Sureshot! A Bon Bon Tale, Chapter 1
Sureshot! A Bon Bon Tale by "JohnnyPsycho" based upon Pleasure Bon Bon by Vanessa Santato This story was written in homage to the amazing work of Italian artist Vanessa Santato and her webcomic "Pleasure Bon Bon". Most of the story takes place in the legendary city of Bon Bon, and quite a few of the characters in this story are based upon the original artist's work. As a fan, I hope to stay true to Miss Santato's characters, while placing them in a sort of "side story" that takes place roughly around the same time as the current Bon Bon story depicted in "Pleasure BonBon". "Bon Bon", "Daisy Nugget", "Dalila Champagne", and various denizens of BonBon that appear in this story are © Vanessa Santato "Johnny Six-Killer" and the majority of the secondary characters are creations of the author, JohnnyPsycho. *Edit, 5/18/08: Fixed some spelling mistakes that somehow got past me the first time*
Chapter 1
- * * The Sixkiller Ranch, Kansas, 1885. It was early spring, and a heavy rain had been falling on the small horse ranch for about two days. The horses were tucked away in the barn, the cold rain making it uncomfortable for them to wander into the paddocks. Joseph Sixkiller and his hand Cletus did their best to make the creatures comfortable, giving them as much dry straw and blankets to keep them warm. Joseph started to walk back to the house, leaving Cletus to finish and lock up the barn. The rain was making Joseph's old bullet wound ache in his back, and it was during these days that he was grateful for the large anthro-bull's help. Cletus was a former run-away slave who had hidden among Joseph's people in Cherokee-occupied lands of the Indian Territories, given his freedom officially at the end of the war. Ever grateful for his friend Joseph's help, Cletus had gladly moved to Kansas with him and his growing family after the war, and he and Joseph built this ranch with their own hands. That had been nearly thirteen years ago. His slow, aching walk was starting to show the long years of hardship that Joseph had endured to ensure that a horse ranch run by an Indian and a former slave would stay successful. Still, for many years Joseph wondered if perhaps the hardship his family had suffered for this ranch had really been worth it. As the old coyote opened the front door, he smiled at the sound of his wife singing softly to herself, and the smell of fry-bread wafting from the kitchen. His keen ears swiveled forward, and he listened to his beloved wife's singing, her voice just as lovely and light as it was when he met her in the Potawatomi lands so many years ago. After a moment of listening, he recognized the song she was singing, and almost immediately his smile fell and his heart sank. With a heavy sigh, he hung his coat and hat up and pulled off his wet boots. He sat for a long time upon the bottom of the stairs leading to the second story loft, simply listening to his wife sing the same lullaby she had sung to their children when they were young. He sat, and listened with a sad heart, the room growing darker with the setting of the sun outside. He was so lost in his thoughts of the past that he did not notice when his wife stopped singing, or hear her walk into the hallway and look at him. She knew what was on his mind, because it was the same thing that had been on her own mind all day. He looked so worn and old as he sat there, and she did not like to see her beloved husband look so old before his years. "N'wiidagemaagan," she called to her husband softly in her native tongue, a smile on her worn face. "Why do you sit there on the stairs like that? Shtaa ta haa, look at the water your left on the floor! You should stop daydreaming so much, and learn to wipe your feet!" Joseph frowned initially at his wife, but couldn't help but smile when he looked at her face. It was obvious that she had been crying not a moment before he had come in, but she was wearing such a warm face for him now. Even now, she still felt the heartache of their lost young ones, but she kept her sorrow well hidden under her strong face. "I'm sorry, a-ni, I can clean it up," Joseph smiled, calling his wife by the nickname he had given her the first day they had met on her tribe's land so many years ago. A-ni was the Cherokee word for the strawberries he watched her picking on that fateful day, when her beauty had entranced him as a youth. He pulled himself up from his seat, groaning as he straightened his back. His war wound was still giving him trouble, but he tried his best not to show it in front of his wife. She just waved her hand dismissively at him, saying, "Kaa, don't be silly, just come inside. Supper's ready." It was at that moment that they both heard the heavy footstep of Cletus as he ran up the porch stairs. Swinging the door open, Joseph already knew that something was wrong. "Joe, I think we got some visitors," the bull spoke quickly, a rifle already in his hand. Joseph nodded, then gave his wife a knowing glance. She quickly turned and headed to the kitchen to grab the shotgun. Joseph quickly put his boots back on, threw on his still wet coat and hat, and grabbed the rifle that hung next to the door. His wife ran back into the hallway, and placed a hand on Joseph's shoulder, telling him, "Be careful," before he ran outside with Cletus. In years past, the Sixkiller Ranch had several bad experiences with horse thieves, most of whom seemed to think that their little ranch was easy pickings. These same horse thieves were often surprised by how well trained Joseph was with his rifle, his experience fighting alongside the Union army in the war giving him both courage and incomparable marksmanship. Cletus pointed to the ridge in