Hang me in the Morning

 

Disclaimer : I do not own the fandom of "3.10 to Yuma" or the characters contained in this story. I do this for my friends' entertainment and do not make money from it.





 

The last sun rays screamed over the edge of the mountain range and stung the prisoner's eyes, which did not aid in dampening the pain in his back which was elevated by the roughly rocking coach they had locked him in.

It was of average size, but given the size of this criminal, a ballroom would have trouble containing him and he groaned each time the cart wheels hit a ditch, slamming his lower back into the make-shift steel rods, bent to accommodate his shackles.

But this was the Old West, and for what this killer cowboy had done, there should be no mercy.



His biggest kill was the late great outlaw Ben Wade, who foolishly attempted to kill him in his sleep, but did not count on the fact that, although he worked for the lawmen who brought Wade in after his string of killings, he was not necessarily any less a coldblooded killer than Ben Wade was.

The thought made him smile, as once more the sun cut into his pristine blue eyes, making them look like the surface of Dawson lake in pre-Spring thaw.

Since the Wade killing, where Tucker slipped a 10 inch Indian dagger into his attacker's eye, he had found a taste for it and had a wild old time robbing banks, raping and killing anyone that got in his way. He grew his hair a bit, more for rebellion than disguise, but kept his face shaven clean. Pity McElroy's band of boys ran into him as he came out the whorehouse in Tombstone.



Through the bars, Tucker could see a fawn running far off on the open plain and his gaze froze in a deep reminisce of his childhood, almost wiping the permanently snyde smirk from his mouth.



He recalled the hunting trip on which his father had taken him when he was ten. How Becky Lawson, the daughter of his father's best friend wanted to tag along, and how they used to play cruel tricks on the frail little girl just for sadistic fun. His father was as sadistical as he was and Tucker remembered how they took little Becky along, making her watch as Bo Tucker gunned the baby deer down....or throw a rattlesnake on her to watch her dance.



He could still hear her scream and the muffled cries that followed as she buried her face in her hands, choking on her tears.

It had made old Bo laugh heartily, and he slapped his boy on the back, almost taking him off his feet, as he remarked that women don't belong in the elements, let alone around guns.

Tucker was a boy of twelve at the time, but already towered above 16 year olds and he was the perfect bully.

He smiled to himself as he recalled how Becky used to try to kiss him, and he'd just shove her off her feet and kick sand in her face before he ran off with his friends. If only his mother had not died that year, he may have seen Becky grow up and maybe eventually allowed her to kiss him. Of course, when his friends were not around.



A loud crack of a Winchester rifle ripped through Tucker's ears and he was abruptly reminded of the present and the trouble he was in. How ironic that he was about to be tried for the murder of a criminal. Even in the Wild West, not all justice was brought on by a gun.

He pressed his face through the bars and saw Thomason shoot at the deer, just like his dad used to and he heard the coachman holler out :” Watch out! That noise yer makin' just might give us away and send Murphy our way to collect and kill us all!! ”



Tucker was curious.

“Who in hell is Murphy?” he called out to the coachman.

“None of your damn business,” said the coachman.

Thomason rode up next to Tucker's bars and smiled,” Murphy is the Black Vulture, mah friend. A devil on a black horse, come to take the criminals we try to ride to their executions, for hisself to parts unknown. Goddamn bastard's like a skull collector or summin', cause few lawmen ever get through here with their lives and the tale to tell of how the hissing Black Vulture picked up their carcasses before they could hang 'em, “ he said matter-of-factly through his teeth, clenching a cigar.



Tucker was unafraid, but intrigued by the ghost story.

“And?” he smiled amused, “Where does he take them?”

“Tah hell,” the coachman yelled out, drawing raunchy laughter from the other four men, who seemed to quicken their pace somewhat.



As the sun fell onto the horizon, the coach suddenly took a right turn onto a narrow dirt road and Tucker knew this was not the way to Bisbee where he was supposed to be tried in two days.

