Date: Thu, 15 Jan 2009 08:20:58 -0800
From: Tom Creekmur <tcreekmur@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Way Of The Heron - Part 7

* * *

The Way Of The Heron

By C. T. Creekmur

Chapter One

Quest For The Heron

* * *

     Author's warning: This story depicts men performing sexual acts upon
one another that immature people might find shocking. If graphic
depictions of sex between men upsets you, or if you are under 21 years of
age, then DO NOT READ THIS! - go read something else!

     Please understand that this is a work of fantasy and fiction, set in
a time when safe sex was unheard of. It is not intended to provoke or
promote promiscuity or abandonment of common sense where sex is concerned.
Especially in this day and age.

     Though historical personages are mentioned, none of the principal
characters are based on real individuals and any similarity to such is
coincidental. This story is copyrighted (c) by the author and may not be
reproduced in any form without the specific written permission of the
author.

     Historical Note: This chapter begins the end of April in the year
1867. Oregon became a state in 1859, but that did not mean the land was
'tamed'. Oregon, like most of the west, was a wild and often dangerous
place for a long time after statehood was achieved. This is also the
first chapter of the central portion of the work 'The Way of the Heron',
following the adventures of the heron men over a roughly two year period.

     And now, on with the story!

* * *

QUEST FOR THE HERON

     In an instant, Dusty Laird's world was destroyed, everything he had
ever known and held dear lost forever, his very life hanging in the
balance...

     ...but fate in the form of a mysterious stranger appeared to rescue
him and bring him to an incredible, hidden place of safety...

     ...it was more than the beginning of an adventure, it was the
discovery of a new way of life, of a different way of love...

     ...Dusty found himself caught up in a neverending search for a
shining ideal of masculine fellowship, a longing as old as human desire
itself, one gentle men had been searching for longer than could be
remembered. It was a...

QUEST FOR THE HERON

* * *

     The first thing Dusty Laird became aware of as consciousness gradually
returned to him was a painful throbbing in his head. The young man sat up
slowly, gingerly rubbing the sore spot on his scalp and looked around
himself questioningly. He remembered kneeling beside the spring to fill his
canteen, then nothing. But why?

     Late springtime warblings filled his ears as Dusty examined his
surroundings. Moving about in the lush foliage of the scrubby trees and
bushes around him, small birds went on with their business of defining and
defending their breeding territories, squabbling amongst themselves. The
presence of the lone human was of no concern to them.

     Dusty's eyes lighted at last upon a fist sized rock, resting atop a
crushed patch of blue lupines. He looked up at the cliff that towered above
the spring and assumed it must have fallen from there and careened off his
skull. He wondered how long he had been out as he reached for the canteen,
filled it and slung it by its attached strap across his shoulder. He could
not have been out too long, he figured, otherwise someone from the party of
drovers he was a part of would have come looking for him.

     Using the surface of the small pool as a mirror, he tried to see how
much damage there was. He could feel the lump left by the stone, but it did
not show through his longish blonde hair. Dusty was glad no one would know
about the incident. Being the new guy among the gang of rowdy drovers, he
had already come in for more than his fair share of jokes and ribbing
during the long drive of the supply train from Salt Lake City via western
Oregon to a port on the Columbia River.

     Dusty splashed some water on his bruised scalp, plastering down the
pale hair. The action scattered the refection of the handsome, lightly
bearded and blue eyed twenty year old visage that wavered before him. He
rubbed the short, fair whiskers adorning his cheeks like a golden mist,
hoping the beard he was growing would eventually come out full and thick
like his uncle's.

     Bill Laird, Dusty's uncle, was the head drover. Dusty grinned to
himself as the mental image he held of his big, hairy, laughing uncle rose
before his mind's eye. He felt a little bad about how he had pestered his
only living relative something awful before the distracted man finally
agreed to let his nephew come along and experience his first supply drive.

     Uncle Bill ran a tight outfit and did not cut Dusty any slack. The
young man was expected to learn the things he needed to know to help run a
supply train and pull his own weight. Bill did not intervene when his
fellow drovers played the sorts of practical jokes on Dusty that they would
have on any other tenderfoot. Dusty felt abandoned at times, but when the
others saw the boss was not treating his nephew any different than the rest
of them, they soon settled down and accepted Dusty as an equal member of
the crew without any resentment.

     The main thing that had kept the young man's spirits up during his
rough initiation was the anticipation of each coming evening. Bone-tired,
he would crawl thankfully into the blankets he shared with his uncle under
one of the wagons. Then Dusty would feel the big man's furry arms hug his
nephew to his equally furry chest as bewhiskered lips kissed gently and
whispered words of love and praise and encouragement, saying and doing the
kind of things Bill could not in front of the other drovers.

     Then, the fatigue would not matter and Dusty would find the energy
to hug his beloved uncle lovingly in return, as the men would move to ease
each other of the pent up tensions of their day. Since Dusty's parents had
died, Bill had been more like a big brother to Dusty than anything else.
And ever since his early teens, Dusty had been his uncle's lover, though
at the beginning, Dusty had only intended to satisfy his youthful
curiosity.

     Dusty grinned to himself, remembering a certain, long-ago night when
he was thirteen and as desperately horny as a thirteen year old could be.
Tired of beating his cock to fantasies about his uncle, he had decided to
try and get some of the real thing, even if he got a spanking for it. He
crept into his uncle's bed and, finding the man was sleeping naked, touched
and smelled and tasted all the manflesh he could for the first time,
appeasing a hunger that had gnawed at him for as long as he could remember.

     His uncle's man-sized prick came in for more than its fair share of
attention, and soon it was standing at full mast. Dusty could not get much
more than the wide, meaty cockhead into his mouth, but it was enough. He
licked and slurped with abandon until, with a low, rumbling moan, Bill
came.

     The man's hot, creamy spunk spewed out in long, gooey pulses, filling
the youth's mouth faster than he could swallow. The excess oozed from
Dusty's nose and mouth, and dribbled from his chin. Pearly slime fell to
soak into the blonde fur that grew thickly across the man's belly.

     "What the fuck!?!"

     His uncle's voice boomed as he awoke, filling the bedroom, and the man
threw back the covers to see what was going on. Dusty froze where he was,
crouching with his mouth still covering the head of the sticky, still-hard
cock, fearful of what might happen next, and unintentionally presenting an
excessively comical sight as the cum continued to drip and run messily from
his face. Once Bill had gotten over his initial surprise, he just shook his
head in mock sadness at his nephew and sighed.

     "Boy, I can see you've gotta lot to learn about the proper ways of
suckin' a man's pecker!"

     "Yes, sir," was all the embarrassed lad could say when he released
Bill's spent tool.

     "First lesson:" began Bill as he put his hands behind his head,
watching Dusty, "you hafta clean up your own messes. Get to work and lick
up and swallow every drop of my cum!"

     "Yes, sir!!"

     Dusty responded with all the relief he could muster as he immediately
began to obey. At least he knew he would not get spanked as his tongue went
to work stroking his uncle's hairy flesh. He cleaned everywhere he could
reach thoroughly as he lapped up the musky spooge, relishing the taste.

     "Come up here," his uncle softly ordered when he was through. As Dusty
was hugged to the man's broad, furry chest by strong, but gentle arms, Bill
kiss-licked what was left of his sperm off of his nephew's face, thrilling
the youth with new sensations before he went on. "If you wanna sleep in
this bed with me, you're gonna hafta learn a few things, things that you
won't find in no book. Will you let me teach you those things, Dusty?"

     "Yes, sir! Tell me what to do, please," Dusty almost begged.

     "You just lay there, for the moment," said Bill as he rolled his young
nephew off his chest and onto the bed. Dusty watched with wide eyes as the
big man moved to crouch between Dusty's smooth, hairless legs, above
Dusty's virtually hairless crotch, and grinned down at the expectant lad.
"I'm gonna show you how lovemakin' oughta be done. Pay attention and you
might learn something!"

     "Yes, sir, I will."

     Bill chuckled at the lad's earnestness and turned his attention to
Dusty's immature body. Dusty had a few hairs growing around his crotch and
in his armpits, the precursors of puberty, but the rest of his body was
hairless and the drover loved the feel of the youth's smooth skin under
his callused hands. From the way Dusty was wiggling and gasping as his
uncle pawed at him, it was clear he was enjoying it too.

     Since Dusty had come under his care, Bill had wondered if his nephew
would take after him or Dusty's father in sexual matters. Chuck Laird,
Bill's big brother, had been pussey crazed from his teens, spending all
his spare time and money at the local cathouses until he got married. And
then his visits to the whores became a little less frequent, but continued,
because it was clear that one woman would never be enough to satisfy
Chuck's hunger for pussey.

     Bill was his brother's complete opposite. Like Dusty, he had known
from his childhood that he was attracted to men and received his sexual
education from his father's hired hands and the cowboys who passed through,
staying in a bunkhouse his father rented out. It was Bill's job to see to
the needs of the men who bunked there. Little did his father realize how
many of their needs Bill actually took care of!

     Bill looked at Dusty's slim, four inch tool, straining up hard from
the lad's crotch in anticipation, and figured they were two of a kind. He
silently vowed to protect and teach Dusty everything he knew. And he felt
a little envious of his nephew. The lucky dog would have the guidance Bill
had not, and avoid the mistakes his uncle had made.

     Bill ruefully ran a hand across his ass, feeling the ghost of pain. He
was remembering an encounter he had had with a man who liked to use a strap
on guys' asses before he had sex with them. The man had paid him well for
their little get-together, but Bill had never indulged in that particularly
perverse pleasure again.

     Leaning down, Bill brought his face close to Dusty's and began to let
his lips explore his nephew's body. He worked his mouth across the lad's
smooth cheeks and then down under his jaw to kiss and nip at the neck and
shoulders. Bill put his nose into Dusty's armpit and enjoyed the youth's
scent as he stuck out his tongue to taste. Dusty moaned out loud.

     Bill worked down and across Dusty's chest to nuzzle the small, hard
nipples. Then he kissed his way along the bottom ridge of the heaving rib
cage. Bill had expected Dusty to giggle at what he was doing, but the youth
was moaning and thrashing around on the bed with his hands gripping his
uncle's hairy shoulders.

     Licking down across Dusty's belly, with a short detour around the
delicate little bellybutton, Bill worked his way across the top of Dusty's
hipbones, tenderly sucking and kissing. Then, completely avoiding the
youth's stiff cocklet, Bill moved down and began licking and kissing his
way up Dusty's smooth legs, doing first one, then the other, up to where
they joined underneath the lad's little scrotum.

     Bill stroked the tender flesh slowly with his tongue, feeling the two
small nuts moving around within the sac. Then Dusty gasped as he felt his
uncle draw his hard four inches and his balls into the man's hot mouth.
Bill's tongue was everywhere at once, or so it felt, engendering sensations
like none Dusty had ever felt before.

     Dusty brought his legs up together over Bill's shoulders. He shivered
with delight at the feel of his smooth skin rubbing against the older man's
hairy flesh, trapping his uncle's head between them while humping wildly up
into the mouth that was giving him so much pleasure. With a gasp of
disappointment, Dusty felt Bill release his genitals.

     The man's mouth moved beneath his ballsac, slowly tracing a wet trail,
down between his asscheeks, where a dripping tongue probed his backdoor.
Dusty moaned in the sheer delight of a sensory overload of pleasure. He
thought he had died and gone to heaven!

     After a little of that, Bill raised his head and dove back down onto
his nephew's hard, short shaft, sucking and licking for all he was worth.
Dusty was soon bucking and spasming in his uncle's arms as an incredibly
intense orgasm wracked his body. Bill drank down the clear, sweet tasting
cockhoney the youth shot and thought he detected the mildly tart favor of
Dusty's first sperm in the lad's load. Bill moved up to wrap Dusty gently
in his strong, hairy arms, hugging him to his furry chest as the youth
panted and shivered in the afterglow of his first experience of mansex.

     "Oh my god, uncle Bill!" he gasped as he tried to recover his breath.
"That was... it... it was wonderful!!"

     "I'm glad you liked it," Bill gently said as he kissed his nephew's
forehead. Then he raised up a little and fixed the lad with a look Dusty
knew was serious and paid attention as Bill murmured softly. "You know,
don't you, that I did that because I love you?"

     "Oh, uncle Bill! I love you, too!" gushed Dusty. "When can we do it
again?"

     "Let's get some sleep now, and in the morning, well, we'll see," he
winked.

     That was how it all had begun. Over the next seven years, Bill had
patiently taught Dusty the many ways a man could please men. And how they
could please Dusty in return.

     Sometimes the sex they had shared recently, during the drive, was
stolen whenever they said they were going hunting. Sometimes the pair
actually did shoot some game for the cookpot, but most of those times were
spent in rut with one another, deep in whatever cover they could find. Bill
continuing to teach Dusty all he knew, Dusty ever eager for more lessons...

     Dusty shook off his sweet reverie. He had no time for erotic
daydreams, especially when the coming night would be as full of sweet
reality as he and his uncle could make it. As the waters of the pool
quieted, he glanced at himself again to make sure everything was in order.
Readjusting his hat, Dusty got up and left the spring.

     The path back was marked by exposed gravel where an occasional
overflow of the spring ran to the plain below. As he followed it, the acrid
scent of smoke came to assault Dusty's nose. It did not smell right to him
and the young man frowned to himself. The sharp scent lacked the same
comforting suggestions of the cheery campfires he had tended or sat beside,
during the pauses in the supply train's trek.

     Something, he never knew what, warned him and Dusty stopped to hide
himself behind a large boulder that stood alongside the stony path to the
spring. Then he carefully peered around it, down towards a grassy flat that
lay somewhere along the old Oregon trail. Dusty recalled that Bill had told
him they were in a part of western Oregon called La Grande Vallee just
before the supply train had stopped for a noon rest. The sight that met his
eyes froze Dusty in shock.

     Some of the supply wagons were burning. A few had been rolled over and
the merchandise they contained lay scattered across the grassy plain in
confused heaps. Adding to his astonishment, the young man also saw the
bodies of his fellow drovers and their mules scattered amid the wreckage,
arrows standing out from them at crazy angles. And Dusty saw the ones who
had caused the mayhem.

     A large force of Indians, three or four dozen perhaps, were swarming
over the wreckage. All seemed intent on looting the wagons, stripping and
scalping the bodies of the white men and fighting over the broken crates
and bales of trade goods. One brave had tied the end of a bolt of gingham
cloth to his horse's tail and was galloping madly around, trailing the
long streamer of bright blue cloth behind him in a comical manner, totally
out of place amid that scene of bloody massacre.

     Dusty stood frozen as the horror of what he was seeing sank in. His
thoughts were in such a tumult that he would have been easy prey for the
raiders, if they had spotted him. As it was, he never noticed the stealthy
approach of someone from behind.

     A hard, callused hand came suddenly from nowhere and clamped itself
tightly over Dusty's mouth. At the same time, the young man was pushed down
to the grassy ground behind the boulder and held there firmly. Dusty
stopped his useless struggles as soon as he heard a harsh, imperative
whisper in English rasp his ear.

     "Don't make a sound or we're both dead!"

     From his new position, Dusty could see only a part of the hairy hand
covering his mouth and the worn cuff of a dark leather shirt. But he felt a
great deal. The stranger, for Dusty had not recognized his voice as
belonging to anyone he knew from the wagon drivers' company, was lying
prone atop the young man, pinning him down.

     The stranger's attention was all on the natives as they continued
their orgy of pillaging amid the burning wreckage of the supply wagons.
Dusty however was distracted by the warmth he felt from the man's
apparently full crotch pressing against Dusty's upturned ass. The sweet
sensation, and the pleasures it suggested, momentarily overrode all else.

     Then the retort of a gunshot from somewhere on the plain below
intruded on the young man's libido rudely. Recalled to reality, Dusty
realized at last what the attack on the supply train meant and he started
struggling again. He was being urged on by the bonds of blood and love
that bound him to his only living relative to attempt something his
rational mind knew would be fatal: go charging into the melee below to
find and rescue his uncle Bill.

     "Hold still!" the man whispered, tightening his grip.

     "My uncle, he's down there... " returned Dusty through the man's
fingers, still trying to free himself.

     "If he is, he's a goner for sure."

     "No... " moaned Dusty.

     "I'm sorry, but it won't do him any good if you go and get yourself
killed for no reason."

     Knowing the man was right, Dusty gritted his teeth and clenched his
eyes shut against the pain that suddenly clawed wildly at his insides. It
took all his self control to stifle an urge to break down and cry. He felt
hot tears pushing past his eyelids anyway, despite his resolve. The
stranger felt them too as they wet his fingers.

     "Listen, they might come up here, to the spring," he explained in a
softer voice as he loosened his grip, "Pull yourself together. We've gotta
get away from here, now, and quietly."

     The man got up and motioned for Dusty to go on ahead, back to the
spring. All the while, he never took his eyes off the Indians. As Dusty
pulled out a bandanna and wiped his wet face, he got his first good look
at the stranger.

     He wore moccasins, buckskin pants and a pearl gray elkskin shirt.
Despite the well-worn condition of the garments, Dusty could tell the
man's clothes had all been carefully cut and sewn. He imagined his rescuer
must have married an Indian woman skilled in such native needlework.

     The stranger was a bit taller and looked older than Dusty, leanly and
strongly built. His face was mostly covered with a long, thick brown beard.
Shaggy, shoulder-length hair the same rich color hung from beneath his hat,
which did not match the rest of his outfit.

     Dusty recognized it as a well-worn union soldier's cap. It was
battered and faded by long exposure to the sun and weather. Dusty knew of
many civil war veterans who had come west, men from both sides who had lost
everything in the bloody conflict and were looking for a new start and a
better life.

     Dusty took a few moments and looked at the man a little more
carefully. He did not seem as old as Dusty had at first supposed. No doubt,
as it had been for so many other veterans, the rigors of the war had aged
him prematurely.

     As the man turned his brown eyes on Dusty, the young man recognized
another thing those veterans had in common. A sort of far away look in his
eyes. Dusty's uncle, himself a Mexican war veteran, had once tried to
explain that to his nephew.

     "They've seen too much," Dusty remembered his uncle Bill saying. "War
gives men a glimpse of hell, and no one can come back from seein' something
like that and not be changed, not have it show in their eyes."

     Despite the conflicted emotions that still roiled in his brain, Dusty
obeyed the veteran and went back the way he had come. Once they reached the
spring, Dusty's rescuer took the lead and moved quickly into the heavy
brush growing beyond the small pool. Following faint trails that the
younger man would never have found on his own, they soon arrived at the top
of the cliff above the spring.

     The man paused there to collect some belongings he had stashed beneath
a tree, a rifle and a full leather pack. As he did that, Dusty took the
opportunity to cautiously peer over the edge of the cliff at the bloody
scene below. Dusty was hoping against hope that his uncle had escaped.

     Instead Dusty saw a sight that caused him new anxiety. The stranger's
fears had not been unfounded. One of the raiders who had attacked the
supply wagons, his face fearfully striped with war paint, was going to the
spring. A hand touched Dusty's shoulder lightly.

     "Josh is on the other side of those trees... "

     "Josh?"

     "My horse. Get ready to run to him," the veteran whispered, pointing
the way. As he did so the man's eyes never left the form that approached
the spring below their vantage point. "If he spots our trail, he'll let out
a whoop and bring all his brothers after us for sure!" he muttered.

     Dusty felt his heart sinking as he watched the brave dip his hand into
the water and then pause before drinking. Had he seen something suspicious?
Dusty never noticed when his rescuer took away his hand and dug silently
into his pack.

     The native did indeed seem to be peering questioningly in the
direction the two white men had taken. He looked at the grassy ground and
rose to examine the branches of the low-growing serviceberry bushes on the
far side of the pool. The young man was only vaguely aware of his companion
standing beside him an instant before he realized the veteran was holding a
bow and arrow. Even as that realization flashed, the arrow flew.

     Instantly, it seemed to Dusty, the native was transfixed. The arrow
entered the man's heart from above and behind. The impact knocked him down
and the arrow's point pinned him to the ground. He writhed only a little in
silence before he became still. Even from his perch far above, Dusty could
tell the brave was dead. The bearded stranger put his short bow back in the
leather pack and hissed.

     "C'mon! Now it's only a matter of time before the war party finds him!
And we need to be as far from here as possible when they do!"

     "Where... "

     "I have a camp the devil himself couldn't get into unless I allowed
it!" he explained quietly as he moved away from the cliff, prompting Dusty
to follow. "But we're not there yet. Don't worry though, I think we've
gotta good chance of gettin' outta this fix alive."

     Soon, Dusty was mounted behind the man on his horse, hugging his
rescuer's hard body tightly as they galloped as fast as the stallion could
carry them, away from the isolated stand of trees and across a high
prairie. The lush, knee-high grass was peppered with blue camash root
flowers, the whole presenting a rich blue-green blur to the men as they
hurried towards safety. However, Dusty hardly noticed this gorgeous natural
display as his emotions at last got the better of him.

     The loss of his uncle weighed on him as it came home. Dusty began to
cry into his rescuer's back as they rode. His tears made dark streaks down
the gray elkskin shirt and the sobs wracking his body were enough to shake
both men.

     Once, he felt the man grasp one of his hands firmly in an attempt to
comfort Dusty, but their pace did not slacken. At last, when he had managed
to shake off his initial grief, Dusty wiped his blurry eyes and looked to
see where they were. Ruddy uplands were rearing themselves skyward in the
west and the man had turned his horse's head towards them.

