Indian Fighters - White Death
Caution: This Western Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft, mt/Fa, Consensual, Heterosexual, Historical, Western, Polygamy/Polyamory, Slow, Violent,
Desc: Western Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Our young (14) hero in West Texas in 1862 is forced to take on the responsibilities of an adult when Comanches kill his parents. He vows to wipe out the Comanche tribe, and he starts out with the group that killed his parents. Along the way, he takes up bounty hunting as a way to make a living. He also picks up some wives and other interesting things.
Ma and Pa were due back from town long before now. It was completely dark by now, and I was really worried about them. The Comanches were being right rambunctious since the War started, and I was afraid that they might have run afoul of them animals what looked like men.
I was left to watch the house while Ma and Pa went into town for supplies. We had a little farm in westcentral Texas what was right prosperous until my two older brothers had been called up to fight. They had been sent to northern Virginia to help General Lee in his fight with them damyankees. That was about a year ago, and we ain't heard from them since Bob wrote to say that they had arrived okay. I wanted to go with them, but Pa said that I had to stay around to help with the farm and to look after Ma. Well, I could not argue with that, so here I was chewing my fingernails and pacing the floor.
Here it was pushing toward 1863, and them damned Comanches had figured out that a good half of the White male population of Texas was somewhere else. They had increased the raiding, and there was not a whole lot what we could do about it. They had not done too much to us in our neighborhood, but that could not last much longer. The Higgins farm about eight miles down the road had been hit by the Comanches three weeks ago and completely destroyed. They had a wooden house, but ours was adobe, so Pa thought that we had what amounted to a small fort. Anyway, I was supposed to mind the place until they got back.
Ah, there was the sun at last. Now I could go looking for what happened to Ma and Pa. I hoped for the best and feared for the worst. I saddled my horse and strapped on my Colt Navy revolver in .36 caliber. It had five rounds in the cylinder and one empty chamber. I had one spare cylinder with all six chambers loaded. That there Colt Navy was okay for most jobs, but it would not ever stop a charging horse and hardly ever stop a charging man if he was not killed by the bullet. I dearly wished for an Army revolver in .44 caliber, but I was going to have to live or die with what I had.
I also had a Bowie knife with a 9" blade that I could use pretty well. I ain't never been in any knife fights with another human, but I have killed a couple of charging peccaries, and they ain't nothing to laugh about. Besides that, I had a Comanche war club that I kept mostly to thumb my nose at those damned bastards. The sight of that there war club was almost a sure thing to cause a Comanche to charge at me.
My rifle was a muzzle loading Mississippi rifle that was a damned good gun, but it had all of the faults of a muzzle loader. I longed for one of them Henry repeating rifles what I had heard about, but I did not expect ever to see. From horseback, that there Mississippi rifle was good for only one shot because a man had to stand on the ground to reload it. Therefore, I generally saved it for emergencies.
Anyway, back to the situation at hand. There was only one road between our farm and town, so I did not have to wonder where to search. I had my horse moving pretty fast, and I saw trouble close to an hour away from the farm. There was our wagon burned out and, of course, the mule was missing. I saw a couple of broken arrows sticking out from what was left of the wagon, and there was no question but what they were Comanche.
I found Ma and Pa still in the driver's box. Ma had a bullet hole in her ear and Pa had one in his mouth. There was no doubt that Pa had shot the both of them before the Comanches could get to them. I had to admire Pa for his good sense and his concern for Ma. As best I could tell from the chopped up ground, there had been about 20 braves involved with the attack. When I got close enough, I could see that Pa had an arrow in his gut, and there was so much blood that I knew that had happened before he shot Ma or himself.
Well, well, what have we here? It looks like the Indians did not know what to do with Pa's revolver. It was a .44 caliber Colt Army revolver, and I was glad to see that it was in good shape. It had fallen from Pa's hand after he died, and it was lying in the bottom of the driver's box. I picked it up and stuck it behind my belt; the holster was too far damaged from the fire to be useable.
I checked Pa's pockets and Ma's pocket inside her bodice to see if there was any money left from the shopping trip. I found three silver dollars in Ma's pocket and 49¢ in Pa's pockets. There was nothing of any value left in the wagon bed; the Comanches had taken any food that survived the fire.
Everything was in such bad shape that I had no way to get Ma and Pa's bodies home, so I found the remnants of the wagon's shovel and pick and dug a common grave for them right there beside the road. I said a prayer and covered them up. I did make a grave marker, but I knew that it would not last the winter season. Everything else, I just left where it was.
