Chapter 16

It was a stroke of pure luck that our train had a newly designed engine. We were loaded down with horses on stock cars, Cavalry troopers galore, and a fair share of westward-heading civilians dreaming of fortunes to be made in the frontier. There was even a pair of nuns in the next car along with some females that looked like they were ready to make their fortune on their back in a good, old-fashioned way.

The cars were managed mostly by a detachment of newly freed Negroes employed by the railroad for making the passengers more comfortable. I thought it was strange that the dark-skinned troopers were asked to repair to the last car just before the caboose and not mingle with the other white folks. It seemed a contradiction to the war we had just fought for their freedom.

Still, it was the way things were and nobody seemed to object too much, because emotions were still running high on both sides.

I got into a card game that made the time go a lot faster and the train swayed in a steady beat to our progress. Surprisingly, I won a tidy sum and I hated to call it quits and head for a quiet spot to catch some shut-eye. My yawns were convincing enough that nobody objected at me gathering my winnings and setting my side-arms on my chest instead of my hips to make for easy access coming out of a dead sleep.

We rattled into a siding somewhere still east of the Mississippi and I missed the swaying of the car that helped me stay buried under the cloak of unconsciousness.

I woke up to a full awareness of a female whimpering in distress not far from my sleeping spot on top of some bags of grain for either horses or cattle to consume on the long trip. My hands went automatically to my pistols because I instinctively went into a defensive posture when uncertain about my surroundings.

In addition to the whimpers, I could now hear the unmistakable sounds of flesh pounding flesh in a rhythm that would have been drowned out by the moving train, if we were not halted on the side track for some railroad-related issue that didn’t concern me in the slightest. In the dim light of the lanterns at each end of the car, I could make out the shape of one of the nuns stretched over the pliable sacks of rice intended for some fort out in Indian Territory. The grunts of a deeper variety came from some civilian carpetbagger with a distinctive moustache that tried to make him look older than his actual age. He was a big fellow with a disfiguring paunch totally inappropriate for man of his tender years. That same rotund belly was pounding relentlessly into the soft, defenseless flanks of one of the petite nuns from the car behind me. It seemed unnecessary to comment on the fact that the poor woman was totally distraught but still fairly quiet about the indignity. I assumed it was because she didn’t want to share the circumstances of her degradation with anyone in the vicinity if at all possible. I could understand her distress but thought it unwise because her screams would have roused some of the more well-behaved males from their disinterest to intervene on her behalf.

I simply walked up behind the laboring hulk of a man and laid him out with a blow across the side of his head with my long-barreled handgun just as neat as squashing a pesky bug too close to my grub.

The grateful, but obviously in shock, black frocked female quickly pulled her robes back down hiding the sight of her youthful flanks from my view. I knew I should have not looked, but sometimes it is difficult to keep one’s glands in conformity to decent behavior. I checked the man on the floor and found he was still breathing regular, much’s the pity.

The embarrassed nun nervously fingered her huge metal cross hanging down from her clerical collar and stuttered a heart-felt thank you for her release from the clutches of the sex-starved yahoo with no respect for females of a decent nature.

“I don’t know how to properly thank you, sir. Your intervention came in the nick of time because the fiend from hell was almost ready to spray my innards with his seeds against my will and against the laws of God and the church.”

It was curious that the petite woman was more upset with the affront to the church than to her person and that was impressive in this age of selfish priorities.

I offered her a tot of my silver brandy flask and she gulped it down in gratitude for the gesture.

“You need to stay always at the side of your companion, sister. Don’t get separated because this is a terrible place for desperate men with absolutely no morals at all.”

She was still trembling a little from the assault and I held her up with a supporting arm allowing her to stick to me like glue until I was able to return her to the safety of her older companion. The other woman looked at me with suspicious eyes and I hoped I passed muster in not reflecting any guilt for my sins.

The shady ladies at the end of the coach looked at me with unanswered questions in their jaded eyes probably thinking I was some sort of pervert that liked to harass church-going females with my improper advances.

It was only after we crossed the wide Mississippi on the high railroad bridge that I really began to feel like we were really making progress in our journey west. I noticed a lot of the experienced hands and, of course, the troopers were checking their firearms and their gear to make certain they would be prepared for any contingency related to the constantly “on the warpath” hostiles unhappy with the loss of their lands and the slow withering of their powerful nations.

Some floods had wiped out a section of the line well short of the Oklahoma Territory and we had to wait a full day for the Chinese crews to complete makeshift repairs.

We were out in a particularly barren spot on the plains next to a water tower, when it came time for most of us troopers and support civilians to separate from the train. Supposedly it was only a short ride to the fort that guarded the approaches to the western passage down into Santa Fe and the destinations further west.

The two nuns, Sister Rose and Sister Hannah stayed with our column because they were being sent to establish a schoolhouse for the children of the officers and for the youngsters of the savages under the fort’s protection. I knew from experience that the Indian contingent in such a situation was usually plagued with excesses of strong spirits and subject to the other vices associated with the rough and tumble military life on the frontier.

Sister Hannah was completely back to normal now and smiled the same way she had customarily done before the train incident. I had not told anyone about it and I could tell she was grateful to me because of my discretion. I had taken the liberty to tossing the nasty yahoo responsible for that indignity off the side of the train and hoped he would not survive to see the sun rise in the morning. I brought her a mug of coffee that “cookie” our resident chef had brewed up from the meager supplies filched from a Confederate supply dump at our point of origin. The stuff was first rate and cookie remarked that it had been procured from Cuba in some deal between the Spanish landowners and the Confederate supply masters. She was remarkably restored to her former bright and happy self and thanked me profusely for the coffee. The other nun, Sister Rose, gave me drilling look that chilled me to the bone. I hastened to get her a mug as well not wanting to explore the depths of her disdain.