the north, and Joseph could just make out what looked like a single figure on the back of a horse, making his way slowly down toward the ranch. A moment later, a pair of horses followed, pulling a wagon. Joseph motioned to the barn, and Cletus made his way to a hiding place behind it, where he would lay in wait until Joseph gave him a signal. Joseph walked forward slowly, his fingers clutching the rifle tightly, the metal cold and wet in the rain. Peering forward, he was more cautious of the lone rider than the wagon behind him. As the strangers got closer, he stood poised in the rain, holding his rifle steady against his chest. "Hello!" he called out when he was sure that the stranger was within earshot. The rain was heavy, there was the rumbling of thunder in the distance, and the rider did not seem to notice. Not wanting this stranger to get any closer, Joseph fired a warning shot into the air. The horses in the barn whinnied, Cletus tightened his clutch on his own rifle, and the strange rider's horse stopped in its tracks, startled and turning around in all directions at the sound of the rifle. The rider quickly reigned-in his horse and looked up at the coyote staring at him with the rifle smoking in his hands. "I think that's far enough, stranger!" Joseph called out. It was a tricky move, firing his weapon like that, not knowing if the man on the horse or anyone on the wagon were going to pull a weapon on him in response. Still, he needed to make his presence be known, and he watched the rider's movements carefully, seeing if he would reach for a gun. Instead, the rider urged his horse forward, slowly riding up to Joseph and the ranch. "I said I think you need to turn back, mister! We don't have anything for you here" Joseph called out again. He wasn't about to take a chance on this stranger, and this time he aimed his rifle right at him. Still, the rider came forward. "You best identify yourself, mister! I won't miss from this range!" Joseph warned, pulling the lever-action of his rifle, expending the spent cartridge onto the muddy gravel at his feet. His heart began to pound in his ears, and the heavy rain thrummed loudly against the brim of his hat. He almost did not catch the stranger's reply. "...N-Nos..." the stranger seemed to call out in a raspy voice so low, the old coyote could barely understand what he was saying. Suddenly, Joseph's eyes widened as he realized what the stranger was saying. "...Nos... N'gashi..." Joseph immediately dropped his rifle, then turned around to the barn behind him, calling to Cletus, "Hold! Don't shoot, Cletus!" He turned back to the rider, his horse now only a few feet away from him. The horse halted, and the rider quickly jumped off, his booted feet splashing up muddy water, and Joseph finally got close enough to see the stranger's face clearly. The two of them looked at each other for a moment, both of them unable to speak. "S-son?" Joseph finally managed to stammer. The stranger, whose face looked just like the older coyote when he was a young man, smiled under his black hat. "Nos," he answered, then cried out happily, "Papa!" The two coyotes quickly embraced in the rain, as five years of heartache finally came to an end. As they hugged, the thunder began to grow louder in the sky... * * * Delight Castle, the European city of Bon Bon, 1895. The rain poured and the thunder rolled outside, yet inside the grand casino of the Delight Castle, the commotion of the gamblers and of the live music on the theater stage drowned out the bad weather outside. Still, Johnny sat at the bar, a sullen look on his face as he slowly nursed his glass of bourbon. Dalila, the perky canine bartender of Delight Castle, watched the quiet coyote as she cleaned some glassware. He had recently been coming to the bar every day for the past week, sometimes staying for hours on end. She could tell when she first met him that he was one of the Americans from the traveling Wild West show, which had just come into town for a two month engagement. His strange, Western attire, his American accent, and penchant for whiskey tipped her off to his country of origin immediately. The revolver holstered on his hip ("always unloaded," he had assured her, though she couldn't imagine why he still carried it if that was the case) and a general lack of many Americans traveling through the area tipped her off to his profession. It didn't take her long to learn who this coyote was, either. He seemed to be the subject of many of the excited conversations of the other patrons. Even a few of the girls that worked at the Castle brought news of the daring gunslinger, known as one of the deadliest sure-shots in the world. The fact that he was also a real live Indian from the American West added to the excitement of many of the girls, and even Dalia had to admit that the strange coyote sitting at her bar had a certain mysterious charm about him. Still, when she first met "Wild Johnny" Six-Killer, he was quite an animated and friendly person, a sly grin always on his muzzle. Lately, however, he began to show a more somber side. For two days now the rain had not let up outside, and the grin on Johnny's face seemed to disappear all together. Once friendly to people interested in meeting the real-life former outlaw and world-famous shootist, he would now only sit at the bar, barely touching the drinks that Dalila poured for him and not saying a single word to anyone. Normally, she was quite happy to deal with such quiet, easy to please customers, but his glum attitude was beginning to annoy her. As Johnny sat, he stared at a mirror behind the bar, watching the rain pour down the glass of the windows behind him. He stared at his own reflection as well, lost