face hard-set. She
ceased struggling, hoping to retain some dignity.
A sudden fear drove her reasoning. He wouldn't hurt her, surely. If he wanted
the damn place that badly he could have it. But she sensed real danger; this was
going to be it. Whatever it was.
God help me!
They rode up, their horses flinging mud about amid the creaking of leather.
Almost two dozen of them -- or more, she figured. They formed a tight semicircle
around her. The corral fence was behind.
Loomis stopped directly in front of her and leaned forward, his hands relaxed on
his pommel. Rain sluiced from the brim of his white Stetson.
"Well, Susan, can't say I didn't give yuh fair warning. you're as hard-headed as
that husband of yours was. West ain't no place for a widow woman. Should've gone
back east." He sighed mockingly and shook his head. "Too late now though."
Susan tried to speak, but all she could do was stammer. Her knees trembled and
gave on her. Luis and Jorge held her up under the armpits.
"Strip her, boys! Tie her to that fence!"
A couple of men got down off their horses and helped Luis and Jorge pull her
clothes off amid crude laughter and lewd taunts.
Chili stepped off the porch and slowly walked toward her as the cowboys twisted
her out of her raincoat. One of them ripped her blouse open. They pulled off her
boots followed by her skirt. Their muddy hands smeared her naked flesh which the
rain washed clean.
They dragged her nude, kicking and screaming, through the mud to the fence.
While a couple of them held her, two others fashioned some rope around her
wrists and ankles and bent her over the second rail. They spread her legs as far
as possible and secured the ropes to posts on either side.
At this point Chili moved up behind her, opened his slicker and unbuttoned his
fly.
She squeezed her eyelids shut and began screaming as he entered her. She could
feel the cool, oiled canvas of his slicker against her asscheeks. She could feel
his thick cock spreading her.
He jerked her head up by the hair when he was fully in and whispered harshly in
her ear:
"Si no cierra la trompa, condenada, te voy a dar una galleta!"
The rape was over in seconds. Warm cum washed down the inside of her thighs as
he pulled out.
But others took his place; she lost count. Some came back for seconds and
thirds. It seemed to go on forever. Her belly was on fire. Cum pooled in the mud
between her feet. Her breasts were bruised and swollen were brutal hands had
gripped them.
Finally they untied her.
A thin Mexican led Zeke out into the corral. Susan watched in numb horror as he
pulled out a pistol and shot the horse in the head.
Zeke instantly dropped to the ground and tilted to his side. The man holstered
his pistol and took out a hunting knife and began cutting open the horse's
belly.
It was only the beginning for Susan Holbarth.
