On the Banks of the Bighorn Part Eight - by Tracker

 

After the Deluge.

 

Patrick Chen’s Narrative

 

The noon day sun was shining brightly in the sky, as I gazed across the roaring waters of the Bighorn.  I had lost Juliette.  She was on the other side of the river and due to the raging current, I could not reach her.

 

The water is wide, I cannot get over

Neither have I wings to fly

Give me a boat that can carry two

And both shall row, my love and I

 

I had no boat that could bring Juliette back to me.  I sat down and analysed the situation.  The river could not be crossed by me here, and the bridge upstream was closed because the water was too high.  Until the Bighorn dam stopped releasing its excess water, I could not get over the river to Juliette.  The release would go on for the next twenty-four hours.  To retrieve Juliette from the Lazy F, I would need the co-operation of its owners.  I would have to approach them carefully not to put their backs up.  So that likely meant chartering a plane or helicopter on this side of the river, and flying over, was out. I would need to approach them humbly without arrogance.

 

The next option was the police, of which this remote area didn’t really have any.  In this county, there was only Deputy Morrison, who didn’t seem to have much in the way of resources, while the county to the north seemed out as too dangerous.  I could not report her as a missing person because I knew where Juliette was.  Besides it would be awfully embarrassing to Juliette to report how she ended up naked on a ranch, and with her shyness, would she want to be found by strangers?  The more I turned it around in my head it appeared that, much as I hated the idea, the only possible action was inaction, at least for the next twenty-four hours.  I am not good at inaction.  It chafes.

 

I wound up the generator on the little portable weather radio to keep it charged, so I would know immediately once the bridge was  open.

 

It is going to be a long twenty-four hours.

 

Naked and Alone

 

From Juliette Chen’s narrative.

 

Well this is an awful fix.  I am on the wrong side of the Bighorn from Patrick.  He is on the east bank and I’m on the west.  That is not the worst part.  I am naked, almost totally naked.  Well, naked almost everywhere it counts. I do have my watch and I am shod. When I took off my hiking books to go swimming, Patrick surprised me by pulling my Vibram FiveFingers swim shoes out of his backpack.  I love those for backcountry swimming. Now though, his thoughtfulness meant my feet would be protected in this wilderness of rocks, thorns, and rough prairie grasses.  I would not be a naked, barefoot slave girl, just a naked slave girl.  That is not an improvement for my modesty, but a big step forward for some comfort. If I get too lost, I can navigate with my watch.

 

The Bighorn, according to the last radio bulletin we heard, will be up for at least a day.  I can’t look for Patrick to rescue me until sometime tomorrow afternoon. It is warm now at noon, but I will need some place to be warm and safe once the temperature drops with nightfall.  I don’t want to be exposed to sight on the open prairie in my current state. And only Patrick can be the one to rescue me.  I just can’t have anyone else see me in this condition.  Not only naked, but with a rope collar and leash.  Damn Patrick and his special knots!  There is no way I can untie a knot that took him half an hour to tie.  If I was in my normal hiking gear, I could cut it with my belt knife, no matter how much it hurts Patrick to see rope cut instead of being untied.  Of course, if I was in my normal gear, I wouldn’t be naked.  Naked and without sunscreen.

 

I began to climb up the walls of the valley from the river.  I didn’t want to be seen naked by the river and wanted to scout where I was.  The sun beat down as I made the long climb.  In places the skin on my legs was cut by some of the sharp grasses.  After about twenty-five minutes, I was up out of the valley of the Bighorn and onto the prairie.  The sun on my skin warmed me, but also make me conscious of my nudity.  No, not nudity; nudity was a choice.  I was naked.  I did not have the choice to put on clothes. Under the prairie sky, on the wide open prairie, I felt even more naked than when I was with Patrick in our little valley.  Due to the greater moisture in the lands closest to the river there were more trees. Eventually all the water not absorbed by the land flowed to the river and the trees benefited from that. Water means civilization, cities, large populations.  All the big centres are on water, the smaller places on smaller rivers, the larger on the larger.  There were few people living around the Bighorn, but the Bighorn flowed to the Yellowstone, the Yellowstone to the Missouri, the Missouri down to the Mississippi, and the mighty Mississippi rolls down to the sea of the Gulf, in New Orleans.

