The Southern Sheriff Ch 01
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New Sheriff In Town free porn video
"New Sheriff In Town"
The Sheriff sips coffee from his tin cup as he stands by the cast iron
stove looking out the jailhouse window across the street at the saloon.
A commotion had caused him to rise from his desk. He checks the rounds
in his six shooter and gives the drum a spin before clicking it shut.
He adjusts his gunbelt and sees more riders arriving, tying up in front
of the saloon laughing and slapping and tipping their dusty hats back
as they tie up their horses then stretch as they look around to survey
the western town. Lance "Slag" Sledge checks his holster once again
then tips on his well worn Stetson. He downs the last of the dregs
from his coffee cup then sets it on the stove lid grimacing as he
swallows, the combination of the task at hand and the bite of the drink
has put the stern lip on his expression.
It's payday now for the drovers and saddle tramps that run the cattle
on the long drives. These men are young, tough and looking for
trouble. Last month it was the Wagon Trains, large crowds but mostly
managable. The townsfolk, the daily stage and and trains that pull in
could be mostly managed but this was different, and one deputy is out
sick while the other returns a lost horse to its owner. He notices the
crew are a bit more carefree than they should be, even on their time
off. That can mean only one thing, the range boss isn't here.
Probably double checking the cattle and scratching out the paperwork
for the owner and still at least one camp night away. Lance adjusts
his hat then steps out the door.
The spurs jangle with each purposeful step down the wooden walk, they
jangle again as he steps onto the street and heads for the saloon. A
swirl of dust rises and follows the hot wind. Then he sees one of the
young men headed for the saloon, one he's seen before on a wanted
poster! Jody Carlson, an innocent name but due to his nature it had
been changed years earlier to "Dregs" because that's what he was.
"'Dregs! Dregs Carlson!" Lance shouts as he pulls his gun. "You're
wanted for rustling you're under arrest."
Dregs friends quickly take note. Lance sees Dregs draw but can't
notice the rest of the crowd. Lance fires and drops Dregs against the
saloon wall, and even though Lance swings to finish off two others he
is taken down by another three of Dregs friends. The shots rang out,
horses shied and bucked at the rail and more hot dust erupted as
another sheriff dropped center street. The men roar with glee as one
yanks the badge away for a souvenier. As the hooligans head for the
saloon the town's folk slowly emerge, the town doctor in the lead. He
turns Lance over but all that can be done is to look to the people and
shake his head. Shots are heard being fired in revelry in the saloon,
the glasses clink, the piano starts and it's the end of yet another
day.
Two weeks later. A lone man idles into town on a horse. He scans the
sleepy western town then spies the sheriff's office with two suited men
waiting in front. Wade "Bullwhip" Bolton creaks out of his saddle then
ties up. He tips his hat and looks to the men on the wood walkway.
They notice the hard bitten look then see the long, faded scar that
runs from forehead to chin on the left side of his face. Bullwhip
looks at the jail office as he steps up, he nods to the town elders
that have been waiting. "I take it you're the ones that need the new
sheriff?" Wade pulls the bedroll and Winchester from his saddle then
knocks some of the dust from his vest, but that's as polite as he gets.
He enters the office. The two city elders follow.
Wade took the separate room at the back of the jail and set up shop.
The old stove was still there, as was the coffee pot, the coffee still
bitter. Wade grimaced at his first sip while perusing the latest
wanted posters on his cork board his first day. The sick deputy had
died of some sort of "Pox" and the other returning the lost horse must
have kept riding because he never returned. The deputy job in Badlands
Junction just wasn't worth the fifteen dollars a month the job paid.
Wade made more than Lance, the town elders made him swear to secrecy at
his one hundred dollar a month pay. But if he could straighten the
town out they felt it would be money well spent.
Badlands Junction had potential. Not too near and not too far away on
the map and in being near a river and with good farmland nearby and
with the new railroad and reliable stage line the town was growing
fast. There was even a new church and school house and a town square
at the end of main street and of course the barber and the undertaker
and the general store and upgraded saloon that added a steakhouse, new
piano and even a stage for dancing girls with a new hotel on the second
floor. And as the months passed things went along.