What concerned him was that it was sunset, and the men who held him became ominously quiet as he noticed the collection of decrepid old headstones that had come into view. In the shade of a tree, planted at the crossing of the two roads through the graveyard, the coach came to a halt and Tucker felt a strangely alien twinge of fear grip him.

He had every reason to.



There was no sound, save for the hooves of their horses in the dirt, and the creaking of the coach rocking beneath his weight as he shifted uncomfortably. The dust in Tucker's thick light brown hair made a halo of the dying sunlight and his eyes played anxiously from left to right, desperate for any movement outside his coah door, but the bars impaired his vision.



Then he heard a dismount from a horse and footsteps approach from all sides, his heart now racing. Thomason's fifty-four year old mug appeared in front of the bars, unlocking the door and for a moment's relief, Tucker was hit with a horrible reality he dared not think of till now. His eyes lifted to see Baxter come round the coach with a thick, long rope!

“ What's this, goddammit?” he suddenly called out, his raspy voice breaking inaudibly.

“We're gonna hang ya,” he heard an apathetic voice without a face from the other side of the coach, and the men laughed again.

The door swung open, and Thomason climbed in to unlock Tucker's shackles to pull him out. From oustide the carriage the men stood back a bit when Thomason pulled out the menacing giant and his full size and frame came into view.



They were very wary of this 6'7” Jack the Ripper and silently thanked God that he did not have his Colt revolver or his Indian knife on him. He could shoot a flame off a candle at 200 feet, was the legend, and he did not mind showing it off on a few heads either.

Tucker's blue eyes glinted in the dying sun as he intently watched each and every man's face, one by one, as if marking them for later. Suddenly, the sly play on his mouth came back and he pinned them down with a smirk and a stare.

Softly he hummed. They battled to hear him, but they made out the last part.

“ ........never see the sun.”



Thomason jerked the big beast back by his collar and turned him toward a gravestone below the branches of the hangman's tree. Tucker looked up as he approached the thick branch and noticed the rope cuts that had corroded the bark away over the years and some new wood in there too.

He morbidly wondered what the last guy was hanged for, but before he could entertain such a notion, two men pulled him up under his arms, which were still cuffed snugly behind his back. They mounted him nicely on a horse that they had tied loosely to the tree trunk and muttered and snickered under their breath at the cruel hanging method they had so ingeniusely thought up.



Tucker's smirk vanished as he realized that this was it. The big one. The ultimate. The actual end of him ---- and his pale blue eyes opened wide to receive the fear he now felt.

“ Got the biggest horse we could, fella. They wouldn't sell us a yack.”

Laughter erupted once more, but all Tucker heard was his heart beating and his dry breath screaming through his throat as the rope was pulled taut. His feet clumsily danced next to the horse's side belly to try and steady his humongous frame and he tried desperately not to frighten the horse beneath him --- the steed that was the only thing between him and the Hereafter.....and there was not much for Tucker to look forward to – here after.



He piched his eyes as the horse became restless, the rope tugging eagerly at the skin on his throat.

"Ea-sy," he sucked in the words in a whisper and he swallowed hard. In the background of his panic-stricken head, he heard the hoof-falls of the lawmen and the thumping of the coach as their laughter echoed into the sunset like demonic imps.



The sudden silence was deafening in Tucker's ears.

He almost contemplated praying.

He was that arrogant.

Suddenly the silence was shattered by the thunderous clap of a Winchester rifle, and Tucker's only hope sped off from underneath him.

The big cowboy had no time to respond as the animal took off into the distance and left his heavy body dangling from the thick rope which chewed the skin from his neck and pulled his skull violently away from his shoulders, but his neck did not break. He felt his eyes bulge, almost explode with the impact, his tongue protruding from his lips and the back of his brain started burning like hell itself.

Tucker choked and strangled, kicking profusely to attempt to break the branch with his 225 lb mass, but to no avail.

The dark fell almost visibly and as the sun died on the horizon line, Tucker's life started slipping away. He entered a darkness of his own.



Another gunshot echoed in the netherworld of his mind, echoed and riccoche'ed (sp?) against his very senses. In his delirium swam thoughts of his childhood, Becky and the dirt on her tears, his father, each of his victims and their screams, the warmth of their blood, the time Honey the whore made him a man, his mother's pleading as his father shot her.........WHAT?