 

“Ol Man River,

Ol’ Man River,”

 

I sang happily for a moment, until a breeze reminded me that I was naked under the big sky, the land stretched for miles of prairie, the Big Sky of the Big Sky country stretched to the far horizon, and I was a naked speck under that sky, with no place I could take cover.  I was so vulnerable under that sky, no tree to shield, like our little birch grove back at our camp.  I missed that little grove and its protection now; that little grove where Patrick had slave-raped me, bent over a dead tree.  It was a long time from our grove and a long time from this morning. Curse those European women who wouldn’t let me out of the water.

 

Still, I needed shelter against the cold of the night.  I had been following a little stream since I climbed out of the valley of the Bighorn. Water, I knew, was essential to maintain life and I would stay close to water.  The prairie grasses were taller here, coming high up my legs, even though I am tall for a woman, almost 5 feet, nine inches. Sometimes a wispy top of a tall stalk would touch my thigh, sometimes even tickling the inside. The tops of the grasses, being new growth, were softer than the prickly stalks nearer the ground. The sensation of being tickled was pleasant so I walked towards and through an area of higher growth.  That was indeed pleasant.  I wayward tuft tickled the place where my legs came together. I touched myself there.  I had been naked almost a whole day, most of it outside, I guess I was more conscious of my body than usual.  I touched myself again.  I could not believe I was going to do this, outside, and in daytime.  The braided leash was constantly swaying against my body, touching my skin as I walked, and was arousing beyond what I had believed. I lowered myself to the ground and touched myself, gently and intimately. Slowly then furiously I brought myself to the edge.  I wasn’t sure I could do the final betrayal of my respectability.  My eyes were closed. I had the vision I sometimes did when I was alone in the dark.  A masked stranger, unseen in a dark room, lit only by a patch of moonlight through a curtained window, was ravishing me.  My secret dream, my secret shame, my secret in the dark, came to me as I stimulated myself on the bald prairie in the bright sunlight.  As I went over the edge, he took off his mask and his face was the face of Patrick.

 

I sank back exhausted and slept a dreamless sleep.

 

I woke up after what must have been a few hours, judging by the position of the sun. A rough tongue was licking my face. A very wet and sloppy rough tongue. I opened my eyes. A calf was licking my face, doubtless to get at the salt in my sweat, of which there was a lot on such a hot day. I looked down my body.  The absence of sunscreen was obvious as I had the starts of a burn.  If I was out too long tomorrow before Patrick rescued me I would really suffer.

 

I got up and walked over to the little stream.  I started drinking as much water as I could, as I didn’t want to be dehydrated.  That and cold were going to be the great enemies of my survival.  The calf followed me to the water, and the calf, I now noticed was followed by an anxious mother. Apparently they were somewhat accustomed to being around people, but the unconcern the mother showed at being close to a naked woman worried me.

 

I remembered the conversation Patrick and I had had on the road in about the Grand Duchy of Lutha.  My little joke that the consul of the Grand Duke could legally enslave trespassers did not seem so funny anymore. I did not want to be a slave. My dream about Patrick meant nothing except I was thinking about the fun we were having in our little scenario.  It did not mean I wanted to be ravished by strangers, or even by Patrick once the scenario was over.  I was sure about that. I was still the same reserved, even shy girl I was yesterday, even if maybe a little less shy.

 

I saw the cow start to bed down in a little depression by the stream. As her calf lay down with them I crouched down, then lay down to rest with the cattle. Their warmth, I hoped, would keep my alive during a long cold night.

 

The Next Day

 

Juliette Chen’s Narrative, continued.