in his thoughts of the past as he caught his own gaze. Looking at the fancy hat and clothes he wore, he couldn't believe how much he had changed in ten years. Suddenly, a pair of perky breasts moved right into his vision, barely covered by the straps of a frilly little apron. A bottle of whiskey thunked loudly on the bar-top, and Johnny looked up at Dalia's face. "Look, maybe it's not my business to ask this," she started to say, an eyebrow arched up, "but you have been sitting there like a house-plant for nearly two days now." "Am I bothering you?" Johnny asked, his voice low and slightly raspy. "Normally, I prefer it when my customers aren't talking my ear off, or getting beligerent and drunk. But still..." she continued, taking a moment to open the bottle and pour the whiskey into another glass, "I'm not sure I can take much more of you ignoring my lovely company." Johnny had to chuckle at her comment. He had instantly liked Dalila's somewhat gruff, no-nonsense personality when he met her. He also knew better than to get on her bad side, because he had the distinct impression that she was the type of girl who would smash a liquor bottle over a guy's head for starting trouble in her bar. "I'm sorry, darlin', I don't mean to be rude to you..." he began to say. "So why exactly have you had that sour look on your face all day then?" Dalila asked, not bothering to dance around the subject. She leaned forward, leaning her elbows on the bar-counter, her cleavage tantalizing to the coyote's eyes. "Oh, it's nothing, just... the weather, I suppose," Johnny answered. He looked at his drink, staring at the small puddle of whiskey settling at the bottom of the nearly empty glass. "Oh? I didn't realize you gunmen were such a sensitive people," Dalila teased. Johnny squinted his eyes at her, but his grin belied amusement at her comment. "There's that smile," Dalia commented, putting the whiskey bottle under the bar. "I'll need to keep you in a good mood. After all, your girl Daisy is taking our stage tonight, isn't she? She isn't going to be able to perform like this every night while you're in town." "I know, I remember," Johnny answered with a sigh, knocking back his glass and finishing the remnants of his drink. Daisy Nugget, another coyote from the American West, was also an occasional member of "Jackalope Bircham's Wild West". This was the same traveling show that Johnny had been involved in for nearly 4 years, the show responsible for him being in this strange town. Daisy had a penchant for world travel, and she liked to travel along with the Wild West show whenever their paths crossed, coming and going when it suited her. It had been Daisy who had suggested to the show's founder, William "Jackalope" Bircham, that they should stop off in Bon Bon on this, the show's second European tour, on the promise of a "most interesting local audience." "Interesting" was an understatement, and poor Bill just about had a heart-attack when he saw the streets filled with lovely, scantily clad women of questionable profession. Apparently Daisy hadn't mentioned to the refined Southern gentleman that Bon Bon was known in Europe as being a city of pleasure and sex. It was a well-hidden town, nestled in the mountainous and hilly regions, somewhere along the border of Austria and Italy, almost completely isolated from the prying eyes of the outside world. It seemed so isolated, Bill hadn't thought there would be much of an audience at all, though he would be pleasantly surprised by the sheer amount of tourism the town got for its "unconventional local charms." When Johnny arrived in the "City of Sex," his own attitude toward the town was different than Bill's was initially. He had seen a fair number of wild saloons and shady red light districts in his days as an outlaw, and Bon Bon seemed like the perfect place for him to relax. Still, when he heard that Daisy was joining up with the show in Bon Bon, he felt strangely uncertain. He hadn't really been comfortable with the idea of Daisy "performing" on the Delight Castle's stage, especially when everywhere else in the world she was known simply as a fine rodeo performer and shooting expert, not a performer of "burlesque" shows. It seemed an odd turn in her career, but even old "Jackalope" thought it would be a great way to advertise the Wild West show while they were in town. Johnny could never fully wrap his brain around how he felt about Daisy. They had known each other for many years, even longer than they had been working for "Jackalope Bircham's Wild West," and he perhaps knew her better than anyone else. Despite sharing a few intimate moments in their past, it seemed fate liked to put many barriers between them starting a serious relationship. Daisy was much more wild at heart, a complete free-spirit, and Johnny seemed to constantly attract trouble to himself. Still, with all of their shared adventures traveling with the "Wild West" show, Johnny's feelings for Daisy had become more... complicated, and for the first time he started to truly feel a twinge of jealousy. This only seemed to add to his bad mood for the past couple days, and he found himself mulling over thoughts of her as much as he did his own sorted past. "I see now," Dalila said quietly as she looked at Johnny, who had once again become quiet and thoughtful, "You're not very happy with Daisy dancing tonight, are you?" After years of tending bar, she had learned quite a bit about reading people. Johnny pulled off his hat, scratched his head and shrugged. "I guess I don't really know how I feel about it, to tell you the truth," he answered with a mild grumble. Dalila just sighed in response, "I suppose it can't be helped, I'm going to have to find a way