Working the Lode (15 page)

Now Valenzuela flagellated his upturned bare ass with the palm of his hand. Cormack felt the globes jiggling with each punishing swat, which in turn caused him to rock his hips and his rigid penis against the bandit’s. “You think I would imagine such a low, vulgar thing?” Valenzuela hissed. He smacked his hot hand against Cormack’s tailbone, his fingertips straying down to tickle his bursting balls. With his free hand, he pressed Cormack’s chest down to keep him still. “You are the one so lewd you savor my tormenting attentions.” Leaning down so that only Cormack would hear, he whispered, “If I allow you to ejaculate, then you will tell me where the gold is…”

“Oh, God, yes,” Cormack lied. “Pleasure me, frig me, let me come against your cock…”

“Ah,” Valenzuela moaned steamily, and Cormack could swear that he drooled on his neck.

His slaps slipped lower, traveling over his testicles to the thickened root of his prick. Cormack imagined the limping fellow’s pants tented out obscenely at the sight of his meaty tool as Valenzuela released its confinement against his lap. He spanked the bobbing prick relentlessly, pausing briefly to smear the drops of semen at the tip around the burgeoning head, his fingers lithe and nimble, vastly experienced in frigging himself, no doubt. Well, then, men would be more proficient at—

Ho, boy, he now proceeded to frig him in earnest. Cormack gulped boiling hot air as the skillful fingers stroked the entire length of his penis with such gusto he nearly came immediately. He frigged him enthusiastically, alternating with smarting slaps, as though this were his ticket to an instant gold mine and he would die without the feel of hot semen coursing over his fingers.

“Do I humiliate you?” Valenzuela huffed into his ear. “Is that all you want, to have a man paddle your penis until you explode in ecstasy into his hand? There is nothing more humiliating than—”

Cormack could hardly reply, even in jest, as Valenzuela now uttered a strangled cry and leaped to his feet, dumping him onto the sand. Cormack was flat on his back, seeing transparent stars against the insides of his eyelids.

“¡Tu maldito desgraciado!”
Valenzuela spat at him in a rage. “You best keep your eyes skinned and look behind you. I am getting your gold and leaving your brains behind in its place.” Tearing Cormack’s bag of gold dust from his belt, he turned and dashed off up the rise, trailed by his men, who swarmed like cockroaches. The last thing Cormack could hear was Three-Fingered Jack shouting, “
Jefe!
Why are we leaving them there?” and the limping fellow yelling, “Now they know who you are—we cannot show our faces around here.”

What?
He
was the evil bastard? Who had just delighted in groping and squeezing his prick? What sort of lesson was that teaching Cormack? How in Sam Hill would that get him to tell Valenzuela where the gold was? No, the only thing that accomplished was to sate Valenzuela’s perverted thirst for a man’s cock, that much was evident. That was not torture that he’d performed on him—that was out-and-out lovemaking, albeit of a debauched nature.

And now here they were. Hands still bound behind their backs. Cormack could not face Zelnora—she may not believe it had all been an act on his part. He would be shamed into slinking away back into the barren mountains, alone, if she thought he lusted for the rough admiration of another man.

He heard her scuffle over to him and drop to her knees. “Cormack. If you sit up, my fingers are free. I can probably undo your knot.”

He was glad she did not mention what had just transpired. Raising his torso to an upright position, he said hoarsely, “I doubt it. From what I’ve seen, these knots are the best a sailor can make.”

“Let me try.” While she fiddled with the knot, their backs to each other, Zelnora said, “Are you going to kill Valenzuela?”

Kill him? Well, Cormack surmised he should at least make a pretense of that. Say he was looking for the bandit every once in awhile. After today, anyway, Valenzuela would not be fool enough to reveal his face anywhere on the American River, leastways not at any social gatherings. “Why, of course I will, Zel. I can’t let him manhandle you like that and get away.”

“Oh,” Zelnora said dismissively. “I never felt a big threat. After all that talk up and down the river about what a bloodthirsty murderer he is, I just felt he was playing. Like a sort of stunted boy arrested in his youth who never got a chance to play, and now has carte blanche. I never really thought he’d shoot us. In fact, we most certainly want to find him again, only not to rub him out.”

“Not rub him out?”

“No. To get mining information about Sonoran Camp.”

Chapter Fifteen

Cormack would barely speak to Zelnora for the next couple of weeks.

She knew he felt disgraced that he’d been paddled by a well-known bandit, and had even become excited by the attention. How could one fake an erection? While Zelnora was not too educated on the anatomy of men, she was fairly certain that in frightening or repulsive situations, men’s penises shriveled and shrank to the size of snails. If not aroused, they did not elongate and thicken and spurt shiny droplets of semen from the tip. If this was true, there was nothing to be ashamed of.

She had to admit, if only to herself, that it had been extremely scintillating to see the bandit working Cormack’s penis. It was evident from the way Valenzuela had dumped her on the ground to grab Cormack that the debauchee favored men over women. That was fine. What woman would feel threatened when another man stroked and playfully swatted her man’s colossal erection? There was nothing to be jealous of when there was no competition between her and another man—in this case, Valenzuela. How could one compare her to Valenzuela? One could not. It would not matter if Valenzuela’s hair was silkier than hers, for example. Another woman, now, that was a different matter altogether. Zelnora would have blown the head off any other woman who dared put a fingertip on Cormack’s arm. But another man slapping his balls until they jiggled about in their fullness, a few drips of discharge shining from the tip of his bulbous raw penis…Who could feel envious or competitive about that? There was no comparing a man and a woman.