     Dusty watched as the vague shapes rose into a line of foothills. They
were the precursors of the not inconsiderable highlands that lay beyond
them, part of a range he had heard his uncle call the Blue Mountains. At
first Dusty thought the uplands were made of some oddly mottled red and
black stone, until he realized the dark spots were actually gaps in the red
rock, large sections eroded away by the spring floods that had flowed from
the mountains' melting winter snowpacks over innumerable centuries of time.

     A little less than half an hour's riding brought them to the shadowed
entrance of one of the ravines. From the outside, the mouth of that
particular gorge looked no different that any of the others near it, with
a scattering of dry sagebrush and low scrub eking out a meager existence
from the thin, rocky soil that lay before the eroded cliffs. Further away
from the hillsides the soil became richer and the tall grass of the high
prairie spread away to the eastward. The veteran slowed his mount's pace
as they entered the gap, which widened into a spacious canyon.

     After passing through, Dusty looked up and was amazed by the
unexpected sight that met his eyes. High up on one side of the canyon,
well out of range of any arrow, was a large sheltered ledge. This natural
hollow was filled with human constructs, multistoried adobe buildings. The
structures' color was the same as the ruddy native rocks around them,
giving the impression of a petrified city, empty and silent. At first
there did not appear to be any way up to the refuge that Dusty could see.

     It was not until the man halted his horse that Dusty saw it. A natural
optical illusion caused the rocks to look as if they formed a sheer cliff.
That is, they did until you were right in front of one section of them.
Then one could see the trail that led up to the incredible city. The
sloping path was little more than a narrow ledge, easily defended from
above.

     "Go on ahead. I hafta lead Josh up."

     Dusty dismounted and started climbing. As he gained altitude, he found
his view of the entrance to the canyon improved. Soon he could see through
the gap and scan beyond it for any sign of pursuit.

     "See anything?" the man called from behind him.

     "No."

     "Good. By the way, what's your name?"

     "Dustin Laird. Everybody calls me Dusty."

     "Really?" the man smiled. "I'm Woodard Quade. Woody to my friends."

     "Thanks for gettin' me outta that, Woody."

     "Don't mention it. You're just very lucky I happened to be out your
way huntin' when I heard gunshots. By the time I got to that cliff and saw
what was goin' on, I thought I was too late to help anyone. Then I spotted
you hidin' behind that boulder. How'd you get away?"

     As they continued to climb, Dusty told Woody about the rock that had
hit him beside the spring, leaving him unconscious and unnoticed during the
first part of the attack. Woody nodded as he listened. Dusty had expected
the man to laugh, but his tone was serious as he went on.

     "You're a very lucky guy, Dusty. Hopefully some of that luck will rub
off on me. I sure could use some."

     "Why?"

     "I've been tryin' to find the secret I'm sure this dead city guards."

     "What do you mean? Is there treasure here?"

     "Not in the usual sense," he began. "No gold or silver. But just
maybe, answers to questions I've had for a long time."

     "I don't understand."

     "I'll explain it to you later, when I'm sure we're safe." Woody
promised as he paused to take another look out towards the distant prairie.

     Not long afterward, they reached the head of the narrow path. A large
boulder shaped like a teardrop stood there, like a sentry keeping watch.
Dusty noted at once the variety of native pictoglyphs carved into the
stone.

     The mysterious symbols seemed to be arraigned in a spiral around a
central figure, which was larger than the rest. It was a graceful, curling
glyph, a stylized heron's head, and its presence there surprised Dusty. For
he had seen the singular sign before.

     Dusty recalled a time earlier in the drive when he was riding with his
uncle. The head drover was entertaining his nephew by repeating one of the
stories he knew about a legendary Indian tribe, known as the heron men.
They were supposed to have once lived in the part of eastern Oregon the
drovers were currently passing through, an area which was named La Grande
Vallee by the first French Canadian trappers to see it. Dusty had listened
to his uncle's stories about the heron men many times, but he never tired
of hearing them.

     The members of this lost tribe were said to be all males, men whose
natures were the same as his and Bill's, lovers of their own sex. These men
had left the tribes they had been born into and joined with others like
themselves to form a tribe of man lovers. The heron men were also said to
have been protected by strange magicks conjured by sexual rituals. And they
had supernatural allies, spirit helpers who were attracted to the amorous
energies the heron men exuded.

     Dusty remembered watching as, not for the first time, Bill drew the
tribal sign of the heron men for his nephew to see. One thick finger
stroked the tawny traildust that had settled on the seat of the wagon
between them. His uncle had drawn the same graceful, mysterious symbol as
the one Dusty now beheld engraved on the huge boulder.

     Dusty had no leisure to pause and wonder about this odd coincidence
though. Woody and his horse were too close behind him. Continuing on, they
entered a sort of small plaza that seemed to have once been a kind of civic
center or forum.

     The open space was a small expanse of relatively flat red sandstone,
all that could still be seen of the natural base of the ledge. The rest was
covered by adobe buildings. And had been for a long time, as shown by the
way the plaza had been unevenly worn by the footfalls of the many people
who had once lived in that unusual city.

     Further back, the rock wall of the canyon was warped into a large,
natural basin. It was filled with pellucid water, fed by a thin stream that
trickled continuously from a hole in the rock ceiling. The overflow ran
into a nearby building that Dusty later learned was a privy, continuously
flushing it clean.

     Dusty looked up at the well-preserved ruins that crowded around the
plaza. The black, empty windows of the abandoned city stared down upon the
horse and two men that moved beneath them like so many dead eyes. Dusty
could easily imagine that the place was haunted.

     Woody walked Josh into an old stable the original inhabitants had
built for their horses and took care of his stallion. While he was thus
occupied, Dusty looked into a neighboring room and discovered where Woody
was bedded down. He did not expect what he found there.

     The haphazard housekeeping told Dusty that his earlier surmises about
Woody having an Indian wife were wrong. From what he could see, this was
definitely the home of a bachelor. A wall calendar proclaimed it was the
month of April in 1867, all the days save one marked out. Beneath it, an
open book was lying on a rather rickety table next to a curious lamp, a
shallow bowl of stone in which a blackened wick lay soaking in a small
pool of turgid, slightly rancid smelling animal fat. Dusty picked the book
up to get a closer look at it.

     Unlike most of the drovers he had worked with, who had little in the
way of booklearning, Dusty enjoyed reading. His uncle Bill had always
encouraged him to learn all he could. But the young man frowned as he
tried to decipher the title of the book he held. He attempted to sound
out the words.

     "'Pract-tic-cal Arch-e-o-low-gee'."

     Woody came in just then and saw his interest.

     "You know what it is?"

     "No, I can't say that I do," Dusty answered.

     "It tells how to dig up old ruins without losin' valuable information
about them."

     "Ruins like these?"

     "Yes."

     "What are you tryin' to find here?"

     "Well, simply put, I wanna find out where the people who used to live
here went to."

     "Why?"

     "I think they still exist, somewhere," Woody said, looking out the
doorway.

     The opening conveniently provided a view of the canyon mouth and the
high prairie that lay beyond. Dusty figured that was the reason Woody chose
this particular room to sleep in. As he went on, there was something in
Woody's voice that reminded Dusty of his uncle Bill, somehow.

     "They were a... ah... unique people... "

     "Who were they?"

     "Have you ever heard of the 'heron men'?"

     "Why, yes. Bill told me stories about them."

     "Bill?"

     "My uncle... the head drover... he was a good man... good to me... "

     "I'm sorry for your loss, Dusty."

     "Thanks," Dusty managed, fighting back the emotions roused by the
memories of his uncle and the fate he must have met. He forced himself to
go on. "But the stories he told me, they were just legends... "

     "Every myth has a kernel of truth to it, Dusty. I believe the heron
men were real. I think they once lived in this city. Then they left it and
moved somewhere else. I wanna find them, to find out if the legends about
them are true."

     "You mean... if they were men who... loved other men?"

     "Yes."

     Silence settled on the room for a while. After a few moments, Woody
reached out to take the book from Dusty. When their fingers touched, their
eyes met and a subtle, but undeniable feeling passed between the two men.

     "I suppose you can guess why I wanna find them," Woody said quietly.

     "Probably," began Dusty, "for the same reason I know those legends
that Bill told me."

     Woody put down the book.

     "Did you love him?"

     "I... Bill was my uncle, my only family... and he was my first... he
taught me all that I know about it... " Dusty responded, feeling his sorrow
again.

     "Shhh... "

     Woody reached out and gathered Dusty into his arms, holding him
tenderly, protectively. Dusty hugged back, letting Woody know how he felt
without words. Woody was more than ready to do more than just hug the
handsome younger man he had just rescued, but there were other, more
pressing things to consider, things he could not afford to ignore if the
two men were to stay safe. He sighed to himself in resignation before he
went on.

     "Listen, why don't you try to rest here? I'd stay with you, but I
think it'd be better if I went up to a vantage point where I can keep watch
for awhile longer, in case we were followed."

     "I... okay." Dusty managed.

     Woody smiled and hugged Dusty again reassuringly before showing him
where everything was in the room. After he left, Dusty laid down on the
pile of Indian blankets that served Woody as a bed, though he did not
really feel tired. Dusty could smell another man's scent on the woolen
blankets, Woody's scent.

     He realized Woody had probably pleasured himself in these blankets
many times. Dusty tried to imagine it, watching with his mind's eye as
Woody stroked himself to orgasm, shooting his load onto his belly or into
his ready hand, errant gouts of his fragrant juices dripping and soaking
into the colored wool along with his sweat as his gasps and groans of
passion echoed in the still passageways of the dead city... The attempt to
conjure those scenes excited Dusty.

     He tried to imagine making love to Woody. But the only mental images
Dusty could summon were of the things he had done with his uncle Bill. And
that just brought the sadness back.

     He had to accept that the man he had loved since childhood was gone.
Gone forever. Dusty turned to bury his face in the blankets and wept some
more for his loss, until he fell into a state hovering between sleep and
wakefulness.

     His uncle was the only man Dusty had ever made love to. There had been
times during the drive though when he felt as if some of the other drovers
were looking at him the same way his uncle did sometimes, when Bill was
feeling particularly horny, though Dusty's co-workers never did or
suggested anything. When he had talked about his suspicions to Bill, the
older man had laughed.

     "Of course they're checkin' you out like that! We Laird men are cursed
with good-looks!"

     "Why haven't they tried anything then?" Dusty asked, feeling excited
by his uncle's words. He had not thought of himself as having a chance with
any of the other drovers, some of whom he found very handsome.

     "Well, you're the boss's nephew, and they're afraid of losin' their
jobs if they touch you. But if I wasn't here, you'd probably have your
choice of a place to sleep every night!"

     "But, they aren't all like us, are they?"

     "No, but they're men, and when men are horny they don't care where
they find their pleasure. When there aren't any women around, a guy will
find that his buddy can start lookin' pretty damn good after awhile. You
watch carefully and see who in the train is beddin' down with whom, and
you'll understand what I'm talkin' about."

     Dusty took his uncle's advice to heart and began watching what was
going on around himself with more attentiveness. He quickly realized that
the men who shared their blankets at night were also more than likely to be
together a lot during the day. One would always seem to be nearby to help
his buddy out with the odd chore or riding with him on the front seat of a
wagon, their conversations rendered private by the noise of the moving
train around them.

     More than once during the days that followed, Dusty had caught sight
of little gestures the men traded. A pat on the back that lingered a little
longer than necessary. Or a casual touch that spoke volumes.

     One incident in particular stood out among Dusty's memories. It
involved one of the toughest drovers in the outfit. He was a big, rough,
burly man, whose curses could sting his companions' ears as sharply as
their whips did their mules' hindquarters.

     This intimidating bear of a man was sitting with his fellows around
the campfire one evening when he casually moved without thinking. He
reached out with an unexpected gentleness, his thick, callused fingers
carefully closing on and removing a straw that had somehow tangled itself
in the curly red beard of the man who bedded with him. No one said a word
about it, but the eyes of the man whom he had groomed glanced gratefully
at his buddy in exactly the same way Bill's would at Dusty, sometimes,
holding a heartfelt, gentle emotion, a promise to return the touch in the
future, with interest.

     Dusty's daydreams seemed to shift subtly at that point, deepening and
morphing into something more than the mere replaying of memories. He found
himself with his uncle again, in the woods somewhere, during one of their
recent hunting trips away from the other drovers. The older man was
pressing him up against a tree, his stiff cock moving rhythmically and
determinedly in and out of Dusty's ass, firing him with the unique
sensations that only one man can give another. But the words Bill muttered
passionately in his nephew's ear as he approached his point of no return
were new.

     "I'm goin' to miss you, Dusty. I shoulda told you more often how much
pleasure you gave me. You were the son I'd always dreamed of havin', of
raisin', of lovin'... I promise I'll always love and watch over you... "

     "Bill... " Dusty gasped in return, "I know you love me. I love you
too... "

     "I know you do, son," he replied, nuzzling the younger man's neck
tenderly. Dusty could feel his uncle's cock thrust and swell and spasm,
filling his lower gut with spurts of burning hot spunk as Bill went on.
"And Woody will love you too, as much and more than I have, if you let
him. Why don't you go to him right now? Right now, Dusty... "

     Dusty's eyes snapped open as the vision abruptly ended. He was
surprised by its vividness. But the more he thought about it, the less like
a dream it seemed. The suggestion made by his uncle gnawed at him. After
tossing and turning awhile restlessly, Dusty got up and, wrapping a blanket
around himself against the cool air of the perpetually shadowed canyon, he
went outside to look for Woody.

     Finding a set of stairs, Dusty climbed to the roof of the building
Woody was using as a stable. A soft squeaking sound caused him to look
upward. The overhang of rock arched outward perhaps thirty or so feet
above his head and Dusty saw a group of small, brown-furred bats hanging
in a huddled mass from a crack in the ceiling.

     Dusty also saw Woody. He was atop the next and highest tier of the
abandoned city, sitting cross-legged with his rifle resting on his knees,
smoking an odd-looking pipe. It had an unusually long stem and was
decorated with intricate carvings and colors. A dusty blue feather, a heron
feather, Dusty realized, dangled beneath the fuming bowl. As Dusty climbed
up, Woody took the native pipe from his mouth and greeted him with a smile
and a burst of sweet-smelling smoke.

     "Can't sleep?"

     "Don't much feel like it," Dusty admitted. "Do you mind if I stay here
with you?"

     "Hell, no!" he smiled again as Dusty sat and took in the view from the
vantage point.

     "Have you seen anything?"

     "No, thank goodness."

     "This is an easily defensible spot," observed Dusty.

     "Like I said, no one can get in here without my allowin' it." Woody
pointed at the narrow entrance to the canyon below with his pipe. "One man
with a Winchester could keep an army from gettin' in here. How good a shot
are you?"

     "Tolerable," Dusty answered. "I hunt a fair bit... "

     Memories of his many hunting trips taken with his uncle Bill cropped
up, causing Dusty's voice to trail off. For a brief time, he was a boy
again, sitting beside a campfire with his uncle's arm around him, soaking
up the warmth from both the fire and the burly body he was pressed against,
feeling so safe, so loved... Woody missed the pensive look on his
companion's face as his head turned to check the view again. He took
another pull on his pipe before he broke the silence that had settled
comfortably between them, pulling Dusty out of his reverie.

     "Would you like a smoke?"

     "Sure, I'll try it."

     Woody handed over the pipe. As Dusty inhaled, the burning tobacco in
the bowl glowed bright red-orange, echoing the tints the sun was evoking
from the upper canyon walls. He gave the pipe back to Woody. Perhaps it
was their surroundings, but something about the sharing felt rather solemn,
deep...

     "I found this pipe here," Woody was saying. "I like to think I'm
sharin' in the rituals its owners practiced when I use it."

     "That's funny. I was just thinkin' something like that, like we were
doin' more together than just smokin'."

     Woody gave his companion a thoughtful look, but said nothing for a
time.

     "I... " he began hesitantly, then started again. "I'm sorry, really
sorry, about your uncle, Dusty."

     Dusty gave him a pained look and Woody quickly went on.

     "I... ah... I won't talk about it if it's too... " Woody flustered.

     "It's alright," Dusty cut in, reaching to pat Woody's shoulder gently.
He felt the hard muscles there and wondered if Woody would like a backrub,
like the ones he used to give his uncle. He let his hand linger there a
moment, feeling the warmth of his companion's skin through the material of
his shirt and sighed inwardly before disengaging.

     "It's just that," began Woody as his eyes flickered away to sweep the
view of the prairie again, his voice becoming almost a whisper, "I know
what it's like to lose someone you love... "

     "I haven't lost Bill, he's here, and here," Dusty said, touching his
heart and then his forehead.

     "Yes." Woody nodded solemnly and agreed. "You're right."

     "I told you I'd heard some stories about the heron men from my uncle,"
Dusty began after a few moments. "What stories do you know?"

     "Make yourself comfortable and I'll tell you some of them. Let me know
if I'm repeatin' any your uncle Bill told you."

     "That won't matter. I liked hearin' them as often as I could."

     "It's kinda nice to hear good stories about men like us, eh?"

     "Yes, it is."

     As Dusty agreed, he thought again of Bill. Besides his uncle, no one
he had known had ever had a good word for the things Dusty had wanted since
childhood. To be close to another man, to touch his masculine hairiness, to
hold his hard, heated flesh, taste it, and the juices it made...

     "Have you heard the story of the foolish lover?" asked Woody, cutting
into Dusty's erotic musings.

     "No," Dusty said, returning to the present. "That sounds like a new
one to me."

     "Well, 'many lifetimes ago' as the storytellers say... "

     Woody spoke quietly as he told the legend, one of many he knew that
mentioned the heron men. As the sun lowered, the interior of the canyon
darkened long before the lands outside it did. Woody continued to watch the
bright, high prairie beyond their refuge while he spoke and before long,
Dusty was lying wrapped in the blanket with his head resting on Woody's
lap, with Woody's hand stroking his blonde hair gently. The storyteller's
soothing voice at last summoned the sleep that had eluded Dusty earlier.

* * *

     "You sure are a lucky guy, Dusty."

     Dusty turned his head towards the voice that had spoken and saw his
uncle Bill, standing on the roof nearby. The man looked just as he had the
last time Dusty remembered seeing him. Dusty sat up at once, hardly
noticing that Woody was nowhere to be seen.

     "How... "

     Then Dusty fell silent when he saw the figure standing in the shadows
behind his uncle. At first he could not make out who it was. As he
continued to stare, he picked out enough details to realize it was an
Indian.

     "Bill!" he cried. "Behind you... "

     "Don't be frightened, Dusty, he's a friend."

     "Bill!" Dusty began as he rushed to embrace his uncle, "I'm so glad to
see you! How'd you get away?"

     A pained look crossed Bill's face as he hugged back. He looked at his
companion beseechingly.

     "What's the matter?"

     "Your kinsman," the native said, speaking for the first time, "does
not wish to give you pain. But you must know the truth. He did not escape
the massacre beside the spring. He has passed beyond the life you know and
I have been sent to guide him to a place where his man-loving male spirit
can find a new life, a good life, with others of his kind."

     Dusty looked from the native to Bill and then back again, letting what
he had heard sink in. It was difficult, for his uncle felt real and warm
and alive within the circle of his arms. The native fixed the young man
with a serious look and spoke again.

     "If you will accept it, you are having a medicine dream, Dusty Laird.
In this sacred state, one may see and do many things impossible in the
waking world."

     "Who are you?"

     "I am Ikukua," the man began. "I once lived here."

     "Here? Are you a heron man?"

     "Yes."

     "Where are you takin' Bill?"

     "I cannot describe it to you, not now. But you need not be concerned
for your uncle. He will be safe and happy, with many other men of his
nature to live and love with."

     "I wanted to see you one last time so I could tell you," began Bill
as he kissed Dusty and released him, "that the stories were all true, the
heron men are real, and if you stick with this fellow, Woody, you'll find
them."

     "Woody... " Dusty muttered, reminded into looking around for his
companion. "Where's Woody?"

     "That is not important," said Ikukua, who pointed across the flat
rooftops of the dead city. "Look."

     Dusty looked and saw beyond the entrance of the canyon, out impossibly
far into the high prairie, and saw a group of Indians riding. He blanched
in horror when he saw the bloody scalps attached to their lances, flapping
like gory flags in the wind. Dusty recognized them as the ones that had
killed Bill and his fellow drovers. He recoiled from the sight and abruptly
turned back to Ikukua.

     "Are they comin' here?"

     "Look," the heron man commanded once more.

     Dusty looked again, but this time he saw only one Indian, an elderly
man with long white hair, riding along with another horse trailing behind
him, carrying a saddle pack. A large dog... No, Dusty corrected himself as
he studied the animal, a strangely colored wolf, whose entire pelt was an
even, unique red-brown, was loping along beside the native elder. Somehow
Dusty was sure they were on their way to the hidden city.

     "They are my brothers and yours," Ikukua explained. "They will help
you. Now look again."

     The Indian pointed towards a certain section of the ruins.

     "Do you see it?"

     Dusty looked and saw a faint, pale purplish glow coming from one of
the windows amid the ruins.

     "Yes," he answered. "What is it?"

     "Tell Woody that he will find what he is seeking in that room." Ikukua
replied. As the heron man ceased speaking, Bill stepped forward again.

     "I have a gift for you, Dusty," he murmured as his arms embraced his
nephew.

     Dusty hugged Bill back, relaxing into the blank pleasure of being
encompassed by the bigger man's warmth. Then he felt another sort of warmth
playing strangely, all up and down his spine. Dusty opened his eyes.