CLAP!!!!

He heard the full thunder of the same gunshot and this time it was so loud it forced his eyes open!

His eyes saw the hazy trees and gravestones for a split second, and then he felt his body drop and hit the dirt with a thump that shot immense pain through his joints on impact.



Tucker could hardly see through tears and dust that accumilated in his eyes now, but he thought he could faintly see a black figure approaching him, armed with a lantern of faint firelight. He blinked a few times to get clearer vision, hoping he was hallucinating, but the figure remained and seemed a lot closer to Tucker now. The heavy boots, black and buckled on feet that walked with intent and rhythm, the tail end of a black coat that whipped in the evening wind and the unmistakable hissing of the one they call Murphy filled his ears with dread.



He had never felt as helpless. His body would not move, although he could feel his legs. He could not speak or cry out as the figure approached, because his throat felt like burning razor wire and the panic gripped his entire being as he watched the black thing find his giant carcass and kneel next to him. Tucker pinched his eyes shut and waited.

A sensation of a skeletal hand running over his head towards his neck made him flinch violently.



" You are a tough one," spoke a woman in his mind, quite mortal-sounding.

The questions and confusion molten in his thoughts, he opened his eyes slightly, fluttering to look up at her.

By his side sat a beautiful woman, about 30 years old, with long black hair draped over the cloak-like coat she was wearing. Her hair looked like pelt on her body and her dark eyes pierced his as her full lips moved through the indistinct words.

She pulled a dagger from her belt and Tucker decided not to give a shit anymore.

"Let's get this rope off you. You look like a trained pet with it," she said light-heartedly as she slipped the knife effortlessly through the rope, severing it in two places and throwing it aside. The sting of the dirt in his broken skin made Tucker groan. She unlocked the shackles with a makeshift key she wrought. A skeleton key for blacksmiths.

Groan......



"Oh come, come, that's a woman sound, not the son of a hunter," she smiled.

Tucker started. How would she know that? He made every effort to twist his neck to see her, but the pain was excruciating and he yelled out from it.

The small, thin hands of the woman carefully lifted Tucker's heavy head onto her warm lap and she playfully sank her face down to accommodate his curiousity. Upside though she was to him, he recognized Becky instantly!

" Miss me?" she smiled.

Tucker almost got his smirk on, a twitch playing on his lips, where Becky now lowered a cantine of water for him to wet his parched lips. She looked at him in her lantern light and a warmth came over her in sweet reminiscence of the boy she was in love with. He still had those sharp, electrifying blue eyes, like pools of Carribean water and the strong cheekbones that reminded her of her Inuit and Indian ancestors. And those lips, those lips she had tried to kiss, those curved lips she now wet, like he used to unknowingly wet hers. His head lay helplessly in her cupped hand as she nursed him and she vaguely imagined that this must be what it felt like to pet a Grizzly Bear. Her fingers played softly with his reddish brown hair and Tucker fell into contentment for the affection of his beautiful saviour.

" Becky," he whispered with difficulty, his eyes fluttering like butterfly wings till they closed and her warmth faded away with the lantern light as he fell into a blissful sleep.



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Tucker did not dream. He never deamed.

His mind was only on his quarry, human or animal, and he never bothered with senseless daydreaming. Yet, a mishmash of images and sensations, good and wicked entwined, haunted his dream and he awoke suddenly. Wide awake to the soft light of a fire.

His neck burned terribly, but the dirt was wiped away. He made out the faint scent of whiskey and it lifted his spirits, as the memory of Becky came to him and almost made him sit up.

He looked up to her, his head in her lap still, her breasts just inches from his face, covered only by a thin cotton shirt. She knew he was awake, but pretended not to notice as she swigged back whiskey from the bottle and allowed a few drops to escape her lips and run down her chin, onto her chest. Her seduction was deliberate. She had wanted Tucker's prematurely masculine body since she was but a girl, and now he was bigger, stronger, more rugged and by god, so much meaner. Why she always like bad boys and bullies was beyond her, but she could not help it.



