Chapter 3

Cissiee was never going to be a crack shot, but she didn't need to be. She could hit what she was aiming at, most of the time, as long as her target was within 25 feet and a big as a man. One of the problems was that Cissiee had to be careful when and where she practiced. Slaves would be killed on sight in Texas if they were seen to have a pistol, and having a "black" skin color was enough for most Whites to assume that the person in question was a slave. She would have to wait until they were in NMT before Cissiee could practice openly or show her pistol.

Actually, she was probably better off hiding the fact that she had a gun and could use it, since that would make her attackers too bold for their own good. It was wearing on the spirit to be constantly on guard, but it was the price Cissiee paid for being a slave and headed for free territory. Abigail protected Cissiee as much as she could, but Abigail couldn't be around all the time.

Just how helpful Cissiee's hidden gun could be was illustrated by an incident that occurred as the wagon approached El Paso. They were encamped near the trail, and there was constant traffic on the road. Abigail wanted Cissiee to get in as much practice as she could with the pistol before they ran into Apaches.

They had to go farther than usual from the camp to be in a safe place for Cissiee to shoot. They had spent about an hour shooting and were now headed back to camp, both of them in the buckboard with Abigail driving. They rounded a hill and found themselves facing three men lined up across the trail, blocking their way.

The man in the middle said, "Well, lookee here, some prime white an' black pussy. Ya boys think that we might git a sample?" This question was met with general agreement, so he continued, "OK, Missy, ya jus' drop them reins an' climb down real slow like. HEY! HOLD IT! Ya must of been the one doin' all that there shootin' we heard. Ya jus' use two fingers ta pull that there pistol outen its holster an' lay it real gentle-like on the bed of yer buckboard... OK, now ya kin git outen the buckboard."

Cissiee sat frozen in place; she looked as frightened as she really was. "Hey, nigger bitch, time fer ya ta git down, too." Cissiee rose and started to climb to the ground.

For a moment, all eyes were on Cissiee, and Abigail took the opportunity to pull the pistol from under her shirt. The men jumped their attention back to Abigail when they heard the hammer cocked on her hide-out Navy Colt. "You gentlemen may wonder who I am, I'm the woman known as Cock Cutter!"

One of the men yelled, "SHIT!" and went for his gun. Abigail shot him in her favorite place, his bellybutton. As he fell from his horse, Abigail shot the man in the middle, probably the ringleader, in the same place. By this time, Cissiee had pulled her own gun and shot the third man, not exactly in the bellybutton, but close enough.

As these two men fell from their horses, Abigail pulled her bowie knife and said in a very menacing voice, "I guess y'all bastards know what I'm fixin' ta do next." This produced three screams of "No, no, no" as she cut the pants away from the three men. Slowly, so as to extract the maximum pain and fear, she cut each man's cock off and stuffed it in his mouth. None of the men were dead, yet, but they were all bleeding so fast that they wouldn't last much longer.

"Cissiee, help me drag these here bastards off the trail. Let's put them over there. Be sure ta leave them on their backs soz people kin see what I done ta their cocks."

The two women stripped all the valuables and weapons from the three thugs and tossed the loot in the back of the buckboard. They tied the horses to the back of the buckboard and drove back to camp. "Cissiee, now ya see why I wanted ya ta have yer own pistol. By the way, thanks fer the he'p. That wuz good shootin' ya did."

"Thank ya fer teachin' me, Abigail. I didn't believe ya at first about usin' the gun, but I shore do now! I'll never fergit the things Mr. John an' ya have done fer a nocount nigger like me."

"Oh, Cissiee, don't talk like that! We wuz glad ta he'p ya. After all, I spent 12 years in the same kind of slavery as ya did, soz I know what it's like. Jus' be happy that ya're now among friends an' try to fergit all the grief ya went through afore ya found us."

"OK, I'll try, but I still want ya ta know how grateful I am." Cissiee smiled and hugged Abigail to show she meant what she had said.

They got back to the camp and Abigail told John what had happened. He congratulated them on their escape and retribution, but wished that the two women he cared for would be more careful.

The next day, the wagon train pulled into El Paso, and they spent two days replenishing their supplies. Oscar White was able to hire a scout, Jim Baker, whom he had worked with on other trips, so he believed that they were ready to go.

It took all day, but they were able to cross the Rio Grande on a ferry run by some Indians. They could only get 4 wagons on the ferry at one time, so they had to make 13 trips just for the wagons. The stock swam across with only one loss of a very stupid milk cow that just would not stay with the rest of the herd. They spent the night in a campground run by these same Indians.

The Indians were Mescalero Apaches and very pleased to meet Cock Cutter. They were mortal enemies of the Comanches and honored anyone who could so thoroughly cower their foes. They presented Abigail with a talisman for the flag staff which they said would make them known to any Mescalero they met. The Mescalero would treat them with the respect they deserved and would provide any help that they could.

The people in the wagon train were stunned when they heard this. They had been very fearful of traveling through Apache land, but felt much better, now. They were warned, though, to be wary of the Chiricahua Apaches, as they were bitter enemies of the Mescalreos and held the Comanches in contempt. So they were likely to get a different reception when the wagon train reached their land.

The wagon train was also warned that the Navajo were expanding east and were likely to attack if they saw a chance. However, the Navajo were more likely to attack as individuals than as a band of Indians.

The wagon train left the campground with renewed vigor and purpose as they started on a more difficult portion of their trek. Even though they would have the usual hardships of an extended trip by wagon train, at least, they would not have to worry so much about attack by hostile Indians. Abigail was still riding point, so she had a carrier made for their flag and talisman to fasten to her saddle. Hopefully, this would ward off trouble from Indians for this part of their trip.

They headed toward Deming, following the flattest route Jim Baker could find. Every day, they were met by Mescalreos eager to meet Cock Cutter. She was courteous to every one of the Indians and generally made a good impression. The Indians were quite helpful in picking the best route, so they were able to move over the grassy plains more comfortably than one could normally expect.

With all the help they got, it only took them 2 weeks to get to Deming, but, they were warned that beyond Deming, they could expect to start seeing Chiricahuas and Navajos. The ground was getting to be less hospitable, too. The grassy plain was turning into sandy desert, and the mules were having to labor much harder to get through. It looked like they could expect to be moving a lot slower as they moved farther west.

Jim Baker spent a lot of his time looking for hardpan, the sedimentary rock that had formed millions of years ago as the bottom of an arm of the sea. This stuff was as hard a road surface as they could want, if they could just find it when and where they needed it. The problem was that hardpan also signaled the presence of sink holes and quicksand.

The sink holes could be deadly; a person could easily fall to his death in one. The quicksand was more of a aggravation; the pits were never deep enough to trap a human or a large animal, but the quicksand could grab an ankle and break a leg in a moment. Also, the wagon wheels would quickly sink too far into the quicksand to be pulled by the mules. This meant unloading the wagon and hooking up more than one team of mules to free the wagon. A stuck wagon could delay the whole wagon train for a full day.