Wade was a strict but fair sheriff but woebetide the wrangler who got
on his wrong side and rustlers, gunslingers and neer-do-wells took
notice as well. That was until on a stormy night Wade caught up with
some bank robbers. He stopped the theft and saved the money but got
bushwhacked from the waiting crew at the livery stable. He ended up on
boot hill two graves over and one up from Sheriff Lance. It was a
short ceremony and the town elders shook their heads as the preacher
spread the crumbled dirt over yet another sheriff. It was time to find
another law man for the town. This time they didn't bother with the
Territorial Governor, this time they sent a wire to the Congress of the
United States pertaining to western management. They needed a tougher
guy. They were then directed and put in touch with the city elders in
Boston Massachuchetts. Three weeks later the head city elder of
Badlands Junction received notice a wire was waiting at the telegraph
office.
"Four hundred dollars! A month!?" Mayor Higgens yelped over his table
while he read. "He won't live in our jail and wants his own room over
at the saloon in the hotel upstairs which we will have to provide."
Higgens fell back in his chair as assistant Drebens picked up the
telegraph.
"He won't ride horses, doesn't know how, and he's never been a sheriff
before!" Drebens gasped.
"Well what the hell does he have for any experience?" Higgens spat.
"Says here he was manager of a--- some 'stage district' in Boston. He
oversaw their theatre shows."
"Theatre shows? Are they joking!? We don't need a song and dance man
out here. We need a new Sheriff! A no nonsense tough-as-nails
lawman!" Higgens added.
The telegram went on to say that Tim Benson was very capable at running
the Boston district and that he felt the opportunity to see the wild
west might be fun! Well, they couldn't figure out why this Mr. Benson,
a tenderfoot would be interested. This certainly wasn't a camping
trip. They also learned by chance that a Miss Madge Dubois, the lady
who ran the dancing girls at the new saloon knew of Tim and that they
were pen pals of sorts. They had been friends back East in Boston and
she assurred the town elders that Tim wouldn't have any trouble running
such a small town as Badlands Junction. Mayor Higgens grumbled as he
sent a return telegram to Boston and met the demands. Because in these
parts there weren't too many men willing to take on the vacant job of
Sheriff.
It was noon on a friday over two months later as the morning stage
rolled into town. The driver pulled in aside the front of the depot,
pulled the reigns, the horses clattered and the stage creaked and
bobbed then came to a stop in a dusty stir. Several of the city elders
stood in front of the sheriff's office waiting to see the new sheriff.
The stage door popped open and a large man, Tim Benson stepped out, and
due to the heels on the white, spat covered, side buttoned black patent
leather boots, down he went in a heap on the dusty street. Embarrassed
he quickly hauled himself up and gathered his large white Stetson ten-
gallon hat and put it back on his head. He then brushed himself off to
look presentable. From across the street he looked like the
"Rhinestone Cowboy!" And, were those "women's" boots he was wearing???
As the staring driver took the baggage out and let down Tim's several
custom travel bags including a huge steamer trunk Tim saw the
councilmen and waved then walked over to greet them. With the boots
and two inch heels he did more of a John Wayne mince. Tim doffed his
hat to reveal thick blonde hair that had a slight curl and his bright
smile had that cinema sparkle. He wore a fancy western-wear outfit
with all the right accoutrimants but from a city standpoint, nothing
that could go the distance out here on the range. And his hands were
clean and his nails had been trimmed and what appeared to be a clear
gloss had been added. And when the breeze switched was that the scent
of "Lilac" the city elders noted?
Madge came running over from the saloon to greet Tim. He simply took
the keys to the jail and said he was tired from all the traveling and
wanted to get settled. He assured he would be busy at work bright and
early the next morning. "You are a ---'mister' Tim Benson?" Mayor
Higgens said looking Tim up and down.