to cheer you up, or else Daisy would never forgive me." "Oh? And just what do you have in mind?"Johnny chuckled, putting his hat back on his head. Daisy had quickly become quite friendly with many of the girls in the Delight Castle since she made her decision to dance on their stage, so Dalila's comment didn't really surprise him. He glanced at the empty glass in his hand, then reached for the full whiskey glass sitting on the bar in front of him. Dalia quickly intercepted his hand and picked it up herself, emptying it down her throat in one quick gulp. Johnny stared at her in surprise, obviously having thought she had poured the drink for him. A pleasant sigh escaped her lips after swallowing the last of the strong liquid, and Dalia looked at Johnny with a grin and an arched eyebrow. "I think I have an idea," she replied. * * * The house at Sixkiller Ranch was alive again, the table surrounded by happy, talking faces. Joseph simply marveled at the sight of seeing his four children returned home, the entire family reunited after so many years. Cletus and his wife, a female puma named Emily, had joined the Sixkillers that evening as well, more than happy to celebrate along with their dearest friends. Still, it was a strange feeling, watching his children now. Five years had past since they were taken by the Indian Affairs officers to the "Indian school" in Pennsylvania. They had grown so much in that time, and it was obvious in their conversations that there was less "nos" and "n'gashi" and more "father" and "mother" in their speech. Joseph's children had always spoken a combination of English and Potawatomi language when they were growing up, which Joseph had encouraged. His wife, being Potawatomi, understood the importance of keeping the culture of her people alive, though Joseph also knew that their ability to communicate with the kchi-mookman (the word his wife called the Americans) would be important. Still, it was obvious now that the children had been taught nothing but English at that school, and that most of their mother's language had become lost to them. His eldest son seemed to be the only one who still remembered some of the language, though even he spoke mostly in English as well. "N'gwiss, have you had enough to eat?" Joseph's wife spoke to her eldest son. All night she had been both smiling and on the verge of tears, being with her children again was almost too much for her. "Ah, I couldn't eat another bite, n'gashi, really," he answered. "I'll have more!" chimed the youngest boy, getting laughter from his mother and sisters. Apparently he had grown quite an appetite while living at the boarding school. Joseph only prayed that this was a sign that they had been fed well, though all of his children seemed a bit thin and worn from their journey. "So, do you think you'll be able to get back to hard ranch work in the morning?" Cletus asked the eldest boy, nudging a large elbow into the smaller teenager. "Oh, let him rest a bit, they had a long trip!" the boy's mother laughed, handing a warm sweet potato to her youngest, who ate in greedily. "You know, I just can't get over how much he looks like Joe," Emily quipped. Joseph had to admit, his son did look much older than he did when he left. He had been just a pup, about 11 or 12 years, and now he was practically a full grown coyote. It was obvious he had grown strong over the past 5 years, but it was more than that. As Joseph looked at his children that night, he could tell that something had changed in his eldest boy. He seemed... worried, almost care-worn. Truthfully, he almost looked a couple years older than he should have. That night, their mother stayed in the same room as her long lost children, telling them stories they had almost forgotten about in the 5 years of their absence. Joseph sat on the front porch, the chill air still damp with the night's rain. The bullet in his back was telling him there would be another big rain soon. Hearing the floor boards creak behind him, he turned to see his eldest son walking toward him. He sat on the porch floor, next to his father's chair, and he looked out across the plain. The clouds had cleared, and the moon was just bright enough for his keen eyes to look out along the horse paddocks and the prairies beyond them. Joseph looked down at his son, and rested his paw on his head. "So, the teachers at Carlisle named you 'John', eh?" he asked. His son nodded, then added, "But I like being called 'Johnny' better." "Johnny, huh?" Joseph chuckled. He remembered back, years ago, in his own youth, when he had been baptised by the missionaries and named "Joseph" by the preacher. He had gotten used to being called "Joe" for so long, he rarely heard his Cherokee name except from his wife whenever she was truly angry with him. He looked at his son and wondered if that would be the same with him. He wasn't sure how easy it would be for him to call him "Johnny" from now on... or should he keep calling his son by his birth name, the name the elder holyman of his wife's tribe had given him? "Pa... er, nos, I have something to tell you," his new son 'Johnny' now asked. Joseph had hoped his son remembered the talks they used to have on the porch at night, when his young son should have been asleep but was too curious about the world to go to bed. He would often stay up to the early hours of morning until he was certain Joseph had told him everything he wanted to know. Johnny had always been an extremely inquisitive child, and a stubborn one as well. He had hoped his son had remembered those long talks, and would be able to share his troubles with him as he did in his childhood. "I... we didn't exactly leave Carlisle on the best terms," Johnny began to