8

Then, to my amazement, the choking sobs started. Those morphed into anguished cries of “WHY?!!” She fell face-down on the ground, arms above her head in supplication and made primal sounds of agony.
I jumped out, ready to rush down to her. Then it occurred to me that she had chosen that time and place because she wanted privacy. I needed to just wait there and make sure she was safe. So, I stepped back behind my tree.
I was also mystified. Which woman was it, and what had caused so much anguish?
The wailing finally stopped, and the woman got shakily to her feet. She began to walk up the trail past me, still gently sobbing. She came into the clearing that we had created cutting wood for the fires, when the full moon bathed her face. My heart almost stopped. It was Aimee!!
I was hunkered behind my tree peering out as she passed. She never noticed me. Her eyes were downcast. I was turning to rush back to the wagon, before she discovered what I’d witnessed, when I heard a voice say flirtatiously, “What are you doing out here little lady?”
I recognized the voice. It was Wilbert Cooper, one of the train’s guards. He was a scruffy fellow, about Pat’s general height – a rootless drifter. He was mostly useless but apparently, he was the guy tasked with patrolling the camp tonight.
Aimee stopped. You could see her doing the calculations. Her long raven hair was in a braid and she was in a light sleeping shift, just pantaloons underneath. She knew she was helpless if this guy had ideas.
Of course, Aimee was no shrinking violet. She was an experienced whore. She turned and said in a seductive tone, “Just had to do some nightly business. What do you have in mind, Cher?”
It was obvious that Aimee was simply playing for time. But her tone of voice and the way her body shifted into a suggestive stance killed me. I thought to myself, “You know what she is!! She’s protecting herself in the only way she knows how.”
But the thought of Aimee giving herself to this rancid cowhand, as the price of her grief, was just too much. So, I stepped out from behind my sheltering tree and said in a menacing tone, “I’ve got this cowboy. So, why don’t you just go back to whatever it was you were doing.”
That startled both of them. Aimee jumped and covered her face. She began to make a high-pitched keening wail. She realized that I’d seen her at the riverbank.
Cooper pulled a fat Navy Colt. He leveled it at me and said with a smirk, “I’m going to fuck this little lady right here. We all know she’s a whore.”
The first thing that you learn in a focsle fight is that the best option is instant attack, the more unexpected and violent the better. I was holding the . 44 down by my leg. So, Cooper thought it was harmless. He knew I’d never get a shot off before he drilled me. But he’d missed the fact that the barrel extended my already long reach by that essential foot.
I stepped to his left. It took him a fatal second to move the barrel of his Colt. That was all the time I needed to sweep my own gun up and knock his hand into the air. I followed that with a devastating punch to his ribs. Something went “crack.” He went “oooofff” and staggered back.
Then I was on him like an enraged grizzly. I pulled the pistol out of his hand, threw it into the underbrush, spun him and pinned his arms to his sides. God! He stank. I had considered snapping his neck. He was much smaller than me and wiry thin. But I didn’t want Aimee to see that. So instead, I said, “Apologize to the lady cowboy.”
He hesitated. I tightened my grip. He cried out in agony. I could feel his ribs actually move. He gasped, “Sorry!!” I released him. He staggered forward and landed on his hands and knees.
I administered a kick to his head that put him out for good. He would have a serious headache in the morning and maybe some broken ribs. But at least he’d still be alive. Aimee was looking at me through veiled eyes, I knew I had to say something.
I spread my hands in a heartfelt gesture and said, “I wasn’t spying on you, honest. I followed you because I wanted to make sure you were all right. That’s all… You’re very important to me.” She looked shocked. Then she gave me a long glance and said, “Je comprendre, tres bien. I’ll tell you about it someday.”
With that, she walked daintily past me and climbed back into the wagon. Aimee was her usual private self the next morning. It was like the previous night never happened.
*****
Most of the train continued along toward Raton Pass and Santa Fe. But five wagons plus our stage turned up the Arkansas. There was a wall of mountains in the direction we were headed. Fortunately, we weren’t going any further than Pueblo.
Then we would turn north on the Old Trappers Trail, which was the preferred route up through the Sierra Madres. The Trapper’s Trail was forty years old. It had been used by Freemont and Kearney in their early expeditions west. It led north from Pueblo along the front range of the Rockies east of Pikes Peak and thence over the continental divide, between the Arkansas and South Platte Rivers.
