The first crack of thunder was preceded by a jagged thread of intimidating lightning, cueing the swirling wind that set the oil lamps, lighting the street, swinging precariously. Large, fat raindrops smacked noisily against the ground as Ethan skipped up the steps to the overhang in front of the bank. He stood for a moment, watching as the dirt street turned quickly to a series of muddy pools; two horses, tied to the rail in front of the saloon, skittered nervously beside a stolid, dejected looking mule. Another streak of lightening split the sky, followed immediately by the boom of thunder, and Ethan hurried to check the areas around the bank and the lawyer's office before making a beeline for the saloon.

The storm seemed to have put a charge into the growing crowd inside, raising the noise level considerably. A great excuse for not heading home, Ethan thought, making his way to the bar, admiring Old Coot's determined piano do battle with the thunder.

"Funny how a good rain seems to stoke a man's fire instead of puttin' it out." He leaned comfortably next to Verna, who was smiling and waving to different groups around the room.

"It's the fire inside that interests me," she smiled pointedly, "I've got plenty of liquid they can pour in to extinguish that."

"Verna, Verna, Verna . . ."

"It's just business Ethan. You wouldn't be eating free suppers here if these boys were all at home where they should be."

"The reluctant Madam?"

"Not at all, someone has to provide for wayward sinners. Might as well be the best . . . me."

"No argument there Verna. Ah, speaking of supper . . ."

Ethan tore into a huge steak at Verna's private table, beaming innocently at the indulgent nodding of her pretty head.

"Excuse me Miss Verna." The dark skinned girl stood politely behind her chair and smiled charmingly at the sheriff.

"What is it Aylisha?"

"Would it be ahll right if Ah took a little break. Ah've had nuthin' but grizzled, smelly old men all evenin' now. Ah'd like to go up and rest a bit if it's ahllright." Her syrupy words drolled out with exaggerated weariness.

"Sure, go ahead. Maybe your luck will change later." Verna held out her hand automatically, accepting the roll of bills from the girl's garter. "They might be old and grizzly Aylisha, but they seem to pay well enough." The girl flashed a big, white-toothed smile at the compliment and scampered away.

"What is it about them Negro women that gets the old boys in such a stampede?"

"Just one of the young myths mysteries Ethan." Verna giggled.

"Oh gawd!"

Aylisha entered her room and closed the door, locking it. With a sigh, she crossed the room and turned up the oil lamp, pushing the edges of the room into dark shadow. She crossed to the window and watched the lightening flashes for a moment, then closed the drapes, muting the sound of the pounding rain. She reached behind and undid the buttons of her gown, slipping it down and stepping clear, shaking it out and hanging it over the folding screen. Royce watched through a crack of an opening in the wardrobe door with growing interest as the girl stretched and paraded about the room in a black trimmed, scarlet corset. Her dark skin glistened in the lamp light with each gesture, and Royce tugged excitedly on the scarf wrapped between his fists.

Aylisha kicked off her shoes and unfastened the corset, tossing it up on top of her gown. She let out a huge sigh and pressed her hands firmly on her waist, gradually bringing them up to cup her dark, plump breasts. Humming softly, she padded over to the basin, filling it and giving her face and neck a soothing rinse. Royce slipped silently from the wardrobe, approaching the round buttocks bent over the basin, in three quick strides. In one swift motion, he yanked the scarf about her mouth tightly, pulling her back across the room and onto the bed. Aylisha's fingers scrabbled at the gag, pulled so tight that it split the skin at the corners of her mouth. Large, white eyes stared up in terror at the leering face above her, her nostrils flaring to take in air. Like a cat with a toy, Royce flipped her on her face and knotted the gag securely behind her head. His rapidly panting breath beat upon her bare shoulders in hot bursts, and he leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"If you ever want to lie on your back again, put your arms down by your side and don't move a muscle." Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the gleaming blade of the hunting knife he placed on the pillow beside her head. Trembling violently, Aylisha did as she was told, trying to catch her breath between muffled whimpers. She heard the clink of his belt and the rustle of material as he shoved his pants down over his knees, then the bed sagged as he climbed up, spreading her legs and kneeling between them. A pair of rough hands grabbed her by the hips, hoisting them into the air, and she gasped painfully beneath the gag as he forced himself inside her from behind. A window-shaking thunderclap joined the music and laughter from the saloon, drowning out the squeaking springs of the violently rocking bed.

*****

The storm stalled over the town of Buffalo Stump, growing in intensity as the evening progressed. Wild gusts of wind swept over the buildings, carrying sheets of rain that pooled in every available dimple. The street was transformed into a giant, muddy bog; its surface sent splattering up onto the wooden foundations of the structures. The glass of the front window in Winsiker's Feed Store that displayed the carefully lettered name of the company, rattled and bowed, finally shattering in defeat against the wind's assault. Sheets of rain rushed in, upsetting and soaking the merchandise. Arthur Powser frantically ran about trying to quiet the horses and cattle in his livery, panic growing as he heard pieces of the tin roof ripping loose and crashing away.

Everyone in the saloon pressed against the front doors and windows, watching the fury outside; some of the men dashed out, fearful for their family's safety. Bragg watched from the doorway as Horace stumbled and splashed up the road, leading his stubborn horse. He hurried outside and grabbed the reins from the terrified young man, helping him haul the animal down to the livery.

"My god! I never thought I'd make it back to town." He yelled over the storm. "The road's just disappeared— it's become a river of mud. Most of the tents up there have blown down and everyone is hiding in the wagons."

Bragg staggered to the doors of the livery and pulled mightily against the pounding wind. Arthur helped from the inside, and in a moment they were out of the rain, the reduction of noise almost a tangible entity. They unsaddled and settled Horace's horse and set about helping Arthur secure the huge barn against leaks from the damaged roof.

"Never in fifty-five years have I seen anythin' like this." Arthur yelled.

*****