say, his voice lowering with what his father perceived as guilt or shame. "Son, I know you escaped that school," Joseph replied, not wanting his son to be troubled with the past any longer. "You do not have to worry, I am glad you left there with your brother and sisters. I had heard so many bad stories about that place, and I prayed for the day you could come back." "I am proud that you were able to journey all the way from the East to bring your brother and sisters back safely," he added, ruffling the black hair on his son's head. "Pa, it's more than that," Johnny added, sighing heavily. He seemed to struggle with his words for a moment, and Joseph realized that perhaps his son was in more trouble than he had believed. "Son, please," Joseph began, seeing the pain in his son's eyes, "I know better than to treat with those fools from the Bureau. If any officers or Indian police come looking for you children, we can hide you at Cletus and Emily's house, or even at your uncle Jack--" "No, Pa, it's not tha simple," Johnny cut in, and immediately his voice began to tremble a bit. "I... I think I may have shot someone. A soldier. He tried to stop us from escaping. I don't know if he's dead or not... I didn't stay around long enough to find out." A sudden cold shiver ran down Joseph's spine, causing a painful twinge in the bullet that a Confederate soldier had left in him years ago. "Son, what happened, exactly?" he asked slowly. He looked at his son's short hair, cut to look like the kchi-mookman, and he couldn't help but wonder if more than his son's name had changed in those five years. * * * Dalila wrapped her arms around Johnny as she kissed him softly on his lips, pressing her ample breasts tightly against his chest. Johnny hadn't been sure why she dragged him into her private room at first, and he was too shocked to stop her when she started to kiss him. He wasn't fool enough to stop her now. It had been a good long while since Johnny last enjoyed the company of a woman. Travelling around the world for nearly 4 years, performing demonstrations of shooting skill that required considerable amounts of concentration and physical fitness, often performing twice daily, 5 days a week, it was rare for him to find time to truly relax in one town before the show moved off somewhere else. Johnny was quite ready to find some well-earned rest and perhaps some delightful company with some of the locals when he had arrived in Bon Bon almost a week ago. It seemed his celebrity with the Wild West show had attracted him the attention of many of the working women of Bon Bon, and for the first few days he enjoyed it a bit. Still, he hadn't taken the opportunity to spend money on these women or made any attempts to otherwise woo them, as his mind had quickly become distracted by other things. As her tongue darted into his mouth, sliding against his own, he could still taste the faint trace of the whiskey she had drank before she abruptly pulled him into this room. It was far from an unpleasant experience, as he was certain his own mouth tasted of the same liquor. In fact, his head seemed to spin almost as much as if he were drinking heavily, and her own scent seemed to be like that of a fine champagne. Dalila's fingers played with his long, braided pony-tail, amazed by the length of his hair. She wondered if perhaps he wore his hair so long all of his life, like she had heard many other Indian men did. She broke the kiss, pulling her head back and looking at the coyote straight in his eyes. Johnny took a moment to try and catch his breath, and suddenly gasped as he felt Dalila's hand over the front of his trousers. Johnny chuckled and spoke, "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, darlin', but when you said you were going to cheer me up, I just figured you meant to get me good and drunk." "Oh no, dear," Dalila cooed, her fingers pressing into the growing lump at the front of his trousers, "I couldn't have you getting drunk, especially when I know your sweet Daisy is looking so forward to you watching her on stage. She'll want you to be as sober as a judge." Johnny just chuckled, getting the distinct impression that Daisy had set him up. He quickly threw his hat on top of a nearby chair and doffed his jacket, grinning intently as the lovely French mademoiselle started to unfasten his trousers. Reaching a hand in, Dalila clutched at his swollen member, eliciting a groan from the coyote. Holding him in her hand, she giggled and replied, "Well, you certainly have an impressive 'pistol' here, cowboy." "You seem to know your way around 'guns', darlin'," Johnny replied with a chuckle. Pulling him out of his trousers, Dalila wasted no time bathing his cock with her tongue. A wonderful sensation crept up Johnny's spine, causing the fur on his bushy tail to stand up. She began to kiss and suck on the bare flesh of his member, her breath bathing it in warmth before she took it into her mouth. His toes curled in his boots at the molten feeling of her mouth, her tongue performing a delightful dance against his flesh. Pulling him out of her mouth, she gave him a seductive grin and murmured, "Are you starting to feel better yet, Mr. Sureshot?" Johnny laughed, now quite sure Daisy had set this up. "Mr. Sureshot" was a nickname Daisy had given him years ago herself, a name she loved to call him at every moment. He continued to strip himself of the last bits of clothing as Dalila continued to suck and lick him with her precise tongue. She hummed appreciatively at Johnny's bare chest and strong shoulders, his physique lithe and toned under his reddish-tan fur. He began to breathe heavily, his stomach moving with each deep inhalation of his lungs. He was starting to