Kajirus of Gor Chapter Twenty Five

I didn’t see either Felicity or Dexter in the morning, and there was no sign of Cindy at breakfast either. In fact, I got the impression that due to my behaviour the night before I was now being kept apart from all the other guests to avoid any further scenes. I had calmed down a little after a restful sleep and begun to reflect that perhaps I had over reacted with Dexter. It didn’t seem to take much provocation for me to want to punch the man, but that’s not an excuse for actually doing so. 

 

Breakfast was served on silver plates on a ridiculously long table, at which I sat alone, by two of the maid servants who again were dressed in those uncomfortable, shapeless, starched Edwardian smocks that servants back then wore. They responded when I said good morning, but seemed reluctant to enter into any further conversation.

 

“No one else joining me?” I enquired.

 

But they didn’t know the answer to that question. 

 

Chelsea appeared as I was finishing my coffee, after I’d cleaned my plate of the eggs, bacon and hash browns. 

 

“Good morning,” she said. She hovered in the doorway, looking positively radiant. With her face scrubbed clean of any adult makeup, she continued to look like a nineteen year old girl. 

 

“How’s Cindy?” I asked.

 

“She’s had a lovely breakfast in her room,” said Chelsea. 

 

“I thought I’d check in on her before I left.”

 

“Oh, you’ve missed that opportunity. You should have got up earlier.”

 

It was only nine in the morning.

 

“How’s Felicity?”

 

Chelsea arched an eyebrow. “Let’s not talk about Fliss, Roland. That boat has sailed.”  

 

Fine. I wasn’t going to say anything about my planned meeting with Felicity later tonight, so I simply returned to my room, packed up my canvas hold all and walked out to the gravel drive at the front of the house where Chelsea had a car waiting for me. She stood there in a long woollen skirt and another long sleeved blouse with a high collar, all Granny approved, no doubt.

 

“So this is goodbye, Chelsea,” I said as I slung my hold all into the boot of the car.

 

“I don’t believe in good byes. Nothing is set. Everything can change.”

 

I nodded. I really didn’t want to see her again. “I wish you all the best, I really do. You don’t deserve…” I waved my hand in a sweeping motion, indicating the ranch and the house and the family traditions, “all this head fuckery.”

 

“You swear a lot, Mr Martell.” She cocked her head to the side. “A Gentleman wouldn’t do that in front of a Lady.”

 

“Sorry.” And I meant it.

 

And then I was driven away from the ranch, and into town. 

 

I found a camping and hardware store easily enough, for the town catered to the influx of families, couples, and solitary hikers who enjoyed the trails running alongside the Bighorn.

 

“Best hiking experience you’ll ever have,” remarked the store manager as he sold me a tent and some basic camping supplies. “Just don’t stray much from the main trails. Folks round here are mighty picky about their fences.”

 

“Believe me, I know.”

 

On an impulse I asked whether there were any wyld wymen settlements along the trail. The man’s smile froze as he considered the question.

 

“We don’t much like them fillies, Mister. Their ways aren’t Christian. It’s paganism, what they do, living off the grid in their women only camps.”

 

“Why’s that paganism?” I had a pretty good idea what paganism actually was.

 

“Well, it’s not Christian. They probably worship false idols. Don’t you be bothering yourself with their kind, Mister. Keep clear of them and they’ll leave you well alone.” He made the sign of the cross on his chest and then added, “are you English?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Thought so. I visited London once. Saw Buckingham Palace. I have an aunt over there. She lives in Richmond.”

 

“I probably don’t know her,” I remarked. “London’s a big place.”

 

I wanted to travel light, and seeing as I would only be camping out for a single night, I settled for a cheap, basic tent, with a self-inflating bedroll, a double sleeping bag, and a camping stove. I checked my holdall into a lock up unit and bought a back pack to carry my camping gear. To be honest, I still wasn’t certain that Felicity would actually turn up. She ran hot and cold, and if there was some secret mystery to her behaviour, I couldn’t figure it out. Was she telling the truth to me or to Dexter Bannon? It was hard to tell. I couldn’t she what she gained from stringing me along, but then I didn’t see what she gained from stringing Dexter along, either.  