     To his surprise, he saw what looked like wings on his uncle's back:
shining, gossamer, beautiful and seemingly insubstantial. They curled and
caressed Dusty's back. As they drew away, they seemed to pull another,
similar set of aethereal pinions from the younger man's back, gorgeously
iridescent appendages that spread out and shimmered with mysterious
energies.

     The edges of Dusty's new wings found and meshed with those of his
uncle. A surge of delicious sensation pulsed through the connection,
making Dusty gasp. Bill felt it too, and hugged Dusty tighter.

     "These are your spirit wings," Bill murmured. "All men like us have
them, but only a few wise ones like the heron men know how to teach others
how to manifest and use them. When you love another man, join your spirit
wings to his, and both of you will be brought closer, feel more, and
generate healing energy."

     "But... "

     "When you find the heron men, they will explain all of it more fully
to you, Dusty."

     Ikukua placed a hand on Bill's shoulder.

     "We must go now."

     "Goodbye, Dusty. Always remember I love you and that I'm watchin' over
you. Take good care of yourself... " Bill said as he released his nephew.
His voice already sounded as if it were coming from somewhere very far
away, from another world, perhaps.

      "No... "

* * *

     "...wait!"

     Dusty lurched up from where he lay, suddenly awake. As the echoes from
his shout reverberated off the rock ceiling, he heard Woody asking what was
wrong. Dusty described his unusually vivid dream and when he was done,
Woody, who seemed quite excited, at once asked his companion a question.

     "Can you see which window Ikukua pointed to?"

     Dusty looked up and saw it at once.

     "Yes! That one, the third from the left. But Woody, it was only a
dream... "

     "We'll soon see if that's so."

     "But... "

     "Remember the stories you've heard?" Woody began, cutting off Dusty's
objections as he got up. "The heron men were said to be able to communicate
with their brothers and other men and supernatural beings through sacred
dreams!"

     That made Dusty think. The things he had experienced, his daydream,
the vision of Ikukua and his uncle, could they have had some basis in
reality? Or alternate reality, as the case may be?

     "But why would they speak to me?" he managed weakly.

     "Maybe our little 'ritual' with the pipe earlier raised some friendly
spirits!" Woody grinned as he moved across the rooftops towards the place
Ikukua had indicated.

     "Haven't you searched there before?"

     "Actually, no. I've been tryin' to follow the directions of that book
you were lookin' at before. It says to thoroughly examine each area, or
room, in this case, before goin' on to another."

     "It'd take someone years to go through this whole city like that!"

     "It probably would. I've been here for a little less than a year
already," Woody admitted. "I first heard about the heron men from a fellow
soldier I served with. We agreed to go look for them together after the
war, but he was killed in battle." Woody's voice lowered as he felt an old
wound reopening inside him. "I'm followin' this quest as much for Mike as
for myself."

     Dusty did not need to ask if Woody had loved Mike, he could hear it in
the way Woody spoke about his dead friend. He recalled Woody's earlier
statement, that he knew what it was like to lose a loved one, and felt more
kinship with the veteran. He considered that their situations were similar.
They were both orphans, of a kind...

     "After I was released from the army, I came out to Oregon, plannin' to
search for any clues I could find that would lead me to the heron men. Soon
after I arrived here, I rescued an old Indian named Ta-vi whose horse had
gone lame, strandin' him far from his people. I took him home and he
invited me to stay with him awhile.

     "The tribe accepted me as Ta-vi's foster son and I lived and worked
with them... Oh, by the way, that's where I learned to handle a bow and
arrows, if you were wonderin'. Ta-vi taught me their language. Once I
could explain more fully why I was in their country and what I was lookin'
for, Ta-vi told me about this place. Only he and a few other elders knew
about it, and I had to undergo an initiation before the sacred site's
location could be imparted to me."

     "What'd they do to you?"

     "Nothing painful, if that's you're thinkin'," Woody grinned. "To prove
to them that I was sincere in my quest to find the heron men, I had to suck
off the elders!"

     "Really? Were they like us?"

     "No, they used mansex only in their rituals. But, come to think of it,
they must have enjoyed it, because they seemed to conduct an awful lot of
rituals!"

     "How many of them did you hafta... ?"

     "Aren't you the curious one!" Woody laughed, causing Dusty to blush.

     "I can't help it, Woody," Dusty explained. "My uncle Bill was the only
man I've ever touched. The idea of bein' with other guys... well... it
sounds excitin'... "

     "It's okay," Woody soothed before he went on. "There were five of
them, includin' Ta-vi, who went with me into a sacred sweat lodge. The
tribe's medicine man gave us a special herbal drink that made us all horny
as hell. I sucked them off one after the other, spittin' some of each man's
spunk onto the hot rocks to sizzle and show the others when the man I was
suckin' on had shot his load. When I was finished, the medicine man sucked
me off, catchin' my cum in a bowl, which the other men all drank from. What
was left went onto the hot rocks to smoke and add to the steamy atmosphere.

     "'You have taken our seed and we have taken yours,' the medicine man
declared. 'This sacred sharing makes us brothers now.'

     "Then, because of the continuin' effects of the native aphrodisiac, we
all spent the rest of that night suckin' and fuckin' each other, in more
combinations than I could've ever imagined."

     Dusty licked his dry lips and rubbed his hardening member through his
pants. He was aroused just trying to conjure the wild scene in the sweat
lodge Woody was describing. Woody grinned at the state his companion was in
as he went on.

     "Afterwards, they told me about this place, where it was and their
belief that the heron men had once lived here. I left to look for it as
soon as I could. I knew it was what I'd been lookin' for when I saw that
the carvin's on the rocks around here included the recognition sign of the
heron men."

     "Yes, I noticed that too."

     "I still go back to Ta-vi's village from time to time, for supplies."

     "I wondered where you got your native clothing from. For awhile I
thought you had an Indian wife."

     "Not me," Woody smiled. "I'm not 'the marryin' kind', as they say."

     "Me neither," added Dusty, a bit unnecessarily. By then each man knew
exactly where the other stood on the subject of sex.

     As Dusty was speaking, the pair reached the window Dusty had been
shown by Ikukua in his medicine dream. Dusty expected Woody to go on into
the room behind it, but he hesitated. While Woody looked around,
apparently puzzled, Dusty asked what the matter was.

     "There's no door into this room," he pointed out to Dusty, "just this
window."

     Dusty looked over Woody's shoulder, through the window. The barren
room beyond seemed like the inside of an empty cube. The walls, floor and
ceiling all presented placidly blank, white surfaces. However, there was a
slight discoloration in the center of the floor, squarish in shape.

     Woody spotted it too and they entered the room by squeezing through
the window. Examining the floor, they found a whitewashed wooden trapdoor
that once would have blended in with its surroundings, but age had betrayed
it. They quickly found the way it was hinged and lifted the door.

     Beneath it was a shallow pit. An oblong object, perhaps two feet
long, a foot wide and an inch thick, lay within the hole, wrapped in a
native blanket. It had been there for a long time, if the faded colors of
the old textile were any indication.

     Whatever the object was, it was hard and cold to the touch. Both men
carefully lifted it out of the hidden compartment. Laying it on the floor,
they unwrapped the coverings.

     A rectangular soapstone tablet was revealed. Its surface was covered
with more native images, but they were grouped around an unmistakable map.
The old city was connected by a dashed line that ran across the mountains
to the west and the arid lands beyond to another line of mountains,
apparently close to the ocean. It was clearly the route the heron men had
followed to their new home.

     "The Cascades!" Woody breathed as he looked the stone over. "That's
where they went!"

     "But where in the Cascades?" asked Dusty. "That's a big place."

     "Look," Woody said as he traced the route with one finger. "The trend
is southwest from here. They must be somewhere in the mountains of southern
Oregon. And here," he added, "this circle south of where the dashed line
ends, it might represent Deep Blue Lake."

     "I've never heard of that lake."

     "It supposed to be a circular lake high up in the mountains, just
north of the California border. A group of prospectors discovered it a few
years ago. Some folks call it Crater Lake," he added.

     "Do you think there's anything on the other side?"

     "We'll soon find out," Woody said as he hefted one side of the tablet
and gently turned it over. Neither man was prepared for what they saw.

     "It's... it's English writin'!" breathed Dusty as he touched the
engraved message. He went on, beginning to read the inscription. "'These
are the words of Ikukua... '" Dusty paused, astonished. "That's the guy
who I saw with my Uncle Bill!"

     "Your dream was true!" exclaimed Woody. "Keep goin'!"

     "' ...chief shaman of the Elxa, written out by his white brother,
Takonxa. The immortal protector of the Elxa, the powerful Hunts-by-night,
has led our tribe to a new home. This tablet is a memorial of that journey,
left here in the heron men's ancient citadel as a guide for any of our
nature who seek for us hereafter. Look for the sign of the heron. When you
see it, you will be close to us.'"

     Beneath the words they saw, again, a curling, stylized heron's head,
the tribal symbol of the heron men. Or the Elxa, as the heron men also
apparently called themselves. Lower down, in a corner, was carved a date.

     "'Dec. 1832.'" murmured Woody thoughtfully. After a few moments he
turned the tablet back over and stared hard at the map, fixing its details
in his mind. Dusty spoke up.

     "I remember hearing about Hunts-by-night in some of the legends of
the heron men. He was supposed to be a demon in human form, and had
supernatural powers." While Dusty spoke, Woody began to carefully wrap the
tablet up again. "What are you doin'?"

     "I'm puttin' it back," he explained. "Help me move it."

     Returning the tablet to its resting place, they closed the trapdoor
and left the room. The pair made their way back to the rooftop where Woody
took up his watch again in silence. Dusty sat next to his companion as
Woody reloaded and lit the heron men's medicine pipe. He gazed out into
the empty prairie as he smoked, obviously deep in thought.

     "What do you think?" Dusty asked at last.

     "I'm just makin' plans." Fragrant clouds of smoke punctuated Woody's
words as he spoke. "There are supplies to get, another horse, for sure..."

     "So, you're goin' to go look for them?"

     "Of course."

     "Oh... "

     Woody looked at Dusty questioningly.

     "What's the matter?"

     "Nothing. I hope you find what you're lookin' for."

     "Aren't you comin' with me?"

     "You want me to?"

     "Of course. You got something better to do?"

     Dusty opened his mouth to reply to Woody but nothing came out. It was
not until that moment that Dusty fully appreciated the fact that all his
ties to his old life had been severed. It was almost as if he had been
born again, the moment Woody rescued him. Woody went on, explaining
himself.

     "Why else would I need another horse? Josh can't carry both of us that
far!" Despite his smile, Woody's eyes were serious as he put his pipe down
and curled an arm around Dusty, drawing him closer. "We'll find the heron
men, I'm sure of that now," he murmured. "But they're not the only thing
I've been lookin' for, these past couple of years. I've been lonely a long
time, Dusty, grievin' for Mike. And I'd hate to see you go through the
same thing over Bill... Maybe we can keep each other company... Maybe we
can find something to fill these holes in our lives, if we stay
together... Do you like poetry, Dusty?"

     "I haven't read a lot of it, but yeah."

     "This is something by a poet I like, a fellow called Whitman:"

Camerado, I give you my hand!
I give you my love
more precious than money,
I give you myself
before preaching or law;
Will you give me yourself?
Will you come travel with me?
Shall we stick by each other
as long as we live?

     "Woody, I... "

     Woody silenced Dusty with a kiss. It started gently, tentatively, as
Woody waited for a response that would let him know how to proceed. Dusty
melted into it, wanting the other man to take control. Dusty's life had
become a blank slate and he waited to see what Woody would write in the
first new chapter of it...

     Sensing his desire, Woody urged Dusty's head down against his chest.
Scrunched down to that vantage point, the young man could see one of
Woody's hands yanking urgently at the knots that held up his buckskin
pants. He could also see a not inconsiderable bulge pushing outward a
little lower down, as if an angry animal were trapped in his friend's
trousers.

     Dusty reached to help and soon Woody's cock was standing free, not
yet at complete attention, but hot under his fingers and leaking precum
like a faucet with a broken washer. Dusty silently thanked Bill for all
his lessons as he thrust his tongue under the foreskin and lapped at the
slimy glans hungrily. He relished the smell and the taste of Woody as he
licked and sucked his tool clean. All the while it continued to swell,
until Dusty had a sizeable hunk of hard, wet manmeat sliding in and out
of his mouth.

     "Goddammit Dusty... " gasped Woody, "I can't hold off... it's been so
fuckin' long since I've had a hot man's mouth on my pecker... so goddamn
fuckin' long... "

     Dusty responded by redoubling his efforts. Soon, with a guttural
growl, Woody came. Dusty felt his friend's cock swell a little bigger and
tremble a split second before it spat a burning hot gob of savory spunk
against the back of his throat, the first of many. Within seconds, Dusty's
mouth was flooded with aromatic manseed. He swallowed the tasty gouts of
salty-sweetness as quickly as they came, massaging Woody's prick with his
tongue until it was soft and spent.

     "Get up here," Woody ordered once he caught his breath.

     Dusty obeyed by straddling Woody's chest. Woody popped the buttons of
Dusty's jeans. Freeing Dusty's rigid pecker from its prison of faded blue
cloth, Woody swallowed it with an ease that demonstrated long experience.
Since Dusty was as ready as Woody had been, Dusty did not last long under
the man's talented tongue and suctioning mouth. Within a short while he was
blasting his sperm down Woody's throat with so much force that his balls
tingled with the effort as they were drained dry.

     Rolling off Woody, Dusty collapsed next to the man, who made sure his
arms were ready to hug his companion firmly to his side. Once their
breathing returned to normal, Woody turned his head to regard the younger
man wryly. His grin was infectious as he spoke.

     "Thanks, buddy."

     "You're entirely welcome," returned Dusty as he slipped one hand down
to caress Woody's limp cock.

     "Be careful," he muttered, nuzzling Dusty's ear, "or you'll wake him
up again!" They kissed and each recognized the taste of his own cum on the
other man's tongue.

     "I can go again if you can," Dusty replied, feeling his desire for
Woody rising again, "that was so... "

     "Wait," Woody interrupted, "I'll go get some more blankets and we can
bunk up here tonight, together. Okay?"

     After Woody left the rooftop, Dusty moved to spread out the blanket he
had brought with him earlier, making a base for their bed. Stripping off
his clothes, he enjoyed the feel of the cool canyon air caressing his
nakedness as he rolled the garments up to make a pillow. Then, absently
fluffing up the pale hairs that grew across his chest, Dusty looked out
towards the prairie again.

     The light of the setting sun made the distant grasslands look like a
vast carpet of green touched with red and orange flames. The man squinted,
trying to see as far as he could. But besides a lone eagle circling far
off, Dusty could see nothing moving out there.

     When Woody returned, Dusty helped him build their bed and slid under
the covers while Woody took off his clothes. Dusty was impressed by the
thick thatch of dark fur growing across Woody's upper chest. It funneled
downward across his stomach to his pubes in a pattern Dusty had seen on
other men and remembered his uncle referring to it one time as a 'goody
trail'. Woody placed his rifle beside their bed where he could easily
reach it as he took another look out towards the swiftly darkening prairie.

     "See anything?"

     "No," he answered, before turning to burrow under the covers and
embrace Dusty in his furry arms. "We may have seen the last of those
raiders."

     "Good," replied Dusty as he returned the hug, exploring Woody's body
with his hands.

     "Tomorrow, we can get outta here," Woody went on, his hands similarly
engaged. "Maury City is three or four days' ride west of here. We can
resupply ourselves there, then head southwest, into the Cascades."

     "Sounds like a good plan," Dusty yawned.

     "You've had a full day, buddy," chuckled Woody. "Let's get some
sleep."

     "You sure? I can still... "

     "I'm sure you could." Woody yawned, then kissed his partner
reassuringly and let him cuddle up comfortably against his side. Dusty
was soon asleep again.

* * *

     "Woody? Woody, wake up."

     "What... " the man yawned and stretched.

     His outstretched hand brushed against something rough and pliable,
something that did not feel as if it belonged there. Woody's eyes snapped
open, and he saw a memory. It was clearly impossible, but it was there
nonetheless, a scene from his past that felt solid and absolutely real
under his fingers.

     The dingy canvas walls of the tent he touched luffed a little from the
force of a wind blowing outside. Woody was lying in a narrow army cot,
partly clothed in the blue pants of his old union uniform. A low-burning
kerosene lamp hung from a roof pole, illuminating the quarters he had been
assigned.

     Woody recalled how it had been that chance assignment that had led to
his encounter with the first man he had ever known who felt like he did,
deep inside. A discovery equally as surprising to the other man. Until
then, each was sure he was alone, adrift in a world that despised their
secret longings for mansex.

     Their bonding had been swift and deep, intoxicating to them both as
they felt it flowering into love. From childhood, they had known they were
'different', and suffered isolation and fear because of it. But after they
met, the men knew with an almost instinctive certainty that the bond
growing between them was what they had wanted, had been waiting and
searching for, all their lives. A magic shield of love that would ward off
the senseless hatred of the world for men like themselves.

     "Woody."

     He hesitated to look at the man who shared his tent, feeling afraid of
what he would see. Because he knew who it ought to be. And because he knew
that man was dead, long dead, dead and buried and gone...

     ...but Woody could not stop himself. He deliberately looked at the
speaker's midsection first. He saw a uniform like his, blue pants held up
with suspenders that stretched over a bare belly and chest, thickly fleeced
with dark hairs.

     Woody inhaled the scent of that bared body, the musk of the man he had
loved and gasped at the way it aroused him, had always aroused him. He
looked up into the unforgettable brown eyes that regarded him gently from
beneath bushy eyebrows, from a handsome face he had thought he would never
see again, framed by the familiar, slightly unkempt looking mane of hair
that refused to be tamed by any comb. A thick brush of a moustache curled
over the full, soft lips, partly obscuring the smile that played upon
them...

     "Mike... " he breathed. "But you're... "

     "No. I'm not. You saved me Woody, just like you saved Dusty."

     "What do you mean? How did I save you?"

     "By loving me. I'm glad I have the chance now to tell you how proud,
and yet so humble it made me feel, to know you'd chosen me, of all people,
to give your love to, to trust your heart to. I'll always treasure what
you've given me, Woody."

     "Oh, God, Mike, I can't tell you how much I loved you, how much it
hurt when you left me! Why did it take so long for you to come back to me?"

     "The spirits of the Elxa are at work here in their old city again,
Woody, giving ghosts like me a chance to speak to the living, through
their dreams."

     "I still don't... "

     "Remember the medicine dream Dusty had?"

     "Yeah."

     "Well, I've made the same journey his uncle Bill has, and I've learned
a lot from the men like us who've gone on before, in a place so beautiful I
can't describe it. Stand up."

     "Why?" Woody asked, though he complied with Mike's request.

     "I want to give you what Bill gave Dusty," murmured Mike, hugging his
old lover.

     As Woody responded, holding the man's warm and vital body close to
himself, feeling their chest fur tangle and scratch, he watched something
incredible happening with wondering eyes: Mike unfurled a gorgeous pair of
spirit wings. They wrapped around Woody, caressed his back in a most
singular manner and, as they drew away, Woody could feel his own spirit
wings following, growing out of his back, waving in the gloom of their
field tent with a delicate, pastel light. The edges of his wings brushed
against Mike's, connected, and a surge of erotic sensations, sweet beyond
words, ran through both their bodies.

     "My God... " breathed Woody, transfixed by the experience.

     "Your love has saved me, Woody," Mike murmured, "because I've learned
there's no life until one has been loved. After that, there's no death... "

     Mike kissed Woody's lips as he spoke, sending another pulse of
palpable sweetness through the aethereal connection they shared. The
touch and the sensation washed away the last of Woody's doubts. He hugged
his old army buddy to him tighter and kissed him harder as he pulled Mike
bodily down.

     Woody had meant for them to fall together into the cot, but as he
clutched and strained with Mike, he was vaguely aware of lying with his
friend on a colorful native blanket, outdoors in a field of tall grass,
under a warm, ebullient sun. Their clothing had vanished and Mike's hard
cock moved achingly against his buddy's equally aroused manhood as the men
gave themselves over to the joy of their reunion. Woody knew then that he
was having a medicine dream, like the one Dusty had described to him
earlier. He had no idea how long that sacred dream state would last, but
Woody fully intended to do as much as he could with Mike before it ended.

* * *

     A mournful sound woke Dusty up. As he opened his eyes to a night
darker than any he had ever experienced before, the noise came again. It
was the howl of a wolf, far off.

     He sat up and looked towards where the prairie ought to be. The only
things Dusty could see were a few stars, defining the small patch of sky
visible from his vantage point within the old canyon city. A touch brought
his attention back to earth.

     Woody's hand was gently caressing his bare back, tracing the size of
the patch of hair that grew just above Dusty's buttcrack. Despite his
medicine dream and the passionate reunion with Mike he had experienced,
Woody still found himself desiring Dusty and was glad for that. Without
speaking, Dusty resumed his exploration of his companion's body. In the
almost total darkness, he had the novel experience of relying only on his
touch, taste and smell to navigate, and found it oddly arousing to do so.

     Dusty's lips moved across the thick hair of Woody's chest, his tongue
rooting determinedly through the tangles of that dark forest, like a
truffle pig seeking after exotic scents. His actions flattened the man's
fur into wet whorls as he found and sucked on his partner's nipples. They
responded to the attention, growing into taut, rubbery nubs. He licked
and nipped, drooled and sucked until Woody was unable to stifle his
groans of passion.

     By then, Dusty had found Woody's pecker to be stiff once more and
straining beneath the blankets. Dusty went down on him again. This time he
tried to go more slowly, hoping to savor the experience and make their
lovemaking last awhile.

