Chapter 17

As it turned out, the insistence on daily patrols was the thing that saved our bacon when everything went south with the Indian uprising. We knew the fat was in the fire when we saw the columns of black smoke drifting up into the cold morning air. Even the horses were nervous and snorting in discomfort probably sensing the fear that was like wildfire running through our minds waiting for the hammer to fall on top of our heads.

In all honesty, we didn’t run across any hostiles that morning, but we saw plenty of evidence of their mischief along that trail of misery and death. I was used to seeing heaps of bodies both fully dressed and naked as a jaybird in places like Vietnam and south of Atlanta, but it was a shock to the system to see them stretched out minus their hair with the visible marks of mutilation in places too delicate to mention.

A trio of “civilized” Indians stood silently watching us just inside the main entrance to the fort. They had probably seen this all before and might have been the enemy in their earlier years. They all wore the trademark “Lincoln” stovetop headwear that appealed to their desire for upper class fashion. One of them had inserted a wild eagle feather in the band giving him a bit of a “Pirate” look that contradicted the intent. They all looked to be one hundred years old but could have been much younger in a harsh land that aged the inhabitants far beyond their actual years.

One of my troopers spat a juicy trail of chewing tobacco residue in their direction. I was relieved to see it missed the mark by a wide margin, because the last I wanted was a bunch of irate “peaceful” Indians creating chaos right in the midst of our only sanctuary.

The Major in charge followed my advice to bolster our defenses and we spent the next few days cutting and enhancing our outer walls from direct attack. I supervised the construction of interlocked stakes angled up to gut any horse approaching too close to the walls. It was a trick the tribesmen over in Southeast Asia used to interdict the enemy from approaching their hideouts and it was an effective method of eliminating the element of surprise.

The settlers were straggling in with haggard looks on their faces.

At least, they were happy to be safe inside our walls and not exposed to certain death out in the open range.

Sister Hannah and Sister Rose set up a soup kitchen of sorts.

It was something I had seen in many places for many different reasons. For some reason, the mutual contribution of ingredients and the commonality of purpose made it all seem that much tastier to the palate. There were no doubt the womenfolk and the young ones were scared because they had seen the dead bodies as well, but now that we were all together in a common cause, a sense of winning spirit filled us with certainty of success.

Fortunately, a fresh troop of cavalry loaded down with new repeating rifles and stores of ammunition rode in from the railhead. It was perfect timing because life on the frontier was beginning heat up with a vengeance. The new Captain was called Hancock and he quickly avowed no relationship to one of the founders of the new nation claiming it was simply a coincidence. I found out by rumor that he was not entirely honest because he was, indeed, the great nephew of the famous personage and he had the same fortitude of character that his forebear had adhered to in a time of crisis.

The new reinforcements eased the worries of the troops nervous about confronting the hostiles on their territory with a reputation for dirty fighting and horrific acts of revenge against the white settlers. We had several dark-skinned troopers recruited from the ranks of Negro soldiers fighting in the war of Union to abolish the evil of slavery in a nation with little taste for enslavement of any kind. They generally had little or no hair to speak of and they figured their lack of tempting scalp and dark skin tone gave them an edge with the hostiles who seemed incensed at the white invaders of their sacred lands.

Sister Hannah was looking a mite frazzled from the endless task of tending to the visitors from the surrounding area of hostile confrontation. I whisked her off to the sutler’s tent to offer her some better than average spirits imported from Saint Louis in recent weeks. After she removed her outer habit for ease of movement, she looked just like any other frontier female. Sure, she was tuckered out from hard work, but underneath it all was that strength of stamina and hard core of feminine mystique. I found that I was focused in on the steady rise and fall of her generously proportioned breasts with the visible cleavage giving tempting dimensional perspective to her womanly charms. Somehow, my hand managed to find its path to encircling her flexible nipples and she allowed me to flick them gently until she was fair panting with natural desire.

I knew that we had a limited amount of time for privacy and before she could introduce a plea for respite, I explored her womanly private parts with nimble fingers leaving no doubt about her receptiveness to engaging in a coupling with urgent need for release. I felt a twinge of guilt for lowering her defenses, but the look of lust in her pretty eyes mirrored my own desires.

It was relatively easy to spin her around and bend her over the rustic wooden table giving me a fine angle to penetrate her final line of defense. Once we were fully engaged, she signed in resignation and surrendered her body and soul to my aggressive advances like most women in need of soothing excitement of their inner core. I could swear she reached that peak that females in heat valued above all else long before I was able to gift her with my bodily fluids in spurts that shook me to my depth of emotion. I drained into her. She smiled up at my encroaching face, opening her mouth for my kiss of completion. We sealed our sinful cleaving against the laws of church and God, but acceptable in the normal expression of human nature and instinctual desire.