 

I was cold, I was half under the calf, but the part of me that wasn’t was cold in the pre-dawn. I looked at the watch Patrick had given me just before our trip, it was only twenty after five.  The sun was not quite up, but I thought I saw lights in the distance.  I was cold, I was tired, I burrowed back close to the cow and her calf craving their warmth and a little more sleep. I snapped back awake, the light was brighter.  I certainly heard voices and horses now.

 

Oh, no, I had to hide.  The cow and calf that had sheltered me were now a danger, as they were the primary quarry ranchers would be looking for.  The cattle could not shield me now.  Slowly I disengaged from the calf, then the cow.  This disturbed them and they let out rumbling notes from their bellies.  These cows had no need to hide from the ranchers, just the reverse, I moved upstream in the little depression.  I had to get away.

 

The cowboys are coming closer now. There is no way I can let them see me like this.  I can’t be caught trespassing, and certainly not naked. I wonder if they really enforce Luthan slave law on this ranch or if it is just a story and I will just be raped!  

 

But I am so hungry.  I might have to give up just to get some food.

 

Oh, God, if only I could go back to yesterday morning and do things differently.

 

The cowboys have seen the cattle now.  I am a hundred yards away though and trying to hide in a thicket of brush.  The cattle are not running from the three mounted riders.  Why would they? I try to get deeper into the thicket, but my leash got caught on some branches. I pull but it won’t come free. I daren’t pull any harder because it will just attract attention. I make myself very small and quiet.  I must not make a sound or a movement.  I can only stay very quiet and hope.

 

“Fred, move these two away from the stream and up towards the others that Tom is herding.”  Good, maybe they will move off and leave me alone. Patrick should be here in a few hours to rescue me.

 

“Hey, Randy, that looks like a braided rope, new rope by the colour.”

 

“Okay, Smith, take Aaron and check it out.”  They are close, I must stay very still.  It is my only chance. 

 

There was a jerk around my neck.  The leash was being pulled.  I was pulled out of the thicket, the branches scratching at my skin.  Two men looked at me. I tried to hide my body with my hands.

 

“Don’t look at me!  Let me go! Oh please.”

 

A third man rode up.  He looked me up and down. “Collared”, he said, “and not by us.  Marked too,” he noted as I turned my body to hide as much of myself as I could. He did not respond to me at all.

 

“Smith, take her back to Donnie at the trucks.  Aaron, jump down and lift her over Smith’s saddle.” He looked me over. “Nice whoever she belongs to.”

 

He turned away.  “No I have to stay here so Patrick can find me. I can’t leave. Please, please.” I was in tears.

 

The boss said over his shoulder, “Patrick, whoever he is, can claim you at the loose woman Lost and Found.”

 

I gasped out, “I’m not a Loose Woman.  I am respectable.”

 

He just looked at me.  “Your naked body says otherwise.  You are not here with a responsible man, a brother, a father or a companion, nor are you here with an Owner.  So you are a woman on the loose and can be collected at the Lost and Found.”

 

Even as he was speaking, Aaron, the one on the ground, was binding my wrists with leather thongs, and lifting me on the other ones, over the front of Smith’s saddle.  Both groped me, as if it were a matter of course.  I was too worn out to make any objection.

 

The horror went through my mind that I had been found trespassing naked on the land of people who were protective of their land and cattle, and who had at least a theoretical legal right to enslave me. 

 

Smith, with me face down over the front of his saddle, rode by the man leading the cow and her calf towards a herd about two miles away.  

 

The man cried out to Smith, “You and me could take her right now. Start the day off right.”

 

“She’s marked, Fred.  She belongs to someone, see, his mark is right there on her thigh.  You know Mr Frick is strict about protecting other people’s property.”

 

“He won’t know.”

 

“He will, he is always finding things out.  Besides we both have jobs to do.  We have to round up all kinds of livestock today.  You need to get those cattle to the herd, I need to get this cattle to Donnie at the truck.  I heard on the walkie-talkie some others had been rounded up as well.”