 

Nevertheless I stopped off and bought some food and a wine box and added that to my back pack. If Felicity did turn up, it might be nice to have a drink with her by a camp fire. And on an impulse, ever the optimist, I bought some more condoms. 

 

I had received a text message while I slept, giving me the co-ordinates of Stockton Ridge. It was the first camping spot a hiker might reach on day one of hiking out of town. It assumed you might cover fifteen kilometres to get there. I bought a fold out map of the area as I assumed Google maps on my phone might not be available once the phone signals gave out. The trail seemed relatively straight forward with plenty of land marks along the way. Much of it was Prairie ground, but there were also ravines and woodland and of course the mighty Bighorn itself. 

 

One of the things I had difficulty buying was decent chocolate. American chocolate is shit. It really is. I don’t think they even call it chocolate when it gets sent over to Europe. Probably just ‘candy bars’. I’ve always thought chocolate bars are essential for long walks with a pack on your back.

 

I stopped off at a bar for lunch and a couple of beers. Fifteen kilometres is child’s play for me, so I wasn’t worried about setting off late in the day. The sun wouldn’t set until seven o’clock or thereabouts, which gave me plenty of time to reach Stockton Ridge before dark. I could set the tent up easily enough in just ten minutes or so. 

 

The hiking trail was easy enough, passing through an area of long grass to begin with – grass that had been trampled over repeatedly so that the hiking trail was obvious. I saw no one as I walked, until about four in the afternoon when I saw a couple of hikers coming the other way. We greeted one another, I asked about Stockton Ridge, and they confirmed that the camping ground was a good place to spend the night. 

 

“You might even have it to yourself,” they remarked. “Not many people this time of year.”

 

Well, hopefully not completely to myself. For much of the walk I could see the Bighorn river to my right. It was in a steep valley, and inaccessible for the most part.  I suppose there were some trails that would lead safely down to the river bank, but the trail I was following didn’t offer any such diversions. By five in the afternoon I was hiking though beautiful woodland with tall ponderosa pine trees that put me in mind of the Last of the Mohicans. 

 

I thought of Felicity as I hiked. I thought of her shy features and that beautiful smile. And I tried to imagine what she might look like naked. 

 

I reached Stockton Ridge an hour before the sun set. It was basically a man-made clearing with some wooden tables and a water butt to collect rainfall. I could see scorched patches of ground where camp fires had been lit recently. There was a good supply of chain sawed wood for making your own fires, along with large plastic crates of sand and brackish water in case your camp fire got out of control. Safety first, guys.

 

There was a single tent pitched to one side with what looked like some wood stacked up to make a fire. A woman was sitting in front of her tent, but from where I stood I could only see her shapely right leg. She wore hiking boots, thick socks rolled down at the boot, and shorts. Felicity? 

 

I walked round, hoping beyond hope that this was Felicity, that she had indeed slipped away from Dexter and the Frick ranch, but then as I got a clear view of the woman I saw it was none other than Kelly Milford. 

 

“Roland?” She seemed as surprised to see me as I was to see her. Under normal circumstances it would be lovely to bump into Kelly again, but I was here to rendezvous with Felicity. This could possibly be awkward.

 

“Kelly, hi. I didn’t expect to see you again.” I shrugged off my heavy pack and dropped it to the ground. “You’re camping here tonight?”

 

She smiled as she saw my pack with the tent bag lashed to the top of it. “Looks like you are, too. This could be fun.”

 

No. Put her straight, Roland. You know what she’s thinking now.

 

“Uh, look, Kelly,” I scratched the back of my head and must have looked a bit awkward for she straight away sensed this wasn’t going to be another erotic encounter.

 

“Oh, I see.” She looked away.