     Dusty lapped at Woody's ballsac, nipped at the sensitive underside of
his cockhead and traced the veins that pulsed along the rod's hot surface
with his tonguetip. Dusty also thought about using his spirit wings, not
knowing Woody had the same idea. The subtle connection was made, but in
the physical passion that inflamed the men, they barely noticed one more
voluptuous sensation among so many they were generating and sharing.

     Meanwhile, Woody's fingers were busy probing Dusty's backside, letting
Dusty know a different sort of pleasure was on Woody's mind. Moving his ass
against the intruders, Dusty silently signaled his assent. As he continued
making love to Woody's cock, he heard Woody hawk and spit into his hand.
Then a slick paw slipped into the cleft, seeking the hot, sweet center,
tracing its outline, pushing into it, lubing the insides, one finger,
then two...

     Woody's hands moved, coming around to urge Dusty off his cock.
Releasing it, Dusty laid himself face down on the blankets and waited.
The heat of Woody's body came a moment before the hairy feel of it pressed
into his back. The wet head of Woody's hard prick slipped into Dusty's
crack, coming close enough to kiss Dusty's asslips, but not penetrating
its target.

     Woody teased his bedmate this way until Dusty's desire made him lose
patience. He begin thrusting his ass back against the hardness that hovered
hesitantly before his hot hole. Knowing his partner was more than ready,
Woody reacted by plunging in, sliding to and through the bull's-eye in one
quick lunge. Dusty gasped encouragement as a momentary pain was transmuted
into sheer bliss. Woody began thrusting with gusto, ramming it in, humping
his way determinedly towards another orgasm.

     Showing off a trick Bill had taught him, Dusty began riding back on
Woody's pecker, silently urging him to go deeper and fuck harder. Surprised
and enthralled by what he was feeling, Woody responded by driving into
Dusty's ass faster and with even more force. Besides the pounding rhythm,
Dusty could feel drops of hot sweat falling from Woody's flexing body onto
his, mingling with his own.

     Dusty felt the surges convulsing Woody's body as the veteran reached
his point of no return. An explosion of warmth swelled within his gut,
pulsing wetly in time to Woody's short, deep, forceful strokes. At last,
panting for breath, Woody groaned plaintively and let his full, exhausted
weight fall on Dusty's back.

     "God, Dusty... " he managed, utterly spent.

     Dusty rolled his unresisting partner over and moved to gently wipe
Woody's cock clean with a bandanna before taking it into his mouth again,
licking and sucking the soft length as he lay with his head in his
partner's lap. They stayed that way in silence for several minutes, Woody
stroking Dusty's hair gently, Dusty nuzzling Woody's soft, spent pecker.
Both men feeling warm and close.

     "You okay?" Woody whispered at last.

     "Yeah, Woody." Dusty released Woody's cock to respond. "You were
great."

     "Look who's talkin'." he chuckled, tousling Dusty's hair. When Dusty
did not respond, he went on. "Well, 'one good turn deserves another', as
they say... "

     "Huh?"

     "Saddle up, pardner."

     As Woody drawled those words in a mock-western accent, he lifted his
legs invitingly. Dusty did not wait to be asked twice. Soon another howl
sounded out on the darkened prairie, in answer to a roar of male passion
that arose from the depths of the heron men's lost canyon city, amplified
by the sheer rock walls...

* * *

     It was late in the morning when Dusty woke up. His head was under the
covers and his nose was buried in the hair of Woody's chest. The musky
smell of the man's sweat was enhanced by spicy hints of dried semen mingled
with other body fluids. Dusty thought Woody smelled absolutely wonderful,
the way all men ought to smell.

     Though a full bladder was bothering him to do something about it,
Dusty was just as interested in starting another round of sex with Woody
as he reached out and gently palped the man's flaccid cock with his
fingertips. But inevitably, nature's call won the contest for Dusty's
attention. Dusty tried to carefully wiggle free of Woody's warm embrace,
but he was not successful.

     "Don't go," Woody whispered, awake but obviously not overjoyed about
it. "It feels so damn good, holdin' onto you like this... "

     "Sorry, but I've gotta piss," returned Dusty, tugging urgently at the
arms that had him in a clinch.

     "Okay... "

     Woody sighed that word in resignation. It had been so long since he
had slept with another man, enjoying the warm, quiet closeness of a
masculine embrace, that he did not want it to end. But he relaxed his grip
as he started to sit up and look around.

     Since his head was still covered up, Dusty could not see anything.
But he felt Woody's body go rigid suddenly, as if in alarm. Dusty forced
himself up into the light.

     "What... "

     "Don't speak or move," Woody warned in a low voice.

     Dusty could see Woody's hand inching towards the side of the bed where
he had left his rifle. Unable to stop himself, Dusty looked towards where
Woody's eyes were focused and froze. A large wolf was sitting on the roof,
calmly observing the two men.

     It was obviously a wolf, yet three things about it gave Dusty pause.
First was the thick rawhide cord around its shaggy neck, from which
depended a flat black stone the diameter of a silver dollar. Carved on it
was the same curling glyph that Dusty had seen before, the sign of the
heron.

     The second thing he noticed were the eyes of the beast. They were
unnaturally, solidly red-orange, and seemed to glow with an inexplicable
sort of inner light. Dusty imagined what those blazing eyes must look like
in the darkness of the night, and shuddered at the thought.

     Thirdly, the animal's fur was evenly reddish-brown all over its body,
a color pattern unlike that of any other wolf Dusty had ever seen. Or had
he? Something about it seemed familiar...

     "Goddammit!"

     Woody cursed under his breath, distracting Dusty. Another glance
showed Dusty how his partner's hand was groping about hopelessly, unable
to find his rifle because it was no longer where Woody had left it. Just
as Dusty was wondering how this situation was going to end, an unfamiliar
voice spoke.

     "Would you shoot your brother?"

     The pair stared open mouthed at the wolf.

     "Did it speak?" Woody breathed.

     "No. I did."

     As one, the nonplussed men's heads swung towards the sound and they
both saw an elderly native man with long white hair sitting on the opposite
side of the roof. He was clothed in a finely sewn buckskin outfit. From
his throat hung a black pendant, a twin to the one the strange wolf wore.
Woody's rifle lay before him, beside his own. He laid his hand on it.

     "Forgive me," he began, "but I had to protect our brother, the
Spirit-Wolf. He will not harm you. He shares our nature."

     Woody shook his head in a vain attempt to dispel what he was sure was
another medicine dream. The newcomer smiled at his confusion. Then, all at
once, Dusty recognized the pair.

     "Woody, they're the ones I saw in my dream, the ones I was told were
comin' to help us!"

     The elder's face changed and grew thoughtful. "You have had a medicine
dream about us?"

     "Yes."

     "You must tell me of it."

     "Sure, but can I piss first?"

     "Of course, of course," the native chuckled. "My name is Xaculi."

     "Are you an Elxa tribesman, a heron man?" asked Woody in awe.

     "Yes, I am," he answered.

     As Woody introduced himself and Dusty, Dusty got up and went to the
edge of the roof that faced out into empty space. He held out his cock
and a yellow stream flew, arcing out and down to the canyon floor far
below. Shaking off the last few drops, he turned back and got a surprise
as the Spirit-Wolf got up and trotted over to him.

     "Um, nice doggie... um... wolfie... "

     As he spoke, trying not to show fear, Dusty held out his hand for the
strange animal to sniff. Ignoring the man's hand, the wolf demonstrated his
overly-friendly nature by sticking his cold nose directly into Dusty's
crotch. Snuffing up the man's scent noisily, the beast began licking the
man's cock and balls hungrily. The long, pink tongue lapped warmly and
wetly across the sensitive skin as if the wolf knew exactly what to do to
please a man.

     "Hey!" Dusty exclaimed, more startled than anything else.

     Xaculi said something then that neither Dusty nor Woody could
understand, in what they assumed was the Elxa language. To their surprise,
the Spirit-Wolf stopped what he was doing and looked at Xaculi with his
weird eyes before making a pleading sort of whimper. Xaculi spoke again
and the beast actually seemed to nod in understanding. After giving Dusty's
genitals one last gentle lick, the uncanny animal turned and left the roof,
padding down the stairs into the dead city below.

     "What was that all about?"

     "You must forgive your brother," Xaculi explained, sounding somewhat
apologetic. "He has a weakness for yellow-haired men."

     Neither Dusty nor Woody knew how to respond to that, so, after Woody
took his turn pissing over the edge of the roof, they started looking for
and donning their clothes. Both noted the Elxa elder's keen black eyes upon
them as they did so, drinking in the sight of their masculine nakedness.
It was obvious that Xaculi had the same interest in manflesh as the two
white men.

     "Would you like to hear a song?" Xaculi asked at length.

     "Er, sure," managed Woody. The unexpected request had caught the
veteran as he was inserting one hairy leg into his pants, his cock and
balls dangling openly, heavily and deliciously before the heron elder's
gaze.

Arriving in the dark,
I sat and watched
as the dawn light
stole gently
across your naked bodies
entwined like ivy...

Masculine arms clutching,
legs interlocked,
you held one another
with a tender,
awesome strength...

With the tenacity
of a deep manlove...

How beautiful!

     "That was nice," Dusty said, not knowing what else to say.

     "Among the Elxa, it is our way to sing when our hearts are moved,"
Xaculi explained, "as the sight of you both, each sharing his love with
the other, has moved me."

     Woody suggested they get something to eat and both Dusty and Xaculi
agreed. The veteran said he had something special to share with them before
he went to his cache of supplies. Within a short while he returned with a
small wooden crate stenciled with the letters 'U.S.A'. In it were a few
metal cans.

     "What are they?" asked Xaculi as Woody produced a can opener and used
it to peel back the top of a can.

     "Government issue corned beef," he said, dumping the contents of the
can into a bowl and handing it to Xaculi. "I got a deal on a lot that was
considered surplus."

     The heron man sniffed the questionable meat cautiously before using
his knife to sample a chunk. Dusty however eagerly dug into his bowlful.
The sight of food reminded him that he had not eaten in almost twenty four
hours. Woody glanced at the Elxa elder.

     "Is it okay?"

     "I have never tasted this kind of white man's food before," he
commented. "Do many eat it?"

     "A lot of union soldiers got fed food like that all during the war."

     Xaculi did not respond, but he looked as if he disbelieved Woody.

     "Where'd the Spirit-Wolf go?" asked Dusty.

     "We saw signs of a Shoshoni war party on our way here. I asked my
brother to go and scout around the mouth of the canyon, in case we have
unwanted visitors."

     Hearing that, Woody proceeded to tell the heron man about how he had
met and rescued Dusty. Then Dusty related his side of the story and
described the medicine dream he had experienced the previous day. Woody
spoke again after that, telling them both about the vision he had received
that night.

     "You saw Mike again?" Dusty asked, sounding apprehensive.

     "Yes, but he's a spirit now, in the same place as your uncle, and he's
happy for me, for both of us," Woody reassured his new partner.

     Xaculi nodded solemnly at Woody's words, then spoke.

     "Let me see your head injury, Dusty."

     "It's okay, Xaculi, it doesn't hurt so much anymore," Dusty said, but
submitted to the elder's inspection. Xaculi ran his dark fingers through
Dusty's yellow hair, parting it in order to see the damaged scalp beneath.

     "I have something that will help," the heron man said, turning to his
pack of supplies and withdrawing a small leather pouch. He gently rubbed a
little of the contents on the bruise.

     "What is that?" asked Woody, studying the lumpy, green and milky white
substance, which had a peculiar, but pleasing odor. "It looks like a
crushed up plant."

     "That is exactly what it is," Xaculi replied. "It is a blue
starflower, a special healing herb that grows only in the isolated
mountain valley we heron men now call home. It is a good medicine for all
external injuries."

     "It's makin' my skin tingle," commented Dusty.

     "That is good. Just do not scratch at it," Xaculi warned as he put
away the pouch of medicine before going on. "You have had a powerful
dream, Dusty. Ikukua was indeed one of our shamen. I knew him when I was
a young man, many years ago. By leading you to the map he left here, he
showed that you are both worthy of joining the Elxa. And he made my task
easier."

     "I was wonderin' about that," began Woody. "Why are you here?"

     "There are many spirits that guide the Elxa and some of these have
spoken to our elders in medicine dreams, warning them that men not of
our nature will soon discover our old city," Xaculi explained. "They
cannot be allowed to find the map Ikukua left here. It would expose our
secret home, the valley of the heron, and endanger our tribe. I was sent
to find the map and bring it back."

     "Why did the Elxa leave here?" asked Dusty.

     "Long ago, our wise protector, the supernatural being called
Hunts-by-night, foresaw that the white world would come too close to our
ancient refuge and threaten the Elxa. I do not need to tell you how the
ones who rule over both white and red men feel about men with desires
like ours. They would surely use their power to try and destroy us."
Woody and Dusty both nodded in understanding and Xaculi went on.
"Hunts-by-night discovered another refuge for us and led our tribe to
the hidden valley we now call our home."

     "Does Hunts-by-night still protect the Elxa?"

     "No, Dusty."

     "Why?"

     "Though Hunts-by-night did not look it, he was over a thousand years
old. Long ago, he lost his lover, another immortal like himself. Over
centuries of time, Hunts-by-night searched the world for him, and in the
course of his wanderings he came upon the Elxa. He was intrigued by our
ways, for his spirit was like ours, a gentle spirit that longed for the
touch of other men.

     "At first, he revealed himself only to our elders, for he was sure the
Elxa would react to him as other mortals had, and fear him because of the
many strange and miraculous powers he possessed, which marked him as not
human. But the spirits that guard and guide our tribe had forewarned the
elders of this ancient being's coming, and bestowed the name Hunts-by-night
upon him.

     "Hunts-by-night was surprised by this, but accepted the Elxa's
invitation to stay, grateful to have friends again. Especially friends who
shared his nature, were not afraid of him, and loved him as they would any
other of their Elxa brothers. For the next two hundred years and more, he
lived with the tribe, defended it with his mighty powers and helped guide
the men who sought for us safely through the lands of the hostile tribes
that surrounded us, natives and white men from the colonies set up far to
the east and the south.

     "Shortly after we moved to the valley of the heron, he announced that
he had learned his lost lover had been seen across the Pacific, in the land
of China, and was leaving to search for him there. He promised to return to
us someday, and the Elxa still await his coming."

     "That's an amazin' story," muttered Woody as Dusty nodded in
agreement.

     "I assure you, my new friends, Hunts-by-night was no myth. I myself
knew him well when I was a young man."

     "So you were a member of the tribe when they moved to the valley of
the heron?"

     "Yes, Dusty." Xaculi paused and looked the two men in the eyes before
going on. "You are welcome to come with the Spirit-Wolf and myself when we
leave here and go to rejoin our brothers. I am sure you will be warmly
welcomed by them."

     "I've been lookin' for the heron men for a long time. I'm ready to go
anytime you are." Woody said, as he put an arm around Dusty. "Dusty too."

     "Of course," Xaculi smiled, before he turned his calm gaze out towards
the prairie.

     When the Spirit-Wolf returned from his reconnoitering, he climbed back
up to the rooftop and went over to Xaculi. The heron man spoke softly in
his own tongue and the animal seemed to nod or shake his head as if
answering yes or no to the elder's questions. Once he scratched at the
rooftop as if writing in the dust and Xaculi erased whatever the
Spirit-Wolf had written after looking at it. The performance was all quite
surprising and puzzling to the white men who watched from a respectful
distance.

     "All is well," Xaculi said, lifting his face to the men. "Our brother
can find no sign of the war party nearby."

     "Good," breathed Dusty.

     "But it probably would be prudent to keep a lookout." The Elxa elder
went on, glancing at the almost empty crate of corned beef. "Woody, can
you spare some food for our brother?"

     "Oh! Of course," he said and started to open another can. Offering the
animal a bowlful of corned beef, Woody stammered, "Here I... um... I hope
you like it."

     The Spirit-Wolf watched as Woody put the bowl down. He licked the
man's hand as if to say 'thank you' before he began to eat. Xaculi reached
over and stroked the wolf's back.

     "Is it good, brother?"

     The animal interrupted his meal long enough to look at the elder and
lick its chops.

     "Would you mind if I asked you something, Xaculi?" began Dusty.

     "Of course not, my son," the elder smiled.

     "The Spirit-Wolf... er... the way he was pawin' at the ground
earlier... well, it looked like he was writin'... "

     "The Spirit-Wolf is no ordinary animal, my son."

     Woody noted how Xaculi had skillfully avoided answering Dusty's
question. Without being unfriendly, the heron man had let them know
there were lines he would not cross. But Dusty was too young to get the
subtle hint and tried again.

     "How did you find him?"

     Xaculi glanced at the strange animal. The Spirit-Wolf's unnatural eyes
blazed like a prairie wildfire as he calmly returned the heron man's
questioning look with a nod of his head. Then Xaculi spoke. It was obvious
to Woody and Dusty both that the Elxa elder was choosing his words
carefully.

     "I am sworn to secrecy concerning some things about my brother, the
Spirit-Wolf. Only a few know his true nature. But I can tell you how we
met."

     "Please do," Woody said, as intrigued as his friend.

     "You know the power of the medicine dreaming, for you both have
experienced it firsthand."

     The younger men nodded and Xaculi went on.

     "Last year, the spirits that protect and guide the heron men sent me a
medicine dream. In it I saw my brother here." Xaculi paused to stroke the
animal's back lovingly, and the Spirit-Wolf whimpered softly before laying
his head in the elder's lap. His whole attitude seemed to be one of intense
gratitude and genuine affection. "He was alone, frightened, surrounded by
enemies who did not understand his true nature, and wished to kill him. He
was lost and afraid. With the help of my spirit guides, I found him before
those who wished him harm did and brought him to the safety of our tribe's
home and eventually before Falling Star, our current chief shaman.

     "The Spirit-Wolf... " he paused, picking his words, "needed guidance,
and love. My brothers and I gave him that and he became a member of the
Elxa tribe. He is particularly devoted to me. At first he was just grateful
that I had saved his life, but now I believe he loves me as a brother."

     The Spirit-Wolf rose up and nodded its head vigorously, adding a wet
wolf-kiss to the native's cheek for emphasis. Xaculi hugged the beast to
him, murmuring something in his own language. The elder's words had a
remarkable effect on the animal.

     His large, pink, pointy, shiny penis protruded suddenly from its furry
sheath and the Spirit-Wolf shook as if in the grip of some powerful
emotion. Dusty and Woody watched in amazement, wondering if the animal
really was in love with Xaculi. Once the uncanny beast had settled down,
Dusty asked another question.

     "What are these spirits that guide the Elxa? Are they ghosts?"

     "Some are," answered Xaculi. "Some are not. The spirits of our heron
brothers who lived before us help protect those of us who still exist in
the flesh. I am sure your uncle Bill and Woody's friend Mike have joined
our brothers who have passed beyond this life and watch over us from the
spirit realm."

     Dusty nodded as he felt Woody's arm come up to hug him to his side,
comforting both of them.

     "Then there are other spirits, whose physical bodies are things most
people would not think of as bodies, such as mountains or lakes. The spirit
of our sacred mountain, Zoraxte, is such a one. Others were never linked to
any physical form, but are alive nonetheless. Sometimes these latter appear
to us in the borrowed forms of our brother tribesmen, in order to
communicate with us more easily.

     "And there are the spirit-forms, subentities generated by rituals, or
by the act of love between two open hearted men. The power such
spirit-forms carry can be used to heighten the pleasure of love, heal the
sick or nourish living things, though that is not all they are capable of.
But not all spirits are good. Some hate all living things and seek to
destroy them. Let me tell you a story, about how we believe all things
came to be."

     "Sure," Woody said, as interested as Dusty.

     "We Elxa believe that two trinities are constantly at war in the
world. Light, Love and Life oppose Darkness, Desire and Death. They
struggle over and inside everything in this world.

     "The world before this one was dark and the spirits moved across it
blindly, for they had no way to see. Tiring of living in darkness, some of
them banded together, combined their powers and created light. Those
spirits who liked the new thing came to join the light-makers. Those who
did not like the light stayed away.

     "Beholding one another for the first time, the light spirits felt a
new thing, love, in their hearts, and yearned for one another. They
experimented, and discovered the joy of love, which led to the creation
of living things. Life filled the world, and all lived in love, under
the light.

     "The spirits who stayed in darkness saw all this of course. They tried
to imitate what the light spirits had done, but because they could not feel
love, they experienced the good feelings as mere desire. They came together
with no more feeling than when two animals rut, and no life came from it.
This made them angry and they decided to kill all life, bringing death into
the world, because the life created by the love of the light spirits would
always remind them of their failure, that they had less power than their
rivals.

     "They killed many before the light spirits fought back to save their
children. And ever since, they have been at war. Even in men's hearts, they
fight, but each man can choose who will win in his own heart.

     "Those who choose wrongly are truly to be pitied. The dark spirits
never reward their helpers with anything but death. We seek to choose the
right way and live as all once did in the beginning of all things, showing
compassion for others, and letting the light spirits guide us to love.

     "Like those spirits who were attracted to the original light, the
spirits who aid the Elxa are drawn to us because of the unique power that
lives in our man-loving male hearts, which shines forth whenever we make
love with another man of our nature. We honor and nourish those beneficent
spirits with the energies thus generated by our mansex, and they direct us
in the right paths, warning and protecting us. They have also enlightened
us, showing us how to use the power we raise to nourish the earth and the
life that lives on it. Our hidden valley is lush with edible and medicinal
plantlife and all manner of game animals because we have used that power
wisely. Our brothers who live there never know want, for food or skins for
shelter or clothing."