She herself, was no angel, and she decided to have Tucker tonight, whether he liked it or not. The thought of having sex with a rapist against his will brought a big smile to her face as she took another swig. Tucker smiled with her, intrigued by what she could be thinking. She finally looked down at him and their bodies both felt an instant fire for one another as their eyes met, glittering like vampire eyes to the fire.

" Want some whiskey?" she teased. Tucker's smile remained as he nodded impishly. She took another swig, allowing a mouthful of whiskey to fall over her chin and onto her chest, where it trickled down over her breasts. Tucker's eyes followed the drops as they ran and the thought of getting his mouth on her whiskey stirred his senses, especially in his groin.



The fire made her eyes look like wine and her wet lips became irresistable. His gaze fell to her skin, where the whiskey droplets lay like shining

seduction. Her sexual scent was strong beneath his head and Tucker decided to give Becky what she wanted this time. He gestured as to lift his head and she helped him raise his face to her chest, while unlacing her shirt, revealing her right breast slowly, releasing her hard nipple to Tucker's eyes. His big body jerked with a spasm of excitement and he forced himself toward her flesh, folding his ample lips over her whiskey-drenched nipple and she gasped at the wet heat of his mouth on her flesh. He groaned with a deep, low growl as he started suckling her nipple gently, sucking harder as her panting accelerated. Tucker lapped up the alcohol on her chest with open, hard kisses, dragging his lips over her skin and returned to her nipple. Becky's mind was racing. The satisfaction of getting the man she wanted after so many years drove her mad with lust and power. Her eyes were closed, her head thrown back in ecstasy, gasping in beautiful surrender.



She felt Tucker's huge fingers intrude her pants and immediately finding her soaking wet lips. Becky screamed a little, drowned in the growl of the humongous cowboy she was cradling. His fingers were very well trained, knowing exactly where, and how, to touch her clit, softly rubbing his calloused fingertips there, up and down repeatedly, until Becky clenched her teeth in a smile and keened in her throat. She pushed his head hard into her breast and he enjoyed being smothered in her whiskey flesh. His fingers slipped inside her, as deep as they would go and Becky's legs twitched in a passionate reflex. He loved her reaction and decided to evoke more from her. Her scent was overwhelming as Tuckers thick, long fingers pumped her pussy among his own groans on her chest. Her head fell and her eyes found him. She lifted his head to face her and he looked up into her eyes. His expression was lustful and almost vindictive, biting his lip while the fucked Becky with his hand, never unlocking his gaze from hers. It drove her crazy to see the desire she roused in him and how much he enjoyed her.



Tucker tried to prop himself up on his elbow, but his arm failed him and he fell back onto her lap. He gave up trying to find strength and lay there on his back, upside down to his lover and he pulled off her shirt from her shoulders, her body bronze in the firelight. She barked softly at his powerful thrusts and he tugged at her pants, hinting for her to lift her ass out of them. And so she did. Becky cringed at the cold dirt against her ass, but the pro's so outweighed the cons and she pulled her pants down, careful to not drop Tucker's head on the hard ground as she manouvred out of them.



She reached down his chest with her hands, fingers spread in shivering exploration and she wanted to run her hands all the way down inside his shirt. Right down to his penis. Becky already imagined the warm shaft in her hand, but alas, she could not reach that far down. He was just too tall and his body lay in front of her like a forbidden wasteland of irresistable flesh --- that she was denied.

Tucker pulled his hand from her and eagerly licked off each of his fingers in turn while smiling at her. The perversion of it delighted her.



He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it wide open for her to enjoy the sight of his massive, muscular frame, powerful like a steed and chiseled for war. Becky yelped like a puppy. She licked her lips. Her hands still played on the warm skin of the cowboy and explored his body to satisfy a decade-long curiousity. Tucker looked up at the naked beauty above him, savouring her fingers caressing his torso. Tucker loosened his pants and drew them down to just below his buttocks. Becky's whole body vibrated with want, as she watched his erection appear from the confines of his pants, bobbing out as if to surprize her. She giggled.



