jb-ride.txt
A LONG DAY
by J. BOSWELL
(jaybos@cris.com)
(with apologies to Louis L'Amour)
(c) Copyright October, 1991 by J BOSWELL, all rights, except those explicitly
detailed below, ARE RESERVED BY THE AUTHOR. Electronic distribution (as a
text file on an "adults only" BBS) is permitted without alteration, but
inclusion in any type of "publication" offered for sale (eg., book,
magazine, CD-ROM, etc.) requires the author's explicit permission.
WARNING: This work of fiction is intended to be read by adults only. The
author has uploaded it only to known "Adults, only" BBSs, and requests
that you exercise the same discretion. Also, this is a fantasy -- in
real life, please protect your lover and yourself by practicing safe
sex.
.........................
Night was coming on fast and Fallon decided it was time to start looking
for some shelter. A small arroyo or cut-back by a stream-bed would be perfect.
Something to get him out of the cold desert wind that blows at night.
He dismounted and crept to the top of a small rise, being careful not to
present a silhouette on the ridge line. He was surveying the vista and smelled
it at the same time he saw it. Burning wood.
Far to his left was the faintest trail of gray smoke rising into the gray
sky. He was lucky to even see it; another few minutes and it would be lost in
the darkness.
Fallon hoped it was a cabin. He liked the idea of sitting on a real
chair for a few hours instead of his horse. And the thought of maybe sleeping
under a roof, in front of a fire brought a smile to his face. He didn't
remember any pilgrims in the area the last time he passed this way and it sure
wasn't farming country but that didn't mean some optimistic miner couldn't be
trying his hand at prospecting.
He just hoped it wasn't some loco who only wanted the coyotes and Apaches
for neighbors. He'd be lucky to get a `hello' and `goodbye' from such
unfriendly types.
No, Fallon was hoping it was some lonely miner, who would be happy to
share his roof and beans and fire for the night in exchange for some palaver.
Although no true test, the rest of the area looked deserted, so Fallon
remounted and headed off in the direction of the smoke. Now dark, he refrained
from lighting a cigar and just watched the terrain carefully. Riding into the
wind, down and up, over the rolling country, Fallon could smell the woodsmoke
getting stronger with each step. And with each step it smelled less like a
homey fire in a stone hearth and more like trouble.
Noiselessly, Fallon slid his well-used Henry rifle from its soft leather
scabbard and rested his thumb on the hammer.
Cresting the next ridge, Fallon saw that he was right -- it was trouble
-- but not his.
Before him was the remains of someone's Conestoga wagon and their
belongings. Most of the wagon was gone, burned down to a pile of glowing ashes
and the metal rims from the wheels. There were pots and pans and the metal
parts of tools scattered around and some clothes, no more than scorched rags,
now. The Apaches had taken all they wanted and burned the rest. There
wouldn't be anything useful left.
Disappointed that it hadn't been a cabin with a pot of stew on the fire,
Fallon nudged his horse on, circling the wreckage. With a sharp jerk he reined
the horse to a stop and sat in shock at the sight before him.
On the ground, naked and staked at her wrists and ankles was a blonde
woman. The first woman Fallon had seen in over three weeks. He blinked to
make sure he wasn't seeing things.
Fallon scanned the area around him, again, and then looked down at the
woman. Her face was turned away from him, but even in the moonlight Fallon
could see the damage the sun had done to the skin normally covered with
clothes. Her breasts were large and soft looking but smudged with dirt, as
were her stomach and hips. Her blonde pubic hair was plastered and pressed
flat and the insides of her white thighs were dirty. Fallon could see her
chest rise and fall with her breathing.
"Ma'am?"
She jerked her head around and popped her eyes open to stare at Fallon.
"Oh! A white man! Thank the Lord! You are a white man! I thought the
savages had returned. Praise be!"
Fallon noticed she was fairly young and maybe would even be more than
just pretty, in a different situation. "Yes, Ma'am, I am a white man. What
happened to you?"
The woman looked up at Fallon and began talking. She talked with one
sentence rolling over the next, with one word flowing in to all the rest of the
words. Barely taking a breath, she shot through her story with a rhythm that
reminded Fallon of a Gatling gun.
"Well, Mister, everything was fine and dandy this morning. We -- my
husband, Joshua, and my children Matthew, Lucas, Melody, and Charity -- were in
a wagon train -- Mr. Jed Fuller's? -- on the way out to California. Right
after we got underway this morning, we were attacked by hundreds of savages.
Joshua -- well, not just Joshua, a lot of wagons -- panicked and whipped the
horses to run their legs off. When we finally stopped, we were lost and alone.
We had no idea where anyone else was or if they were even alive. We didn't
know where we were so we just kept on going.
"We soon got to a river, but we had to stop because it was too deep and
running too fast to cross. There were a lot of rocks and rapids. Joshua
turned us upstream in the hopes of finding a safe fording place. When we
finally found one, Joshua and Matthew led the team. We were almost in the
middle of the river when the lead horses bucked and Joshua and Matthew were
toppled over and into the deeper water. We saw them fighting the current and
heard them yelling, and then they went under and none of us saw them come up,
again. They were gone! My husband and my son! Gone!
"We looked and waited, but they were gone. My other son, Lucas, found
their bodies downstream -- all battered and bloody -- and we buried them there
as best we could. We went further upstream and made it across the river and
started up a long hill. One of the horses stumbled and broke a leg. Lucas, cut
him out from the team and shot him. Then, we started down the other side, and
the three horses could barely keep us from rolling out of control, all the way
to the bottom. When we crossed this plain, the horses refused to start up that
hill over there and we decided to rest them for the night.
"That's when the wolves came. A whole, big pack of them. They must have
found the dead horse, because they had blood all over their fur. Poor little
Lucas was sitting on one of the horses when the wolves came running over the
hill and the horses took off. And they all disappeared. Including Lucas!
"Me and the girls hid in the wagon and cried and cried. All the menfolk
gone and certain the wolves would return to devour us, too!
"But we were wrong. Instead of a pack of wolves, a pack of painted
savages appeared. I fired the pistol, but I didn't hit any of them. They rode
right up to us and grabbed my girls away from me! Melody is 10 and Charity is
only 8. Two indians put my babies over their horses and sped away.
"The eight savages that were left ignored me as they picked through every
item in this wagon; eating all the food and drinking all the cider and water.
When they were satisfied, they ripped my clothes off me and tied me down like
this -- and then, one after the other, they violated me. Some, more than once!
"I begged them to kill me. So I wouldn't suffer their abuse. A white
woman being ravaged by drunk, laughing, red savages. I never heard them utter
one word of English the whole time. Finally, when they were all done with me,
and could no longer mistreat me, they got on their ponies and rode away,
whooping and hollering.
"They left me in the desert sun to die.
"And then, thank the Lord, you come along."
......
Fallon eased the Henry back into the scabbard. He slid off the horse and
looked down on the woman. Her skin glowed in the moonlight. The marks on her
round breasts and open pubis where she was ravaged and raped were obvious. He
moved closer to her.
He thought about what she had been through in one day. Losing a husband,
four children, all her earthly belongings and her respectable womanhood. It
was more than you could expect one person to take.
He dropped his chaps and pants and pulled his hard cock from out of his
stained longjohns. He knelt between her spread legs and spit on his prick's
knobby head.
He had been wrong -- for once, the Apaches had left something useful
behind.
The woman looked up at him in surprise, with large round eyes and he
sadly informed her --
"Well, Ma'am, this sure ain't been your day."
(A little tongue-in-cheek, for a change.)
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