Chapter 11

SAVAGE LAND

By Winston Conlee

A stage coach robbery! What a perfect introduction to the West, Clair Cooper thought as she stood in the blazing, hot sun with three other women while the robbers went about their business.

Two of the thieves were on top the stage coach and lowering a safe into the waiting hands of their cohorts while several others sat on their horses and watched the proceedings. One in particular kept giving orders so Clair assumed he was the leader.

“That’s it, take it down and drop on the ground. We’ll shoot the locks off of it. It’s supposed to contain the payroll for the mine so it should give us a real bonanza,” the man said.

“Speaking of a bonanza, what about these sweet young things?” A short beefy man dismounted and strode over to where the frightened women stood in a row with bowed heads. Because they had been forced to stand in the hot sun for a while, they had begun to feel hot, thirsty and uncomfortable. The heavy layers of petticoats and travelling skirts, which hung down around their ankles as befitting a proper Eastern lady, didn’t help matters any.

The women all stood petrified with heads staring at the ground as the insolent cowboy stood with his hands on his hips eyeing them as if he were appraising life stock at a county fair. Although Clair didn’t feel the same fear as her friends, she followed their example and said nothing, even when the beefy cowboy with a fat, boyish face stepped closer.

Lisa Gibbs, a pretty blonde with delicate features, shrieked loudly when the stranger dared to grab her bonnet and tear it off her head in one motion.

“We got ourselves a real pretty honey here,” the cowboy exclaimed with a laugh. Ignoring Lisa’s cries and visibly shrinking body, he boldly reached out to finger the long, golden curls which fell to her shoulders.

He then moved onto the next woman and tore off her bonnet for a better look at her.

“Well, lookie here, another cutie,” he snickered as he ogled Anna Knowles and reached out to touch her hair.

Anna gave a startled yelp, but kept her head lowered, allowing the grinning cowboy to stroke first her cheek and then her hair. It was long, black, straight and parted in the middle so that it fell down to her shoulders same as her friend’s.

By this time his antics had caught the attention of his friends. The man dressed in black and giving the orders got off his horse. He joined the cowboy who was still enjoying himself scaring the women, and although he didn’t touch any of them, his eyes gave away his intention. They glittered with lust as he stared at each of them in turn. It was only when he stood in front of Claire that she knew who he was.

His name was Tom Baxter. As she stood with bowed head like the other ladies her eyes were glued to his cowboy boots. They were the fancy kind that anybody would instantly recognize. They also instantly brought back memories so powerful she could barely manage to stop her body from shaking. Just the sight of them triggered memories of a horrific night 10 years ago in which her baby was stolen from her arms. The boots were black like the rest of Baxter’s clothing and despite the grime and grit of the desert sand they managed to hold a shine. The stars were easy to spot. It was like looking up into the inky blackness of the night sky. There was a big star that covered most of the pointed toe while smaller ones decorated the instep until they disappeared up the cuff of his pants.

Claire could hardly manage to contain herself as the memories flooded through her mind. The sounds of gun shots mingling with yells and hoarse commands were as clear as if they had happened yesterday.

“Come on, get out here you horse stealing Injuns.” The voice thundered out of the night and mingled with the sounds of gun shots, and then the sight of her home burning as she fled into the night with her husband and brother.

The memories seemed so real she could almost smell the thick, acrid smoke and the way it spoiled the freshness of the night air as the cabin burned to the ground. But the most vivid memory was running into the woods with her husband who was carrying their baby. As more gun fire was heard they got separated. Amidst the mounting chaos she turned one way while her husband turned another. Claire continued running through the darkness until morning came and she was found by the assailants, exhausted and slumped against a tree.