She watched him caress himself and this hidden practice, revealed to her, entranced her. His rough hands ran so gently over his lower belly and pubic hair, where there was no fat, just hardness. She watched intently as his own hands made his flesh crawl before her took his penis in his right hand. Becky's eyes widened in anticipation. Tucker dropped his eyes momentarily to pride himself on his rock hard cock and then looked up at the girl's astonished face.....and with a smirk, he started moving his fist up and down his member, the ecstasy making his eyes roll back in a rush of pleasure that followed.

" Hhhmmm....., " he smiled, wondering what more it would take to prompt the beauty to take what she wanted.



Becky's mind drowned in desire and she could take no more. Her thighs were now soaked in warm, seeping sex and her breasts ached to be touched. She grabbed her coat, folded it and quickly and gently lowered her cowboy's head onto the makeshift pillow, while he blissfully continued to pleasure himself for her.



At once Becky was kneeling between Tucker's spread legs when he opened his eyes to find her.

" Don't forget about mine," she joked.

" But this IS yours, beautiful," he smiled, and Becky's heart melted in sweet victory. " Just getting it ready for you, is all, " he laughed softly.



He reached out to her with both arms, welcoming her to him and her heart pounded against her chest. He reveled in the vision before him, kneeling and naked, her thighs wide open on her knees, tiny fingers pinching her own nipples on full breasts. Her inner thighs were wet and he almost felt like pulling her to him cause she took too long.

Becky took the invitation and walked on her knees, placing each knee on either side of his huge, beautiful body. He was too wide and too high between her thighs for her to lift above him and he immediately felt her hot wetness rest on his pelvis, just at the base of his now rigid penis. It throbbed with blood-rush and Tucker latched his hands on her hips --- pulled her higher up his belly, so that her crevice was directly on top of his shaft, right below the head of his cock. The sensation of each other's wet heat drove them drunk with lust and want and she sank forward onto his massive chest with her hands. His nipples were so hard as he breathed deeply and heavily. His beautiful face, icy eyes and exotic features played in the orange light as Becky took his penis in her hand. She loved how velvety it felt and stiff in her palm. She felt herself ooze and it felt as if her vagina opened wider for him inside, just by the sensation. She smiled at him as she shifted the tip into her.



Tucker threw his head back, mouth agape and those beautiful lips curled back as he said her name softly.

Becky was pleased.

She moved forward, now laying her plump breasts on his chest, pushing back a little deeper and his hands tightened on her hips.

He was going insane in a din of pleasure and couldn't wait any longer. Tucker gripped her hips hard and pushed her down, slipping into her with one smooth motion. Her heat enfolded him and she screamed, smiling, as he penetrated her.

Their eyes locked in savage engagement and they smiled at one another, motionless for a moment.



Then she sat up on Tucker's giant body, taking him even deeper. He moved her, controlling her cadence and depth, and she almost cried at the delight of his penis pushing at the base of her womb, deeply warming her with ecstasy. She had her hands on his arms, his enormous arms, bigger than her thighs, feeling his strength as he moved her easily like a rag doll.

He quickened his motion of her, rubbing her clit against his hard lower abdomen while he pumped hard into her. Becky yelped again, unable to control her body. She started moving with Tucker's motion, and when she was moving by herself, he slid his hands on her tits, palms flat on the tips of her nipples, so that they would just barely touch his palms each time he pushed into her. The pleasure shot through her lower belly and her breasts alike, all at once and his hardness impaled her completely.



He roared. Groaned. Rhythmically, he growled "Yeah" each time he fucked her.

Her titties jiggled in his palms and he lifted his upper body to reach her.

Becky rode Tucker bareback.

Faster and faster, slamming her hips forward, rubbing her clit harder into a tingling baby orgasm about to be born and Tucker could feel it coming on. He kissed and licked her nipples, his arms around her. Then he lay back to look at her heaving, sweating body rock to his, crying his name through moist, open lips.

He smiled devilishly at his conquest's pleasure and waited for the tiny contractions in her sleeve to escalate.