     When Xaculi was finished telling the white men the Elxa creation myth,
Woody went on to another subject.

     "So," Woody began, "you think it'll be safe to travel?"

     "Yes. I believe we can leave tomorrow, if that is acceptable."

     "Sure," Woody nodded, after glancing at Dusty to make sure he
approved.

     "It would be prudent though," Xaculi added, "to leave this area
quickly when we go."

     "I second that," Dusty agreed, knowing full well what the raiders were
capable of.

     While the men had been conversing, the Spirit-Wolf had 'asked' for
seconds and thirds by nuzzling Woody to get his attention before looking
pointedly from its empty bowl to the crate of canned meat. When they were
all done eating, they went back to the chamber with only one window and
helped Xaculi remove the soapstone tablet. He slipped it, covering and all,
into a leather bag he had brought with him just for that purpose. The loops
sewn to it would allow a person to bear it upon his shoulders like a
backpack.

     The rest of that day was divided between packing Woody's few
possessions and a guided tour of the ruins by Xaculi, who had lived there
as a young man, while the Spirit-Wolf stood watch against the raiders. The
native showed his companions the room he once lived in, the meeting hall,
and the sacred spaces, where tribal rituals had been conducted. Most
intriguing were the rooms the mysterious Hunts-by-night had once inhabited.

     They had to carry candles to shed light, for there were no windows
in the chamber, which could be reached only by passing through a light
baffling, twisting corridor. The dark, barren room seemed a bit of an
anticlimax, but Xaculi drew his companions' attention upward. They saw a
hole in the ceiling.

     "What's up there?" asked Woody.

     "That is where Hunts-by-night slept. I was told that there are other,
secret ways out of that upper chamber, but I have never actually seen
them."

     "Boost me up, Woody," Dusty said, suddenly curious.

     Woody did as he was asked. Dusty put his candle on the edge inside the
hole before he pulled himself the rest of the way up. He sat and looked
around. There was something rolled up close by. Dusty felt it and found it
to be a rope ladder.

     "Look out below," he called as he rolled it over the edge.

     The ladder unfurled and Woody tested it. The rope was still sound and
firmly attached. He turned to Xaculi.

     "I want to go up and look."

     "Go ahead. I will follow."

     Woody climbed up and then turned to make sure Xaculi had no problems
doing the same. They looked around at another empty room, but Dusty had
gone to stand before a way out that he had discovered. He extended his
candle curiously into the darkness.

     "Shall we see where this goes?"

     "Sure," Woody agreed as they went into the corridor, which seemed to
be carved from the red rock of the canyon. "I'm so turned around, I'm not
sure which way we're headed."

     "I believe we are headed east," opined Xaculi.

     They came to an odd kink in the hallway, a double hairpin turn. As
soon as they passed through it, they saw light. But at the end of the
corridor, they stopped in a mixture of puzzlement and alarm.

     The passage ended at the smooth face of a cliff. It was a sheer drop
of fifty or so feet straight down, and all around the outside of the
opening there was no sign of any sort of hand or foothold. Woody looked at
Xaculi.

     "I've heard some of the Elxa legends that mention Hunts-by-night, but
I wasn't aware he could fly!"

     "He certainly went to a lot of trouble to keep daylight out of his
lair," added Dusty.

     "That was his one weakness," Xaculi admitted. "Hunts-by-night could
not expose himself to daylight and passed the days here, where the sun
could not reach him."

     Xaculi's words sparked a memory in Dusty, of something he had read
about long ago. Another legend, about beings who lived at night and hid
from the sun. But those creatures were supposed to be evil, dangerous to
humans, whom they hunted and killed. From what the Elxa elder had told
them, that did not sound like Hunts-by-night.

     "Come, my brothers," Xaculi urged, "let us go back."

     They retraced their route and put the rope ladder back the way they
had found it. Returning to the rooftop where they had met, they shared a
filling dinner, eating more of Woody's corned beef. Afterwards, as they
passed the pipe Woody had found around and shared its smoke, Xaculi told
Dusty and Woody more about the home of the Elxa, the secluded mountain
vale they called the valley of the heron, and how the mixed tribe of red
and white men who dwelt there lived and loved and worked together.

     "One of our white brothers, Big Otter, knows many songs written by old
poets. Without knowing the Elxa, some of them have described us and our way
of life. This is one I have learned from him, added to a little by me:"

The fall of kings,
the rage of nations,
and the crush of states,
move not the man who,
from the world escaped,
lives in still retreats
and flowery solitudes;

To Nature's voice he attends,
from month to month,
and day to day,
throughout the revolving year;

Admiring her protean ways,
sees her in every shape;
Feels all her sweet emotions
in his man-loving heart;
Takes what the liberal gives,
and shares all with his brothers:

his work
his song
his love
his life...

     After more talk, Xaculi retired to Woody's room to sleep and the
Spirit-Wolf went with him. Dusty and Woody stayed on the rooftop again,
talking and making love, deepening into each other. Hours later, prodded
into wakefulness by the call of nature, Dusty got up in the gray predawn
gloom.

     Dusty did not bother to dress and quietly padded down the old
staircase in his bare feet, to the plaza. He went to the ample public
privy that had been built nearby, and which still functioned perfectly.
Dusty relieved himself and paused to get a drink from the rock basin. As
he turned, intending to go back to Woody, he noticed a light in the room
where Xaculi slept.

     Thinking the Elxa elder was awake he crept to the door and peered
inside the room. What Dusty saw by the light of the stone lamp puzzled him
intensely. Xaculi was moaning softly, his eyes closed, and was obviously
in the midst of a great sexual pleasure.

     The native was gripping and stroking a human form completely hidden
by the blankets. By the noises they were making and their movements, Dusty
could plainly tell that someone was busily sucking on the heron elder's
cock. Before he quietly turned away, a little ashamed of himself for being
a peeping tom, he could not help but note what appeared to be the bare,
hairy foot of a white man protruding from beneath the end of the bed.

     A couple of hours later, Woody got up with the sun to go see to
the horses. Dusty helped him until the animals were almost ready to ride
and then excused himself. He went at once to the Elxa elder's room,
consumed with curiosity about whom the native had been making love to.

     Xaculi was there, but alone, still wrapped in his blankets and
seemingly asleep. However the Spirit-Wolf was awake. The animal was lying
at the foot of the bed. He went outside to Dusty when he saw the man and
licked his hand in greeting.

     "I must have been dreamin'," Dusty began softly, breathing his
thoughts as he knelt and stroked the oddly-eyed animal's soft fur, "I
could've sworn I saw someone else in here with Xaculi earlier, another
man, but that's not possible, is it?"

     To his great surprise, the Spirit-Wolf winked at him, one blazing,
reddish-orange eye eclipsed for a long second. The gesture was almost
human, as if Dusty was being made privy to a secret. As intense puzzlement
writ itself across the young man's face, Woody came out of the makeshift
stable, leading their three horses.

     "Is Xaculi awake?" he asked.

     "Yes," the Elxa elder answered, appearing suddenly at the doorway. He
looked down at Dusty and the Spirit-Wolf. "Are you ready to go?"

     "Er, yeah, sure." Dusty stammered, standing up. The Spirit-Wolf licked
Xaculi's hand in response and started down the path to the canyon floor.

     "We should go swiftly," the heron man went on, throwing his blanket
over his horse's back in lieu of a saddle. "By noon we will reach a safe
place to stop and eat."

     Dusty went to the extra horse Xaculi had brought and took ahold of
the reins, ready to lead it down the narrow path to the canyon floor. He
noticed that Woody seemed distracted. His eyes were scanning up and around
the old city. His face looked thoughtful.

     "I just wanna remember it," he explained to Dusty's questioning look.
"After all, it was my home for awhile. You might wanna take a moment and
have a last look too."

     "It ain't likely that I'd ever forget this place. It's where we made
love together for the first time!" Dusty said, coming closer to kiss Woody
passionately.

     Soon they were far from the old Elxa city, climbing a trail that
Xaculi explained was part of a short cut he knew through the highlands to
the west. Bringing up the rear, Dusty started to turn and look back, to
say a silent farewell to his uncle Bill. But a sudden realization seized
him.

     Bill was not behind him. He was before him, waiting for Dusty along
with the other spirits of the Elxa. And soon Dusty would be among the
living members of that half-mythical tribe, in a hidden Cascade valley
Xaculi had described to his companions.

     A land watched over by spirits who favored and protected gentle men,
man-loving men. After the medicine dreams he had experienced and the
uncanny rapport he had witnessed between Xaculi and the Spirit-Wolf, Dusty
was ready to believe in the magic of the Elxa, a magic conjured by the
physical love of those man-loving men, channeling the primal energies
raised by the passionate sharing of their bodies, using that matchless
power for the good of their brothers and the nourishment of the life in
the mountain valley the tribe lived in. Yes, it sounded as if the valley
of the heron was definitely the sort of place Bill's spirit would want
to be...

     "Dusty?"

     The sound of his name being called brought Dusty back to earth. Woody
was looking back, wondering why his partner had slowed his pace. Dusty
urged his horse onward then, towards Woody, the love he promised, and a
future full of wonders neither man could scarcely imagine.

* * *

Interlude One

* * *

     "Hold up, Job."

     The sixteen year old paused and turned to look at his cousin. At
twenty, Leroy Byrd seemed like an older version of Job Byrd. Though they
were first cousins, they looked more like brothers.

     Job raked his long, pale blonde hair back out of his blue eyes and
rubbed the peach fuzz on his chin a little ruefully, wondering when he
would be able to grow whiskers like Leroy had during their journey west.
Job thought the short, full beard of golden hairs made Leroy look even
more handsome, if that were possible. His cousin dug their canteen out
of their horse's saddlebags and uncorked it. He offered it to Job.

     "Take another swallow."

     "I can wait awhile longer, Leroy."

     "We don't hafta wait until we're dyin' of thirst, Job. We'll find
water somewhere along this trail again before nightfall."

     "You sure?"

     As Job asked that he turned away from his cousin briefly. His eyes
scanned the scrubby, uninviting land they were passing through. Oregon, or
at least this part of Oregon, the high, arid plateaux that dominated the
northern reaches of what geographers called the Great Basin, did not look
anything like the land of milk and honey he and Leroy had set out from
Arkansas to find. Job hoped the whole state was not so harsh, bleak and
apparently unsuitable for farming as he looked back to Leroy, who
determinedly thrust the canteen at him.

     "Yes. Now take a drink."

     "Okay."

     Job obeyed. He handed the canteen back and watched Leroy sip from it.
Then the man poured a little water in his hand and offered it to their
horse.

     "Good girl, Alice," Leroy cooed as their trusty mare noisily slurped
up the water.

     Unable to resist, Job reached out and caressed his cousin's broad
back, feeling the hard muscles under the sweat stained broadcloth shirt.
Leroy grinned over his shoulder at Job as he put the canteen away. As he
made sure it was secure, he spoke to his cousin.

     "You got the horn colic again?"

     "Lookin' at your handsome self brings it on, every time, cuz."

     "I love you, Job," Leroy muttered, pulling his cousin into a tight
embrace. "I hope you don't think I've brought you on a wild goose chase out
here to Oregon." Leroy gazed around at the empty, sagebrush covered land in
mild disgust. "This sure is a lot different from what those settler guide
books had to say about the land here."

     "Mebbe it'll get better further on," Job said in an attempt to cheer
Leroy up. Then he thought of an even better way to do that and whispered a
randy suggestion to his cousin.

     Leroy grinned and, after a quick, unnecessary look around, for there
was predictably no one else to see or be seen by for miles in that vacant
land, nodded. Job fell to his knees and unbuttoned Leroy's jeans. He
gently and reverently drew his cousin's long cock out into the daylight
and swallowed it easily, just as he had been doing for most of his life
since his early teens. Leroy whispered encouragement and love to Job until
at length his words trailed off into a plaintive moan, just before he came
in long, forceful pulses, shooting his savory cockjuices down Job's throat.

     "Now that's the way to quench a thirst!" Job grinned, sitting back on
his haunches. Leroy reached down to swipe a gob of his cum off Job's lips
and ate it, smacking his lips.

     "Get your 'canteen' out, cuz. I wanna drink too... "

     Standing up, Job released his more-than-ample manhood from his pants
and Leroy caressed it as they kissed, urging it to grow as big as Leroy's.
Nearly all the men of the Byrd clan were blessed with extra large peckers,
and Job and Leroy both possessed fine examples of what nature could do for
humanity when she was in an overly generous mood. Leroy was still fairly
stiff and the sight of the two long fleshy poles standing up and rubbing
against each other in the warm sunlight would have made any man-lover's
mouth water.

     At last, Leroy knelt and took Job as easily as Job had him. Both had
grown up sharing beds with several brothers, all as well hung as they, and
there had been lots of opportunities to learn how to accommodate such large
equipment, down their throats and up their asses, trying every way they
could think of to pleasure themselves and each other. As they had grown
older, Leroy and Job found they were the only two guys of the clan who
wanted to keep on playing together that way, while their brothers all
seemed to go pussey crazy and started chasing after girls. That had been
a spur to their going west together, dreaming of a place they could farm
and live on together. A haven where they could continue loving each other
without worrying about what their families or anybody else might think.

     "Oh... Leroy... "

     Job reached his point of no return and his horsecock spewed its hot
and heavy load of mancream down his cousin's hungry throat. As Leroy
struggled to swallow and breathe at the same time, Job gripped his
relative's shoulders for support. Unclenching his eyes, Job was surprised
to see a strangely colored wolf watching the two rutting men from a nearby
ridge, but he did not call Leroy's attention to the beast until Leroy had
gotten all of Job's cum and had licked his cousin's long pecker clean.

     "You're right," grinned Leroy as they tucked their impressive tools
away to dangle down inside the legs of their worn pants. "That's a lot
better than drinkin' plain water!"

     "Look over there," Job whispered as he helped Leroy up.

     "A wolf... " wondered Leroy. "But I've never seen one that color
before."

     "Me neither," Job added as they studied the animal together.

     The strong sunlight drew coppery glints from its chestnut fur. As the
wolf calmly returned their gaze, its eyes seemed to glitter with an orange
light, as if they were on fire. Leroy's eyes narrowed as he spotted
something else unusual.

     "Can you see that, Job?" asked Leroy, pointing. "Is the critter
wearin' a collar?"

     "Sure looks that way... " Job said, squinting at the beast.

     "Here, boy," called Leroy.

     "What are you doin'?!"

     "Mebbe he's someone's pet who got lost."

     "In this wilderness?" Job asked skeptically as he took another glance
at the empty land around them.

     "Look!"

     Leroy's sharp whisper brought Job's eyes back to the wolf. It had
begun to come closer to the men, approaching from downwind. Its nose was
up, taking in their scent. Leroy took a step towards the animal and knelt,
holding out a hand.

     Job took ahold of Alice's halter, afraid the horse might be frightened
by the predator and bolt. As he petted her nose in a calming way, Job
glanced at the Winchester that rested in its holster among their gear on
Alice's back. He estimated how fast he could get to it if the wolf proved
not to be as friendly as it looked.

     To Job's surprise, the wolf noted the man's calculating look and
stopped in its tracks. Then it glanced briefly to its left. Job saw it
was looking at an arroyo it could vanish into within a second, if
necessary.

     Nonplussed by this display of uncanny wariness that bordered on
intelligence, Job stepped further away from the rifle while keeping ahold
of Alice's lead. The wolf actually seemed to nod approvingly before it
moved again, coming closer to Leroy, who of course had no idea what had
passed between Job and the strange animal. It sniffed at the blonde
bearded man's hand as Leroy murmured to it coaxingly.

     "That's it, boy... I won't hurt you... "

     "He does have a collar on." Job pointed out.

     "And there's something attached to it," added Leroy. The wolf sat when
those words were spoken, allowing the pair to easily see the stone pendant
that hung from the rawhide cord which encircled the odd beast's neck. Job
wondered at the graceful, curling mark engraved on the stone.

     "What is that?"

     "A sign of some kind. Like Injun writin', mebbe."

     "Huh! So he belongs to an Injun?"

     "Looks that way. I hope his owner is as friendly as he is, in case we
run into him." Leroy stood up and the wolf calmly watched him from where
it sat. "Well, we better be movin' on. I hope we can find a good spot for
a camp before nightfall, with water." Leroy looked at the wolf. "You'd
better go on home, boy. And tell your master not to scalp us, would you?"
Leroy added with a smile.

     The wolf nodded, surprising Leroy just as Job had been earlier. Then
it got up and trotted away. Slipping into the arroyo, the animal vanished.

     "What the... " Leroy began. "That was strange."

     Leroy took Alice's lead from Job and the pair set off again, following
a trail well marked by the ruts of many wagons that ran to the west. They
had been told the crude road would eventually take them to Maury City. As
they went, Job described what he had observed earlier, deepening Leroy's
puzzlement. Leroy shook his head when Job finished his story.

     "I'd almost think I'd seen a mirage, if you hadn't seen it too."

     "Yeah. It was... Hey! There he is again!"

     The men had reached the top of a rise and spotted the reddish wolf,
frisking about as if in joy at the edge of a stream. The excited beast
jumped in, swam a bit, then got out and shook the water out of its oddly
colored fur. After that the creature took off, racing away and vanishing
into the tall sagebrush that covered the landscape.

     "I've never seen a varmint act so strange!"

     "Yeah," agreed Job, "but he did find a nice campin' spot."

     "He sure did." Leroy said.

     As he spoke, both men looked up and down the stream, which seemed to
draw a rich green line across the dull sagebrush country. It was edged
with small trees and thick underbrush. All in all, it appeared quite
inviting to the weary travelers.

     "Let's scout it first though. I'd rather not camp too close to the
trail, in case someone else comes along."

     "And catches you with your talleywhacker pluggin' my tuckerhole?"
added Job with a big grin.

     "Something like that, yeah," Leroy laughed as they went down to the
stream.

     After a little searching, the men found a perfect spot a little
upstream from where the trail crossed the creek. A barrier of rock had
formed a small but deep pool of clear water, warmed by the sun, next to
a flat spot of sandy soil. Tying Alice to a young cottonwood tree
surrounded by a nice spot of grass, the pair unloaded their gear and
set up camp. While Job gathered wood and built a fire, Leroy laid out
their blankets beside a clump of fragrant sage.

     "Well, the fire's ready to light," Job said, looking up from the neat
stack of wood he had made. "Now if only we had something to cook over it!"

     "There's some fatback and flour left in the saddlebags. I'll make us
biscuits and gravy."

     "Again?"

     "We'll be in Maury City soon, Job. There we'll get more supplies and a
good meal, I promise."

     "Sorry, I didn't mean to complain." Job looked at the unlit fire. "I
know I oughta be glad we have anything to eat at all."

     "C'mon, cuz," urged Leroy as he started stripping out of his clothes,
"let's get cleaned up."

     Job did not wait to be asked twice. After he had left his clothes
beside their bedroll, Job dug some soap out of their saddlebags and
followed his cousin to the water, forgetting all about hunger or monotonous
food. As Job slipped into the warm water, Leroy dunked himself and came up
with his pale hair plastered to his scalp.

     "Hand me that soap."

     "Lemme wash you, cuz," Job asked through a grin, coming closer.

     "Okay."

     Working the bar in his hands, Job began by rubbing the lather across
his cousin's shoulders. Leroy moved to lean against a rock and relax as Job
massaged the suds into his back. Job slipped his hands under Leroy's arms
and stroked the man's hairy pits, thinking about the times he had used his
tongue on the blonde bushes that grew there, as well as certain other
places on Leroy's body.

     Job's hands went around further and explored Leroy's hard chest,
flattening the pale fur that grew there. That was yet another masculine
attribute Job was impatiently waiting for his still maturing body to
manifest. In the meantime, he satisfied himself by feeling what Leroy had,
as often as he could.

     Leroy's nipples were erect, hard, rose pink nubs, and the man groaned
softly as Job's slick fingers brushed over them. Reluctantly, Job let his
hands drop, soaping the flat belly. Job grinned as he felt the tip of his
cousin's stiff pecker getting in the way of his questing hands. He grabbed
the length of hot flesh and soaped it up and down, peeling back the
foreskin, exposing and cleaning the tender knob at its tip while Leroy
moaned and shook with pleasure.

     Pleased at hearing what he could do to his cousin, Job soaped the bar
between Leroy's asscheeks. As he stroked and fingered the man's sensitive
hole, Leroy thrust his ass back. Job recognized the movement as a silent
invitation.

     He was already erect and guided his impressive pole to the dark pink
pucker before him. Leroy let out a lengthy sigh as Job's equally lengthy
cock slipped through and plumbed his cousin's depths. Job rode the man hard
and fast, with all the proverbial vigor of young manhood, until he groaned
and shot off. Staggering back, he grinned at the glistening strand of cum
that continued to connect him to Leroy until it sagged and fell into the
water.

     Getting back to work, Job washed his cousin's backside again, then
worked his way back up, slowly soaping Leroy's shoulders, neck and the
pale blonde beard. Leroy still seemed in a daze of sexual pleasure, so Job
washed his longish hair as well. Then he started rinsing the man off with
handfuls of water, which brought Leroy back to earth.

     "Thanks, cuz. Lemme return the favor... "

     Leroy worked up a handful of suds and moved to repeat Job's
ministrations, with the same sort of loving care Job had shown for his
cousin, but he rearranged the order of parts he washed, so that he ended
with Job's ass. Realizing Leroy wanted him, Job braced himself against a
rock as Leroy soaped and lubed his tuckerhole. Leroy replaced his fingers
with his slick monster, which Job had mastered taking long before, and
rode the young man energetically until his climax wracked his body. Soon
afterwards, Leroy fell back into the water, utterly spent.

