Ridden hard, p.1
Ridden Hard, page 1
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
More BWWM?
1
Somewhere in Texas
June, 1848.
In that first week of June, I wished I had never come to Texas.
We traveled by wagon. The bumping didn’t bother me none, and I didn’t mind the close air, since I could usually get Mary to roll back the cover a little when her husband fell asleep. Then we could play cards and have sips of whiskey, or take her tin box out and look at the old coins. Sometimes she even read aloud from a peeling stash of magazines, and that wasn’t so bad at all. We even made up stories for each other, like little girls, and got so worked up with laughter we cried. Mary was alright, too.
What really got me, I mean what really made me wish I had stayed my behind in Boston, was her husband all by himself.
There comes a point in a woman’s life when she realizes most men aren’t worth the juice it took to make them. For some women that’s an early lesson. Others find it out much later, and by then they’ve gone and got themselves yoked to a real piss-head. That was Mary Harmin’s husband. The biggest piss-head that ever lived.
Mrs. Harmin was a beauty- long nose, dark hair and the nicest eyes I’d ever seen. David was the bare opposite. Balding, built like a brick shithouse. A nose like a bull. He dressed fine, maybe too fine, if you ask me. Sure he had some lovely manners- when other folks were around. He even had some money or claimed he did. But what sent him to the top of the list? He was “nice” to Mary. For her, that quality made any man seem like the second coming.
But I guess the truth of David’s nature hit her right before they left off from Boston, because suddenly she was begging me to go with her. She didn’t want to be alone with him.
I mean, I sure as hell couldn’t blame her.
It didn’t all go to shit until a few days after our flight from San Antonio. I marked that day in my head as the sixteenth of June. We woke up to the usual bumping of the wagon. Outside David was making talk with the driver. I poked my head out. A warm, red light, full of purples and blues, crept over the line of red mountains and valleys on the horizon. With it came a slow breeze, touched with the scent of mesquite and oxen dung. The dry air crinkled my lips. I licked them and tasted salt.
Mary still slept- that woman could always sleep the day away. But I wanted some water.
She got up as I took a drink, and sat there staring at me with her puppy-dog eyes. I offered her the gourd; she refused.
“You know, Ada,” she sniffed, “I wonder if we’re ever gonna reach California.”
“This only the fifth day, Miss.”
“It feels like the fiftieth. I wonder what David is doing?”
“He’s on Petey again.”
“Won’t he leave that horse alone? He ought to sit inside here more. She’s not used to all that weight.”
“Oh no,” I said in a hurry, not wanting David’s presence to ruin the morning. “I believe he’s just fine where he’s at.”
Mary wiped her eyes. Every day they got red as a snake’s- she said it was the dust. “He ought to sit inside more,” she repeated.
I poked my head out the back again and peeped out at the dust we’d left behind. On that horizon little brown clouds rose up from the earth. Hard to believe anyone lived in this part of the country. I tried to listen over the bumps of the wagon and David’s yammering. I didn’t know what I was listening for. But then it came, very faintly. The distant calls of the cowboys.
A team of drivers had showed up behind us a few days ago. The leader rode ahead to talk to David. They were following the same route we were, to Baxter Springs. This morning, like us, they’d got an early start.
“They’re at it again,” Mary observed.
“You hearin’ that too?”
“With your eyes and my ears, we’d make a fine sailor between us,” she laughed, feeling about for her needlework. A clumsy bit of colored fibers she’d been picking at for ages.
I said, “I’d rather be here than at sea. Never much cared for the water.”
“You think we’ll run into them cowboys?” said Mary.
“I hope so,” I said tiredly. “Would give us something to look at.”
Later that morning we stopped to stretch our legs and relieve ourselves in the patches of scratchy mesquite. Mary and I stooped in the privacy of our skirts. David just whipped his carrot out and started pissing on the wagon wheel. He laughed at Mary’s scandalized expression. Then he turned to me.
“You thirsty, Ada?” he chuckled. “Come take a drink.”
“I swear I never seen a man take so long to piss,” said Mary nervously. She mopped her brow with her needlework.
“I heard nigra piss smells worse’n a drunk’s,” David continued. He didn’t bother tuck his dick back inside. Just left it flopping there for the world to see. Even the driver looked revolted.
“We ought to get back on,” said that gentleman. “These is dangerous parts.”
“Does he mean the Indians?” said Mary.
“No, darling,” said David. He buttoned up his trousers. “He means the redcoats. Of course he means the Indians. Get inside.”
“You come in, too,” she begged.
David gave Mary one of his looks. She swallowed and clambered inside the wagon. I made to follow her but David grabbed me. He felt the muscles of my arm between thumb and forefinger, as if I were a juicy fruit at the market.
