Deke sat down on a large boulder and removed his boots. He was up on the ridge overlooking Bart Bonner's hideout, and didn't want to give himself away as he moved in. He knew that barefooted he'd have a better chance of climbing down and approaching the small cabin stealthily. He had already lost his shirt; it had snagged on a cactus while he'd been squeezing into the ravine. Rather than have the shredded garment hanging off him and getting in his way, he'd stowed it in a crack between two rocks. So there he was, alone out in the craggy desert, wearing nothing but his Levi's, his gun belt and his hat.

The sun beat mercilessly down on his broad shoulders, but he ignored it. He knew his smooth flesh must already be pink and that he'd be suffering from a burn come the morning, but it was worth it. If he could nab Bonner red-handed with the cash the bandit had just snatched from the stagecoach, his career would be off to a great start. All the doubts the town council had expressed about his youth and inexperience when they had reluctantly given him his badge--all their not-so-subtle innuendo about his abilities (or lack thereof)as a lawman--would be proved groundless. He'd have managed a feat not a single one of his predecessors would even have dared try. A little sunburn seemed a small price to pay.

He began to make his way slowly down the rock face of the gorge. The bandit's hideout was strategically placed; riders could only approach from the north, through a narrow pass that would leave them vulnerable to gunfire from within the cabin. Treacherous walls of sandstone and granite protected the other three sides of the cabin; only a lunatic or a mountain goat would attempt to reach the cabin via that route. At least that was the apparent consensus. But Deke had studied the rocks and decided the climb could be managed--if the person making the attempt knew what he was doing and was, he had to admit, crazy enough to try. Although he didn't actually consider it crazy; crazy, he knew, was just the label cowards attached to brave men in an effort to rationalize their fear. So, Deke had left his horse even further back along the trail than his shirt, and, after stashing his boots, he began to climb down.

A couple of times he nearly lost his grip, but finally he stood--caked in dust and sweat, a little out of breath and slightly flushed--happily flexing his toes in the dirt covering the floor of the ravine. The back wall of the cabin was just a few feet away, but neither windows nor a door marred it. The two side walls bore a single window each, and Deke knew the front wall held a door and another window. He crept quietly up onto the slat porch that encircled the small structure, the unsanded wood rough against the bare soles of his feet. Flattening his back against the west wall of the cabin he drew his gun from its holster and slowly angled his head to peer into the curtainless window.

The glass was filthy, and, between the bright noonday sun and the lack of illumination within the building, Deke could see nothing. He squinted and put his face closer to the glass. Gradually, he managed to discern enough of the shadowy interior to conclude that the cabin was just a single-roomed structure with a bed in the far corner, a table center, and a couple of chairs. He saw no occupants, however, and nearly cussed out loud. Having given chase once Bonner had fled the scene of his latest crime, Deke knew the bandit had come back to the hideout. True, the criminal's horse had been swifter than the young marshal's, and Bonner's skill at evasion had more than outmatched Deke's talents for tracking someone, but before he rode out of sight, the bandit had definitely been heading in the direction of his hideout. And why change his mind? Because he knew he'd been followed? Bonner had been chased before, and by entire posses of men, none of whom had ever risked entering the gorge. No, Bonner wouldn't feel compelled to go anywhere else just because he thought Deke was after him. In fact, the cabin was the safest place to retire to and hang low.

So where was he, Deke asked himself, and then--just as the question was forming in his mind--it was answered by the cold sting of steel pressing against the back of the young marshal's neck. He heard the distinctive click of a hammer being cocked and then a gruff voice commanded him to "Freeze!" Deke managed to do as he was told, staying still as a statue though inside his chest his heart felt like it was doing back flips. Another silent expletive formed on his lips.

"Now, drop yer gun," the evil voice continued, and Deke lowered his Colt to the porch. He shoved it aside and then slowly raised his empty hands into the air--he didn't need to be told. Instead the voice asked him with a wicked lilt of pleasure: "What do yah think yer doin' peeking in at muh windows?" Deke swallowed, emitting an audible gulp, but didn't say anything. Finally the voice instructed him to "Stand up-real slow like."

The metal lifted from the prickly flesh of Deke's neck, and the young man struggled to rise slowly on his rubbery legs. He wasn't so much scared as just plain mad at himself for letting the wily bandit sneak up on him. Deke had set out to do the very same thing himself after all. He stood with his back to his captor until told to turn around, and then the two men looked at each other in disbelief.