     "Good lord," he breathed as Job moved to hug and lie beside him, "I
love you cuz, so much... "

     Job kissed Leroy, silencing him for awhile. Then they relaxed and
stretched out for a soak, enjoying the sensation of water flowing over
their bodies, a rare treat for them since they had been traveling in the
arid west. Job was daydreaming about the swimming hole back home where
dozens of naked boys would splash and play on hot summer days when he
caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. Glancing at it, he
stiffened and whispered to his cousin, who was almost dozing.

     "Leroy! He's back!"

     "Who?" the man snorted, shocked back to full consciousness.

     "The wolf!"

     Leroy looked and saw the reddish wolf sitting at the shore, watching
the blonde pair. The animal got up and looked pointedly further upstream.
Following his gaze, the travelers saw a column of smoke. At the same moment
their noses were tickled by it.

     "You smell that?"

     "Yeah," Job answered, his mouth watering. "Somebody's cookin' meat!"

     The wolf looked from the smoke to the men and then back again. Then he
moved slowly away, upstream, looking back often. The men watched him go in
wonderment.

     "Did we just get an invitation to dinner?"

     "Let's find out."

     The men got out of the stream, dried themselves off with an old flour
sack and redonned their clothes. Leroy decided to err on the side of
caution and prepared to take his rifle. Job was watching Leroy check the
Winchester over when a strange voice spoke to them.

     "You won't need that, friend."

     The pair spun around to see a dark brown haired and bearded man clad
in buckskin, wearing a union soldier's cap. The stranger was a bit taller
and looked older than Leroy, but not by much, and was leanly and strongly
built. He smiled at the surprised men.

     "My name's Woody Quade," he began, stepping closer to offer his hand.
"If you haven't eaten yet, you're welcome to come share dinner with me and
my friends at our camp."

     "Sure," Job answered at once as he pumped Woody's hand. Leroy gripped
his cousin's shoulder in an attempt at restraint.

     "But only if you're sure my cousin and I wouldn't be a bother," Leroy
added.

     "No, you'd be no bother at all," Woody assured them. "I had some luck
huntin' today and shot a couple of young antelope. There's plenty for all
of us. If you'd like, you could join us in our camp."

     "A larger party would mean safer travelin'," agreed Leroy. "Give us a
moment to pack up."

     It did not take long to put the saddlepack and blankets back on Alice.
Then Woody led the men further upstream, to an even better campsite. Job
and Leroy saw two more men, one blonde and about Leroy's age, while the
other was an elderly Indian with long, silvery hair. He was gently stroking
the ruddy fur of the uncanny wolf they had met earlier.

     "Ah!" the native smiled when he had gotten a good look at Leroy and
Job. "They are even more handsome than you told me, my friend!"

     He appeared to be talking to the wolf, whose head rested on the
native's lap. Woody introduced everyone and they sat and talked for
awhile. Job however was distracted by the smell of the cooking antelope
steaks and, noticing it, Xaculi reached over and found a skewer that held
a smaller hunk of meat that was done.

     "Here, young one," he said, offering it to Job. "It is obvious you are
hungry."

     "That's his usual condition," chuckled Leroy as Job bit into the still
sizzling meat, ignoring both his cousin's ribbing and his burning tongue.

     "How is it?"

     "Great," Job answered Woody through a mouthful of hot antelope.

     "Well, I can't wait either," Dusty said, reaching for a skewer. "I
like my meat cooked on the rare side anyway."

     Soon the others were eating too. Job watched in curiosity as Xaculi
used his knife to slice pieces of meat off his portions and feed them to
the Spirit-Wolf, as the Indian called his companion. The animal seemed
more like a brother to Xaculi than a pet.

     Job and Leroy were glad to hear they would have companionship on the
way to Maury City. Xaculi however did not want to bring the Spirit-Wolf so
close to civilization, where someone might try and shoot the animal for
the bounty offered on wolves. The old native and his odd companion planned
to wait in another camp when they were closer to Maury City while Woody
and Dusty made a quick trip into town for supplies.

     The travelers all turned in soon after eating, Job and Leroy spreading
their blankets under a nearby cottonwood. Woody and Dusty paired up next to
the campfire and Xaculi retired to a spot behind a massive boulder, where
no one could see him. The Spirit-Wolf went to sleep with the native.

* * *

     Job had an odd dream that night: he saw Xaculi making love to another
man, a ruddy haired white man whose features were strangely blurred. Try
as he might, the young man could not focus on the stranger's face. An
unusually melodic voice distracted Job from his attempts to see who it was.

     "It is not meant for you to know that one, not yet at any rate."

     Job looked for the source of those words and froze. A huge bird, a
heron plumed with dusty blue feathers, towered over the lad, staring at
him with eyes that appeared to be rotating spheres of violet flames. Job
gave back the bird's uncanny stare in utter shock.

     "You are dreaming, Job Byrd," it said in a voice that had a musical
quality, like a concert of flutes playing somewhere a great distance away.
"Wake up!"

* * *

     "Wake up!" another voice repeated softly. "Job? Wake up!"

     "Huh?" he managed, shaking off his slumbers.

     "It's almost dawn," Leroy whispered, his hands busily stroking Job's
ass. "Let's have some fun before we hafta get up."

     "Sure," agreed Job, responding to his cousin's suggestion. Letting go
of the strange dream, he shared himself fully with Leroy, giving and
getting, trading positions and feeling again the love he held for his
cousin, a love that was returned with interest. "Ahh... " Job sighed
afterwards, resting in Leroy's arms.

     "I love you, cuz."

     "I love you too, Leroy."

* * *

Interlude Two

* * *

     A lone rider topped a low rise and reigned in his horse, pausing to
look out across the uninhabited countryside spread out before him. Clothed
in a gray-green, scrubby brush, the expanse of empty land shimmered softly
in the afternoon heat. The arid, high plains of central Oregon seemed to
go on and on, bounded only by the distant eastern slopes of the Cascades,
tinged a somewhat brighter green by the dense forests that covered their
flanks. Some might have thought the scenery was gorgeous, but the rider's
face showed only irritation as he tried and failed to identify a landmark
to guide him.

     "Goldarnit!" he swore softly as he doffed his hat and slapped it
against his thigh, beating the tawny traildust out of the dark blue
fabric of his army uniform.

     He was, of course, not cursing the view, but its unfamiliarity. And
himself too, a little, for relying on secondhand information. By now he was
sure the ranchhand who had recommended this 'shortcut' had never taken it
himself.

     Squinting against the light of the afternoon sun, the disgruntled
soldier scanned the distant ridges more intently. Once, he thought he
recognized one particularly prominent icy spire, rising above its neighbors
and glittering with delicate shades of pink and white in the remote
distance, off to the southwest of where he found himself, but he could not
be sure. Chagrined at finding himself lost, the man began to wonder if he
should give up and try to find a suitable spot to make camp against the
coming night.

     He took one last look around, ready to move on, but spotted something
that make him hesitate. It was a thin, barely discernible column of smoke,
rising it seemed from somewhere beyond the next ridge. He rubbed his black
bearded chin in thought. Could it be another traveler?

     Turning towards it, he walked his horse down through the intervening
patches of sagebrush and bunchgrass, and then up again. As he reached the
top of the ridge, he spied a streak of rich greenery that paralleled the
course of a stream. His horse caught the scent of fresh water and needed
no urging to go on, though the soldier looked about himself intently and
touched the pistols he wore, making sure they were ready, just in case. He
had been posted on the frontier long enough to become overly cautious about
approaching strange camps. His first glimpse of the campfire was a
flickering orange glimmer, set in a circle of stones near a huge cottonwood
tree.

     Then he noticed a figure with long white hair sitting at the base of
the tree. A horse was tethered in the shade nearby. The lone occupant of
the camp got up and looked expectantly at the newcomer. Then he beckoned
to the traveler.

     'An Indian,' the mounted man thought with a bit of apprehension as he
looked around again. There were no signs of anyone else nearby. His eyes
returned to the old man. 'I hope he's friendly.'

     "Hello." the elderly native greeted him.

     "You speak English?" the rider said, surprised.

     "Yes. My name is Xaculi."

     "I'm Sgt. Hiram Mitchell. I'm carryin' dispatches for the commandin'
officer at Fort Seward, but I can't seem to find the trail I was told would
lead me there."

     "Your camp, it is just outside Maury City, is it not?"

     "Yeah, that's right."

     "You will find the trail you seek in that direction," Xaculi pointed.
"My companions took it this morning to go pick up supplies in Maury City."

     "Why'd they leave you alone out here?"

     "I am not alone. I have a companion. But I dare not bring him into
town."

     "Why?"

     "I am afraid someone might shoot him on sight."

     "Huh?! I don't understand. Is he an outlaw?"

     "Some might think so," the elder smiled mysteriously before he went
on. "I will call him, if you agree not to shoot him."

     "I know we soldiers don't have a very high reputation among your
people," Hiram began, "but I for one don't shoot at anybody without orders
from my commander!"

     The native smiled and turned away. Then he gave an odd sort of whistle
and Hiram looked expectantly in the same direction Xaculi was. To Hiram's
great surprise, a reddish furred wolf appeared from behind some rocks and
cautiously approached, keeping its strange, bright orange eyes locked on
the mounted soldier.

     "I see now," said Hiram, who had noted the collar the beast wore. "Pet
or no, there's plenty of settlers in this area who have no love for wolves,
especially the ranchers."

     The native nodded as the wolf sat beside him. The animal's eyes were
intent on Hiram, even as Xaculi stroked its head with one hand. The
sergeant's mount suddenly stamped one forehoof, impatient to get to the
nearby stream and drink.

     "Your horse is thirsty," Xaculi observed.

     "Will your friend let him drink in peace?"

     "Of course. He will not harm you or your horse."

     Not entirely convinced of that, Hiram look another look at the wolf
before dismounting. Keeping himself between the horse and the Indian's
uncanny 'friend', he led his steed to the water. The horse lowered his
head gratefully. The large, velvety nostrils quivered just above the
surface as he slurped his fill.

     "Whoa there, boy," Hiram warned, gently urging his horse to stop.
"Don't drink too much all at once!"

     "If your errand is not urgent, you could stop here tonight," suggested
Xaculi softly. "I would gladly share my camp with you."

     Hiram looked at the native. There was something in the way the man had
spoken that reminded Hiram of his commanding officer. Major General Ed Teal
had been like an older brother to Hiram, ever since they had met and served
together in the war, and Ed had been one of the men who helped guide Hiram
into the knowledge of his own nature, a nature that preferred the company
and the touch of other men. Hiram wondered if Xaculi was a kindred spirit
and thoughts of what his invitation might lead to shot through Hiram's mind
pleasantly, even as he regretfully responded.

     "I'm much obliged," the soldier began, "but these dispatches are
important. Now that I know the right way to go, I have a responsibility to
continue on."

     "I understand."

     Hiram let his horse take another drink and then remounted.

     "In that direction, you said?"

     "Yes. Travel safely, my brother."

     It was not until some time later, after Hiram found the trail and had
the leisure to reflect on his encounter, that he remembered the odd
pendants both Xaculi and his pet had worn around their necks. The symbols
engraved on them were the same as one Ed had shown Hiram some time earlier.
It was a glyph that was supposed to be connected to a mysterious, legendary
Indian tribe.

     The stories that circulated about the tribe throughout that part of
the west had surprised and enthralled Hiram when he heard them. The
sergeant frowned as his hand went to his dispatch pouch. If his duty had
not been so clear, he would have turned and gone back at once, to see if
what he had heard about that tribe was true, if they were indeed a band
of man-lovers like himself.

* * *

Interlude Three

* * *

     Sam McCrea approached the small lineshack gratefully. He had been
riding fence all day, checking and repairing the long barbed wire barrier
that defined the eastern boundary of the Lazy B ranch. At that moment he
was looking forward to cooking himself supper and relaxing after a long,
dusty day in the saddle.

     "Bet you're tired too, eh, Cream?" he asked quietly, patting his
buckskin's neck. "Well I know I am, boy... "

     Swinging down from his pale colored stallion, Sam led him through the
gate and into the small fenced in area around the lineshack. It was meant
to keep the cattle away from the supplies of hay stored there. As the
cowboy came around the building, where there was an open stable built off
the back of the lineshack, he stopped in surprise.

     Another horse was hitched there. As the man and beast eyed each other,
Sam tugged at his bushy blonde moustache in thought. But he drew a blank,
failing to recognize it as any of the ones that belonged to his fellow
ranchhands.

     He tied Cream up alongside the other animal and unsaddled his trusty
mount. Sam checked to make sure they had water and pulled down some hay for
both horses. Sam noted that the strange steed had eaten everything within
reach, as if no one had attended to him recently. It almost seemed as if
the horse had been abandoned there.

     He saw its owner's saddle lying on the ground nearby and picked it up
to place it behind his own on a rail. As he did so, his attention was
attracted by some rusty brown stains marring the leather. As he inspected
them more closely, his blue eyes narrowed as he realized they were streaks
of dried blood.

     The lineshack had one small window and Sam cautiously moved to peer
through it. As his eyes adjusted to the shadowed gloom within, he made out
a man's form lying prone on the bed. It was very still.

     Sam went to the door and pushed it open. The afternoon sunlight
flooded the interior of the lineshack, sweeping the shadows away into
the corners to shudder and die. He saw a man, another cowpoke by his
clothing, and somewhat younger than himself, perhaps in his early twenties.
His shaggy hair and full trimmed beard were a dark red color and his face,
relaxed in either sleep or unconsciousness, was strikingly handsome.

     'He sure is a good lookin' fella... ' Sam thought.

     The cowboy leaned over the stranger and laid a palm on his forehead.
Sam pursed his lips in concern as he felt the heat. The man had a raging
fever.

     The cowboy's attention was then pulled to the stranger's left arm. It
was crudely bound up in torn cloth, wound tightly over his shirtsleeve.
Shirt and bandage both were stiff and discolored by all the blood that
had soaked through.

     Sam carefully unwrapped the bandage, then unbuttoned and removed the
man's shirt. A light pelt of coppery hairs grew across his chest and arms.
Even though the muscles were relaxed under the tanned skin, Sam could tell
as he handled the stranger's body that he had done a lot of hard work,
most of it shirtless, out under the harsh western sun.

     Sam could not help but imagine that bared torso, moving in the
daylight as the man chopped firewood. Muscles flexing rhythmically under
the hairy skin as the axe rose and fell, the sun drawing metallic glints
from his ruddy body fur... Sam shook himself.

     "Stop it, Sam," he muttered to himself as he reached for the man's
canteen, getting ready to wash the wound. "You got no time for horny-makin'
daydreams! This boy's dependin' on you."

     "Ohhh... " the stranger moaned, woken at last by Sam's attentions to
him.

     "Take it easy, son," Sam soothed. The man responded by fumbling with
his right hand, trying to reach for his gun. "You don't need that," frowned
Sam as he took it away from the injured man easily and put it out of reach.

     "I won't... be taken... alive... " The stranger managed in a hoarse,
delirious whisper. "Gibbe... ain't gonna... hang me... " As he rasped the
last words out, he lapsed back into unconsciousness.

     "You got more immediate worries, son," Sam muttered grimly as he
poured some water on the man's bandanna and began to carefully clean the
wounded arm. At length he finally got a good look at his unexpected
guest's injury.

     As Sam half expected, after hearing what had been said, he found the
man had been shot. The bullet had passed clean through his upper left arm,
just missing the bone. That bit of good luck seemed offset by the ugly
state of the wound.

     "You'll be lucky if you don't lose that arm," Sam breathed as he
continued to wash the injury.

     Sam shook his head as he worked. He had seen his share of injuries
among the cowboys he'd worked with over the years, and this one looked
pretty bad. After finding some clean cloth to bind around the wound, Sam
dropped the bloodstained shirt and bandage into a bucket and went outside
to get more water.

     As Sam let himself out of the gate and began walking east towards a
nearby spring, he tried to remember the details of what he had seen the one
time he had been present at an amputation. The memories turned his stomach,
but if the stranger's wound had become septic, Sam would not have any
choice but to try and remove the arm himself. If he did not, the man would
surely die, and not in a pleasant way.

     "If only I could get him to a doctor." Sam muttered his thoughts out
loud in distraction as he walked along. "But even if I tied him to his
horse, he seems too weak to go very far." Sam kicked at a pebble in mild
frustration. "And it's a hard ride to Maury City from here... "

     So absorbed was he in his thoughts that the cowpoke did not realize
another person was kneeling beside the spring until he was too close to
conceal himself. Sam stopped in surprise, cursing himself for not being
more vigilant. From what little the wounded man had said, Sam should have
expected someone to be looking for him, very likely a posse ready to hang
the man as soon as they caught up with him.

     Sam had no great affection for criminals, but he did not believe in
the kind of 'justice' lynching parties meted out, either. There were courts
and judges available in every county of the state, now. Sam felt there was
just no reason for vigilante mobs to be going around doing the law's job
anymore.

     The individual at the spring, a young man, looked up at Sam in what
seemed to be a surprise equal to Sam's. He was only a kid, maybe twenty, or
so Sam judged, with shaggy blonde hair and a short beard that looked as if
it had only recently begun to be cultivated. His reaction told Sam he was
not expecting to meet up with anyone and Sam relaxed a bit.

     "Hello," Sam began companionably. "I'm Sam McCrea. I work for the
Lazy B. This land is part of the ranch. Can I ask what you're doin' here?"

     "I'm Dusty Laird. My companions and I were just passin' through. We
didn't mean to trespass... "

     "Don't worry about it. Water is for everyone."

     Sam came closer and set his bucket down beside the spring. Dusty could
not help but see the wads of bloody cloth it contained. The young man
flinched and glanced up at the cowpoke.

     "Are you okay?"

     "They're not from me. I just found a stranger who's been shot. Are you
missin' a member of your party?"

     "No."

     "I don't suppose you'd have a doctor among your companions?"

     "Well, maybe not what you'd consider a doctor."

     "What do you mean?"

     "Our guide's an Indian. But he did a pretty good job on my bruised
head a few days ago."

     "At this point, I'll take any help I can get. This guy's arm is in bad
shape."

     "Let's go get him then. Our camp's just over yonder," Dusty pointed.
"Oh!"

     "What?"

     "Xaculi... that's our guide's name. He has a pet wolf. Don't shoot
him, okay?"

     "It's no secret that ranchers don't like wolves, but I promise not to
hurt his pet."

     "You hear that?" Dusty asked, turning away.

     "Who're you talkin' to?"

     Sam's words died in his throat as a ruddy furred wolf came out from
behind a nearby clump of sagebrush. The animal stared at the cowboy with
eyes unlike any Sam had ever seen before. They were solidly red-orange and
seemed to glow, as if lit from within.

     "This is the Spirit-Wolf," Dusty said as he stroked the animal's back.
"He's real friendly. Especially to blonde headed men like us."

     "Huh?"

     "Never mind," Dusty grinned. "Let's go get Xaculi."

* * *

     Sam turned from the food he was cooking when he heard a cough. He saw
the red haired man moving on the bed fitfully, as if he was trying and
failing to sit up. Sam put the flying pan aside and went to him.

     "Stay still, stranger," Sam warned gently.

     He sat on the bed and placed a hand on the man's forehead. The cowpoke
was pleased to feel that the fever had broken. Xaculi's medicine almost
seemed like some sort of miracle cure.

     "If you move around too much, your wound might open again," Sam went
on, unable to resist running his fingers slowly through the stranger's
ruddy hair.

     The man's eyes darted around in panic as he became fully aware and his
free hand went at once to his waist. Sam could not help but grin at his
confusion as he realized he was naked under the blankets that covered him.
Sam chuckled as he went on.

     "Don't you fret none about your guns or duds, mister. You don't need
them right now."

     "Who're you?"

     "I think that my question to you, stranger."

     Despite the friendly way Sam had spoken, the wounded man looked past
him at the door of the lineshack, in a longing manner.

     "You thinkin' about leavin'? That'd be mighty ungrateful of you,
seein' as I saved your arm, not to mention your life."

     "My arm... " The man looked at the clean cloth, neatly wound around
his upper left arm. "Is it okay?"

     "Yeah, thanks to some Injun medicine and a whole lotta luck."

     The man looked puzzled as he gingerly touched his bandage. Sam
explained how he had found him, then miraculously encountered an Indian
whose medicine, some kind of crushed up flowers, had worked wonders. Only
a day had passed, and the last time Sam had checked, the gunshot wound
was healing cleanly.

     "Where's the Indian? I'd like to thank him."

     "He and his party had to get on the trail. They left this morning."

     "Oh. What day is it?" the man asked, noting the late afternoon light
slanting through the lineshack's single window.

     "The 9th of May," Sam said. His voice became insistent as he went on.
"Now you answer some of my questions, son. Who are you?"

     "Hezekiah Denton. My friends call me Heck."

     "Well, Heck," Sam grinned, "you certainly appear to have caught some
'heck' lately! How'd you get shot? Is the law after you?"

     Heck's expression went hard and he turned his head away from Sam.

     "Well, if you won't talk to me, I'll just hafta turn you over to the
sheriff in Maury City. He'll probably keep you locked up until you decide
to talk to someone."

     "You can't put me in the hoosgow! I didn't do nothin'!" Heck
exclaimed, glancing back at Sam with startled eyes.

     "I found you trespassin' on the Lazy B ranch, son. That's reason
enough to hold you until we can be sure you're not a stagecoach robber or
a murderer on the lam."