As she knelt in the circle of grinning, raucous cowboys, it was Tom Baxter’s fancy boots her eyes kept falling on. Fortunately the pending rape and assault was thwarted by the White women who arrived in a buggy. The men, embarrassed by their intentions, wondered away while the women clucked in sympathy over her plight. They took her into the town where they believed she would be safe, but they were wrong. She chafed at the forced confinement and longed for her son and husband. In addition, the attitude of the town’s citizens’ was so vehement she didn’t dare take a step outside their house without their protection. Unable to escape their clutches she was forced to stay with the White women and listen to them discuss her future as if she didn’t have a say in the matter. Claire sat listening with disbelief as they discussed various ways to get, what they called, the savage, out of her.

Her fate was decided with no input from her at all. Within days, and before her husband or brother could rescue her, she was bundled into a stage coach with a couple of body guards and hustled back East to Boston.

Claire hated the stern custodians of the women’s school from the moment she arrived. She rebelled against their self-righteous, holier than thou attitude as well as their efforts to make her into a ‘civilized lady.’ They were so relentless and persistent she finally gave up, but it wasn’t because they had beaten her. She had already vowed she would never admit defeat. She finally saw how useless her resistance was and decided to try a different tactic.

Pretending to cede to their demands, Claire decided, was the fastest way to get back West, and return to her family. She applied herself and under the tutelage of the busybody, snobby English women she quickly showed them how fast the savage in her was disappearing.

Her tormentors were duly impressed when she began presenting herself in a lady-like fashion and displaying all the proper manners, but it wasn’t enough for Boston’s finest ladies. To make sure all the Indian was taken out of her they sent her off to a proper finishing school. Claire only knew the basics of writing and arithmetic, but the teachers discovered she was smart so they took her through enough English reading, geography and mathematics texts to qualify her as a school teacher.

“Where are you going to do now?” They asked when she graduated and they decided the savage had been taken out of her for good.

Claire, proudly clutching her teaching certificate, carefully pondered the question before answering. She was ecstatic about finally getting a chance to return home, but she was no fool. Although she was almost free from the confines of the White women, she decided it would be best not to fully divulge her plans to them, so she dutifully recited the words the ladies wanted to hear. She was careful to give them no hint of her real intentions.

“Why, go back out West I guess, so I can teach all the new settlers in the schools they are going to be building. They are definitely going to need school teachers because of all those people flooding into the new land are going to want their children educated.” She deliberately failed to mention even one word about her Indian heritage, or her obsession to be reunited with her family.

Claire waited with baited breath until the head of the matron’s society that took care of her finally nodded in agreement. When she and three other recent female graduates boarded a westbound train, she could barely manage to maintain her composure. She heard each click of the wheels, and mentally measured off each mile, knowing that each click was bringing her closer to her family. It had been 10 long years since she’d last seen them, and it filled her longing. She wasn’t worried about finding them. Since she knew where her peoples’ traditional land was located, there would be little trouble finding their camps.

The journey was long and boring, especially for Claire’s three travelling companions who had never been out of the city of Boston before. After the train ran out of tracks somewhere in the mid-West, the women, with all their baggage, were ushered onto a stage coach for the final miles of their trip.

“How are we going to meet a handsome cowboy in this place?” Lisa Gibbs laughed as she stared out at endless prairie and sage brush.

“Cowboys, is that all you can think about?” Anna giggled. “Remember, we’re here to teach, not to chase down husbands. Besides, I’m beginning to wonder how anybody can even live in this land. It’s so desolate and lonely, and it stretches for miles. Look there’s nothing out there but sage brush and sand. We haven’t seen a single, solitary soul for miles now.”

Claire was silent, barely listening to her friends’ banter. She was on the final leg of her journey back home and as the miles passed her excitement grew. Just when she thought the land they were passing through seemed to become more and more familiar, the stage coach robbers appeared out of nowhere.

Now, she stood staring at Tom Baxter’s fancy cowboy boots, not daring to look up into his face and hoping and praying he wouldn’t remember her. But then, she thought, why should he? Their brief encounter had been at night years ago and she no longer resembled the half wild, young Indian girl he and his men attacked. She was older and all dressed up like a real lady in her fine, long skirted, travelling clothes. She decided it was to play the part of a terrified Eastern woman to the hilt.