I rode back to the house to try to decide what to do about me and them Comanches. One thing for damned sure: them Comanches were not going to get away with murdering my ma and pa. I had just declared war on the whole Comanche nation, and I was going to start with that camp what was close by.
There was no way that I could wipe out that whole village in one shot, so I had to work out a plan. But first, I had to prepare myself for the coming battle. There was some extra powder at the house and some lead already cast into bullets for my .36 and Pa's .44, but there were no extra cylinders for the .44. I loaded what I had with what I had and pulled the small cache of money from Ma's hidey-hole. She had a gold eagle and a silver dollar there to a total of $11. I now had $14.49 in hard currency, and that was a lot of money in 1862 Texas. Paper money was already being discounted heavily, and it was bound to get worse.
It was well before supper time, so I ate a quick sandwich for lunch and took what I needed with me in a cotton flour sack. The first place I headed was toward town so that I could buy at least one more cylinder for the .44 at the gun shop. I was also going to tell several people in town what had happened to Ma and Pa. They were special friends and would want to know.
I was able to pick up three spare .44 cylinders for a silver dollar, and both me and the gunsmith figured that we had swindled the other guy. I sat on the sidewalk and loaded them cylinders with six bullets each. That gave me 43 bullets for the .44 pistol and 11 bullets for the .36 pistol. That many shots should be enough to fight a war, and I had declared one.
It was mid afternoon by then, and I rode back to the burned out wagon. I tipped my hat as I rode by, and I turned to follow the tracks of them Indian horses. There was no trouble with following the tracks. Them Indians were so arrogant that they were daring anyone to follow them. I rode for about two miles before I came to a ridge that was parallel to the path that the Comanches had taken. I had a wild flight of fancy and rode up on the ridge. I did not care if a Comanche saw me, because I wanted to find at least one before dark.
From the crest of the ridge, I could see the trail left by the Comanches leading off to the north, and a bit farther north, I could see smoke rising from campfires. I had known that the Comanche camp was there, but this little bit of proof settled any nagging doubts that I might have had.
I ain't quite sure what I expected to find, but I rode even closer to the camp. I must have been seen up on the ridge because two very young braves rode toward me hell-bent for leather. They could only be doing that for one reason, and I prepared myself to meet them.
The Comanches rode toward me waving their lances and shouting what I assumed to be war cries. They were not frightening, but they sure were loud! I just sat on my horse and waited for them. When they got close enough, I saw that they were about 12 years old, just barely old enough to be called adults by the Indians. Hell, I was only 14, and I had ridden out to find somebody like them to kill.
When they got close enough, I looped my reins around my saddle horn and drew my two pistols. I was showing off, but I also wanted to try something. I had the Army revolver in my right hand and the Navy revolver in my left hand. My plan was to shoot the two Indians once with each gun and compare the results. I certainly planned to shoot before they got close enough with their lances because I knew what those damned lances could do to a human body.
I lined up my shots when the Indians were 50 feet away and fired first the Navy and then the Army revolver. The reason for firing the Navy first was because it was a smaller caliber, and I was not sure that it would kill with the one shot; therefore, I had to allow time for a second shot. I knew what the larger caliber Army revolver could do, so I was not concerned about it.
As expected, the .44 caliber ball from the Army revolver knocked the rider to the ground, and he would have been killed by the fall at that speed even if the bullet had not been sufficient. On the other hand, the .36 caliber ball from the Navy revolver, knocked the rider back on his horse, but not completely to the ground. I did not fool around and fired a second shot with the Navy as quickly as I could, and that was only just soon enough to keep from being skewered by the lance. Aha, as I suspected! I was going to stick with the Army as my primary revolver and save the Navy for backup in an emergency. As soon as I could manage the cost, I was going to get a second Army revolver that I could trust my skin to.
So far, so good. I had begun avenging my family, and I had verified something very important about the two guns. The Indians had nothing I wanted but their horses and their pemmican and jerky. I could get a few dollars for the horses and I could eat the rations. Thus, I headed into town to sell the horses and to find out if I had any chance of buying another Army revolver.
I got a total of $8 for the two horses, and I figured that the livery stable manager was doing me a favor. If he were, I certainly appreciated it. When I went by the gun shop, I found that I could afford another Army revolver and two more cylinders. The gunsmith also recommended that I switch to a crossdraw like the Army used so that I could draw either gun with either hand. That was such good advice that I decided to follow it, and the gunsmith just happened to have two of the proper holsters in stock. I got both of the holsters at 50¢ each.
