Chapter 6

In the process, Honey Bee was given the old Pocket Pistol and taught how to use it. Fortunately, this pistol fit her hand well enough so that she could control it. Spring Flower could hear whenever Honey Bee had to use her pistol and promised to rush to her sister’s aid. I figured the two pistols were going to be all of the protection the girls needed, but I was not going to say anything. The other women certainly needed the bodyguards, and I did not want to ruin a good thing.

Our village had learned how to herd sheep from a friendly White man, so the women were busy looking after the sheep as a kind of community project. The sheep were clipped every spring and the wool was saved until it was needed. All of the women had learned how to make cloth from the wool, and how to dye the wool threads to weave patterns that were distinctive and beautiful to look at.

Spring Flower and Honey Bee were both learning the art, and Spring Flower was well advanced. However, Honey Bee had a way to go. Nevertheless, they were both making items that we all used on a regular basis. I was sorry that while I was using my White man persona, the only item they wove that I could use was the blanket used under my saddle. Oh, well, I still made it clear to them that I appreciated their efforts.

There was a town not too far away, Bradyville, where I used my White man persona to sell some of the blankets produced by the women. Those blankets were of very good quality, and I had no trouble selling them. The money I got from that was used to purchase things like canned beans that had just become available. That kept the women from having to do so much of the foraging which was becoming more dangerous because of pressure from the Comanches.

So far, the green beans were becoming so popular that I expected us to have to start a garden to raise our own beans. Currently, I was the only one who was in favor of that, but I figured that attitude would change when we got to the point of not being able to sell enough blankets to fill the demand for canned beans. It was not a case of running out of customers, but a case of running out of product to sell. We did not have enough sheep to keep up with the demand. This was the kind of problem that the women were supposed to resolve, so we men were waiting on their decision.

The women finally bowed to necessity and decided to add more sheep to the herd. Guess who was volunteered to make the purchase. Well, there was no question that this was cattle country, so I was going to have to visit Mexico to buy the sheep that we would need.

Since I was going to be carrying what we considered a lot of money into Mexico, I asked Big Wolf, a good friend, to go with me in case somebody tried to rob me. I was thinking of White men, but the robbers could also be Injuns. For weapons, Big Wolf took a bow and 40 arrows, a war club, and a knife. I took my usual shotgun, four pistols, war club, and knife, but I also took a bow and 40 arrows. We could not afford to lose the money because this was the money usually devoted to the purchase of cans of green beans; therefore, I wanted to be sure that we had adequate weapons.

I knew that any White people who saw me wondered what I was doing with a bow, but none of them were rude or dumb enough to ask me about it. Furthermore, the sight of Big Wolf riding beside me must have raised all kinds of questions. Despite all of that, we managed to reach Mexico without any trouble.

After we crossed the Rio Grande, we stopped at the first town we came to. Big Wolf stayed with the horses while I went inside a cantina to ask where I could buy some sheep. My Spanish, tinged with a Mescalero accent, was enough to talk to the bartender. I paid for the information by buying a glass of beer which I did not drink. It was a rare Injun indeed who drank alcohol in public, and I conformed to that custom, so I left the beer on the bar. I am sure that the bartender either drank it or sold it to the next customer who ordered beer.

I left the cantina and rode with Big Wolf to the ranch where the bartender had said that I could find sheep for sale. Dammit, that bastard of a bartender must have been setting me up. We did not get far out of town before we were accosted by three men on horses.

They had to be amateurs because they approached us with knives drawn and demanded that we stop and give them the money we had planned to use to pay for the sheep. As soon as the spokesman said “sheep” I knew where he had found out about us.

Big Wolf and I caught the three Mexicans completely by surprise because we did not stop. Instead, we grabbed our war clubs and charged the Mexicans. I am not sure what the Mexicans expected, but surely it was not to be charged by two men waving war clubs. Big Wolf and I each took a measured swing and hit two of the men on the side of the head with our war clubs. Naturally, we had killed them immediately, and they fell to the ground.

The third man woke up enough to try to escape by riding toward town. I guess that Big Wolf was better prepared mentally than I because he used his bow to shoot the escaping thief in the back. I marveled at the accuracy of his shot made in such haste. The arrow struck the man almost dead center in the back and killed him on the spot.