“I don’t suppose you’d take a break from her for a minute, Ada.”
“Oh no, Mister Harmin,” I said. “I’m a woman of God. I don’t get ideas above my station.”
“Is that so? But what do you suppose tonight we make it under the wagon? Mary will be asleep-”
“No thank you,” I said between my teeth. It tore me up I had to be polite to a man like that. “I would never dream of doin’ such a thing to Mary.”
“Forget Mary,” said David impatiently, his hand coming up to my breast. I jerked back, but he held me fast. “Forget her,” he breathed. “It’s you I’ve been after. Since the moment I saw you...”
“David?” called Mary from inside the wagon. Her voice sounded a little shrill.
“Yes, my dearest?” he snapped, releasing me. I took up my skirts and bolted past him.
“Someone’s coming,” she called. Her fuzzy brown head poked out the wagon hatch. I imagined her big ears pricking up under the brim of her bonnet, like a fox. I took a seat next to her and tried to stop my racing heart.
“I don’t see anything. You’re imagining it.”
“No, look!”
She pointed. David and the driver turned to look.
A man on a horse. One of the cowboys. He seemed in an awful big hurry. In no time he’d cleared the horizon and made straight for us. He brought the horse to a halt in a shower of dust and pebbles, and didn’t bother dismounting to greet us, which offended David.
But it was not David he spoke to at all, but the driver of our party.
“Sir, you best turn these folks around,” he said abruptly. “Take cover in them hills up there.”
“Take cover?” said the driver. “What you mean?”
“We got some renegades on our trail, and we reckon if things get hairy you all might get wrapped up in the fight. So you better just head on ‘round those hills there and wait it out. Where’s your guide at? I’d like to speak with him.”
“We don’t have a guide,” said the driver, bull-stubborn as always. “Didn’t think we’d need one.”
“You didn’t think-” the cowboy stopped. He blinked very hard, as if we were all too stupid to be real.
And now David interrupted. He said, “We won’t stop. I’m on a tight schedule to make it to Santa Fe. You gentlemen better handle whatever’s coming on your own.”
The cowboy sized him up. A sneer curled his top lip. “I wasn’t asking y’all for help.”
“Well, why bring all this noise about what doesn’t concern me?”
“These ain’t your regular thieves, sir. I know it isn’t like a Yankee to believe us folks who know these rugged parts-”
“I don’t care.”
The cowboy gritted, “Well, I hope your tight schedule can dig a nice grave for you both before dark.”
He caught sight of Mary and I, craning our necks from the mouth of the wagon. The cowboy’s expression seemed to change. He looked at us, then back at David.
“You ought to think of the females, Sir,” he said, in a different tone entirely. “This road ain’t no place for tender women. I wish you would hear my advice.”
David sniffed. “We will be just fine.”
The cowboy tipped his hat to us. He spurred the horse back into the gloom.
“He had a mean look, didn’t he?” Mary whispered.
After that, it was a hard thing to get her to shut up. She didn’t stop talking about Indians, and what they did to white women, and what they would do to all of us if we landed in their hands. In Boston I remember her pouncing on these dime stories in the papers about unfortunate settlers falling into the hands of The Savages. Now she had more than writing to fuel her imagination. David told her the cowboy had said nothing about Indians, but she was convinced that he had meant Indians, and we would all be killed before sunset.
I broke my peace to talk to David.
“Ain’t you gonna listen to that man?” I said. “We ought to take cover.”
“I meant what I said,” he growled. “I’m in no position to be slowing down.”
“You shoulda hired a guide,” I snapped. “You gonna get us both killed. Or worse.”
Since the news he’d opted to stay within the wagon, leaving Petey the horse to follow us behind, and the irritated driver in front, alone. He now held on to a long-stocked hunting rifle. This annoyed me but pleased Mary.
“David,” she cried. “You must listen to Ada. We should take shelter.”
“Ada needs to learn her place,” he said. His hand squeezed into a fist. “It’s a shame your daddy didn’t put more respect into his nigras, Mary.”
“Ada’s not our slave,” sniffed Mary.
Despite the cowboy’s warning, the rest of the day went on without interruption. We made about twenty or so miles, hitting a nice stretch of grassland. A break from the shabby brown scree and thorny brush from before.
David eventually fell asleep. The wagon filled with his snores. I scooted over to Mary.
“What’s he in a hurry for?” I hissed. “California ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
She shrugged. Her eyes were redder than ever. “He said he’s got an appointment with some business partners.”
“What business?”
Her eyes flicked over to him, quickly, checking if he was awake. She licked her dry lips.