Claire’s body shook and, her eyes bored into Tom fancy cowboy boots while the men eyed her up and down and discussed her like they were appraising a fine piece of horse flesh.

“So what do you think boss? The baby faced cowboy asked.

Baxter, now standing in front of Claire, peered closely at her and nodded his head.

“What do I think? I think since we robbed the stage coach they are now part of our loot.”

“You,” he asked a terrified woman who looked to be on the verge of hysteria. “What brings you and your friends out here to the West? You look like you don’t look like belong here at all.”

“We’re school teachers,” Anna squeaked through quivering dry lips that were now getting blistered and dry from the hot sun. “We’ve been sent out here to start schools for the settlers.”
Baxter laughed and snickered. “School teachers eh, well guess what? We’re going to introduce you to a whole new trade.”

He turned to the baby faced cowboy. “I’ll leave you and a couple of the boys to look after them while the rest of us take the valuables from the stage coach strong box into town and exchange what we can for money. That shouldn’t take all that long. We’ll be back by noon tomorrow. In the meantime, you and the boys can spend the night here with our guests. Maybe even spend some time breaking them in and giving them a taste of their new life.”

“Right boss, they’ll be a real popular in some of the saloons down south as the most educated whores in the place, school marms teaching their clients all kinds of things.” The cowboy laughed at his wit, ignoring the shudders of disgust and looks of anguish from the terrified women...

“Okay, do what you want with them tonight, but remember no real rough stuff cuz I want them in half reasonable shape when we hightail it out of here tomorrow.” Baxter warned.

After half the gang left, the baby faced cowboy and three of his friends, finally allowed the women to get out of the hot sun. They led them over to a grove of trees that gave them decent shade and allowed them to drink ice cold water from a nearby stream, but as soon as they were finished they were trussed up like turkeys and left to sit against a tree with their hands tied behind their backs.

Claire noted her friends were becoming so frightened they looked close to losing it. However, she felt none of their terror. As she watched Baxter and his men leave, she calculated her odds. It would be four against one, but then, since she had been acting like the other petrified Eastern tenderfoot women, she had an advantage. The element of surprize was on her side, and that would help cut down the odds. She just had to remain patient, bide her time and catch the cowboys completely off guard.

When the afternoon faded into twilight, the men busied themselves building a camp fire and cooking some food. They even untied the women one at a time so they could eat and quench their thirst again, but then they were tied up against the trees.

“Don’t go far, we’ll be ready for you pretty damn soon,” the baby faced cowboy chuckled as he dug into his saddle bag and produced a flask. Claire watched the cowboys pass it around the campfire several times, knowing the more of the alcohol they drank, the greater her chances of escaping become. The whisky the men were drinking would dull their senses and inflame their lust, leaving them unable to think properly.

Cautiously, and making it look like she was just shifting her body around for a more comfortable position, she twisted her body so that she was able to reach into the back of her fancy lady’s boots with her bound hands.

“What? You getting restless already honey? Well, another couple of snorts of this whisky and I’ll fix that for you,” one of cowboys snickered when he noticed her movements.

Claire froze and stared at the cowboy with big, frightened eyes, but said nothing. The last thing she needed was to have one of the men checking on her. Her fingers had found the knife and she was already in the midst of easing it out of her fancy Eastern boots. Thankfully, the men were too engrossed in the liquor to pay her much attention. One of them laughed and made rude comments about the women as the flask made another circle around the campfire, which was fine with Claire.

While the cowboys continued to drink and get more and more worked up, she positioned the knife so that she was able to slice through the rope that bound her hands. Then she went to work on the one holding her to the tree. Even though it was awkward to try and saw through the rope without drawing much attention from the cowboys, she was helped by all the attention they paid to the flask which they kept passing around.