"Sure am." Tim smiled brightly. "By what name do you travel by? I
mean we've had other sheriffs who've had more forceful names like
'Shack' and 'Granger' 'Slag' and 'Bullwhip' you know." Tim nodded with
another smile. "Ah, a nickname. Well I guess you can call me
'Skippy,'" he finished as nothing out of the ordinary as all the city
elders jaws went slack.
Well, the driver and his sidekick lugged the trunks and cases and
carpetbags into the saloon following Madge and Tim inside. Mayor
Higgens stood looking aghast at the sight of the new sheriff "Skippy."
"Oh those drovers and rustlers and bushwackers are gonna make short
work of our new sheriff." The other three suited city elders quietly
agreed in disbelief knowing full well along with the Mayor that the
town of Badlands Junction would soon be a laughing stock and easy
pickin's to every cutthroat in the territory!
As the baggage was loaded upstairs Tim stood at the long bar with a
high heeled booted foot on the bar rail, his large white hat tipped
back. "So, you're the new Sheriff, welcome aboard. Have a drink on
the house." The piecable bartender nodded. "Fine, fine," Tim said
with a smile as he looked around then said, "I'll have a raspberry,
peach blow fizz." The barkeep was floored. "Hey ungh, just what you
see huh? We don't have none of those umbrella-drinks. We have three
different kinds of whiskey, some bourbon, and some home made bust-head,
and we got beer lots of beer, long as the lake ice from the river now
in the cooler downstairs keeps it cold." Tim ordered a large mug of
cold beer. The buzz from the crowd was already starting but since he
was new they gave him a temporary pass. He glanced to see the
steakhouse in the back and decided on a large sirloin, baked potato and
salad and maybe a slice of pie to round the dinner off. He thanked the
bartender for the beer as he mosied to his dinner. Two hours later he
was up in his room, bathed and shaved and enjoying his evening with
Madge. They had two large adjoining rooms, pricy but with the deal it
came with Tim's new job.
Tim held the corner post of Madge's four poster bed. He was fully made
up now, his lipsticked lips grimaced and his long eyelashes fluttered
as he teetered on his women's high heeled boots as the silk corset
laces whistled through the steel eyelets at the back of the corset.
Tim was shaved totally smooth now, the beige seamed silk stockings were
pulled smooth and gartered taut to the multi strap garter belt. "The
corset's too ti--tight!" Tim gasped as he teetered and his head spun but
soon Madge had him cinched tight. The bed was filled with all manner
of Victorian era clothes, expensive silks and satins and piles of lace
edged petticoats and bustiers and camisoles and silk blouses with satin
gowns and bustles and all the rest. It would be an interesting evening
with plenty of room in the large double suite upstairs to test drive
all that chiffon and swishing frou-frou finery!
Early afternoon the Mayor came to the office for a visit. The place
was different. Tim had put fancy sashed drapes on the windows and had
added rugs to the floor and a doily on the headrest of the corner
leather chair. And the place was clean. He turned from the wanted
board and Mayor Higgins took note of the two gun holster Tim now wore.
Both guns were pearl handled and silver polished. Not many men wore
two guns, especially showy ones like that. And Tim brewed tea instead
of coffee. He found a way to have cream delivered in the morning and
had plenty of sugar on hand too. "You put milk in your coffee, sugar
too," the mayor gasped. "Tea" Tim returned with an air of class.
Funny though, the day went in well ordered fashion.
But with the Sheriff mincing in what appeared to be women's shoes,
spotless white ten-gallon hat and uniform that had never seen dust nor
never scratched a sagebrush and his cavalier, easy attitude Tim was
drawing notice. More than once the bartender had to quietly point to
Tim's eyeline or corner of a lip noting what must have been him wearing
women's makeup earlier, the same the dance hall girls wore. And with
him living upstairs now, Madge and the girls all loved him. Feeling
totally secure in Tim's skillset. Others weren't so sure.
"You're a card cheat mister!" Tim said one night in the crowded bar.