     "But I'm not a criminal! I didn't do nothin'! Honest!"

     "Then why are you worried about gettin' lynched?"

     "How'd you know that?" Heck hissed.

     "You told me yourself, when you was outta your head from a fever," Sam
informed the shocked man. "Who's Gibbe? Why does he wanna hang you?"

     Heck slumped in defeat and started to talk.

     "I've ridden with the Wildcat for the past year. You ever hear of that
outfit?"

     "Yeah. That ranch is a good ways to the south. You rode a long way to
end up here."

     "I didn't have much of a choice. The owner of the ranch, Gibbe, he
found out I was seein' someone in town... " Heck glanced at Sam, who looked
expectant. "It was a teenaged... guy... " Heck turned away again and spoke
bitterly to the wall. "I expect you're sorry now that you wasted your time
helpin' out a damned queer... "

     Sam reached out and gently urged Heck to face him again.

     "You didn't force yourself on that kid, did you?"

     "Hell, no! He wanted it as much as I did! Even told me... told me he
loved me... " Heck choked.

     "Did he lie to you, Heck?" Sam asked quietly. The pain in Heck's eyes
answered Sam affirmatively, before the rest of the story spilled out of the
wounded man like water from an overturned bucket.

     "We got caught kissin' by his daddy. The old man went crazy and I
cleared outta there double quick, but the news went faster that I did. By
the time I got back to the ranch, I found out from a friend that Gibbe was
waitin' for me. The father had sent word, sayin' I'd raped his son. It was
a damned lie, but Gibbe had sworn he was gonna hang me high for it. I
grabbed my gear and lit out again, but not fast enough. Gibbe's foreman
winged me as I headed past the main house. I tied up my wound as I rode,
not darin' to stop 'cause I figured Gibbe would be on my trail with a
posse. Just as I thought I wouldn't be able to go on any further, I
spotted this lineshack and headed for it. Things are a little hazy after
that... "

     "Well, you musta managed to tie your horse up out back and unsaddle
him before you came inside and collapsed on this bed. I found you passed
out here. You're lucky I came along when I did. I usually only ride this
fence once a month."

     "Sure." Heck's voice was bitter. "I'm lucky to be a crippled, queer
cowpoke. Broke, nowhere to go... "

     "You rest and heal, son. You can pay us back when you're well. There's
always work to do around the Lazy B."

     "Who'd wanna work with me? Would you, now that you know what kind of
man I am?"

     "Yes, I would." Sam answered softly.

     Heck searched Sam's eyes with his own. He saw a unique gentleness
reflected in those blue orbs. It was a look that he had encountered only
rarely from other men. The ones who shared his nature.

     "You too?" he whispered.

     Sam nodded, then spoke.

     "You think you could handle some dinner, son? I for one am hungry."

     "Sure... sure. Say," Heck stopped the cowboy as he got up, meaning to
get back to cooking. "What's your name?"

     "I'm Sam McCrea," he said, offering his hand, which Heck took and
gripped with equal pressure. "I'm mighty glad to meet you, Mr. Denton."

     "Call me Heck, Sam."

     Sam grinned at Heck before getting back to work. Heck's mouth watered
as he breathed in the aroma of cooking food that filled the small
lineshack. At length, Sam lit a lantern as the evening deepened into a
starry night before helping Heck get out of bed to sit at the comically
small table in one corner and put food in front of him.

     Driven by hunger, Heck was unconcerned at being naked or by the way
his left arm was bound in a sling. He ate everything Sam served him. Sam
grinned as Heck scraped his tin plate.

     "Havin' only one arm sure doesn't seem to be gettin' in the way of
your appetite, son! It looks to me like it won't be long before you'll be
able to push cows around with the rest of us!"

     "Sam, I know where you stand, but what about the other hands at the
Lazy B? Do they know about you, or are they like all the rest, intolerant?
I know how to bluff my way along with regular guys, I've been doin' it
since I was a kid... "

     Sam chuckled, stopping Heck.

     "What?"

     "Remember what I said about you bein' lucky?"

     "Yeah."

     "Well, you're gonna find this out sooner or later, so you might as
well know it now. Every guy who works for the Lazy B is like us."

     Heck was shocked.

     "You're joshin' me!"

     "Honest Injun!" laughed Sam.

     While the totally unexpected news sank into Heck's brain, Sam started
cleaning up. Heck got back into bed on his own and watched Sam as he moved
around. Sam looked to be in his mid thirties, his closely cropped hair and
bushy moustache were a rich blonde and a few day's growth of beard gilded
his cheeks. Like most cowboys Heck had known, Sam had the weathered and
worn look of a man who had lived most of his life outdoors.

     "Sam," Heck began, finding his voice again, "how'd it happen that a
bunch of guys like us came to be workin' at the Lazy B?"

     Sam explained it to Heck as he washed and put away the dinnerware. The
owners shared their natures and had tried to find others like them to work
on the ranch. Slowly, they had collected a crew of like-minded cowboys who
became almost like family to each other. They worked hard and played hard
and Sam assured Heck he would be made more than welcome there with a wink
that sent the blood rushing to Heck's cock as he tried to imagine what
life at the Lazy B might be like, with a whole group of men like himself...

     "Move over," Sam smiled as he finished his chores, interrupting Heck's
horny daydreams. He stripped off his shirt, revealing a work-hardened chest
and belly, lightly furred with golden hairs.

     "Huh?" managed Heck, distracted by the sudden revelation of so much
masculine beauty.

     "If you're expectin' me to sleep on the floor, you've got another
thing comin'!" Sam snorted, stepping out of his boots and curling his
bared toes in the cool air, flexing them in relief. "There's room for both
of us in that bed, son. I know 'cause I slept there with you last night!"

     "I... I'm sorry I can't remember it," Heck muttered as he obediently
scooted over.

     "Don't worry, I didn't take advantage of you!" laughed Sam as he
dropped his pants and draped them over the back of a chair along with his
shirt. Heck stared hard at Sam's firm butt.

     "I don't think I would've minded if you had, Sam. You... you're a
good lookin' man."

     Heck's words stopped Sam as he was reaching for the lantern. The
blonde cowpoke turned back and reached over to run his fingers through
Heck's shaggy mane of dark red hair. Heck could not help but notice Sam's
cock plumping up and growing longer as he almost whispered.

     "So're you, son... "

     "Sam... " Heck whispered back as Sam put out the light and then slid
into bed next to him. The redhead sighed and cuddled up to Sam, pressing
their naked bodies together warmly.

     "A certain part of you sure feels healthy!" Sam grinned, finding
Heck's stiff dick and stroking it lightly. "But you're still an injured
man. Lay back and relax, son, lemme take care of this for you... "

     "Sam... " gasped Heck as he watched his bedpartner's head disappear
under the covers and felt the slick, flexing heat of a man's tongue begin
to stroke his rigid sex. Heck gave in to the delicious feelings as Sam
moved to share himself, in a way one man could only experience with
another...

* * *

     "This is the main compound," Sam gestured as he and Heck rode into
the midst of a constellation of buildings the next day, under a clear,
afternoon sky. The blonde cowboy started pointing. "There's the stable,
the bunkhouse, the cookshack, the boss's cabin... "

     Heck studied the last named landmark a little ruefully. By then he
knew Sam was the foreman of the ranch, the second in command, so to speak.
He was also partnered with the boss of the outfit, Jake Beeson, and between
the pair, they owned half of the Lazy B. After the amazing sex he had
experienced with the foreman the previous night, Heck sincerely hoped
Jake appreciated what a good thing he had in Sam.

     They walked their horses into the stable and after swinging down from
Cream, Sam helped Heck get off his mount. Someone was making a lot of noise
in the back of the stable. The ringing noise of metal on metal pealed out
rhythmically. The foreman noticed Heck's interest as he began unsaddling
their animals.

     "That's Matt, our blacksmith, makin' all that noise. His forge is set
up back there. Go say hello to him if you'd like while I take care of our
horses."

     "Okay."

     Heck went and let himself through a door at the back of the stable. He
felt the heat from the forge striking him like a slap across the face as he
entered. But it was not the heat that made him catch his breath as he spied
the Lazy B's blacksmith.

     Heck saw a brawny man whose upper torso sported a generous growth of
black hair everywhere Heck could see, curling across his muscular arms,
back and sides. Matt was working shirtless, his torso and broad chest
protected by a thick leather apron. He was beating with measured cadence
on a piece of glowing iron. Heck was reminded of part of a poem he had
once read, by a man named Whitman:

...blacksmiths with grimed
and hairy chests
environ the anvil,
Each has his main-sledge,
they are all out,
there is a great heat in the fire.

From the cinder-strew'd threshold
I follow their movements,
The lithe sheer of their waists
plays even with their massive arms,
Overhand the hammers swing,
overhand so slow,
overhand so sure...

     Heck studied the kindly face, adorned by a thick beard and shaggy head
of ebon hair. He hoped Matt would be as friendly as he looked. Using tongs
to lift the item he was working on, the blacksmith was turning to dip the
red hot, u-shaped piece of metal in a bucket of water when he caught sight
of Heck. Time seemed to pause for a long moment as Matt's first glimpse of
the handsome, red headed man branded itself on his brain, a memory he would
never forget.

     Dropping the unfinished horseshoe in the water, Matt turned back to
his unexpected visitor as a burst of steam rose behind him. He saw Sam
appear behind Heck and paused. He waited to hear what the foreman of the
ranch had to say.

     "Matt Lee, this here's Heck Denton. He'll be workin' with us once he
heals up."

     For the first time, Matt noticed the empty sleeve dangling and the way
Heck's shirt was buttoned over his left arm, obviously bound in a sling. He
blinked. The blacksmith could not understand how he could have missed the
injury, but when he looked at Heck's handsome face again, he thought he
knew why.

     "Hello," he said, offering his sooty hand.

     "Pleased to meet you," returned Heck, gripping the grimy paw without
hesitation.

     "Oh!" Matt noticed, "sorry about that... "

     "No problem, Matt. Honest sweat and dirty, hard workin' hands never
hurt nobody."

     Matt grinned. Heck's words and easy way instantly impressed the big
blacksmith. He looked past Heck at Sam in a conspiratorial manner.

     "You found a bunk for Heck here yet?"

     "No, we just got in," Sam said, glancing between the two men as he
noted the looks Heck was giving Matt and vice versa for the first time.

     "Find him a good one," winked Matt. Sam grinned in understanding and
winked back.

     "C'mon Heck," began Sam as he put a hand on the cowboy's shoulder,
"let's go introduce you to Jake and get you situated here."

* * *

     If he had not known what he already did about the other ranchhands,
Heck would have found their friendliness hard to believe. It was not long
before Heck was hoping he would heal up quick so he could become a real
part of the crew. As the sun fell beyond the jagged horizon of the
southern Cascades, Heck was sitting on the porch of the bunkhouse when he
spotted Matt coming out of the stables. He had removed his apron, giving
Heck a good look at Matt's torso. The dark fur that covered it did not
obscure his meaty pecs or solid abdomen.

     Matt smiled a greeting at Heck that made the wounded man's heart skip
a beat as the grimy blacksmith went inside the bunkhouse. Even covered in
soot and streaked with sweat, Matt looked like the handsomest thing Heck
had ever laid eyes on. Momentarily, Matt reappeared with two towels.

     "Goin' for a swim?"

     "And a bath," added Matt. "Have you seen our swimmin' hole?"

     "Nope."

     "C'mon and I'll show you where we wash up, leastwise durin' warm
weather."

     "What do you do durin' the winter?" Heck asked as he gladly joined the
blacksmith. "Go without?"

     "Naw, we get the big washtub out on Saturday nights, do our laundry
and take turns scrubbin' each other's backs!"

     "Sounds like fun," Heck said as they followed a well worn path that
wound past the cookshack. "Ah... do you, um, have someone whose back you
like to scrub?"

     "Someone special?"

     "Yeah. If that ain't too personal."

     "No, it's not." Matt paused to consider Heck. "I think I might, but
I'm not sure yet."

     "Oh." Heck tried to not sound as disappointed as he felt. "I suppose
you've known this fella for awhile?"

     "Actually, we met quite recently," admitted Matt as they reached a
point on the path where it passed a big, oddly shaped rock. "There it is,"
he pointed.

     Heck looked and saw a wide section of rippling, clear water. He could
see a loop in a small creek that was dammed behind a low ridge of hard,
dark rock which ran across the channel and had resisted erosion. Human
hands had added to the natural dam, creating a crescent shaped pool. Matt
took his companion's attention away from the water by slapping his hand on
the rogue boulder.

     "Jake says the Indians who used to live here thought this marked a
sacred site."

     Looking closer, Heck saw many pictoglyphs chiseled into the stone.
Some were less clear than others, apparently because they were older and
had been exposed to the elements longer. The rock itself resembled a huge
clenched fist pointing its index finger towards the sky.

     Leaving the unusual landmark, the men went down to the edge of the
pool and Matt started to strip. As Heck watched the blacksmith's hard body
being bared to his eyes, he hardly heard Matt explaining how the water
there was clean because the cattle could not get to its source in the
rocks above. A fence around the main compound kept them from getting to
the men's swimming hole from below. Downstream from the dam, it was
quite a different matter, but above it the creek was clear and fresh.

     Heck frowned at his useless arm. He wanted to go in with Matt, but he
could not undress himself without help. Matt noted Heck's sour expression
and guessed its reason.

     "Would you like to wash too?"

     "Yeah, but I need some help gettin' undressed."

     "I'd be happy to help you, Heck."

     The naked blacksmith came close to Heck and started unbuttoning his
shirt. Heck breathed in the heady scent of Matt's sweat and felt his cock
respond to it and harden. Matt eased the shirt off and had Heck grip his
shoulder as he bent and helped him off with his boots. Then Matt unbuckled
the cowboy's belt and popped the button fly of his jeans. He grinned at
the heavy plumpness of Heck's dangling manhood as the pants came off.

     "You've got a nice pecker there, Heck."

     "You ain't so bad to look at yourself, Matt, whether you got clothes
on or not!"

     Matt grinned at the compliment and kept a grip on Heck's shoulder as
they waded in. Reaching a good spot, Matt had Heck sit down on a submerged
boulder. The water came up to Heck's hips, which kept his bandages dry.

     It also showed up his hardon, which poked up from the water like a
turtle's snout when it takes a breath. Matt sat beside Heck and worked a
bar of soap and a scrap of cloth in his hands. Once he had some suds, he
smiled at the red headed cowboy.

     "Sit still, buddy. I'll take care of you."

     'God, I wish you would... ' Heck sighed inwardly as Matt's soapy hands
started gliding over his body, not stopping until they had stroked every
inch of the injured man's body. Rinsing out the cloth, Matt removed the
soap, all the while avoiding getting Heck's bandages wet.

     As he worked, Matt asked how Heck had gotten shot. Heck told him the
same story he had told Sam. When he finished, Matt shook his head sadly.

     "You think the boy said you raped him to avoid gettin' a beatin' from
his father?

     "I dunno... maybe his father claimed that so the townfolk wouldn't
think his son was a damned queer."

     "Either way, you didn't deserve bein' accused of rape," Matt finished.
"We've got friends in Maury City who work with the sheriff. Next time we go
into town, we'll tell them your story, and they'll fix it, make sure nobody
comes here lookin' for you."

     "Sam told me about his friends who were deputies," Heck began. "He
suggested doin' something similar. But what if somebody comes before we get
a chance to speak to them?"

     "Then they'll hafta go through me," Matt said firmly, "and every other
man here too. Maybe you don't realize it yet, but you've got brothers here,
Heck. We stick together and take care of our own. We don't take any of the
fuckin' shit the world likes to serve up to our kind, especially not on
this ranch, where we live. Don't worry, you're safe here."

     A few moments of silence hung between the pensive men as Matt dipped
the cloth in the water and wrung it out. When he was done, Matt placed a
dripping hand on Heck's wet shoulder and rubbed the skin gently as he spoke
again, quietly and earnestly.

     "I'd never do you like that, Heck. Lie about you and get you into
trouble... "

     "I know," Heck returned simply, wondering at the blacksmith's words.

     "Can I take care of this for you?" Matt asked as he let his hand slide
downward into Heck's lap. He stroked the man's stiff rod with his
fingertips.

     "Yeah, I'd like that... "

     "Okay... "

     Matt wrapped an arm around Heck and held him as he spat in his other
hand and gripped the cowboy's cock with it. As he started fisting it, Heck
let his head rest on Matt's shoulder and relished Matt's musky smell as
well as the slippery strokes. Soon his cum shot forth, spattering across
his belly, coating Matt's hand and falling into the rippling water.

     "Feel better now?" Matt grinned as he released Heck. After cleaning
away Heck's spooge, Matt stood and started washing himself, running the
cloth and his big, soapy hands across his broad chest and hard belly, down
to his own cock which he stroked slowly. "I guess you're at somewhat of a
disadvantage when it comes to returnin' the favor."

     "What, washin' or playin'?"

     "Both."

     "Naw, I can get your back for you," Heck said, standing up.

     Matt rubbed the soap into his shoulders and Heck spread it out with
his free hand, flattening the black hairs that grew thickly across his
companion's back. Matt sighed in pleasure, spurring Heck to do his best.
Heck's hand worked its way downward and probed Matt's backside, slick
fingers gliding into the hairy asscrack, stroking sensitive, secret flesh
tenderly, then sliding between his legs to fondle the blacksmith's balls.

     After about a minute of that treatment, Matt stepped away to a deeper
spot and dunked himself to wash off the soap before turning around. As he
waded back to where Heck stood, the redhead saw the effect his touches had
wrought. Matt's manhood was pointing to the sky. Heck grinned at the state
the blacksmith was in.

     "Well," Matt grinned back, "I'm clean. Are we done here?"

     "Not yet," muttered Heck as he knelt in the water and leaned closer to
the hot wand of flesh standing proudly before his face.

     Gently, tentatively, Heck took the hooded tip of Matt's cock into his
mouth. He stroked back the foreskin with his lips and caressed the velvety
glans lovingly with his tongue, using every bit of his cocksucking skills
to please this particular man, who moved Heck in a way he had never
experienced before. Matt's fingers dipped into and moved through Heck's
red hair, caressing it softly without disturbing the rhythm Heck had
established.

     "Oh, God, yes, Heck... " the blacksmith moaned aloud. "Suck my cock
like that all you want, buddy... anytime you want it... "

     Heck silently acknowledged Matt by taking all of the blacksmith's
shaft into his mouth. Matt panted in pure bliss as he felt his passions
rising, conjured by the slick, suctioning, heated softness that
encompassed his rigid sex. He half-whispered, half-gasped encouragement
to his friend.

     "Heck... you're so... goddammed good-lookin'... can't believe...
you're here with me... take me, buddy... I want... I need you... "

     Matt's words faded into a strangled incoherency as his orgasm struck,
overriding all rational thoughts or actions. Heck felt the man's cock swell
and tremble moments before it flooded his mouth with the essence of pure
masculinity, a thick savor Heck had long ago found too good to live
without, something that made him feel complete and whole at an elementary
level of his man-loving being. He drank down Matt's seed gratefully. From
what he had heard Matt babbling in his sexual delirium, Heck was sure
this would not be the last time he would get to taste the blacksmith's
manly juices.

     Matt drew back from Heck. As his cock slid out of the cowboy's mouth,
a long, glistening strand of cum followed it, connecting them until it
sagged and fell into the water. Matt sat back down in the water next to
Heck to catch his breath. All the while he grinned like a fool at his
companion. Finally he recovered enough to speak.

     "Goddamn, buddy!" he managed. "You sure know how to suck cock!"

     "Well, when I really like the guy I'm with... "

     Heck fell silent when he felt Matt's hand move. It went between Heck's
legs, rose and cupped his red furred ballsac, then rolled its contents in
the palm of Matt's hand gently. Fingers traced the length of Heck's penis.
Despite his earlier orgasm, it quickly went stiff as bone. Matt chuckled
easily, but Heck could see the sexual hunger burning in his icy blue eyes.

     "Like you said, we ain't done here yet, not by a longshot... "

     Heck stood up, offering his hard rod to the blacksmith. Matt stroked
it familiarly, studying it and the fiery colored bush it sprouted from.
Then he looked up at Heck and spoke, softly, but seriously.

     "I don't just wanna get you off, Heck, I wanna make love to you, like
you just did to me. I think you know what I mean... "

     "Yeah... I do... "

     "I meant what I said earlier. I won't do you wrong, buddy. Never."

     "Matt... if you mean what I think you mean... what about the other
guy?"

     "What other guy?"

     "The one you said you met recently. Who you thought was special."

     "Oh. him," Matt laughed. "You didn't get it, did you? Was I too
subtle? Look here."

     Heck glanced into the water where Matt pointed. After a few moments he
was still puzzled. He looked back at Matt.

     "What is it you're tryin' to show me?"

     "Can't you see that handsome red headed fella's reflection there in
the water?"

     "You mean me?"

     "Yes. You're the guy I was talkin' about!"

     Before Heck could respond, Matt swallowed the redhead's hardon. His
passion was urgent. He hungrily slurped on Heck's manhood, licking and
sucking for all he was worth, eager for his first taste of the redhead's
cockjuice. Heck gripped the black haired, bobbing head with his free hand
and let his inner thoughts hiss out of him.