Such A feeling of relief coursed through Claire when she felt the last rope strand give away, she was tempted to immediately turn and flee. With their captors already half drunk, she could easily dash into the bush and be hidden in the darkness before the befuddled men could gather their wits about them. However, common sense told her to sit still and be patient, just for a little bit longer.

The cowboys were getting so worked up they would be coming for them soon and she had to be ready. Claire stole a glance at her three travelling companions, their terrified faces barely visible in the glow of the camp fire. At the beginning of the journey she had felt no real kinship, but after travelling hundreds of miles with them, first by train and then by stage coach, she had to admit a certain bond had formed. What was going to happen to them hit her. She decided she just couldn’t leave them for the cowboys. What they intended for them would be a fate worse than death.

The more the cowboys drank from the flask the louder and boisterous they became. Then they grew quiet and began to cast eyes on their bound captives.

Baby face made the first move. He stood up, adjusted his gun belt and announced. “I guess it’s time to get to know these sweet little Eastern ladies a little better.”

His companions were in agreement. They stood and guffawed as they eyed the bound women. That started a mini stampede. Immediately the men were all rushing towards their captives. Claire was free from her bonds but willed herself to wait. Timing would be everything. Although the odds had been evened somewhat, she needed to be patient until the perfect moment to press home her advantage arrived.

When the eager cowboys descended on the Eastern women, their wild screams and cries of protest sounded loud and strident in the silence of the night. Of course Claire’s shrieks were completely fake. She only mimicked panic and outrage to further keep her assailant off guard and unsuspecting. She could barely stop a smile from spreading across her face when she saw the baby faced one had chosen her. After his cruel words and the way he kept ogling her, he deserved his fate. He would be the first to die.

Claire’s patience paid off. Her timing was perfect. She was screaming in protest and trying to shy away from baby face as he stood eyeing her before bending down to untie her from the tree.

She thought the look of surprize on the cowboy’s face was priceless when she suddenly leaped up and twisted away from him. At the same time her knife flashed in the light of the campfire. Her slash across baby face’s throat was true and deadly. He gave a muted gurgle, blood spurting out of the mortal wound as he fell to the ground. His lifeless eyes were looking up at her and the shocked look was permanent on his face. Claire didn’t stop to admire her handiwork. Surprise was everything. In one swift movement she yanked baby face’s gun out of its holster because he wouldn’t be needing it anymore, and besides, she still had the other cowboys to contend with.

Thankfully they were so fully occupied they failed to notice what had just happened to their friend. One of them already had his pants down around his ankles, his pale naked ass bounced in the night air as he wrestled with the helpless, shrieking blond Lisa whose dress was in tatters and pushed up above her waist. She wailed even louder at the sound of the shot that took her attacker’s head off and splattered his brains and gore across her face and onto what was left of her garment.

“What the hell,” one of the other cowboys yelled. He turned at the sound of the shot and rolled off his victim. He presented a comical sight as he hopped around on one leg, trying to stand up, pull his pants up and find his gun, all at the same time. Claire didn’t see the humor in it. She put a single shot right through his heart, but even as he crumpled to the ground, she was on the move. The fourth and final cowboy had managed to gather some of his drunken wits together and was rushing towards her. His gun was nowhere in sight, no doubt lost in the scuffle with Dolores. However, he was waving a big knife.

That suited Claire just fine. In the years she’d spent with the Indians, she had learned to fight and tussle with the best of them. She stood her ground, deliberately putting a half-petrified look on her face as the man closed in on her. She saw instantly he was no knife fighter, his movements weren’t fluid, they were too awkward and he was over estimating her, fooled by the terrified squawk she uttered as he approached her with all the confidence of a cock rooster.

Claire waited until the last moment. Then suddenly ducked his sloppy swipe, twisted her body out of the way and let his momentum carry him past her. When he skidded to a stop and turned around in bewilderment, she was ready for him. Claire had stepped in so close she was right behind him, and when he turned around her to face her, her knife flashed again. Blood poured out of his throat and he stood swaying back and forth like a drunk, with one hand on his neck trying to stem the flow of blood. All the while he tottered on the edge of the steep precipice that surrounded the camp, Claire pressed home her advantage. She stepped forward put both hands on his chest and gave him a forceful push, making the already dead cowboy tumble backwards into the deep gorge.