We were making our tedious way across high plains, with endless short-grass prairie. That terrain looked like it supported anything that had hooves… buffalo herds, deer, even cattle. The Indians stayed invisible, which was fine with me since this was Apache territory.
Water was critically important in that arid landscape. So, the trail meandered along a series of creeks. We’d been travelling for days, basically northwest, when we got to a place called Jimmy Camp. Jimmy Camp was a former trading post, named after a crude adobe hut, that Jimmy Hayes, an early trader, had built on the lowland near a creek. It was rumored that he was killed and buried there.
Jimmy Camp was known for its crystal-clear spring and there was plenty of grass for grazing along with the cool shade that the pine and cottonwood trees afforded. The Trapper’s Trail branched north at that point and we planned to pick up the Cherry Creek trail. It ran along a tributary of the South Platte and led directly into Denver which was our destination.
I was beginning to feel serious discontent as we neared the end of our journey. For months, Aimee had been my constant companion. She was always sitting next to me in her buckskins, with the Henry across her knees, self-sufficient and enigmatic. It forged a deep bond. Even though neither of us acknowledged it.
Yet in actuality, my faithful partner sold herself to men for money. I had no thoughts about the right, or wrong of that. I had righteous indignation to fall back on with Faith. But it was never a matter of betrayal with Aimee. From the moment we’d met I’d known what her profession was.
Then again, my closest, and really only, companion in life would be open for business as soon as she got to Denver. And THAT ate at me. I even sensed the irony in our circumstance. It was clear that Aimee just wanted somebody to love. While, at the same time, she could never have that love because of what she did for a living.
That impossible paradox was like a dam holding back the river of our mutual desire. I assumed that Aimee sensed it too. And she was keeping me at arm’s length to save both of us the grief. Yet, it made us the closest pair of strangers in the entire west.
We’d never said two words to each other about our past. But there was no circumstance that I could conceive of that would cause such a clearly strong and intelligent woman to become a whore.
I understood why the rest of the women were in the trade. Aphrodite and Bathsheba were free now. But they had been sold to May as slaves. I never knew for sure, but Lin and the three Mexican girls were probably in the same boat. Abigail was a whore because she had several screws loose. Nevertheless, what had led a strong, spirited and absolutely stunning creature like Aimee to debase herself like that?
Added to the mystery, was Aimee’s performance by the riverside, back a month ago. I had never seen so much grief in my life. It made the mourning that I’d done the day I learned of Faith’s betrayal seem almost lighthearted.
Whatever motivated THAT would no-doubt unlock the mystery of the woman, who I had fallen so hopelessly in love with. But alas, the only way I was going to find out would be if Aimee told me. And up to that point she had shown no inclination to open up.
Most of the time, Aimee treated me like I was her man. She did all the solicitous things a wife would do, cooking and taking care of my day-to-day needs. Once in a while, she’d even wash my union suit. She said the trip was a lot more pleasant if I wasn’t stinky – Women!!!
The one thing she didn’t take care of were my sexual urges. But I didn’t expect her to. And it wasn’t because she sold it for cash. It was clear that Aimee “the prostitute,” was the armor she put on whenever she had to face the harsh reality of life, red in tooth and claw.
The other Aimee behaved exactly the opposite. The occasional flash of the deeply loyal and caring woman underneath the false flag of the fatalistic whore was heartbreaking.
I had unhitched and tethered the mules and I was sitting in the late afternoon sun pondering our bleak situation. That was when I heard the boom of the ten-gauge. It came from the direction of the spring. I grabbed both . 44s and dashed down the path toward the sound. There was the rattle of gunfire and then cries and shrieks.
I dashed into the clearing around the spring. When I got there, I found five panicked women in shifts. They’d obviously been bathing. Aimee was also in a revealing shift. But she was levering the Henry for another shot and Aphrodite was vigorously reloading the ten-gauge.
The sight of Aphrodite’s monumental body in a shift was slightly more intimidating than the vast mountain range to our west. I had the inappropriate thought, “How can Pat EVER survive THAT!!”
Pat was just getting to his feet, obviously woozy. There was what looked like a dead Indian a short distance away and there were whoops coming from the direction where Aimee was shooting.
Everything stopped when I appeared. Aphrodite turned to Pat and smothered him in her vast bosom. I was thinking “serious suffocation.” The girls were all yelling and pointing in the direction of the whoops, which were diminishing in the distance.
Aimee fired one last round and then walked quickly over to me clutching the Henry. For the first time in forever I saw her agitated. She said in a strained voice, “They’ve taken my sister. We have to go after her.”