Rather than jealousy, the memory of Valenzuela jerking Cormack’s penis and swatting his fleshy rump stoked the passion in Zelnora. She wanted to view such a sight again…and again. Was it Cormack’s submission that excited her so? No, because the fancy of the tables being turned and Cormack the one who pumped Valenzuela’s cock so assiduously, or even, dare she think it, pinning the desperado to the ground and guzzling his member into his mouth…Well, Zelnora had to find a way to make this happen again.

And if it assisted Cormack to regain his former sunny savoir faire, and to call her a mountain flower once more, all the better.

So the three—Cormack, Zelnora, and Quartus—mined their claim, Zelnora taking over Erskine’s duties of shaking the rocker while Cormack and Quartus sloshed buckets of fine earth and gravel. It came time for Mercy to leave for the Colorado River. Fellow pioneers and Battalion men had already been at work in the Sierra constructing a wagon road, seeking the pass where General Frémont and Kit Carson had blazed a trail in 1844, and now it was time for Mercy’s party to join them.

Cormack armed himself so heavily he resembled a porcupine, and they all rode to Sutter’s Fort to see Mercy off on her journey and to exchange their recent gold acquisitions. Sutter paid off all the men departing for the Colorado River, there to hand their fortunes over to Origin Pickett. To Zelnora, it was the same story all over again, and one just as heinous as giving one’s estate to Ward Brannagh.

As the fort hove into view, Zelnora felt compelled to question Mercy again. They rode in the cart, as Cormack knew Zelnora wished to have a few last minutes with her best—only—woman friend.

“Oh, Zel,” Mercy sighed, clasping Zelnora’s arm to her bosom, “I don’t know whatever I’ll do without you.”

Zelnora sighed, too. “I feel the same. Mercy…are you sure you’re doing the right thing? What about Mr. Erskine? You know he took the job with Captain Sutter to be closer to you.” Zelnora had only mentioned this about ten times, but it was worth bringing up again.

This time, Mercy’s answer was a little different. She hugged Zelnora’s arm tight to her bosom and laid her head on her shoulder. “I do feel a sense of doom about this journey.” She had previously protested that it was her plan, and she should follow through with plans. “I had a horrible nightmare last night that Aaron was escorting me across the Sierra, but I became lost from him and wound up in the most frightening lightning storm.”

“Perhaps that is warning you!” Zelnora said desperately.

But Mercy only sighed again, defeated. “I do adore Aaron. But Zel, I must follow my parents’ plan. Perhaps you would understand if your parents—oh, I’m so sorry! Forgive me, I wasn’t thinking—”

Zelnora patted her friend’s hand. “It’s all right. You forgot what my parents did.” For her parents had disavowed her when her former husband Barton Sparks had vanished, assuming, maybe rightfully, that the fault lay with her.

“Your parents are not very kind,” Quartus intoned soberly.

Mercy continued, “Oh, I would never imply that your parents—well, I suppose I
would
imply something about them, after what they did to you. Oh, my, what is that? Cormack!”

Quartus squealed and raised his feet off the floorboards of the cart when they heard a rustling in the bushes.

Cormack casually shouted over his shoulder, “Deer.”

Quartus trilled with relief, “Oh! Just a deer!”

Mercy fanned her face with her hand. “Oh. My. I’m just so jumpy after what happened to poor Mr. Sackwell out of Dry Town.”

“Why? What happened?”

Quartus joined in. “You didn’t hear? It was those same bandits again, the desperate band of Joaquin Valenzuela, highwayman extraordinaire! This time, they were so bold as to attack him and his wife in their own home.”

“Yes,” Mercy agreed with wide eyes. “Valenzuela assaulted the poor wife while the rest looked on, and then, of course, they took all their money.”

“Beat Sackwell senseless,” Quartus asserted.

“Money?” Zelnora frowned. “How much money can a seamstress have?” For everyone knew Mr. Sackwell was an inveterate rummy who sponged a living off of his wife. “Are you certain it was Valenzuela’s band? I’ve noticed he gets accused of everything under the sun, when he can hardly have been in two places at once.”

Replacing her head on Zelnora’s shoulder, Mercy smiled. “I’ve noticed that, too. I’ve heard there are at least four other bandits named Joaquin rampaging about California, but everyone seems to think Valenzuela is always responsible.”

“It’s because he’s the handsomest.” Quartus nodded with authority.

Zelnora sat up straight. “What? How do you know what he looks like?”

Quartus’ face was a blank. “Why, I saw him on the Fourth of July at the fort. We had a very nice discussion. After he danced with you, he walked right up to me and complimented my drumming.”

Mercy’s mouth was an O. “You danced with him?”

Quartus continued, “We discussed drumming, and…things…”

Zelnora slapped Quartus on the hand. “‘Things’? What sort of ‘things’?” As an aside, she told Mercy, “I didn’t know who he was. He introduced himself as Señor Carillo.”

Quartus looked perplexed. “Why…We discussed gold. He said he was looking for a nice strike. He was planning on heading down to Sonoran Camp—say, isn’t that the place you and Cormack have talked about going?”

“Yes, yes, did he introduce himself as Joaquin Valenzuela? He just walked right up and said, ‘Nice meeting you, I’m Joaquin Valenzuela’?”

“Why, yes, why not? I suppose he wasn’t ashamed of it.” Quartus’ eyes gleamed with idealism. “Why would he be ashamed? After all, he’s the most widely renowned bandit in California. It’s so dashing and romantic.”

“Romantic?” Mercy said, shocked. “What’s so romantic about shooting innocent people and stealing their hard-earned money?”

“It’s just so dashing,” Quartus repeated, looking glassy-eyed up at the oaks that formed a canopy over their heads.