The battle, brief but deadly was over. Claire stopped to catch her breath, the sounds of the cowboy’s body crashing through trees the trees below mingled with the cries and shrieks of the Eastern women. Instead of being thankful for being free of their rapists they were wailing and moaning about the condition of their fine travelling clothes.

“Look what you done?” My God you killed them all,” screamed Lisa. She was shaking in near hysterics, while trying to scrape her attacker’s blood and brains off her face and fancy clothes.

Anna remained prone on the ground, making little effort to rearrange her torn and rumbled dress. She stared wide eyed and wordless at Claire, as if she just discovered her friend was some kind of monster.

The third woman, Dolores, was also mute. She sat with her back against a tree, sobbing with her head in her hands. Her beautiful traveling dress was also ripped and splattered with blood and gore

Claire tried to still her shaking body. She was so full of adrenaline she stood gasping for breath. As calm descended upon, she stood with her hands on her hips and studied her companions. She realized once again why she couldn’t just take off and leave them to their own devices. They were as helpless out here as new born babes and wouldn’t last long at all. If they weren’t found by Baxter and his men, some other lawless group would pounce on them like a predator finding a helpless prey. That is, if they were lucky enough to survive that long.

She sighed in frustration. She knew by herself she could easily elude men like Baxter. Come daylight she could mount one of the cowboys’ horses and hightail it out of here. She would head towards her Indian friends and most likely be reunited with her family before the day was out.

However, since she just couldn’t abandon her friends, that plan would have to be abandoned. Meanwhile, there was work to be done and the first thing on the agenda was to get rid of the dead cowboys whose lifeless bodies still littered the camp. Claire walked over to the nearest body, grabbed it by the boots and dragged it over to the crest of the steep ravine. He could join his companion at the bottom of it. But since the cowboy was now what she called a dead weight, she found him too heavy to handle alone.

After a mighty effort and only a few useless feet gained, she turned in exasperation to the women who were still moaning, sobbing, and rocking back and forth in trauma.

“Okay, ladies, I could use some help getting rid of these ornery cowpokes. The sooner we dump them into the gulley, the sooner you can stop looking at them.”

At first the women failed to respond but finally, after some hesitation one of them wiped away some tears, stood and shuffled forward.

Claire smiled encouragement at her friend’s courage when Anna asked. “So what do you want us to do?”

“Take his feet and I’ll handle his arms. We gotta drag him over there,” she pointed to the crest of the precipice. “Then we can push his body over it.”

Anna stared in disbelief at the dead body and then at Claire, as if she didn’t understand the instructions. Finally she nodded and grabbed his boots as if she were handling a delicate object. Claire had no such qualms. Without a word, she lifted the man by his shoulders and began walking backwards while Anna followed with the feet but barely holding the boots above the ground.

“Ready, one, two, three,” Claire chanted as the pair prepared to toss the body into the deep, dark depths of the ravine.

They didn’t bother to listen to it crashing downward through the trees and brush. They just turned, went to the next body and did the same, then repeated the process with the third one.

That task accomplished, Claire studied her companions. They looked a little more composed when they weren’t forced to stare at the lifeless bodies, but they still looked completely shaken by the ordeal.

Now what? Claire felt like a bundle of nervous energy. She busied herself stoking the dying campfire until it grew into a healthy blaze which felt welcome because it lit up the darkness of the night. At her urging, the women crept closer to it to relish its warmth, and the way it chased away the evening chill.

Next, she wondered into the deep shadows cast by the roaring campfire and checked the horses. Although it was pitch dark she could see they were tethered properly so they wouldn’t stray, especially when they were surrounded by lush, green grass to graze on. Good, they would be essential in the morning when they would have to flee the camp.