     "Oh Matt... I've wanted you from the moment I first laid eyes on
you... I promise... I'll give you everything... all I got... "

     Matt groaned wordlessly around Heck's tasty tool. The injured man's
intimate confession was just what he wanted to hear. Then another sense was
smitten as waves of hot-salt-sweet spewed across Matt's tongue, holding him
for a brief eternity in a realm of masculine tenderness, where a unique
savory thickness pulsed and pulsed endlessly, flowing and falling forever
into an always-hungry abyss of male desire...

     Matt did not release Heck until his cock was soft and spent. Only then
did he rise to kiss Heck deeply, letting the cowpoke taste his own cum on
Matt's tongue. Matt rinsed them both off one last time before they returned
to the shore and dried off.

     Matt helped Heck get dressed and then donned his own clothes, all in a
comfortable silence, letting their eyes and hands express what they felt.
When they were ready, the blacksmith wrapped an arm around Heck and they
started back along the path. A few moments later a cacophony of sound split
the evening air, a combination of metallic clattering and a man yelling,
making Heck jump.

     "That's just Cookie, lettin' the world know supper's ready," Matt
smiled. "Now you'll get to meet everybody."

     "How many guys work here?"

     "Eight, includin' you. We're a little short handed since we lost those
two hands I mentioned."

     "How'd they become deputies?"

     "That's a long story that I'll save for later. The short version is
that they helped the sheriff outta a jam and he was so impressed with what
they did that he asked them to become his deputies, so now they live and
work in Maury City."

     "Huh! Well, I'll be glad to pitch in and give you guys a hand as soon
as I'm healed up, This is the nicest place I've ever seen."

     "You sound like you've found a reason to stay."

     "Haven't I?" Heck asked, looking deep into Matt's eyes.

     "Yes, you have," the blacksmith sighed, kissing Heck again.

* * *

     By the time dinner was over, full night had fallen and the ranchhands
all headed for bed. As Sam had predicted, Heck was warmly welcomed by the
group, though there had been some joking remarks about how 'certain
blacksmiths' were 'strikin' while the iron was hot'. Matt's sudden bonding
with Heck was obvious and a source of some amusement to the crew, though
not one felt anything but happiness for Matt and Heck and hoped it worked
out.

     Heck went to the bunk Sam had assigned him. Like the rest, it was a
double wide bed, meant to be shared. And Heck still did not know who his
bedpartner was.

     "Well, thanks," Heck began as Matt finished helping him off with his
clothes. "I guess I'll see you in the morning." Heck's unwillingness to
part from Matt was audible in his voice as the blacksmith pulled the
blanket over him.

     "Okay," Matt answered simply.

     He walked away to put out the single lantern left burning in the
bunkhouse. The other hands were all in their beds by then. Heck watched his
new friend go, wanting to see where he slept. Moonlight spilling through a
window showed the brawny blacksmith going from the extinguished lantern
back to the end of Heck's bunk, then he went around and sat down on the
opposite side of it.

     "Matt?"

     "You can thank Sam later," whispered Matt. "He took my hint and put
you in with me. I hope that's acceptable."

     "What do you think?" Heck replied, taking Matt's hand and guiding it
so that the blacksmith felt his bedpartner's manhood beneath the blanket.
It was hardening rapidly.

     Matt lost his clothing in a hurry and moved to join Heck under the
covers. They kissed urgently, pressing their nude bodies together. Matt
felt Heck's free hand run over and cup the furry mounds of his ass and
sighed deeply.

     "Anytime you wanna ride me, cowboy, you just ask."

     "I'd like to wait until my arm's healed up, if that's okay with you.
When I'm ready, I wanna have a good grip on you, with both hands, so you
can't buck me off!"

     "Heal quick then. I can't wait to feel you inside me, pard."

     The last word Matt whispered struck Heck unexpectedly. He had never
had a partner before in his young life. But with the suddenness of a flash
of lightning, he realized Matt was the one, the man he could put an arm
around and say proudly and defiantly to a hostile and uncaring world: "This
is MY pardner!"

     Too overcome to articulate what he was feeling, Heck cuddled against
the warm hairiness of Matt's side and closed his eyes. He would find the
words later, somehow, to let Matt know how much he was loved. For the
moment, it was more than enough to feel Matt's strong arms holding Heck's
naked body close to Matt's own...

* * *

Conclusion

* * *

     Dusty Laird sank into a pool formed by the bend of an upland creek
gratefully. The water was on the cool side, but that was understandable,
seeing as it was not far from its source, the melting snows that capped the
southern Cascades. Still, it felt wonderful to Dusty. He ran a hand across
his chest lazily, then let it drop into his lap.

     Despite having made love to Woody that morning, Dusty still felt horny
and stroked himself to full erection. At length, he got up and sat on a
mossy rock shaped vaguely like a chair. Leaning back into it, he looked
around the campsite as he got comfortable, preparing to take his time
jacking himself off.

     The Spirit-Wolf sat on the shore, his burning eyes watching the man's
every move. Xaculi and Woody were off hunting, and had left them to guard
the camp. As Dusty caressed himself slowly, he spoke to the red furred
wolf.

     "You like me, don't you?"

     Dusty was unsurprised when the animal nodded. By then he was used to
the way the Spirit-Wolf acted, as if he were possessed of human
intelligence. The man sighed.

     "It's too bad you can't help me out here... "

     Dusty closed his eyes and let his head fall back. As he fisted his
cock, he heard muted sounds from the surrounding evergreen forest: the
calls of birds, the wind in the branches, the splashing of moving water...
Dusty felt something warm and wet touch his ballsac and opened his eyes.

     The Spirit-Wolf had waded over to the rock where Dusty sat and placed
his muzzle between the man's legs. His long, pink tongue was lapping gently
at Dusty's balls. Dusty reached out and stroked the animal's head.

     "Maybe you can help me," he smiled. "You lickin' my balls like that
does feel awful nice..."

     Dusty scooted forward until his butt was on the edge of the stone
seat. The Spirit-Wolf licked gently and deliberately, as if he knew
exactly what to do in order to help Dusty get off. As the slick tongue
began to slip into the cleft below his dripping ballsac, Dusty squirmed
with pleasure and spread his legs as wide as he could.

     "Oh, shit... Go for it, boy... lick my ass... "

     The animal did as he was asked, stroking the blonde furred asscrack
with his sinuous tongue, tickling the puckered hole at its center, and, at
length, forcing his oral muscle inside the man. Dusty groaned as the
sensations overwhelmed him. His cock erupted, shooting white comets of
cum all over his chest, belly and thighs.

      As he lay back, panting and spent, the Spirit-Wolf cleaned Dusty's
torso, lapping up every drop of the man's semen. The animal finished by
going back to Dusty's penis. Dusty smiled wearily as he stroked the wolf's
head, watching the beast lick his genitals.

     "I think I'm satisfied, for the time bein'. Too bad I can't return the
favor, boy. You're awful nice, but I can't see myself suckin' on your dick,
or gettin' a mouthful of wolf spooge!"

     Dusty got off the rock and went to the deepest part of the pool, where
he swam and washed himself. Soon he heard the Spirit-Wolf give a low bark.
The blonde man rose from the pellucid mountain stream, dripping what looked
like liquid diamonds from his naked body in the bright sunlight.

     "What is it, boy?"

     As Dusty asked the question, the Spirit-Wolf looked around, as if
making sure they were alone. Then the animal did something Dusty remembered
seeing him do before, soon after he had first encountered the beast in the
Elxa's abandoned canyon city. The creature moved along the sandy bank of
the creek, pawing at the ground oddly and seemingly at random. When he had
done that before, for Xaculi, he had seemed to Dusty as if he were writing.

     "What're you doin'?" puzzled Dusty.

     The man waded closer to get a better look. Despite his suspicions he
was shocked by what he saw. A series of words had indeed been scratched in
the wet soil.

     'CAN YOU KEEP A SECRET?' Dusty read.

     The man looked in amazement at the odd animal. The Spirit-Wolf sat
expectantly, giving back Dusty's stare calmly. He was obviously waiting for
Dusty to answer the question.

     "Ah, yeah," Dusty said, finding his voice at last, "I can keep a
secret. About what? You?"

     The Spirit-Wolf nodded and started to write again.

     'DO YOU TRUST ME?'

     "Yes, of course I trust you. I wouldn't let just any wolf get in a
position where he could bite my balls off!"

     The Spirit-Wolf's jaws gaped and his tongue lolled, looking for all
the world as if he were laughing silently. When he recovered, the wolf
started scratching again. Dusty looked and read.

     'CLOSE YOUR EYES. KEEP THEM CLOSED NO MATTER WHAT.'

     "What... what's gonna happen if I do?"

     The Spirit-Wolf went back to an earlier message. Dragging a paw, he
underlined two words. Dusty looked at them.

     'TRUST ME.'

     "Alright," Dusty agreed. "I trust you."

     Dusty shut his eyes. After a few moments, he felt a human hand touch
his shoulder from behind. The young man started.

     "What the?!"

     "Shhh, Dusty, it's okay, it's me, the Spirit-Wolf."

     "Who... "

     "I can't tell you my real name, not now. Maybe someday."

     As the gently whispered words were spoken, Dusty felt his bandanna
being tied as a blindfold over his eyes. When it was knotted in place,
the hands fell to caress Dusty's back, then slipped easily around his
body, hugging him from behind. From what Dusty could feel, an extremely
hairy and excited naked man was holding him close and kissing his neck
tenderly. Then the voice spoke again, hot breath blowing sensuously
across Dusty's ear as the words came.

     "Only Xaculi, our chief shaman, Falling Star, and a few others know
of the power I have. As the Spirit-Wolf, I protect and defend the Elxa and
their land, the valley of the heron."

     "Are you a man or a wolf... or a spirit?"

     "I'm not a spirit. I'm a man who can become a wolf at will, what some
old legends call a werewolf. But don't be afraid of me because of that,
Dusty. I swear I won't hurt you."

     "I know you won't. I said I trusted you and I meant it. But, how did
you become a werewolf? Did the spirits of the Elxa do that to you?"

     "No! The spirits of the Elxa are as friendly to us as they are real,
Dusty," he began, "but they don't have physical bodies like you or I. They
asked me to be their champion in the 'real' world and protect the men who
follow the Way of the Heron from its dangers, just as they protect us from
the perils of the unseen world that exists close to our own: evil spirits,
bad medicine, and black magic."

     "But magic's not... "

     "Not real?" He cut in. "How do you explain me then?"

     "Magic made you what you are?"

     "Evil magic." Dusty could hear the grimness in the man's voice as he
began to explain. "One day, while I was huntin', I accidentally encountered
a native shaman dressed all in black. I didn't know it then, but he was
invokin' a demon. I spoiled his rite, and in the confusion, the vile spirit
he had summoned touched me. It made me a werewolf, but I had no idea what
to do, how to control the thing I had become. If Xaculi hadn't found and
helped me, I know I wouldn't have survived."

     "So that's why you love him so much."

     "I do love Xaculi. I owe him for everything, my life, the happiness
I've found livin' with my Elxa brothers... even meetin' you, Dusty. Oh,
Dusty," the man murmured as he began to kiss Dusty's neck and shoulders
lightly again, "You're so damn handsome!"

     "Xaculi said you liked blonde men."

     "That attracted me to you at first, I'll admit it, but I've watched
you as we've traveled. You're a fine man, Dusty, a fine man. I meant to
wait until we got to the valley of the heron before seekin' you out in my
human form, but after what we just did, well, I couldn't help myself. I'm
only human! Right now, I want you so badly. If you weren't pardnered with
Woody, we might have... well... but I know you love Woody. Very deeply."

     "Yes, I do." Dusty replied. "You don't have a pardner?"

     "No, no one special. But all the other heron men are my brothers. They
share their love and their bodies with me, so I don't lack for physical or
emotional pleasure."

     Dusty turned within the man's embrace and reached to explore the body
before him with his hands. The man felt almost as furry as he did in his
wolf form. Dusty toyed with the glyphstone pendant that hung beneath his
thick beard as the man murmured to him softly.

     "If I'm any judge of character, you'll have one of those soon, Dusty.
I think you already understand what the Elxa are offerin' you."

     "I believe Xaculi when he says love is meant to be shared. And I know
you want me."

     "Oh, God, yes, Dusty! From the first moment I saw you."

     Their lips met gently at first, then the kiss became firmer, more
vigorous and urgent. The unknown man's hands fell down Dusty's back, a long
caress, until they cupped and kneaded the globes of the young man's ass.
Fingers delved in the crack, moving, seeking...

     "Dusty, may I?"

     "Yes! Take me!"

     Guiding Dusty to a tree, the young man was urged to face and grip it.
Dropping to his knees, the man buried his face in Dusty's ass. His scratchy
beard and moustache made Dusty squirm and writhe in bliss. His tongue was
insistent, slick, moving determinedly across and through Dusty's puckered
gateway to paradise.

     "Oh my god, that feels so good! When you do find a pardner, mister,
he's gonna be one lucky dog!"

     Dusty heard the man snort and laugh at his unintended pun. He stood up
and urged Dusty around before kissing him. Then he gently pushed Dusty to
his knees.

     "Get me wet, Dusty."

     Dusty found and swallowed the man's wand of hot, hard flesh. He
slurped and hawked, generating a load of spit. When the man pulled away,
Dusty knew he was ready.

     Dusty quickly took his position against the tree again and felt the
dripping prick sink deep into his ass. He relaxed, feeling the entire hot
length of it slide into him. Then he clamped down as hard as he could with
his inner muscles, wanting to hold the mirific fullness in place.

     The man behind him gasped at the pleasurable sensation and struggled
to pull out. Dusty let him slide back in easily and gripped his cock again,
repeating the action. The man's voice was labored as he found a comfortable
fuck rhythm.

     "My God! Talk about bein' lucky! I hope Woody appreciates you, Dusty!"

     "He does. I love him. And Xaculi. And you."

     "That's because... your spirit is Elxa, Dusty... you understand... the
Way of the Heron... already... in your heart... " the man gasped, his
thrusts becoming faster, more urgent...

     "I love you! You!" Dusty affirmed, sensing the man was close to
orgasm.

     "Yes... yes... I love you... Dusty... ah... Ahh... AHHHHHHH... "

     Roaring a wordless note of passion, the man came, driving himself
frantically into Dusty's ass. The young man felt the unique inner explosion
of warmth as the man's cum burst into his innards, filling him. The man
nuzzled Dusty's neck as he came down from his sexual high.

     "Oh, Dusty! Dusty!"

     "I love you. Hold me. Hold me tight."

     "Oh, no," the man said distractedly, turning his head away. "Please,
not now, not yet!"

     "What?"

     "I'm sorry Dusty. We don't have a lot of time left. I can hear the
others returnin'."

     "Huh? I don't hear anything."

     "Even in my human form, I have the senses of a wolf. Believe me, I
can hear our companions' footsteps already." Dusty felt the man withdraw
his rubbery member and release him, stepping back. "Wait a minute before
removin' the blindfold."

     "Wait! Kiss me one more time, please!"

     As Dusty made his plea he turned and groped in the direction of his
heron brother's voice. He was suddenly crushed in a passionate bearhug, a
thickly bearded face pressing into his, lips and tongues working hard to
say everything in a few moments of time. Then Dusty was abruptly released
as the man thrust himself away.

     "I love you, Dusty, my new brother... "

     The voice trailed off in a most singular way, morphing oddly into a
low, animal whimper. Dusty felt a cold nose nuzzle his hand and he took
off the blindfold. The Spirit-Wolf looked sadly and longingly at Dusty
with his weird eyes. Dusty knelt and hugged the animal form of the man who
had just made love to him.

     "I love you, whoever you are. I'll tell you what," he said as he
showed the Spirit-Wolf his blindfold, "I'll always carry this around, so
it'll be handy if you wanna make love to me again."

     The wolf nodded vigorously. Then he pawed at the ground again. Dusty
read the message.

     'IT WON'T BE SOON ENOUGH FOR ME!'

     Dusty laughed and scratched his head in thought. Then he got an idea.
He leaned closer and whispered.

     "Maybe we could slip away from the camp tonight, after everyone else
is asleep. Would that work?"

     The wolf scratched at the ground again.

     'I'LL WAKE YOU AT MIDNIGHT.'

     "It's a date," Dusty grinned.

     The Spirit-Wolf began to scuff up the ground, erasing his messages,
and Dusty helped him. Then the young man went back into the creek to wash
the sweat and cum off his body. Before Dusty could sit down, he heard
splashing in the water behind him and felt a cold nose poking into his ass.
As a long, warm tongue began lapping up the sperm that dripped from Dusty's
blonde furred asscrack, he chuckled.

     "Well, I suppose it is your mess to clean up if you wanna!"

     The Spirit-Wolf worked fast, knowing he did not have much time. He
could not only hear his companions' voices, but also smelled the blood of
the elk they had killed and were bringing to camp. Taking one last lick at
Dusty's delicious ass, the werewolf dived into the deepest part of the
creek before getting out and making a great show of shaking the water out
of his ruddy fur, creating a veritable rainshower in the general vicinity.

     "Hey! Watch it!" Woody exclaimed.

     The man had walked right into the shower as he entered the clearing.
Xaculi was behind him and, between them, on their shoulders, was a sapling.
Hanging from the pole was the carcass of a young elk.

     "Hail, the mighty hunters!" Dusty saluted from the creek.

     "Come and help us make dinner, pardner," Woody invited. Dusty got out
of the water and went to kiss him passionately. Woody responded lustily and
gratefully, then asked, "What was that for?"

     "Do I hafta have a reason for kissin' the man I love?"

     "No, I don't suppose you do... " Woody muttered, kissing Dusty again,
more deeply and lingeringly.

     Xaculi cleared his throat.

     "The elk will not cook itself, my friends. Let us at least get it over
a fire before you lose yourselves in loveplay!"

     "Okay, okay!" Dusty laughed, before he started looking for his
discarded clothing.

     "Xaculi," Woody began as he squatted beside the native, who was busily
engaged in separating the elk from its hide, "How much further is it to the
valley of the heron?"

     "Tomorrow we will reach a pass, one known only to the Elxa, that leads
into our lands. By sundown, we will find some of our brothers and they will
greet you and Dusty happily."

     The hunters had gutted the animal where they had killed it, so when
Xaculi peeled the skin away from the haunches, all Woody had to do was cut
hunks of meat from the carcass and carry them over to Dusty, who had the
fire built up again. Skewering four chunks of meat on an iron rod, the
men positioned it over the fire using a couple of Y-shaped tree branches
set firmly in the ground. Dusty whittled more wooden skewers, loaded and
angled them over the fire as Woody cut up the rest of the young elk and
brought the meat to him.

     As Xaculi lifted the bloody skin, intending to go and wash it in the
creek, he spoke a few words in the Elxa tongue. The Spirit-Wolf pricked up
his ears and went to the elk's remains. He started to drag what was left
of the animal away, off to some distant spot in the forest, so the
travelers would not be troubled by hungry varmints later on in the night.

     The party ate well that evening. Xaculi told them more stories, Elxa
legends of brave heroes and evil sorcerers, mysterious spirits and tender
manlove as the campfire burned down. When the men turned in, separated far
enough apart to ensure privacy for both couples, Xaculi stroked the back of
the Spirit-Wolf gently as he lay stretched out beside him.

     "When Woody and I left to go hunting, the ground here did not seem
so oddly torn up. I wonder what could have disturbed it. Do you know, my
friend?"

     The Spirit-Wolf lifted his head and looked at the elder in something
like alarm when he heard the softly whispered words, spoken in the Elxa
tongue. It was obvious the native knew what had happened earlier between
him and Dusty. Xaculi went on quietly.

     "Be careful, my friend," Xaculi warned. "You yourself told me you
wanted to keep your abilities a secret, even within the tribe, and I
agreed with you. I know you fear some greedy man might come and capture
you, sell you to a sideshow as a freak, chain you and make you into an
object to be gawked at by ignorant persons... "

     The Spirit-Wolf gave a low whine and burrowed under the blankets.
Strange movements ensued there as the werewolf shed his canine form.
Xaculi sighed inwardly as he felt the familiar contours of the body of
the younger man whom he cherished like a son embracing and cuddling
against him.

     "I didn't intend to reveal myself to him, Xaculi," another voice began
softly, also in the Elxa language, "but Dusty's just so damn handsome... I
couldn't help myself!"

     "What did you tell him?" the elder asked as he hugged his heron
brother to himself warmly.

     The man recounted everything that had happened that afternoon. Xaculi
nodded when his companion was finished. Then he thought a bit before
responding.

     "Dusty is a trustworthy man, wise beyond his years. But think well
before you tell him any more about yourself when you meet him again later
tonight, my young friend."

     "I wasn't plannin' to," came the reply.

     "That is wise." Xaculi murmured before smiling to himself. "Ah, I can
remember a carefree time, so long ago, when I was your age. I was a young
and foolish brave who often let my loins do my thinking for me. They led
me to share my blankets with many beautiful men... "

     "You don't hafta rub it in!" the voice from beneath the covers
responded ruefully. Then he moved to distract his mentor.

     Xaculi sighed as he felt a hot mouth gently cover his cock and begin
to slowly suck. He reached to stroke the long hair of the man who pleasured
him so familiarly and let his mind fill with the images of the many men he
had known, friends of many years and friends of only a single night. All
had their place and purpose on his personal journey as he followed the
Way of the Heron.

* * *

THE END

* * *

of Quest For The Heron

the 1st chapter in the series

'The Way Of The Heron'

by C. T. Creekmur

comments or suggestions are welcome at tcreekmur@hotmail.com

Copyright (c) 2009 by Charles T. Creekmur

"All Rights Reserved"

submitted to www.nifty.org 1/15/2009

*author needs a temporary place to live
*Feb. - Mar. 09, contact me for more details