Tucker took his hat, lying in the dirt next to him and placed it on the girl's head.

" Ride me cowboy," he laughed, and Becky could barely hear him through her pants as the orgasm in her built, tugging and sucking at Tucker's shaft inside her and he closed his eyes, smile gone, and felt his own climax building.

Tucker bit his lip again, listening to Becky's yelps in cadence to the waves of passion tautening her pussy around his penis.

Faster, she rode him hard. His back was grinding on the ground under her weight and rocking movement and he placed his hands on her buttocks to hold her steady as his climax possessed him and he could feel her spasming violently around him, sucking in the load he blew in her.

Both cowboys called out as they locked into a passionate embrace, rocking and fucking at last till the physical pleasure slowly died down and all that was left, was two lovers in each others' arms by firelight. Exhausted, and exhilirated.



They caught their breath gradually as they descended from their private heaven. Quiet and gentle, they were entwined together, panting, giggling and Becky finally knew she got the boy she loved to give her the love she wanted.

She whispered :" You still haven't kissed me" and looked up at her giant lover, smelling the whiskey and sweat on his skin and becoming intoxicated by it.

His beautiful blues pierced her eyes and he gently kissed her. He cupped her face in his massive hands. Tucker looked deep into Becky's eyes, as if speaking to her heart. Then kissed her again, deeper. Then kissed her passionately, playing with his tongue on hers and she drank him eagerly, caressing his brow, moaning softly.



They fell asleep in each others arms, by dying firelight. She still wore his big hat, which fell to one side on her head and made her look quite sweet.



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Tucker opened his eyes slowly as he woke to early morning thunder. He looked up and saw the dark grey sky.

" We should get to shelter" he thought and thought to wake Becky, but as he looked down, he found his hands shackled once more!

His adrenaline kicked in as he looked around for Becky, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Before he could turn his head, a hankerchief was flung around his mouth and tied behind his head, sadistically taut, burning the corners of his mouth. He heard the hissing behind him and his heart almost stopped. Tucker's eyes widened in disbelief as his captor faced him.

Becky was back in her black boots, black cloak and wearing his hat, still. She stood over him, victorious, planting her Colt in her holster. Then she kicked dirt in his face.



"On your feet, Cowboy!" she screamed. There was nothing kind in her voice and he knew that was no request. Her eyes were black, but not only in color. His eyes glared at her in astonishment and she just laughed. Becky was a bounty hunter?



She had a rope tied to his shackles and led him roughly from the cemetary. He tried to resist and Becky came at him with her gun, shattering his right elbow with the handle and Tucker screamed a muffled cry, pinching his eyes in pain.

He realized that his lover had betrayed him and for once, he actually wished he died on that noose the day before. The heartbreak was worse than death, especially for a man who had never been loved before. Empty sex and rape got him laid, yes, but he never felt the gentle hand of love before like he had last night. He almost felt vindicated. Liberated. Now he knew that he would never know love and it hurt so bad that he wanted to die.



Becky mounted her black horse and tugged at Tucker for him to start walking.

She turned her head slightly, not completely facing the beautiful horseman behind her.

" You and your daddy taught me that love hurts. You taught me to hate. You taught me cruelty and malice and most of all, you taught me to shoot well. You still think women don't belong with guns? My shooting saved your life, you ungrateful dog!" she screamed now. Angry. Almost defeated.





" I'm done with your daddy. Collected a nice bounty for his stinking carcass," she smiled, looking into the distance.

" Now my darling Tucker, its YOUR turn to be sold to the law and I hope they...., " she hesitated.

Then she sang in a sexy raspy voice : " Hang you in the morning....'fore the night is done,"

Tucker's eyes welled up with tears. His heart was dead, save for the tiny shard of vengeance growing there.

" Hang you in the morning. You'll never....see.......the sun." The last two words she whispered, almost to her own contemplation.



" You taught me to hate. Now I use it to condemn you, Tucker."

She looked him dead in the eye and hissed like a rattlesnake, the unearthly sound of her making his blood run cold.

She finished: " Its Murphy's Law"