 

“I’m meeting someone.”

 

“I see.” Kelly sniffed and tried not to look disappointed. 

 

“Uh, it’s an old flame of mine. We’re… trying to get back together.”

 

Kelly isn’t stupid. “She’s why you came to Montana?”

 

“Not exactly. Look, I didn’t know she was going to be here.”

 

“Quite some coincidence you ran into her then, unless you, like, happened to be walking back and forth in front of her house?”

 

“No, it’s not like that.” I crouched down on the ground. “We have some shared friends. Chelsea – the woman I was visiting – I think she wanted us to talk again.”

 

“Sure.” She adopted the air of a modern party girl who doesn’t feel any emotional attachment to a single night fling, a casual encounter, though I could tell it was an act. Our amorous night train encounter was still fresh in her mind. “We’re both adults. It was just a bit of fun. I knew you weren’t serious when you, like, wanted me to forget about joining the wyld wymen.”

 

“I didn’t know I was ever going to see Felicity again.”

 

“That’s her name?” She didn’t look at me.

 

“Yeah, Felicity Emery. I… I really…” I’m not good at his sort of thing. I’m really not. I hate it in fact. “I’m a bit smitten.”

 

“She must be really special, then.” Now Kelly gazed up at me, and I could see the disappointment in her eyes. “So, friends?”

 

“Friends,” I said. “And, look, I feel really shitty even having to say this, but… it’s probably best that Felicity doesn’t know we…”

 

“Of course.” She forced a smile on her face. “I wouldn’t say anything. It was just a bit of fun. We both knew the score.”

 

“Kelly, look, if things were different. You’re lovely. You’re really great. Perfect, even. But Felicity…”

 

“Look, how about we change the subject?” She reached into her tent and pulled out a bottle of Maker’s Markbourbon whisky. “Set your tent up and then join me for a drink while you wait for Felicity. And don’t worry, I’m not going to try and seduce you. I’m not that desperate.”

 

Ouch. The trace of bitterness in that last remark couldn’t be helped, I suppose.  

 

Quarter of an hour later I was sipping a cup of bourbon as I sat opposite Kelly. There was a bulge under her left sock that would be the steel ankle band she had locked in place there. 

 

“So, where are you meeting the wyld wymen?” I asked.

 

“Here. They use camping spots on the hiking trail as rendezvous points. Anthea will, like, come and collect me.”

 

It made sense, I guess, to use these places. Easy to find, and easy to get to. “You’ve spoken to them since I last saw you?”

 

“No.” Kelly was putting the finishing touches to her camp fire before lighting it. “The last contact I had was before I got on the train, and that was by e-mail. Can you get a phone signal out here?”

 

“Nope. Dead as a dead thing.”

 

“Same here.” She sighed. “I’m going to find it tough going without my daily Snapchat fix. 

 

“I imagine that’s really roughing it.”

 

She pouted and then wrinkled her nose at me. “I don’t think you take me seriously.”

 

“Well, I certainly did take you…” 

 

“Stop it,” she warned, laughing, as she wagged a dismissive finger in my face. “You’re going to be with Felicity tonight.”

 

“Yeah, I am. I’m really sorry, Kelly.”

 

“It’s fine.” She pulled out a box of large matches and set about lighting the tinder. 

 

“Your wyld wymen,” I continued, “the people around here don’t seem to like them much. The guy I bought the camping gear from talked like they were evil witches.”

 

“The gender divide is deepening, Roland. Men are beginning to resent women who find independence, instead of submitting to the patriarchy. We’ll be called names. And that’s the least thing we’ll have to worry about.”

 

“I’ll be interested to see one in the flesh and talk to her.”

 

“Oh, she won’t want to talk to you. Don’t get your hopes up. You’re part of the patriarchy.”

 

“Well, perhaps you can put in a good word for me?”

 

“And what would I say to Anthea? This is Roland, he had his wicked way with me on board a train and then threw me aside for his next conquest?”