The gunsmith threw in a pouch for carrying the extra cylinders and a candle for melted wax to hold the powder in the cylinders and to prevent crossfires where a spark from one chamber set off the powder in an adjacent chamber. That was always a problem with revolvers that used loose powder and an argument in favor of paper cartridges. I had always used the wax on Pa's advice, but I thanked the gunsmith for the candle and his suggestion.
I spent the night in town at the livery stable sleeping on the hay stack. This town was too small for a hotel, and I would not have used it anyway. For supper that night and breakfast the next morning, I ate chilli and half a glass of beer for a total cost of 7¢ per meal. That price was a little high, but I did not complain too loudly.
I was out of town practically with the dawn and headed directly for the Comanche encampment. I was looking for a small group of men to attack. I did not care if they were hunting or on the war path. I planned to kill them in any case. All I wanted was a group of five or less because I was not sure that I could handle more than that at one time out here in the open.
Hey, that looks like a war party, so I will give them the benefit of my attention this time. I let them get away from the camp before I got very close. I did not want to chance some extra players showing up at the wrong time for me. We rode about four miles in very nearly a straight line for the Walters' farm. That was another farm with a wooden farmhouse. The Indians must have figured it for an easy place to overpower if they could set it on fire.
The only missile weapon that the Indians were using was the arrow, mostly because they could see no advantage in a muzzle loader. I had to agree with them that a muzzle loader just did not fit their style. The Comanches preferred the lance, but they used the bow and arrow when they could not get close enough to use the lance.
We passed the perfect place for me to fort up, so I decided not to wait until the Indians started to fight. I drew my Mississippi rifle from its sheath and loaded in a cap. One of the Indians seemed to be the leader, so I picked him for my first shot. Normally, I would not attempt a shot with the rifle from the back of a horse, but I wanted the Indians to know who had challenged them, so I had to let them see me. That meant that I would need my horse to escape to the place where I planned to do my fighting; therefore, I took the shot from the back of my horse while he was standing still. I did not have to kill the Indian with this shot, but I did have to attract their attention.
I fired at the back of the Indian I had selected, and seconds later he slumped over the horse and seemed to hang on to its neck. With the current stage of Indian medicine, any shot that hit the body was almost certainly a fatal shot, though it might still take a while for gangrene to do its job. Therefore, I knew that my shot had done its job, and now I had to reach my fort before the Indians caught me.
I pushed my rifle back into its sheath and pushed my horse into a dead run toward the rocks I wanted to use as a fort. I got there in time to grab my water canteen and to run to the rocks. The Indians would not deliberately kill my horse, so I did not worry about him. I left the rifle behind because I did not plan to expose my skin to an arrow by standing up to reload it.
I was ready and waiting when the four Indians arrived. I did not want them to bypass me by accident, so I fired one shot at them while they were still out of range. My Army revolver had an accurate range of about 75 yards, though it could kill at a longer range if I got unbelievably lucky. I was not depending on luck, I just wanted the powder smoke to mark my place for the Indians.
They practically skidded to a halt when they saw my smoke, and they pulled out their bows and arrows. I did not shoot again, and I think that the Indians were puzzled by that. Usually, Whites tended to pour bullets at the Indians until they ran out, and the fight suddenly shifted into the favor of the Indians. Well, that certainly was not my idea of the proper way to fight to win, so I held my fire until the Indians got bored and moved in closer.
The Army .44 and the arrow had about the same effective range for an expert with either weapon. However, there were very few Comanches who were that expert with a bow and certainly few Whites who were willing to practice enough to become that expert with a pistol. I had used every spare minute to practice with both pistols, Pa's Army and my Navy, with his support until I had become an expert with both weapons.
Therefore, I easily picked off two of the four Comanches shooting at me, and I had wounded another. The wounded man could not shoot his bow and arrow with only one hand, so I was actually facing only one man. The fool never would back up to get beyond my range, so I got him on my fourth shot at him.
Once I was sure that I would not be shot, I approached the Indians to see what I had. Two of the men were dead, one was nearly dead with a bullet in his gut, and I cut his throat. The last man was wounded in the shoulder and would not live more than three or four weeks, so I decided to use him as my messenger to the Comanches.
Before I let him go, I cut off all of his fingers, his nose, and his ears so that he could not function in the next life, and I cut off his balls and cock so that he would not be able to find a wife there. I tied him to the poorest looking of the horses so that he could not fall off and sent him back toward the Comanche camp. I told him that I was known as "White Death," and I was coming after every one of the Comanches, man, woman, or child. I wanted to give them something to worry about.