Chapter Eighteen
The days seem endless, the monotony broken only by the fording of rivers. Most are shallow, the flow curbed by the dry summer. But the larger rivers provide obstacles surmounted by the drudgery of unpacking the sled and wading through the current with each item. For Max the crossings afford him the rare privilege of having his hands released. Though quite eager to stroke himself, the continuing chastity spurring irresistible urges, with arms laden by Luda’s worldly possessions, any untoward conduct is denied. Unless of course he drops whatever load and m*********s in the open and before Luda and Doodie. But Max knows such conduct would lead to instant punishment. And thoughts of the Blackfoot serve as suitable caution.
Crossing the newly built transcontinental railroad p