 

“Mr Frick doesn’t know as much as you think,” the man Smith had called Fred said as he rode off.

 

Smith kept his hands on me all the way to the trucks.  Sometime on the small of my back, sometimes on my rear end, he kept me from falling off the horse by groping me.

 

I thought furiously as we rode along, I wouldn’t be raped, at least not immediately, but only because they thought I was someone else’s property. Which meant they were dealing in women. Oh I needed Patrick to come and get me right away, but it couldn’t be more than six in the morning, if that.

 

Smith greeted someone with a shout and dropped me on the ground. 

 

“Hey Donnie, another one for you.” Smith greeted the man, presumably Donnie, by the trucks. There were two big pickup trucks, an F150 and an F250 and an unhitched horse trailer.  Presumably that was how they got the men and horses out so far first thing in the morning.  There were also four naked women kneeling by the F150.  Four naked women, and I made five.  I wasn’t surprised now, just resigned.  I just stared at the kneeling women.  All had collars around their throats, not a rope collar like mine, but actual metal collars.  I could not find the strength to stand.

 

“Four collared, but only one was branded.  There has been a lot of leakage out of the corrals this year, Smith.”

 

Smith dismounted, he kicked me, not hard, but he did kick me.  “Over there and kneel with the others.”  I was too frozen to move. “Over there.”  He nodded to the line of naked women, slaves, kneeling in the dirt at the feet of Donnie.

 

Suddenly my back stung.  I jerked forward involuntarily. I looked up at Smith, standing over me with a whip, a quirt like the one Patrick was braiding. “Move,” he said.

 

I moved.  I knelt in line with the other women. I had been hit with a whip, I was naked, kneeling, in front of two men I didn’t know.  I was a long way from the girl who undressed and had sex in the dark. Smith just stood there, comparing us one to the other, while Donnie walked around us doing the same. I don’t think I was the least good looking there.

 

“Spread your legs”, said Smith to me.  Mutely, I shook my head.  I just couldn't.

 

My back spasmed again.  Donnie had had a quirt too, I again was struck.  I found I could open my legs after all.

 

“Kneel up straight”, Donnie said.  I did so, I did not want to be struck again.  A naked slave girl learns quickly. 

 

“Nice love cradle”, Donnie said, gesturing with his quirt at my wide spread legs.  This was too much, I wanted to protest, but did not.  I did not want to feel the quirt.

 

Smith and Donnie started loading the girls into the back of the pickup truck.  Each was tied hand and foot and deposited like a sack of potatoes.  As I was loaded last, I had had a good look at each of them.  I think I was very nearly the best looking of them all, though all were certainly above average. Donnie laid a tarp over us,  “to keep you all somewhat warm, for more warmth you will have to snuggle.”

 

I heard Donnie shout to Smith, “I’m off to the round-up corrals, I’ll be back in under two hours.”  Then we heard the truck start up and we drove away to our fate.

 

At the round-up corrals

 

Juliette Chen’s Narrative

 

The ride to the round-up corrals was long and bumpy.  The cargo beds of pickup trucks are not designed for the comfort of passengers.  Although we were jammed together for warmth, the atmosphere wasn’t cordial.  One slave denounced the others as ‘undomesticated’, while they all reviled each other as ‘sluts’, which I am sure they were. I didn’t say anything and I was pinched as stuck-up. There was kicking amongst the slaves.  Once, after being pinched by two girls at once, I kicked out, hard.  Because I still had my Vibram swimming shoes, someone got hurt.  Then they shut up.

 

Finally the truck stopped.  The tarp was pulled back and full sunlight fell on our bodies and our eyes which were not adjusted to it.  Donnie shouted, and a few eager hands passed us out of the truck bed, onto the ground.  With our bound hands and legs we could not stand.  Even at what had to be an early hour of the morning, there was a lot of activity, which raised dust and caused noise.

