[EDS: PLEASE USE THE FOLLOWING IDENTIFIER TAGS: Mf, rape, interr]




Jewel of the Prairie

by boy howdy

A cavalryman takes what he wants on patrol in frontier Nebraska



We came to a flat, shallow stream, and the lieutenant called a
halt so we could let the horses water. Some of the boys
dismounted to fill canteens or wet the dust off their faces, but
we all kept our ears up.

We set out two days before from the rail junction at Belvedere,
and the job this time was to find five Sioux men and bring them
back to Belvedere, where they'd be turned over to court martial.
The men had been accused of murder and rape in a settlement
somewhere down the White River.

Now this struck me as the wildest goose chase in all of history,
and most of the men -- Lieutenant Cross included -- felt the
same. No. 1, how did they know who'd done it? No. 2, how did they
know where we might find the culprits? No. 3, how were we
supposed to identify these people, assuming we found any Sioux at
all? My opinion with the Sioux was to shoot first and dont bother
with the questions at all.

We were instructed that the criminals had been identified by
scouts and captives, and the captain was kind enough to send two
native scouts out with us to locate and identify the rascals.
Having these people with us always made us a litte uncomfortable.
If they were scouting for us, they could just as easily been
scouting for the Sioux.You had to keep a close eye on them.

After about a quarter-hour, Cross ordered us to form up and cross
the stream. We splashed across and formed line parallel to a long
grassy rise on the southern side. The lieutenant, two corporals,
and one of the scouts led the way. We rode at a walk.

Now, if we was to find Indians, they'd likely be camped near
water. Just made sense. And sure enough, as we come to the top of
the rise, there in front of us was a small Sioux camp, with their
<i>tipi</I> tents, maybe 20, 25 of them. It was mid-day and warm,
and there was smoke from cook fires. Women and children were
mostly what we saw, and only three or four horses, which meant
the men were out hunting or scouting. Given that the women were
cooking, it seemed likely that the men would be back before long.
But really, who could tell?

Cross, always a cautious leader, again halted us just before the
crest and signaled to the sergeants. He had his glass out and was
checking the high ground beyond for lines of ambush. He gave the
non-coms quick instructions, and the sergeants went to their
squads and quietly passed on the order to the men. Our squad was
to fan out to the left to serve as lookout on a low ridge to the
east, and that's what we did.

Two other squads were to move to the right and serve as
"herders", holding the fleeing Indians and driving them in our
direction. Cross led the center squad, which was to be the attack
squad that broke up the settlement, with the right-hand squads
moving immediately to herd and reinforce.

There was no bugle -- really, that was kind of a camp thing in
fighting Indians anyway. The less you alerted the savages, the
better. Now maybe during the Rebellion, the bugle had been useful
in giving battle calls and regimental signals in the bigger
battles, but out here in the territories, you fought the way
Indians fought.

Cross signaled with his arms and ordered the guidons raised and
off we went. Or at least off went the other three squads. We sat
mounted, on the <I>qui vive</I> for anything in any direction,
and Company E, about 110 men in all, closed in on about 60 women
and children.

The Indians saw us coming and went into something of a panic,
some heading for their tipi, some scattering into the grass, many
picking up their children and miscellaneous possessions to join
the flight. Cross's squad fired a volley from their carbines,
most shooting high but some shooting generally into the crowd,
without aiming. I saw one woman go down as she fled.

The "rout", if you could call it that, was done in about 10
minutes. There were maybe 10 men in the group -- like I say, the
rest were out somewhere on the prairie. We caught most of them,
although maybe two of them escaped to run with the women. The red
men had not gotten off a shot, hadn't even gotten to their
rifles, mostly.

It remained to our squad, maybe 30 men, to round up the rest of
the fugitives, so we rode out a little way ahead of them and
started picking them up, along with whatever of their horses we
could flag. Some of the people steadfastly refused to stop and
were shot at, and I saw two more women go down, hit as they ran.
I saw one woman break out of the cordon and dash out in what
seemed to be a wide circle, headed perhaps back to the stream,
and I set out after her.

She seemed to know the terrain, and she knew to stop quickly, cut
behind my horse's line, and set off in another direction, so it
took me some time to run her down. By then, I was about 20 rods
away from the rest of the squad. The woman was clearly tiring, so
I dismounted and went after her on foot. I caught her from behind
and flung her to the ground, shouting at her the few words I knew
in Sioux.

The woman lay sprawled in the dust, and as the pursuit died down
behind me, I could here the wind sighing in the grass. The woman
kept her face to the ground, completely quiet except for her
heated breathing. She was barefoot, and her feet showed little
bloody cuts and scrapes from running through the tough grass.

I poked my carbine into her side, forcing her to roll to her
side, and I saw she was young. Her black hair was braided in
back, which usually indicated that the girl received some careful
attention from the tribe people. She wore an American-style plaid
cotton shirt, which we were seeing more and more often among the
native women, and a cowhide skirt. Her skin was the usual dark
copper color of the Sioux.

Now, I should tell you that in fighting the Indians, the rules of
war among white people were not strictly observed. The Indians to
us were savages, not much better than animals, and Sioux
particularly, being one of the more troublesome tribes, were not
shown much mercy. The victor takes the spoils -- they'd done it
when they'd tried to plunder our settlements, and we saw no crime
in taking theirs.

And, I'd have to say, this girl looked worth taking.

She lay, completely silent, frozen with controlled fear, waiting.
She seemed to sense death. I put the muzzle of the carbine up to
her head to reinforce my authority, then walked slowly around
her, cocking and uncocking the gun, taking inventory. Then I put
the barrel of the gun up under her skirt and raised the hem,
getting a look at the dark patch of her pussy.