Tim had seen it from the bar, marked cards. He was well acquainted
with card sharps from the riverboat crowd, the ones with the razor's in
their boots or the Derringer's in their vest pockets, but this was the
west. The man had a six gun and wasn't to be bothered by the likes of
Tim. The man dropped his cards as as others slid away from the table
the man rose and drew. Tim grabbed his right revolver and fanned three
rounds center chest in the size of a dime! Then three of his friends
at the bar drew. Tim swung and fanned three more rounds and the guys
at the bar had had their last drinks. The dance girls quit and the
crowd gasped and murmered as Tim holstered the empty gun and drew his
left fresh pistol and waved it. "You others pick up your money, divide
what he took--game's over." Tim slammed his left gun back in the
holster and that was that. There was a new Sheriff in town!
Walking through town on the wooden sidewalks townsfolk had heard the
start of the legend and began to nod and to stop and talk and shake
Tim's hand but it seemed strange how Tim always had the answers to the
look in women's' fashions. There were some local problems but nothing
he couldn't deal through making all happy. Another problem at the
stable didn't go as well but had the same outcome. Tim got into a
dustup with four sattle tramps and quickly straghtened them out bare
handed. He was tall and large afterall, too big to be a dancer or work
on stage but he had done so in the beginning. But being too large Tim
kept his hand in by working the Boston area by taking charge of trouble
and making things work out in the theatre district. Things were
working out here too. The average folk always considered male dancers
weak and effeminate and not the body builder type. But how many body
builders can lift a 120 pound woman and twirl her above his head?
A few weeks later Tim ended his day a bit early. He had worked with
the bartender and had finally showed him how to make that "fizzy" drink
he liked. He was half way through his raspberry peach blow fizz when
from down the street Mayor Higgens heard the horses and saw the dust as
the rowdy crew thundered into town and pulled up in front of the
saloon. "Oh shit. It's the Felton clan."
The Felton ranch was owned and run by a tough-as-nails iron jawed
widower named Heurd Felton. The ranch was south of town about six
miles and the men were the range crew for the large ranch located
there. Aside from the house help and cook about eighteen others worked
out there, a dozen hired men and six brothers, one of which Leon was
the most trouble.
In his late twenties Leon hadn't had much schooling and since he had no
real memory of his mother and knowing only the hard work of the range
and the rule of law laid down by his fathers strop he towed the line,
except for when he and his brothers came to town. They'd already heard
of the "spiffy" new sheriff. As Tim played with the paper umbrealla
then sipped his drink the large double swinging doors opened and Leon
and crew blew in loud and boisterous. All the dancing girls took note
and quietly from all points of the bar they returned their rooms. The
bartender kept bar and Madge being the "Miss Kitty" sort of the place,
took notice.
"Whiskey!" Leon ordered as he tossed a silver dollar on the bar.
"Plenty of glasses - leave the bottle. And if you know what's good for
you you better keep it coming, and some cold beer." Soon the whiskey
was pouring and the men were dowing shots, two each just to kill the
dust and soak up some of the blinding heat from the ride in. They
wiped their lips on their sleeves then looked around the quiet bar.
Leon noticed Tim right off and let out a snicker.
"Heard we had a new sheriff, ain't that right boys!" he said after a
large gulp of cold beer and wiping his mouth on his sleeve. The others
nodded. "Heard you were giving the town a bad name."
"Is that right?" Tim returned.
"Yeah. And we don't need some duded up sheriff sashaying around
stinkin' up the place. And what kind of boots are them? Them women's
boots? They look like women's boots. Must be some kind of sissy fag
to wear women's boots. Big white hat and shiny guns look like you came
out of one of those old western city papers! And what's that smell,
some sort of pre-fume?" Leon guffawed as he reeled as his crew jeered
and laughed. But finally they grabbed the bottle and the beers and
headed for the pool table in the corner. "You just keep those drinks
comin barkeep, understand!?" Leon ordered as he tossed another silver
dollar on the bar then led the way to the pool table. The other men
followed, all tough looking in their own write but Leon was the boss
and his look was a lot tougher, more like a Buford Mad-Dog Tannen and
just about as smart. Tim nodded as the men passed, he ordered another
one of those raspberry peach blow fizzes, with the umbrella. The
bartender shook his head wondering just how many folks would die
tonight and how many new mirrors, tables and chairs he would have to
order once the night was over. And he was worried how Tim seemed quiet
as the men passed by looking him up and down with their smirks, not a
good omen, and a definate telltale sign of cowardice!