 

Donnie untied our hands and legs and bade us to make jumping jacks to restore our blood circulation. Of course, five naked women bouncing up and down will draw a bit of a crowd so I was looked on by many strange men.  I made a move to cover myself, but one of cowboys raised a quirt, so I jumped away with the rest. I looked around, as I was curious.  Looking west from the back of the truck were two lines of corrals, one line to each side of a central road or avenue, which it appeared we had driven in on. I knew we were facing west because the rising sun was behind us.

 

Some corrals were empty, some had animals.  Two, with higher walls contained women.  This was getting worse, if they had corrals build specifically for women.  All the corrals to my left, on the south side of the avenue had marks, brands, I supposed, burned into their gates.  The predominant brand was an F on its side, a Lazy F.  None of the right hand side, or Northern corrals did so.  I guessed that livestock off the ranch was kept in the right hand corrals until they were sorted into the right hand ones according to owner. Between some of the corrals there were colourful tent pavilions.  Some, it seemed, were serving food and hot coffee.  My stomach growled.  I had not eaten since breakfast yesterday, breakfast at the hands of Patrick playing at being my master.  I say playing, because here it seemed, were real masters, men who looked on naked women as livestock.  And it was as livestock that the idlers standing around us, were assessing us. If it wasn’t for the collared women, the tents and the food would have given the place the aura of a country fair or circus.

 

“Back to work, you lot,” grumbled Donnie, “you can check them out at the Lost and Found when you are on a break.”  Then he herded us around the front of the truck.

 

In front of us was a stage, as for a band or entertainments.  It was centred on the Avenue of the Corrals and in front of it ran a cross road, that to the north seemed to have cattle processing stations, and to the south had two small stone buildings or huts, then some frame buildings with open porches, likely the gathering spots for the upper echelon of the ranching community.

 

The dance stage was green, it seemed of stone, and was about two feet high with three broad green steps leading up to it.  It was about twenty-five or thirty feet long and at each end there was a wooden tripod. Between the tripods, about ten feet off the ground a long, thick spar, like a telephone pole ran. I surmised this was to carry lights or speakers for the dances or performances.

 

“Kneel in a line here, hands behind your backs.” Donnie was giving orders.  His voice had the certainty that he would be obeyed. We all knelt, me included, as no one wanted to feel the quirt.

 

“Get your legs wider apart, leash girl”, Donnie said.  Leash girl?, who is she.  Then I realized leash girl was me.  I hated to, but I opened my legs. Without being told, I straightened my back.  I knew this was thrusting out my breasts, but so many men and seen me by now, it didn’t seem to matter if more did.  But paradoxically, every time I did so, I felt more shame.

 

“Where is the stage attendant?” shouted Donnie. Quickly a young lad ran up.

 

“Sorry sir, I was just getting a coffee.”

 

“Bracelets,” said Donnie, “I have some here for the Loose Women Lost and Found”.

 

The boy ran to beside the stage and returned with a wooden box.  Donnie went to the first girl in the line and pulled her to her feet.  He took some handcuffs from the box and cuffed her hands together in front of her. I thought it was kind of Donnie to allow her the freedom of being cuffed with her hands before her.  

He dragged her onto the stage, while the lad raced up one of the ladders and out along the cross spar like a circus acrobat.  He lowered the rope while Donnie secured a hook at the end of it to the handcuffs.  He then held her hands above her head while the lad tied off the rope at a height that allowed her to move a bit, while still keeping her hands raised.  The terrible purpose of the stage and the Loose Woman Lost and Found became clear to me.  We were to be displayed here, for all to see, at the crossroads of the round-up corrals like left luggage in a lost and found.  We would be allowed to hide nothing, everything would be seen and be accessible to everyone at the round-up.  I started to blush.  There was no way I could do this.  One by one by companions was strung up, exhibited like pets in a shop, or like sides of meat in a butcher’s.   I couldn’t do this.  I meant to fight, even if they quirted me half to death.