Deke was surprised to see that Bonner had employed the same trick to achieve his stealth: the bandit was barefoot! In fact, Bonner wore nothing but his long underwear: a dirty, once-white garment full of holes and tears that was unbuttoned clear down past his navel. It hung open revealing the tanned, sun- burnished flesh of the bandit's hairy chest. Bart was a mean-looking hombre though undeniably handsome. His face bore the scars of hard-living; scratching out a life on the wrong side of the law had left its mark, but the mark was not altogether unattractive. And as he stood studying Deke with his dark, glinting eyes, a smile began playing at the corners of the mouth, pushing up the ends of his thick black mustache.

"Why you ain't nothing but a pup!" the bandit exclaimed.

"Ah ain't no pup," Deke objected, finding his voice with a struggle.

"Ah'm the marshal of Clearwater. And ah come tah take you in!"

Bonner threw back his head and laughed, but Deke didn't care. He leapt forward and grabbed at the bandit's gun. One hand caught the barrel and pushed it upward while the other caught Bonner around the wrist. The outlaw was so surprised, he nearly choked on his chuckle. It didn't take him long to recover his wits however, and he used his free hand to good effect. His hard knuckles introduced themselves to the side of Deke's jaw with a violent wallop. The marshal was knocked backward and to the ground.

Bonner stood over the marshal who was sprawled on his back. Much to Deke's surprise however, when he looked up it was not to find the gun aimed at his face. Instead, Bonner simply growled at him: "Yah think yer man enough to take me in, do yah? We'll see about that!" The outlaw suddenly tossed his gun aside and raised his fists. "Git up!"

But Deke had a better idea. When he'd been knocked down, he'd landed very near where his own gun lay abandoned. So instead of rising to his feet, he used only his right foot, driving the heel of it hard up into Bonner's crotch. The bandit grunted, stooping over as the wind abandoned his lungs in a painful rush. And Deke rolled across the porch, snatching up his Colt and leveling the barrel at his adversary.

"Now don't you move!" the marshal shouted.

But Bonner ignored him, moving slowly over and leaning his back against the wall of his cabin. One hand gently massaged his crotch. He chuckled again, but sounded less jovial than before. "Yer purdy good, son."

Deke got cautiously up onto one knee. He kept his weapon aimed at Bonner. "Thet's right," he said. "Good enough to take you in. And ah'm gonna!"

Bonner squinted. "Then yer yellah, too."

The marshal's handsome face grew dark. "What do yah mean by thet?"

"I challenged yah to a fair fight," the outlaw explained, his voice trying to make it sound like the notion of Deke's trick had wounded him more than the low blow itself. "I threw away muh gun. And look what yah went and did!"

Deke frowned. He had to admit, Bonner's capture hadn't come about the way he'd imagined it. This was supposed to be the coup that established him as a proper lawman, after all. What if the details came out? What if people were to know how he'd nearly been captured himself? Suddenly he tossed away his own gun. "You wanna fight?" he roared.

Bonner pushed himself off the wall. He'd been playing possum--acting at being more hurt than he felt; but--no longer staring down the barrel of a gun--he charged the marshal, catching him around the chest and taking him to the ground.

In a fair fight, they might have been evenly matched: Bonner's years of experience against Deke's youth, speed, strength and agility. But Bonner had not carved out a reputation as the meanest, toughest, death-dealingest outlaw in the territory by fighting fair. He employed every dirty trick in the book: eye-gouging, hair-pulling, biting, kicking, scratching and even spitting. And he didn't neglect to pay Deke back for the marshal's assault on his balls--with interest! Despite a valiant effort, the young marshal eventually caved under the brutal onslaught. At last he found himself on his knees, bloodied and dazed, while his opponent stood before him, barely winded.

"Had enough, pup?" the bandit asked him. That he had thoroughly enjoyed doling out the punishment was evident; not only was he wearing a shit-eating grin, but his underwear was hardly able to contain his swollen cock. He reached down and stroked the big piece of meat that stretched half way down his thigh, unable to resist because he knew Deke was staring at it.

