Seduction of Laura BransonChapter 2
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The Branson KidChapter 1 free porn video
Author's note:
This story is written in dialect, but it is not the kind of thing that one usually sees. I have been doing some more research on the subject, and this is the result of that research. At the time of this story, people did not use contractions. For example, no one said "I'm," instead, they said "I am." Likewise "can't" was never used, instead they said "cannot." "Won't" was "will not." All in all, the language would have sounded very stilted to us in the 21st Century, but our language will probably be just as weird to people of 150 years from now.
I got my start as a gunslinger sort of in a sidewise manner. I was born in Missouri, not too far from Branson. It was kind of out in the sticks where Pa had his farm, but we were close enough ta town that Ma insisted that I go ta school. Now, I do not claim ta be a brain or nothin', but I did spend four years in Purgatory, otherwise known as school, learnin' ta read an' write. I ain't sure how much real good it did me, but the learnin' seemed ta stick enough ta git me by.
Oh, my name is Jack Witherspoon, but most people know me as The Branson Kid. Right now, I stand about 6'-1" tall in my stockin' feet, and I weigh right on 197 pounds, very little of it fat. Some women have called me handsome, but I think of myself as right ordinary, what with my dark brown hair and light green eyes.
I started life in 1846, right at the end of the war with Mexico, so I had occasion ta grow up with war stories aboundin' around my ears. My first 13 years were spent on my Pa's farm, workin' as hard as a boy my age could manage, soz I put on muscle 'bout as fast as anyone could expect. My only time away from the farm was when I was at school, and that was usually 'bout four hours a day, five days a week.
At first, Ma had run me ta school an' picked me up in the farm wagon pulled by the family mule. Pa used ta cuss sometimes 'cause Ma was using her ta take me ta school or ta come git me, soz he couldn't work the mule on the farm. He didn't cuss too loud, 'cause Ma would give him one of her stern looks what would melt lead ifen she heard him. She carried a flintlock coach gun fer protection durin' these trips. Ya never knew what sort of varmint ya might meet, four-legged or two-legged, travelin' through them woods, soz Ma kept that gun right handy.
I was with her one day when she plugged a cougar. It was not all that big, as cougars go, but it was plenty big enough ta scare me. I was right proud of Ma the way she took care of that beast. I knew that I could depend on her ta do the right thin' an' ta keep her head in an emergency. Anyway, I was late ta school that day, 'cause it took us a little while ta git that cat loaded inta the wagon. Ma sure as hell wasn't gonna waste that skin! Ma explained ta the teacher why we were late that mornin', soz I did not git a whippin', which I would of fer bein' late.
I had been havin' a little trouble with bullies, the Jordan brothers, up until that time, but they backed off when they saw what Ma did ta troublemakers. I think they were afraid that I would tell Ma that they had been pesterin' me.
Anyway, once I got old enough, 9 I think it was, Ma quit takin' me ta school. Instead, I rode old Blacky, our one-eyed hoss, ta school. Fer protection, Pa gave me a double barrel pistol ta carry. Shit, that damned pistol was heavy, but not as heavy at that shotgun what Ma favored. It was a muzzle-loading flintlock, too, but I was right proud of it, since it could kill most anythin' I was likely ta shoot at. The schoolteacher made me leave it at the door. I think that he was afraid I might think ill of him an' fergit myself.
Well, it was 1859 and the secession and slavery questions was rattlin' around and about the countryside. My Pa did not pay much mind ta that kind of talk. He always said, "Hell, I am too busy tryin' ta put food on the table ta worry 'bout politics an' what some folks is doin' ta niggers."
I found out later that talk like that was all well an' good in 1857 or 1858, but it was right dangerous in 1859. About that time, some folks figured that my pa was soft on state's rights an' the slavery issue, soz they planned a little party ta "reason" with him.
I did not know anythin' 'bout this 'til I was ridin' home from school one day an' heard Ma's coach gun let fly. I was not sure, but it sounded loud enough ta be both barrels goin' off at the same time. Shit! Ma normally was not one ta waste powder that way, soz it had ta be somethin' serious. Old Blacky was already movin' as fast as he could go, soz I jumped down and ran fer home.
I got there just in time ta see five men ride off like the Devil was chasin' 'em. Pa was lyin' in the front yard in Ma's flower bed, soz I knew that there was real trouble. Nobody put a foot in Ma's flower bed, except her! When I got close enough, I saw a big splotch of blood on Pa's back, an' I could see that he was as dead as it was possible ta git.
Ma was lyin' half in an' half out of the front door. She was holdin' her coach gun, an' I could see two splotches of blood on her chest. There was also a big dark spot in the yard near where Pa was lyin', soz I figured Ma had put some buckshot inta one or more of them men what was ridin' off before they killed her.
I tell ya, I don't know what came over me. I guess I was supposed ta collapse in tears at what had happened ta Ma and Pa, but it did not happen that way. Instead, I just got mad! I ran inta the house and pulled Pa's Colt Navy revolver an' holster off the peg where it hung. I grabbed the pouch of paper cartridges fer it an' ran ta the barn.
Our ridin' hoss, Sam, was in his place in the barn, an' I threw the tack on him so fast that ya would not have believed it unless ya saw it. I adjusted the stirrups ta fit me an' took off after them bushwhackers what had shot my folks. They was obviously headed toward Doc Jacobs' place, soz I knew Ma had hit at least one of 'em. That's where I headed as fast as Sam could run.
I got ta Doc Jacobs' place and saw five hosses tied ta the hitchin' rail. I did not bother ta tie Sam, he was too tired ta go far, anyhow. My pistol was in my hand when I burst inta Doc Jacobs' surgery. He was diggin' buckshot out of Howard Hunt, and Amos Thackery was lyin' on a bed at the side of the room. Doc must of been through with him, 'cause I could see the bandages on his chest.
The men were so absorbed by what Doc Jacobs was doin' that they didn't even know that I was there. At that moment, Doc straightened up an' said, "Boys, ya just got here too late. Old Howard has died. That last buckshot was too close ta his lungs fer him ta survive, anyway, soz I guess it don't make any real difference."
When I heard that, I shouted, "IT SURE AS HELL MAKES A DIFFERENCE TA ME! THOSE FIVE MEN MURDERED MY MA AND PA, AN' I AM HERE FOR VENGENCE!" As calmly as ya please, I proceeded ta put a bullet inta each of the three men standin' around Doc Jacobs. That left one ball still in my gun.
None of the three men were dead. The .36 caliber Colt Navy does not pack enough of a punch ta kill right off, but they was gonna die 'cause every ball went inta their guts. They was writhin' on the floor, no danger ta me, soz I turned ta the doctor. "Doc, I knows ya was just doin' yer job of tryin' ta fix up a gunshot wound, soz I ain't gonna shoot ya ifen ya don't push me. Now, I am gonna reload my pistol, but I warn ya that I still have my bowie knife, an' I ain't afraid ta use it."
I put six bullets inta my Colt an' holstered it. Normally, I would have only loaded it with five shots, but I figured that I had ta be extra careful fer now. I drew my bowie knife and went over ta where Amos Thackery was lyin'. "Doc, I hate ta mess up yer good work, but I just gotta do this ta the murderin' bastard!" With that statement, I stabbed Amos in the left side of his gut an' sawed my way across ta the right side, tryin' ta make the biggest mess that I could. I did not want Doc Jacobs ta be able ta fix him up.
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