“There’s some money under the wagon bed,” she whispered. “I think he’s meant to deliver it.”
“What?”
“I don’t know how he got it. But I saw him put it in when we stopped in Dodge. Gold and papers and things.”
I looked over to the snoring David. His boots rested firmly on a small box of tools. Under that box, I could see the tiniest gap in the cedarwood. I shuffled closer. My Papa had been a carpenter. I’d seen him put false bottoms on things once or twice. Here, I could just make out where the planks of the wagon bed had been removed and put together again- badly.
“There was a lot of it,” Mary said, watching me. “Must be worth thousands.”
“Now, where the hell did he get that kind of money from?”
Her eyes widened; she pressed my palm between her fingers. “Ada, I wish you wouldn’t swear.”
Mary’s priorities in a time of crisis would always amaze me.
I said, “Well, if he got that money some bad way, and someone caught him, they could call us his accomplices.”
“It’s the folks following us I’m scared of,” said Mary. “D’you think Indians take our money? They could have it and let us alone-”
“There won’t be no Indians, Miss,” I said firmly. “And no one’s gonna get us. I think David told the driver to take us the long way. Them cowboys won’t take the herd through the mountains.”
“I hope so,” shuddered Mary.
She put her head on my shoulder. I patted her hand.
“I feel like the heat might kill us before the Indians do,” she mumbled.
We stopped in a dry, waterless patch that looked like every one before it. David and the driver unhitched the horses. Mary and I got a little fire going, and soon we had a nice dinner of beans and bacon coming along.
David watched me the whole time. He and the driver took sips of mash whiskey and said nothing, just watched.
“Ain’t she pretty, Stewart?” said David, pointing the bottle at me.
“Mmmph,” said the driver.
“Was mighty surprised when Mary said she was comin’ along. But I didn’t make no fuss. I’d do anything for my wife.”
“I wisht I had a wife,” the driver supplied.
“Maybe Ada would marry you.”
“I ain’t marryin’ no nigra,” growled the man. He glared at me, as if I had made the suggestion.
David continued, “I just think it’s not right, for a nigra to be prettier than a white gal. Not right with nature.”
Mary colored from her chin to the tops of her ears. She said, tremblingly, “Don’t talk like that, David.”
“Mm? Oh, Mary. You know I’m just teasing.”
As they kept up that witty exchange, two men came racing up to our camp, startling us all. Mary sucked in her breath and grabbed my sleeve. But the hoof beats were not Indian horses, and the men hailed us before they stepped into our light. Their shirts were dark with sweat. We recognized the first man from before. The other we didn’t know.
“Woah now,” said David, annoyed. He reached for the rifle.
“Easy,” said the unfamiliar cowboy. He stepped near the fire, but didn’t sit down with us. I’d never seen a man so tall in all my born days. I looked at his horse in alarm. How did he fit all those legs on one animal?
“My name’s Cal Sampson,” he said brusquely, to David. “You’re the leader here?”
David got to his feet. He’d had a little more than his share of drink. “That I am,” he said. Cal Sampson took his hand and shook it with some force.
“A pleasure, sir. Now I don’t mean to be rude, but you greenfoots need to get the hell out of here. Starting right now.”
“Pardon?”
The big cowboy leaned forward and put his face right into David’s. “Skedaddle. Scram. Take a long walk. There’s about four languages we speak in these parts and I can tell you to get the fuck out in each of ‘em. I make myself clear?”
It was interesting to watch David splutter a response.
“I won’t repeat myself,” said Cal Sampson, speaking over him. “There’s some hills over yonder you might crouch behind. But out here you’re as good as sitting ducks. I know these folks, and they’re a vicious sort.”
“Is it Indians?” screeched Mary.
Cal Sampson blinked at us. I gripped Mary’s arm to stop a further outburst. I felt if he looked at us again we would burst into flames.
“No, Ma’am,” said Sampson slowly. “It’s worse than Indians. It’s some Texas outlaws after our herd or anythin’ else they can find.”
They swung up on their horses again. As they turned to leave, a sudden shot cracked out in the distance behind us. We froze. Another shot followed. Then another.
“Haw!” shouted Sampson, jerking his knees. The men broke off from our camp at full gallop.
For a moment we froze. The driver’s heavy breathing replaced the sound of beating hooves. Then, startled by the same unknown signal, we burst into action.
I broke off from the camp and set to running for the hills. Mary began to cry, and tried to follow me. David stopped her with a vicious backhand. Her head fetched up against the wagon wheel with a crack. She shrieked and curled in a bawl. Behind us we could hear the cries of the cowboys, trying to corral themselves into formation.