get more and more excited by her, but she had more delights to show the coyote than her mouth. Standing up, she pushed Johnny backwards onto the bed, his boots still on and his trousers around his ankles. He fell back onto the cushiony mattress with a surprised "oof" and grinned at the lovely canine beauty that started to crawl over him. Reaching behind her with a quick movement, he untied her bar apron and pulled it off of her, revealing all of her ample chest to his eyes. He quickly caressed her soft breasts in each hand, burying his nose in between them, inhaling her sweet scent. Her creamy-tan fur smelled of fine champagne, and Johnny's tongue could not resist tasting her, gliding across soft fur and bare nipples. She shuddered and moaned, his tongue-worship of her breasts making her melt above him. Straddling above hm, she reached a hand between their bodies, grasping at his throbbing manhood and aiming him to the velvety flesh between her legs. Easing her hips back, she tightly caressed every inch of him that entered her, her voice cooing at the feeling of his invading flesh. He groaned again, and soon their voices became as a soft chorus of pleasure as she rocked her hips on top of him, sliding him in her delightful, tight passage. Her breasts rubbed against the soft fur of his chest as she slid her whole body on top of him, sending electric jolts of pleasure through her body. His hands drifted to her hips, guiding her movement as she began to bounce more enthusiastically atop him. Rising her body up, she began to ride him, her breasts bouncing beautifully on her chest with her increased movements. His own hips thrust up to meet her each time, their bodies crashing together with the increasing rhythm of their excitement. They could both feel eachother's bodies begin to tense up, their release coming closer. Dalila began to grind herself against Johnny with earnest, her excitement beginning to bubble up, a great pressure building up inside of her. He clutched at her buttocks, feeling her flex under his fingers as her intense movements started to edge him dangerously close to the precipice. Suddenly, he pulled her over, switching positions with her. Looking down on her now, he took a moment to catch his breath, hoping to prolong their pleasure. Dalila panted, looking back up at her coyote lover with eyes glazed with lust, her short, bobbed hair spreading on the bed under her, framing her face with a golden halo. "Don't stop now, mon chéri, don't stop," she begged through panting breath. She pulled her stocking-covered feet up to his backside, pressing into him. He looked at her, her body open and inviting to him, her short tail wagging under her round ass in anticipation. He chuckled, his bushy tail waving behind him as he gave into her urgings, pushing himself into her warm wet embrace once again. She sighed in grateful pleasure as he began to thrust into her, and she crossed her legs around his back, pulling him tighter against her body. It took only moments for him to feel her body tense below him. Her voice keening, she climaxed suddenly, the tight walls of her pussy clutching at her coyote lover, causing him to reach sudden release as well. She felt his warm seed spill into her, and a moment later he quickly pulled out, his cock erupting forcefully, like a champagne bottle shooting its cork. She moaned excitedly, feeling him shower the fur on her breasts and stomach with his milky gift. He fell forward, gently laying himself on top of the her body, panting into her ear. She quickly wrapped her arms around him, sighing contentedly. * * * Joseph sighed with a heavy heart. The story Johnny had told him of the escape from Carlisle was more than he had expected. He looked at his son, whose worry had not lessened in telling his father the story. Truly, even Joseph was unsure what he could say to his son at this moment. After nearly five minutes of silence at the end of his son's story, Joseph finally spoke, saying, "Son, taking the life of a man is truly a hard thing, and even I had troubled dreams for many nights after the war between North and South." Johnny didn't seem comforted by this statement, so Joseph continued. "Among your ancestors, the warrior way was a hard but honorable life. Men sometimes had to kill their enemies, and there was no shame in this, for their people would not survive without the strong warriors that protected them. You, son, are no different, because you fought to protect your brothers and sisters. Do not be troubled any longer by these things." "But Pa, I..." Johnny struggled with the thought still. Somehow, firing that gun at the soldier who had tried to capture him and his fleeing siblings did not feel right, and he knew that he would bring trouble to his family for his actions. Joseph looked at his son, carefully considering his son's troubled past. He knew that the kchi-mookman in the nearby town did not take kindly to the Sixkiller family, nor to any Indians. It was shortly after the death of Custer at Little Bighorn that many of the townspeople who disliked the Sixkillers had conspired with men who worked with the Bureau of Indian Affairs. These men soon sent officers, stealing away their children to the Carlisle Indian School. Joseph wondered what the hateful men in town would do if they ever learned that his son had attacked and possibly killed a Union soldier, trying to run from that same school. The horse thieves would come even more frequently; he was certain that the thieves often came from the town. He was equally sure it wouldn't take long for the townspeople to bring the federals to the ranch again to cause more trouble. Joseph knew what needed to be done, though he did not want it to be so. He