As was customary, we took the scalps and searched the bodies for any valuables. We did find some silver Mexican coins which we took, but the only other things we took were the knives. The men did not even have pistols. We moved the corpses from the roadway, but did nothing else with them. Possibly they would be picked up by relatives for burial, but we did not care. We let the horses go because it did not occur to us to try to sell them, and we could not manage the horses if we were going to drive any sheep home. Undoubtedly, the horses found their way home by supper time.

It took another hour, but we reached the sheppard and bought a number of sheep. I also bought two dogs to herd the sheep for us. We were assured that the dogs were well trained, and I said in my most menacing voice that we would be back if the dogs turned out to be less than the sheppard claimed. He blanched at my statement, but did not back down.

The sheppard explained how to manage the dogs, and we left with the two dogs and 34 sheep. Thank God we had the dogs! They did an outstanding job of herding the sheep, and we made the journey back to the village in three days. This was more sheep than anybody expected, but the dogs could manage the total of 53 sheep with a young boy to supervise.

We lost three sheep that year, but we did learn how to handle them. Other than the odor they produced, the sheep were a welcome addition to our village. The women told the boy who was doing the herding to make sure that the sheep always stayed downwind of the village.

The following spring, a number of lambs were born. Between the dogs and the ewes, we only lost one lamb out of that crop. With the new sheep, we now had all of the wool that we needed, and I was the hero of the day. I insisted that Big Wolf get some of the credit, but Big Wolf already had a high status among the girls in his age group, so he did not care. Even one more girl friend would have been more than he could handle.

Big Wolf was over 14 and well into puberty. He fucked at least once every day and often twice a day. The girls loved his larger than usual cock. This was the common practice for anybody who had reached puberty. Every child was valuable, so if one of the unmarried girls had a baby, nobody complained. That child just became a ward of the village if the girl’s family could not handle the added economic burden. There were going to be a lot of broken hearts and empty cunts when Big Wolf finally settled down to marriage.

Summer Flower and I were torn with jealously because of all of the fun that the older kids were having with sex. Neither one of us was close enough to puberty to have a chance at practicing sex, and we sorely regretted that fact. Oh, well, our time was coming. Summer Flower hinted that she would wait for me, but I wondered if that promise would be honored as soon as her blood started to flow.

Uh-oh, it looked like the Comanches were bored with killing Whites and ready to take more interest in us. My last pass through Comancheria was very eventful. I was out of the village only about two hours when I was attacked by two older Comanches. These were not a couple of youngsters on their first chase, but they were men who looked like they knew what they were doing.

The chase started in the usual fashion in that the Comanches came riding out of a rift in the cliff just after I passed it. I was in my usual White persona and riding my horse. Obviously, with that extra weight to carry, my horse was not going to be able to outrun the Comanches’ horses. However, I did spot the two Comanches soon enough to put on a burst of speed. I managed to get a little lead on my pursuers, but all three of us knew that was not going to last long.

I pulled my shotgun from where it was hanging on my saddle horn and moved the hammers from half-cock to full-cock. I really did not like to swivel in my saddle so much, but I had no time to turn my horse around. I slipped my finger over the rear trigger, took aim as best I could, and fired. The roar of my shotgun firing did not bother my horse, but it did cause both of the horses behind me to slow up a little bit.

Dammit, that was enough to make most of my buckshot miss both the horse and the rider. Nevertheless, there was a lot of blood flowing down the face of the Comanche on the left, and he was slowing his horse because he was having so much trouble seeing where he was going. Alright, at least, I did not have the pressure of that man coming after me, but I did have to be concerned about the one on the right.

I moved my finger to the other trigger, aimed, and fired. Ah, better luck this time. The man was a bit closer to me and most of the buckshot must have hit him in the face, because he was suddenly without his head. Okay, I was more than willing to give up the chance of taking that scalp if it meant that I was keeping mine.

I was amazed to see that the other Comanche was resuming the chase for me in earnest. I could see where he had wiped the blood from his eyes so that he could now see me. As quickly as I could, I hung the shotgun back on the saddle horn and drew one of my pistols. There was now about 40 yards between the two of us, and I had time to halt my horse’s break-neck run and to turn him to face the oncoming Injun.