Chapter 3

The penance she had received from the well-intentioned Franciscan was still fresh in her memory and if it did manage to escape her thoughts all she had to do was to sit on the hard wood bench and it was swiftly reminded to her by the discomfort of her well pounded cheeks. She was wise enough to take a pillow from the sleeping quarters to sit on as they resumed their journey. Her destination was not far now and she wondered if the Kid would linger a bit longer with her to see if she was adaptable to her new surroundings.

Two new passengers had taken the place of the honeymoon couple and they were both dressed in some French style fashions with lots of sweet-smelling perfume that made the entire interior of the coach reek with female enticements. It was a drastic change for Angelique but she found it not disagreeable.

The Kid was up topside now because he was needed to keep the Indians at bay with his excellent marksmanship. She felt a lot more secure just knowing he was not far from her on the perilous journey. She noticed the two females were quite familiar with each other and that mystified her because it was so unusual for females to act almost like lovers in public. She was smart enough from her days in the novitiate to understand it was a certain air of companionship acquired through nocturnal entanglements of a sort seldom viewed by the opposite sex because of the intimacy of feminine sensual sensitivities. She had almost fallen into just such an arrangement with a pretty young thing from the country but came to her senses and went for her penance and confessed her faults with a rapidly beating pulse and true contrition in her heart.

The two women were dissimilar in age with one being in her early forties and the other probably just turned eighteen from the look of her innocent eyes. The younger one was called Nana and the older one was affectionately labeled with the moniker of "Baby girl". It was a convolution of sorts that often occurs for no reason other than random coincidence and she tried her best not to show amusement at the mismatch. The younger female had dozed off with her head on Sister Angelique's shoulder and her face was slowly starting to slide down onto the top of her breast so that her breath and quivering lips were almost at the point of exciting her nipple to perk up and be extended in search of some attention.

The female called Baby Girl was not amused by this set of circumstances and kept her arm tightly wrapped around the younger girl's waist as if she was the chain that made Nana her property and no other's.

Sister Angelique wanted to reassure the older woman that she had no hidden agenda and no interest in making Nana her play toy and was only interested in being friendly in simple terms of human decency and common interaction as travelers on the same stagecoach in the middle of the dangerous Indian Territory. She knew if they were stopped by bandits and captured, all three of them would be treated exactly the same by the bandits or the Indians and there would be no remaining dignity or false pretenses remaining for any of them. The whiskey drummer was watching all this with a voyager's keen interest and she was certain he was playing with his cock under the newspaper he had conveniently place on his lap.

The motion of the stagecoach was irregular and the sleeping girl soon had her pretty head face down in Sister Angelique's lap drawing a sharp glance from Baby Girl who showed Angelique her long-nailed claws painted as red as an Indian's feather. She could feel the girl's hot breath on her pussy mound and wanted to shout out that she was not that kind of woman but suddenly she was all tingly down below and it must have shown in her eyes because the older woman pulled her companion back up in an upright position startling her awake not knowing exactly where she was or where she was going.

The stagecoach right at that moment came to a shuddering halt just as they reached the crest of a rise curving into the brown-tinged Gila River crease that was more of a sometimes dried-up muddy run-off rather than a real honest-to-God river. Sister Angelique looked out the opening in the side of the coach at a tableau of circled wagons and painted for war Indians riding in circles in opposite directions close enough to hit flesh with their arrows but fast enough and erratic enough to made it difficult for the settlers to hit them with their mostly heirloom weapons. They were pretty much out of six-gun range and that left fully half of the defenders without a way to reduce their numbers.

Her visibility was obscured by the cloud of dust that was trailing them sweeping around the stationary stagecoach and she quickly threw the leather curtain back into place to keep the grimy cloud of dirt from covering her from head to toe. The breeze moved it away and she resumed her attentions to the scene several hundred feet below them on the flat surfaced plain that had been part of the River's original bed when the rainy season was in full bloom. She saw in the distance a long column of riders rushing to the scene and she at first thought it was the Cavalry coming to rescue the unfortunate settlers caught in a trap that would only lead to their demise.