looked at his son with sad, careworn eyes that he had worn on his face for nearly 5 years of his childrens' absence. "Son, I think..." "I know," Johnny interrupted. There was no need for any more words, for he already knew what needed to be done. He only wanted to tell his father... that he would be leaving in the morning. Rising from his seat, Johnny placed a hand on his father's shoulder, and his father placed a hand over his son's. "I'll speak to your mother about this, you don't have to worry about telling her," Joseph spoke. "Miigwetch , nos," Johnny replied, and he walked back into the house, leaving his father outside. Stepping into the dark hallway, he nearly walked right into one of his sisters. "N'shiimenh, what are you doing up?" Johnny asked her in a hushed tone, not wanting to wake the others upstairs. "So it's true, you're really leaving?" she asked in a low, sad tone. Johnny sighed, "Yeah, I can't let you all get into trouble for what I did..." "But it's not true, it's our fault!" his sister replied in a raised voice, causing Johnny to shush her. She continued, her voice low again, "If you hadn't stayed behind to get all of us, you could have come home yourself without getting into such trouble." Johnny smiled, and patted her on the head, saying, "I promised all four of us would be able to come back home, and we're here now. I can't let them take you three back just because I was careless. Now stop worrying, you did nothing wrong. Now go. N'baan. No reason to worry about such things." His sister didn't seem any happier, but she went back upstairs to bed as he told her, while he seemed to linger in the dining room for some time. It seemed unfair at this point, having just reunited his family, that her brother would be forced to leave them behind. He had taken it upon himself to save his sisters and his little brother from the school, and by leaving it would seem he would continue to protect them. His mother cried all that next morning, yet when he was ready to leave she still held a strong face for him. His sisters and his brother were equally upset that their beloved older brother was running away, but he had done as he had promised, and they promised to stay with their parents from then on. The elder sister, the one who talked to Johnny the previous night, had been up all night making a gift for her brother, and she gave it to him as he packed his few belongings that morning. As Johnny left that day, Joseph gave his son one last gift. It was a Colt revolver that he had gotten in the war, and he passed it down to his son to keep him safe on his journey into Indian Territory, where Johnny hoped he would be safe from any federal agents looking for him. Cletus likewise gave Johnny a rifle, and the whole ranch came out to wish Johnny a safe journey. Riding up the northern ridge overlooking the Sixkiller Ranch, Johnny dared not look back at them. He kept his eyes forward at all times. * * * Laying on the comfortable bed in the room that Dalila shared with her sister, "Wild Johnny" Six-Killer stared up at the fancy canopy over the bed. Dalila lay pressed up next to him, her fingers again playing with the long, black braid of hair that lay draped over his shoulder. She took a moment to notice the beautiful beaded choker that he seemed to wear constantly around his neck, ornamented with brightly colored beads and centered with a shiny, abalone-shell disc with tiny feathers attached to it. "It's so beautiful... did you make that yourself?" she asked. "No, it was a gift from one of my younger sisters," Johnny replied, still staring up at the lace adorning the canopy of the bed. "Ah, being so far away from America, I bet you miss your family," she replied. He didn't answer her, so she decided to leave it at that. Dalila knew better than to pry into other people's business, and it was more than a common courtesy in the town of Bon Bon. In fact, it was the city's first law not to question anyone's past. No one knows who you are, and no one asks. This was a law that all of the girls at the Delight Castle kept to heart. After some time, Dalia stretched her body, feeling totally invigorated. Johnny grinned at her, eyeing her wonderful, bare body and wondering if he would have time for some more fun with her. "Well, it certainly looks like that did the trick," Dalila mused, seeing the grin on the coyote's face. "You definitely seem in much better spirits now." "Oh yes, I'm feeling much better, darlin'," Johnny responded. Not even the rain that continued to tap against the window could have brought his mood down at this point. As far as Johnny was concerned, the sun was shining down right on him at that moment. "Good," Dalila nodded as she grabbed her apron and put it back on. Tying the straps around her waist, she non-chalantly responded, "Now, shall we discuss your bill?" Johnny's jaw dropped instantly. "W-what bill?" "For my services, of course," she responded coolly, looking in a mirror to straighten her hair and makeup. Johnny sat bolt-upright and stared at her, completely flabbergasted. "But I thought Daisy had set this up!" he reasoned. "Doesn't that mean...?" "What, that you get some free fun?" Dalila looked at him, her eyebrows frowned in annoyance. "She only told me that you needed a little 'pick-me-up' because you were acting so gloomy." Walking up to the bed, Dalila placed her foot on the mattress, leaning over closely, looking at the gunslinger square in the eye. Johnny quirked an eyebrow, recognizing her disapproving stare and getting the feeling he was about to get a bottle smashed over his head. "She also told me you would be more than happy to pay for her bar-tab," Dalila added with a threatening grin. Johnny simply sighed, his