She would have no problem with the animals, but the thought of the tenderfoot women riding them made her grimace. It would pose a real problem. Although they were city raised and most likely didn’t know one end of the horse from the other, they would have to ride them. The horses were their only chance to escape the clutches of Baxter and his men who, no doubt would be angry as hornets when they discovered their dead companions. She wanted her group to be as far away as possible when that happened.

Satisfied, she strolled back to the campfire and joined the women who looked askance at her. Claire caught their looks. They were like children wanting guidance from an adult. She gulped at the realization that she now responsible for their welfare. She was stuck with them whether she wanted that responsibility or not.

“Where were you?” Delores asked with a worried look. “We thought you’d gone already.”

Claire shook her head. “No such luck. I just checked on the horses. Now lay back and get some rest if you can cuz we’ve got to hightail it out of here at the crack of dawn.”
But Claire’s hopes of an early departure were dashed, doomed to failure. Although she was up when the sun’s rays first peaked through the branches of the trees, the Eastern women were a different matter. Exhausted from the tumultuous night, they had to be roused and prodded into full wakefulness. The morning air was full of moans and complaints over aches and pains. I

Claire found it completely frustrating. No matter how hard she tried to fill the women with a sense of urgency they moved about at their own snail pace. First, they decided they needed fresh clothes that weren’t covered with gory blood and brains. Claire looked at her own dust and blood splattered dressed and had to agree. She led the way as they stumbled down to the ruins of the stage coach. She tuned out the cries of dismay when they discovered their suitcases and trunks were ransacked with their fine dresses, petticoats and delicate under things strewn all about as part of the robbers’ search for more valuables. Instead of worrying about the ruined clothes, she went directly to what was left of her luggage, relieved to see the false bottom in one of the heavier trunks had remained undiscovered.

While the women gathered up what was left of their clothing, Claire opened the false compartment of her trunk and pulled out a special purchase made at their last stop. In honor of returning to her people after all those years she had bought what the store keeper had claimed was authentic Indian maiden wear. The ankle length moccasins, pants, top and hat were of pure, soft leather the color of butter. The colorful bead work that decorated it was artistic, exquisitely done. It was certainly impressive enough to trick some foolish tourist into believing she was buying something authentic, but Claire knew it at first sight it was a fake. Still, the mere sight of it brought tears to her eyes. She had worn the genuine article on her wedding day and it wasn’t even close to what the store was trying to pawn off as real to unsuspecting tourists. Still, in a fit of nostalgia she purchased it, snuck it back to the hotel in a bag and carefully stowed it away.

Since her skirts and petticoats were far too cumbersome to ride a horse, now was the time to put it too good use. At the stream Claire shocked the women to the core. While they made a modest attempt to clean the filth, gore from their bodies by pussy footing ankle deep at the edge of the creek, she had no such qualms. At a time when decent women barely dared to show any skin at all, she quickly stripped naked on the creek banks. Before their muttered gasps and horrified looks she stood erect before diving straight into the stream. The water droplets on her skin gleaming like diamonds when she surfaced.

Claire ignored their shocked looks, shook the water from her long hair and dove under again, her arms and legs moving as agile as a fish as she frolicked about like a porpoise. She had been taught to swim at an early age and since Indian women weren’t bothered by the same hindrances of modesty as White people, it was common for them to go skinny dipping.

When Claire had enough, she waded ashore as casual as someone out for a morning stroll. In front of the stunned women who looked on with wide eyes, she used a piece of her ruined dress to dry herself off. With one last stab at destroying the current convention and all the lady-like rules she’d been taught, she deftly twisted her long, black hair into a long braid. The phoney, Indian maiden, leather costume was a perfect fit and she relished the complete freedom of movement it gave her.

As Claire strode around in her new clothes, she cast a critical eye on the mass of clothing her friends were wearing. How they would manage to straddle a horse with all those hoops and skirts, would be their problem.