 

“Probably best I do my own introductions, then.”

 

Kelly got the campfire going with a skill and ease I probably wouldn’t be able to match. The only camping I ever did in my youth was at music festivals. As the flames crackled, and as the sun began its slow descent on the horizon, I felt relaxed and hopeful that tonight would bring about a reconciliation and herald a new chapter in my life, one that would include Felicity Emery. Hopefully she wouldn’t have too far still go on the hiking trail. I didn’t like the idea of her stumbling about when it got dark. The frustrating thing was, I had no way of knowing whether she was on her way to Stockton Ridge, and if she was even close by. If my phone had a signal out here I could text her, but that was no longer an option. 

 

I kept a watchful eye on the trail that led back to town, hoping to see the welcome sight of Felicity appearing from around the woodland bend. 

 

“No sign of your wyld wymen, yet,” I said. 

 

“Oh, they’re probably out there, like, watching us. We just haven’t seen them yet.”

 

“What?” I glanced around the line of trees some thirty yards away, but couldn’t see anyone lurking amongst the woodland growth. 

 

“The wyld wymen will be watching you. They’re wary of men. They know this land, and they can move quietly if they want to.”

 

“Well they don’t need to worry themselves about me.”

 

Kelly smiled and placed a small piece of wood on the camp fire. “They won’t be worried about you. If anything, you should be nervous about them.”

 

“Why would I be nervous about them?

 

“Oh, I don’t know. You’re a man, out here alone, in the woods, possibly surrounded by wyld wymen. Have you ever heard of a bait girl?”

 

“No, what’s that?”

 

“Oh, the ranch hands and townsfolk would tell you stories.” She stretched her arms and yawned a little. “About how the wyld wymen prey on lone men, out here in the vast prairies and pine forests. How they lure a hapless man with an attractive and very feminine girl – a bait girl - who then plies the man with, say, strong tasting bourbon, so he doesn’t taste the Rohypnol she laced his cup with. And then he soon begins to feel sleepy. And he’s so trusting. Because the girl he met on the train is sooo pretty, and they had a moment together, and, well, he is a man after all, and what can he possibly fear from a tribe of wyld wymen? And then, many hours later, he wakes up, naked, his wrists and ankles bound, having been carried way to a wyld wymen camp where he is staked out on the ground, and under the light of the moon, ravished by fierce, strong women, dressed in animal skins.”

 

The flames crackled as Kelly looked at me.

 

“So there’s that, Roland.”

 

I could feel the pleasant effects of the bourbon, but nothing that might be tell-tale signs of a date drug like Rohypnol. Even so, my face must have betrayed a certain unease, for Kelly suddenly burst out laughing. “Oh, man, your face! Spooky campfire stories as it grows dark! Gotcha!”

 

“Very good.” I nodded. 

 

“It would be fun if it was true.” She gave me a sly sideways glance. “Come on, admit it. You’d rather fancy being carried into the woods by wyld wymen to be tied up helplessly and ravished?”

 

“Not my thing.” I prodded the fire with a long stick. 

 

“If you wriggled nicely, they might decide to keep you as their slave boy.”

 

“And if I didn’t wriggle nicely?”

 

“Oh, then they’d probably just sell you. Tch. Too bad.”

 

We both caught sight of some movement, just before the sun sunk completely below the horizon. A lone woman rounded the bend from the hiking trail that snaked fifteen kilometres back to town. She had a small day sack on her back, and from the manner in which she walked, I knew instantly that this was Felicity. I got up to my feet, ready to call out to her, to hurry over and escort her to the campfire, and just as I was about to do that, another figure rounded the corner, some eight or so paces behind her. It was Dexter. I stopped and just stared in complete disbelief at what I was seeing. She was with Dexter Bannon! Dexter walked quickly to catch up with Felicity. Unlike her, he carried a heavy rucksack across his back.

 

“Is this it?” he called out to her, not yet having seen me. “About fucking time. We really did pack too much kit.”