shoulders slumped in defeat. Dalila immediately giggled and began to write out all of the expenses onto a notepad, adding up the bill for the sex and the drinks. Johnny seethed, his teeth grinding a bit. "I can't believe it," he muttered under his breath, "Daisy set me up again!" "You better believe she did!" Dalila answered with an amused laugh, handing Johnny the itemized bill and giving him a sweet kiss on his cheek. "You make sure you pay that as soon as you can, Mr. Sureshot," she replied with a wink as she headed out the door. Johnny fell back onto the bed, then looked at the bill. He grinned, wondering just how he was going to get Daisy back for this one. * * * Cultural Notes: Johnny's mother is from the Potawatomi tribe. In the story, she taught her children the Potawatomi language. In reality, however, most of the words and snippets of language used in the story is of the Ojibwe dialect, which, while very closely related to the Potatatomi language, is still considered a separate language from Ojibwe. The reason for the language drift in the writing is due to my own familiarity with one dialect over the other. However, a historical point could be made. Though many Ojibwe (Chippewa) have stayed relatively close to their native lands along the Great Lakes even to this day, it is known that a few bands of Ojibwe, Odawa (Ottawa), and Potawatomi living in northern Illinois were forced to cede their lands to white settlers. This was a result of the Sauk rebellion in 1832, called the "Blackhawk War", and the resulting Treaty of Chicago in 1833. The Sauk were forced off of their lands in Illinois and Iowa, while the Illinois Potawatomi, Ojibwe, and Odawa were forced into Iowa. The Illinois Ojibwe soon merged with the much larger Prarie Potawatomi and eventually were forced out of Iowa into Kansas in 1846. In this sense, it is possible that Johnny's mother is of these Illniois Ojibwe, thus explaining her dialect and how she came to encounter Joseph Sixkiller in the Indian Territories (which at the time would have included the lands of modern Oklahoma and parts of southern Kansas). Johnny's father, Joseph Sixkiller, is from the Cherokee tribe. Many Cherokee were forcibly removed from their lands east of the Missippi in 1838 after the signing of the Treaty of New Echota. This was also a direct result of the Indian Removal Act of 1830, signed into law by President Andrew Jackson. This same law was among the catalysts that sparked the fore-mentioned "Blackhawk War" in 1832 as well as the removal of many other tribes in the states east of the Mississippi. The forced removal was referred to in the Cherokee language as the "Trail of Tears", a term of serious cultural significance to Native American tribes all across the United States. It's possible that both Joseph and his wife could have lived through the removal period, or were born shortly after it. Because of my inexperience with the Cherokee language, and also because of the tribe's early adaptation to the customs of English-speaking American society (they were one of the so-called "Five Civilized Tribes"), Joseph Sixkiller does not speak in his native Cherokee in the story, except in a single Cherokee word that I actually had to look up on a Cherokee language website. There will more than likely be very little of the Cherokee language in future chapters when relating to Johnny, who was more in touch with his mother's ancestral roots than his father's. The Carlisle Indian Industrial School, located in Carlisle, Pennsylvania, was founded by Captain Richard Henry Pratt of the United States Army. His goal for the school was for complete assimilation of Indians into white American society, starting by isolating and educating their children in his boarding school. His motto was, "Kill the Indian and save the man." Founded in 1879, it was deemed a failed experiment at total cultural assimilation of Indians, despite it being the model for many other boarding schools in Canada and the United States in later years. Deaths from diseases, malnutrition, and abuse were documented, as were many horror stories told by those that survived the mistreatment in Carlisle and many other schools. Carlisle's Indian school was closed in 1918, and is largely remembered for producing American football star Jim Thorpe (Sac and Fox Nation) and its football team, the "Carlisle Indians". The character of Cletus Turner is an allusion to the Cherokee Freedmen. The Cherokee Indians were among the few tribes in the Indian Territories to actually own African slaves, and during the American Civil War there were factions in the Cherokee that supported both the Union and the Confederacy. These slaves often spoke the Cherokee language as a first language, and had adopted the culture and religion of the Cherokee as their own. After slavery was abolished, many of these freedmen (former slaves) were adopted into the tribe, although controversy continues to this day as to whether or not the African-American descendents of the Cherokee Freedmen are to be considered a part of the Cherokee tribe and eligible for tribal rolls. The matter is further muddled by the fact that intermarriage between the Freedmen and the native-born Cherokee exists to this day, thus causing problems when sorting ancestry and tribal eligibility by "blood quantum", or degree of Indian ancestry. It should be noted that Cletus Turner himself is not a Cherokee Freedman, but a former slave who had befriended the Sixkiller family before the end of the Civil War. However, Cletus's wife Emily is Cherokee herself, though this fact is not mentioned in the text. This was left out only to keep the plot moving and to not stray too far into details of secondary characters. * * *