"I made that shot so you owe me two-bits!" Leon ordered as he waved his
pool cue. The man tossed the quarter on the green felt to be just as
quickly scooped up by Leon. After several more rounds it got louder
still. Soon they were rolling dice on the table and betting and
drinking and shoving and asking for dancing girls. A fistfight broke
out but since Tim was there the bartender was counting on him. Even
so, he cocked the double barrel shotgun he had under the bar just in
case.
Tim entered the pool table area. "Time to ride out fellas, we don't
tolerate that language or fistecuffs around here anymore."
The guffaws and laughter started as Leon moved in. "Well, we's just
getting' started sheriff. So why don't you mozy your pussy ass on out
of here." The belly laughs reigned, they laughed even harder when Leon
spit a wad of tobacco on the chest of Tim's clean beige suede vest!
"Do you know how hard it is to get stains out of suede?" Tim gasped.
"Sood, suee, suede?" Leon weaved and laughed pointing to the stain.
Tim rose with a stiff backhand knocking the wind out of Leon and him
back on his heels. The others faded to the side. Leon was the boss
and this was his fight. They started taking bets while Leon shook his
head and got his bearings. The bartender spied his shotgun, the piano
player tinkling the ivories took a break and the few tables with the
quiet card games broke up, the men gathered their change and finished
their drinks to leave. But Leon was just getting started!
A stiff punch just below the sternum doubled Leon and forceful uppercut
stunned him to his feet. Tim then spun Leon then shoved him over the
pool table as his crew looked on. Tim grabbed the back of Leons belt
and yanked then yanked again at his belt pulling his pants down as he
laid over the table. "You boys are gonna learn your manners when you
come to town, understand?" Tim cautioned as the others looked on. And
then Tim reached for his pants and turned towards Leon. A loud
zipping sound was heard as all the men crowed together looked on
aghast!
And then the "Splork" was heard! The men all looking on recoiled open
mouthed screaming and grimacing now, and as the "pat-pat-pat" sound
began to echo they all leaned further back and grimaced and shook their
heads in disbelief then slammed their eyes shut clutching and grabbing
at each other at such horror and screamed and writhed staying far way
until the deed was done!
All the men spilled out of the saloon and onto the street and scrambled
for their horses still yelling their woes and worries, minds on fire
still reeling at such a vision! Tim holding a now half consious Leon
by the collar shoved him to the dirt as the others rode off out of town
as quick as they could not looking back. A cloud of dust followed the
whoops and hoofbeats.
The next morning Heurd Felton's spurs jangled down the walkway. He
spied the Sheriff's Office and went inside. He noticed the drapes and
doilies and Tim at his desk. "I'm here for my boy Leon's horse." He
said stiffly.
"It's at the livery stable." Tim said looking up from his papers.
"Want a cup of tea?"
"Tea!?" Heurd blanched as he looked uneasily around the office. "No
thanks."
"There's some damages to be paid. Two chairs, one hall mirror and a
pool cue and the cleaning bill for my vest. You'll settle up for the
feed and board for the horse at the stable." Tim added.
"Just what and the hell did you do to my boy!?" Herud spat as he peeled
the money off for the bill.
"Your boy lost a fight and learned some manners." Tim added.
"What kind of manners? Scared my crew so bad I doubt they'll be able
to work for a week! And Leon? Leon couldn't ride home last night, had
to take the evening stage! He won't even come out of his room." Heurd
grumbled as Tim took the money. "Stable is at the end of the block.
You settle up there. And so just remember, this is a law and order
town now. Understand?"
Heurd grumbled as he took his dusty walk to the end of the street. He
rode away trailing Leon's horse leaving the town of Badlands Junction
in a cloud of dust in the bright morning light knowing now that there
really was a new Sheriff in town.
Jo
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