 

“You need to be assessed by Granny Mowbray,” said Donnie.  “This way to the assessment hut.  He pulled me to my feet and led me off by my leash. More men and a few women looked upon my naked form.  I was so depleted and so hungry I almost didn’t care.

 

In the Assessment hut.

 

Donnie led me to the nearest of the stone huts.  He knocked respectfully, then entered.  Inside there were two young women, dressed like nineteenth century schoolteachers, with long dresses, with high necklines.  They rose when Donnie came in and curtseyed. 

 

“Granny Mowbray?”

 

She won’t be here until nine.  She has duties at the Ranch House until then.”

 

“Put this one in one of the cells, please.”  Donnie was even respectful in his speaking to these women, not like the tone in which he addressed me.

 

“Granny Mowbray will have to assess her, even if it looks like she belongs to someone.  It will save time if she isn’t claimed by nightfall.”

 

“Can you chain her up, please,” said the taller of the two women. “We would rather not touch her if we don’t have to.”

 

Donnie nodded, “Anything to oblige.”  He took me over to a table by the iron bellied wood burning stove and removed my watch and my shoes.  My last possessions.  He put them in a labelled box. I was grateful for the heat from the stove.

 

“In case she is claimed.”  He put iron shackles, actual iron shackles on my wrists and ankles.  He was going to put an iron collar on me, but stopped.  “I guess you already have a collar.”

 

Then he took me into a small back room and chained me to the wall and went out.  I small bit of light came in through a barred window high in the door.

 

“Hello”, came a voice from the other side of the cell. “What is your name.”

 

“Juliette”, I said. “Juliette Chen.”

 

“Juliette.  Fancy. But you should forget about the last name.  Slaves don’t have them.”

 

“I’m not a slave!”

 

“You look like a slave.”

 

“It’s a mistake.”

 

“It always is, dear. I made a mistake and now I am in here.  I’m in for a bit of a bad day.”  She sounded remarkable cheerful given our circumstances. “My names Lorna. Never mind my last name. You couldn’t pronounce it.  It’s native American, or Indian to you maybe.  I made a mistake and now I am here.  I found a break in our fence line yesterday, cut.  Likely those survivalists, somebody wanted to cause trouble between the ranchers and our People. We have a small reservation northwest of here. We raise tatanka for food, for sale, some for ceremonies.  Tatanka is buffalo to you, or bison to be correct.”  She seemed happy to go on without any input from me.

 

“I should have contacted the ranch, but they were all busy with the round-up, so I just left a message for my brother Ira and took off with my pony and a packhorse to get our bison back.  They are not domesticated, so it is hard to get them to move where you want them.  It took most of the day, but I did manage it, all ten back and the fence repaired, it had been definitely cut. I left a note for Ira because I had to go back for my pack pony.  It had pulled up a little lame you see and had need a bit of a rest.  That is when the riders from one of the ranches got me. Somebody had reported me, can you believe that? So, here I am, waiting to be claimed.”

 

“But if they know who you are, why bring you in?”

 

“Rules. These traditional People are sticklers for their rules. So, I have to be assessed by Nanny Mowbray, the old terror. Then they will hang me up for claiming as Lost and Found until my brother comes, and claims me, my clothes and my horses.”

 

“They will hang you up naked even though you are a neighbour?  That’s terrible!”

 

“Not so bad. It’s a day off work and I have a killer bod. I’ll be groped a bit, but a girl likes a bit of fun.  Our People aren’t as hung up on things as are the Traditional Ranchers.  The Elders will scold me when I get back, maybe even a light whipping, but I’m a strong girl. They will likely make me get married, which is okay too, it’s time I settled down.  I had my fun away at Agricultural College in Utah.  If Billy, that’s Ira’s friend Billy comes with him and gets a good look at me, he will likely ask for me.  I’m tired of him ignoring me.   What’s your story, honey?”

 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”  The positivity of this girl about an experience I was dreading annoyed me.

