We made it back home without any major incidents, as long as you call seeing a party of moving Indians on the horizon minor. I'm sure they saw us because there is no way a wagon could move across that dry country without raising a dust cloud and Indians were nothing if not alert for movement around them. I swear they could spot a baby rabbit two miles away!
Oh, yes. There were two other incidents along the way. Major? Yep, in my book. Life threatening? Nope. It was just Moxie's way of getting to know me. Every second night when we rolled into our bedrolls, she let me get settled in and then got me aroused and mounted me. It sure was a hell of a way to travel!
At one point, I irreverently thought that it might be a rather dangerous activity though. For protection from any unexpected downpours as well as the morning dew and as some protection against a possible attack from either Indians or raiders, we always laid our bedrolls under the bed of the wagon. Now that old wagon was tall enough that Moxie could sit on me and not bump her head, 'though it might have been a different story if I had been on top.
Anyway, she took the initiative so I didn't have to find out. One night I did take charge but that was after she had done her thing and emptied my balls once. We lay spooned together for a long time and I didn't seem sleepy that night. Snuggling up to her soft curvy bottom made me hard again and before long my prod was poking around between her legs looking for a place to hide. She reached back and lifted her top leg, giving me easy access to the wet slick entrance to her pussy and my throbbing pole found it quickly. I held her cuddled in both arms while my bottom rocked back and forth for some minutes until I shot another hot load into her depths.
This time, I went to sleep before my slowly deflating spear slid out of her tight confines.
One of the great things about the high plains of west Texas is that, at least in our area, we could often get two crops from the ground in a year's time. That was almost always true of pasture that I cut for hay, unless it was a really dry year. In the ground where I planted our earlier harvested vegetables, once the spring crop was in, I prepared the soil again and planted winter wheat. As long as we didn't have a freak storm -- which had only happened once since I'd been there -- I got a nice crop of wheat to add to our stores.
By the time we got back home, the wheat was up and showing nicely in the gently westerly breezes that usually kept things livable in that area. It was a few weeks away from heading out so that it could be harvested, so I had time away from crops to tend to the animals and see to any repairs or changes that needed to be made around the buildings.
One of the first things I wanted to do was raise a new barn. My first one was nothing more than a pole barn, which was much better than the open ground but not by a lot. It was only about 18 feet tall, the sides were covered with saplings of whatever small trees I could readily cut at one of the rivers, woven into place with strips of leather or their own branches. It had done a good job -- but it was never intended to be a long term solution. This new one would not be artistic but it would be sturdy.
The two rivers near my place were both sources of logs, with several good sized stands of white pine that grew upwards of 80 to 90 feet tall. More prevalent were elms, cottonwood, scattered hickory, and a miscellaneous blend of smaller trees. There were a scattering of nut trees -- pecans and walnuts mostly -- but I wanted to be sure to avoid cutting any of those; they were too valuable for their annual harvest.
To make this a worthwhile endeavor would be a huge undertaking for me. I would have to take the horses to the site, use a combination of axe and saw to cut the trees down, remove the limbs, and then use a chain around the logs so the team could drag them back home. Then the real work began.
It would take the team of horses, the mule, and all the ingenuity I had to put together a tripod shaped lift to hold a set of pulleys that could be used to raise the logs into place. It would have been nice if I had a sawmill like I'd seen back east but the closest one I knew of was on the banks of the Mississippi. No fucking way could I afford to buy lumber milled over there and ship it to my place to build a barn -- or anything else for that matter. So I'd make do with what I had.
For the barn, the building didn't need to be weatherproof, just as much protection as I could make. That meant that I'd use the straightest logs I could find, shape them where necessary, and fill in the gaps with mud and/or smaller saplings. I worked out a design in my head, marked off the spot of land where I wanted to put it. Then I went to work on my crane; it would be primitive at best but essential to my building, since I had to do the work myself.
I had cut and dragged down the three midsized logs for the crane when I was presented with another problem. For the last week, it seemed like Moxie was not herself. She was even less talkative than usual and sometimes she seemed to have a strange coloring to her skin. Several times I asked her what was wrong but she just waved me off.
One morning when I awoke before dawn and went to get up, I realized that she was not in bed with me. A quick look in the small house showed that she was not there. I went outside and found her on the other side of the big pin oak in the yard, bent over retching. I grabbed a cool wet washcloth and ran to see if I could help her but, although she let me hold the cloth to her forehead, she didn't want to talk.