FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"I can't do it for any less than twenty dollars. Hell that's a bargain for what you're asking."

The tiger rubbed the back of his neck hard.

"You know exactly how much an ass like that is worth down here. It'll be higher still up North."

"Dammit Frost. Twenty dollars. That's all I can give you. But if that fox doesn't show up there'll be hell to pay" he said as he slapped the bills in the wolf's open hand. "You can count on it."

"Pleasure doing business with you" the wolf said as he walked around the corner of the cantina and down into the cellar. The door was bolted from within. He knocked.

"What do you want?" someone asked from the other side of the door.

"Thomas Frost. Here for a pick up," the wolf answered. The door shook as the doorkeeper struggled with the stubborn bolt. When it finally opened, Frost was struck in the face with a thick wave of scent.

"Fear," he thought to himself, "sweat and fear."

A sweaty coyote greeted him inside. "This one I reckon," he panted and pulled a filthy young fox to his feet. He was black, or at least he looked black. He was covered in dirt and wore only a ragged pair of pants that were several sizes too big.

"What's his story?" Frost asked the coyote.

"Mr. Ferris won him in a card game in Juarez few weeks back, couldn't tell you more than that. Don't speak a word of English."

"Perfect," Frost thought. "This job gets better by the minute." He hadn't counted on having to clothe his delivery and now he couldn't even speak to him?

"Okay chico, vamanos" he said. The only Spanish he knew he'd picked up in Mexican bars and various fights therein. The young zorro looked at Frost, then the coyote, then back to Frost.

"Go on, git you dirty li'l fucker!" the coyote yapped. Frost took him by the hand and the zorro flinched at his touch before letting Frost lead him out of the cellar.

Desesperación was a lewd place to put it lightly. There was no real law to speak of in the dirty little town on the Mexican border but parading around such a fine piece of merchandise in a place where the sex trade was big business was asking for trouble. Never the less, Frost couldn't leave the young fox unguarded. He had no choice but to take him along to the nearest mercantile which unfortunately lay on the other side of town. Frost had a tough decision to make. They could stick to the back alleys and try not to attract much attention. In most towns this may be the better choice but a great deal of seedy business took place in the corners of Desesperación. On the other hand they could walk along the streets. In many other rough towns this would be the obvious choice because most low lives would hesitate to bother them with so many witnesses present. The problem here was that there wasn't a decent person to be found in all of Desesperación and they were probably just as likely to be jumped on the street corner as in the back alley ways.

"Vamanos" Frost said as he led the fox around to the front of the saloon and onto the edge of the road. Using the wider open streets, he decided, would give them the ability to move more quickly and see any threats coming from a ways off. If they needed to, they could duck into an alley way to escape. Frost was inconspicuous in a worn, grey duster and a wide brimmed hat shaded his eyes and helped conceal his face. His package however drew much unwanted attention. Almost immediately passersby began turning their heads to look at the dirty but handsome young zorro. Ahead there were three shady looking canines sitting outside one of Desesperación's many brothels. Out of the corner of his eye Frost saw them watch as the two passed. They stood up and stepped down onto the street behind them.

Frost's delivery kept looking back over his shoulder at the three scruffy looking men following them.

"Señor," he muttered,

"Silencio" Frost whispered back. He was aware that they were being followed. What he didn't know was what their pursuers were going to do. The two of them alone were already attracting too much attention. He didn't want to walk all the way across this rotten little town with three more following behind and creating something of a spectacle. He had to act first.

Frost let the zorro into an alley way between two boarding houses. As he expected, two of their followers continued on along the street and one broke off to follow them at a distance down the alley. There was a "T" ahead and Frost knew to expect the other two to cut them off at the corner. He knew how it was going to happen, the same way it always does. When they reached the corner, two unwashed dogs stood in their path just a few feet in front of them. They didn't have any weapons drawn but he knew that when he turned around the third one would. He spun around as quickly as he could, quicker than the scoundrel behind him had expected, and immediately struck him hard in the face while his attacker's hand was still on the knife in his belt. Surprised, he fell to the ground.

The two in front came on at the same time but clumsily, the first swinging wildly. He took a fist to the end of his muzzle with a cracking sound and faltered, but the second attacker went low trying to tackle Frost to the ground and wrapping his arms around Frost's body. Frost braced himself and managed to keep his footing, bringing his elbow down hard on the dog's spine. His grip loosened enough for Frost to follow that up with a knee to the muzzle which dislodged him completely and he fell to the dirt. Frost stomped hard on the attacker's head with the heel of his boot and could hear bones cracking when he noticed the first man had gotten to his feet and pulled his knife, the other still trying to get his bearings with a broken muzzle. The German shepherd wielding the knife charged at Frost and slashed just short of Frost's neck, overextending himself. Frost side stepped him, put a hand to the back of his head and guided it straight into the wall behind him. Dazed, the dog turned to face Frost, who took the knife from his loosened grip and thrust it hard up under his jaw and into his skull. The German shepherd's eyes rolled back into his head and he gurgled blood as he slid down the wall, dead. The one whose head he'd stomped in wasn't moving but he last dog, with the broken muzzle, had Frost's delivery by the arm and was staggering down the alley as fast as he could. Frost drew his 1873 Colt, took aim and fired once. The slug struck the injured dog just to the right of the spine between the shoulder blades and he collapsed in a heap on the ground. The zorro pressed his back against the wall beside him, his eyes wide with fear as he looked at the dying dog and back at Frost. It dawned on Frost that the young fox may not have ever seen anyone killed before. It was strange when he thought about it. Killing and death was almost second nature to the bounty hunter after all those years. "Vamanos" he said as he holstered his weapon. "We've got to get you some clothes."

At the mercantile they found some modest clothes for the young zorro to wear, cheap boots, pants that fit, a shirt that almost fit, an inexpensive duster to hide the exquisite shape of his body and a hat that was two sizes too big to hide his face. When Frost had clothed his delivery and bought the provisions they would need, they set out on their way. They had nearly a thousand miles to go to reach Fort Hanson in the Dakota Territory and the mining towns in the black hills where a fine piece of tail like the zorro he was escorting would make his owner more money than any claim in those hills. As they headed toward Santa Fe Frost wondered if he'd bit off more than he could chew. He had already killed three men protecting this package and he hadn't had him a full day yet. This job was already off to a rocky start to be sure. As they moved north into the desert Frost looked back over his shoulder at the sullen fox that trudged behind him and thought to himself, "shoulda' asked for twenty five."