Deke was unable to resist himself. For one thing, kneeling, his eyes were on a level with Bonner's crotch, and, for another, he had never seen a dick so huge. It was unbelievable. And despite the fact that he had been on the receiving end for most of the fight, the sight of Bonner's growing cock had made his own dick hard. His head bobbed weakly on his neck, and he gasped: "Yeah, Bart... Ah'm through..."

Bonner's smile widened, but grew even more wicked. "Good. 'Cause fightin's fine, but you done put me in the mood fer sumthin' even better." Suddenly he pulled his long underwear off his shoulders and let the garment fall around his ankles. His massive erection swung into clear view, jutting straight out from his crotch toward the marshal's face.

Deke looked up, worried about what Bonner might have in mind. "What do you mean?"

"Yah know what ah mean, boy." The outlaw pointed down between Deke's legs. "Yer in the mood yerself." He then put his fists on his hips, puffing out his barrel chest menacingly. "Don't make me take it. Ah done messed up yer purdy face enough fer one day."

The marshal didn't know what to do. He realized fighting on wa futile, but couldn't quite bring himself to surrender so completely to the evil outlaw. He had never in his young life been fucked and didn't aim to start then and there and with a cock so monstrously huge. Suddenly he leaned forward and took the head of Bonner's dick into his mouth. The bandit was shocked--this wasn't what he'd had in mind--but didn't pull back. He watched from beneath a furrowed brow as the marshal started to give him a blowjob.

Deke had little more experience with blowjobs than he did with getting fucked, but was eager to keep from having Bonner's dick violate his ass. Gradually, that eagerness turned into something else and he began attacking the big piece of meat hungrily with his lips and tongue. The outlaw watched with a satisfied, superior grin, feeling an orgasm slowly beginning to build deep down inside.

The marshal soon lost himself in the taste and smell of Bonner's crotch. His hands fumbled to remove his gunbelt and unzip his jeans. He pulled out his own hard cock and began to work it in his fist. Finally he felt the bandit grab him by the hair and felt his throat pierced by the full length of Bonner's cock. Hot fluid exploded down his throat, making him gag, threatening to drown him, but at the same time triggering his own orgasm that shot from the end of his purple dick to land in the dirt between the outlaw's feet.

Bonner produced a veritable bucket of semen and Deke was on the verge of passing out before the big fleshy obstruction was withdrawn from his throat and he managed to take up breathing again. He knelt, gasping and sputtering as Bonner stood before him. The outlaw's dick was still rock-solid and covered with a slick mixture of his own semen and Deke's saliva. He stroked it, and his hand made slurping noises as it slid up and down the shaft. "That was good, boy," he sighed. "And yah left me all nice and slick for the real thing."

Deke looked up in terror. He suddenly realized that his blowjob had done nothing to save him. Bonner still intended to fuck him! He lurched abruptly to his feet and took off in a panicked dash down the gorge. The outlaw simply laughed and then started after him.

It was not much of a race: Deke was nearing the end of his strength, and the floor of the ravine was scattered with small rocks and twigs. These tore at the young man's bare feet, slowing him even more.

The soles of Bonner's feet proved tougher, and he had no trouble tackling Deke again. He pinned the marshal face down, one hand holding Deke by the hair and grinding his face into the ground. Bonner used his other hand to tug the marshal's hips up and then guide his cock slowly into the young man's ass. Deke screamed, but his cry was muffled as Bonner simply pushed harder on the back of his head. The outlaw pierced Deke completely and then began to brutally fuck him. He seemed determined to finish the job he had started with his fists by using his big cock. Finally he shot another tremendous load of semen and got back up onto his feet.

Deke lay unmoving, face down in the dirt. Bonner watched him a moment then stepped around to nudge him over onto his back with his foot. It was obvious by the puddle uncovered and the stains on the young marshal's belly that Deke had also shot a second load. It had apparently been his last act on Earth, however.

Bonner stood studying his fallen foe, absently scratching his low-hanging balls, mentally chalking up the life of another young lawman on his mental scorecard. There had been more than a dozen before this one, and he hoped for twice that many to come. But Deke had been special: not only handsome but young and eager. It almost made Bonner's cock hard again just thinking about it. But he had to piss, and finally did so--all over the marshal's battered and bloodied body. Then he turned and started slowly back toward his hideout; he hadn't even had a chance to count the money he'd taken from the stagecoach yet.