I kept my ears and eyes open, of course, scanning the prairie for
horses or rising dust -- any sign of approaching hostiles. Last
thing I needed known was that "he died with his pants off".
Satisfied that the coast was clear. I knelt between her legs and
began to undo my blue trousers, letting them down and freeing my
swelling dick..

I lowered myself onto her and firmly pushed her shoulders down
flat into the dust. The grass, two foot high, swayed around her
head. She looked directly into my eyes, her look suggesting that
she expected to die at any moment. She seemed much less concerned
with the idea of being violated by a bearded white man with a
gun.

Indian women <I>smell</I> different. For one thing, they don't
use soap, assuming they even know what soap is. For another, the
smells of hide and blood and grass and smoke seem to rub off on
them, become a part of them. This girl smelled that way. In other
ways, though, she was untouched. She had all her teeth and no
visible scars or tattoos. Her eyes were bright and her features
regular. Cleaned up and with lighter skin, this one could almost
pass for a whilte woman.

I decided I wanted a better look, so I reached to her neck, took
hold of her shirt, and tore it open cleanly, the buttons tearing.
The torn shirt fluttered in the wind, and I took a good long look
at her chest and belly -- again, not a mark or flaw. Her breasts
were full and round, with nipples not much different in color
from her overall cast. The parts of her covered by her shirt and
skirt were lighter than her sun-baked face, neck and legs.

I stroked my cock up hard with my hand, pushed her legs apart,
and lined up to put it in her. It went in her smooth and deep,
all the way in, and it felt pretty damn good, and I began pumping
at her loins, fucking her like a machine.

She gasped as I entered, then went quiet, waiting as I whacked
away at her, waiting for me to finish. At first she did not
respond, then she began to yield. Her eyes closed, and she let
her head tilt to one side, and she began to squirm there in the
hot dry dust, her skirt up to her waist. I pressed down onto her,
feeling her soft breasts against my tunic and fucking her cunt in
a steady, hard rhythm. She allowed herself to cry out briefly,
then sank again into silence. I could feel her belly tense, her
legs tighten.

This was good, very good. This was Indian woman at its best. She
was tight and deep, unlike some of the Sioux women I'd had --
there had not been but a couple, really. So I gave her everything
I had, holding her down roughly, fucking her unmercifully, and
she began to buck and twist, as I imagined she would with a man
of her own kind.

Finally I let go with a roar, filling her Sioux cunt with seed,
the gushing cum shots of a white man. I slowed, satisfied, and
pulled out and rose to my knees. Again, all looked to be clear. I
looked down at the girl, who looked rumpled, taken and used.
Neither of us had said a word the whole time. I listened to the
wind, the sound sharper now.

Yes, and all that. I pulled up my pants and refastened them. I
stood, then said to her in my few words of Sioux, "Come. Follow."
I took her by the arms and pulled her to her feet. I walked back
to my horse, which, untroubled, had stayed where I'd left her. I
felt up the woman for weapons -- a knife, anything -- and found
nothing. However, I took care to bind her wrists with a loop of
rope. I climbed into the saddle, then pulled the girl up onto the
horse, setting her behind me. We set off at a walk to catch up
with the company.

We came up to the squad, which had gathered again by the flat,
wide, fast-moving stream. "Why, here's Jackson," the sergeant
said with a laugh, and the other men laughed as well. "Looks like
he's got him a trophy.

He continued. "We was about to leave you out here, Jackson. No
sign of you anywhere. We was going to let you find your own way
back to Belvedere."

"Did we get what we came for?" I asked the sergeant. "Did we get
the men we were supposed to get?"

"Naw," he said with a chuckle. "Did you really think we would?
They may be out here somewhere -- the scouts are over there
trying to come to some kind of excuse with Cross. If you ask me,
we should have came here closer to dark, when the whole tribe was
back in the village, with all the men. Then we could have shot it
out with em and collared the ones we was after.

"Or shot em. It wouldn't make no difference to me."

We needed to get the horses somewhere to feed, and we'd crossed a
nice lot of river grass about a mile downstream. We began to ride
that way.

"So what do you say, Jackson," the sergeant said. "We got about
50 captives, and we're gonna walk em back to Belvedere. That'll
slow us down, of course.

"The captain don't think ahead, of course. He might have met up
with us with a couple wagons and a team, and we coulda ended up
this expedition in a orderly way. But no, hell no. Now we got to
walk em.

"So you got yours on horseback, eh? She's a pretty one. I might
want to take a little of that myself. You gonna let me and the
boys take at shot at that one? Most of the ones we picked up was
older. There was a few younger ones, but none near as pretty as
that one."

"No sir," I said, playing along. "I believe I'll keep this one
for myself."

We kept on at a walk and joined up with the rest of the company.
We drove the captives ahead of us like a herd. If any of them got
a little halt, we'd more than likely put them up with us on the
horses. None of us had the heart to shoot these women or run them
off into the empty grassland. When we stopped at the grasslot, we
all sat down to eat, and we shared some with the captives. A
couple of the boys decide to enjoy some of the spoils and took
them out from the bivouac a ways.

We didn't know what would happen with these women when we got
back to Belvedere, and I didn't know what would happen with mine.
I intended to try her on a few more times before she was gone.

(Note: The author does not condone the treatment described nor
the attitude expressed toward the native tribes, such as would
have been found among cavalrymen in the 1870s. This is strictly
fantasy/fiction and should be read as such.)