 

“Fine, get some rest, Juliette.  Hanging around all day may seem like it would be easy, but it takes a lot out of a girl.  That’s what my cousin Lorraine said, it happened to her about ten years ago.”

 

I dozed, and a little while later the shorter of the schoolmarms came in with bowls of hot porridge for us both.  She very kindly fed me, as I was shackled to the wall.

 

“You look so miserable, even if you are a slave.”  I was going to object, but decided to save my breath.  She had a switch tucked into her waistband.  I did not think it was just for show.

 

“Where are they, I don’t have all day.  You should have had them out for me, you knew when I was coming.”  This was a new voice, a voice accustomed to being obeyed.

 

Lorna and I were brought out to see what I can only describe as a creature out of a nightmare. Old, severe, she reminded me of Mrs Danvers from the book Rebecca.  She was dressed all in black, with a long black dress, long sleeves, and the only hint of colour a little white linen collar like a ruff. Iron grey hair, not a hair daring to be out of place, she looked at us with disdain.  “A slave and one of the People, hunh.  One almost certainly to be red silk, the other no better than she should be.”  She fixed Lorna with an eagle eye, “You ride astride, I presume.”  Lorna nodded. She wasn’t so jaunty now.

 

“Of course you do. Loose woman in many meanings of the word.  Well, off with those clothes, I need to assess you.”

 

Lorna started to unbutton her shirt when there was a disturbance outside the door.

 

“You can’t do this to me. I am Kathy Harris, I am a Free Woman of the Traditional People. My brother is Tom Harris, my dad is Caleb Harris of the HH ranch.  You can’t do this.” The last words rose to a wail.

 

Two men pushed a dishevelled woman into the room. Her dress was torn, and almost falling from her.  She looked like she had been out all night.

 

“Sorry to bother you, Granny Mowbray, but we found this one out on the prairie, and there were a few escaped unbranded slaves near her.  She denies knowing anything about them and says she was just  out late walking.”

 

“Why have you torn her dress, and why undress her?”

 

“We didn’t do that Granny. Her dress was disordered when we found her. We stopped at the HH ranch. Her father is sick, but the foreman said she had no permission to be out after dark.”

 

“Leave her here, this will need to be looked into.”  The men left, while Granny Mowbray turned to the girl. “Account for yourself, Kathy.”

 

“I’m Kathy Harris, a Free Woman of the Traditional Peoples. I was out walking.”

 

Granny’s switch cut across the bare calves of the ranch girl.  “You know what I think? I think you were overcome by ‘needs’, and I think you went to meet a man to have your ‘needs’ met.  I think you were whoring on the plains, girl.  In any case, this needs to be assessed.  Because you are a free woman we will take you first. Into my chamber for an examination.  We will see if you are white silk.”  

 

The girl looked so pale, I thought she would faint. The two younger schoolmarms closed in.  She took a deep breath and proceeded Granny Mowbray to the small room. She pulled the door closed behind her so weakly it did not latch.  We could hear everything.

 

“Take off your clothes.”

 

“I am a Free Woman of the Traditional Peoples.  I serve the Stone, the Cornerstone of the ranches. Please no.”

 

We heard the swish and then the crack as the switch hit her. Then silence.  

 

Then we heard Granny. “A love bite, and another, and here is another near your love cradle.”

 

“I don’t have a love cradle, Granny, I am a Free Woman.”

 

“Lie on the table, so I can determine if you have been opened for the use of men.”

 

In the main room, we heard bustling and then something was knocked over.

 

“Becky, come in here, this one is resisting,” Even in all the sounds of struggle, Granny’s voice was strong and firm.  Becky hurried in the room. The sounds of struggle gave way to the sound of the switch.

 

“Lie on your side, now pull your left leg up towards your belly, and let’s see how many fingers.”

 

We heard Kathy’s heavy breathing and sobs at the same time as Granny’s voice. “One, two, three, oh my, four.  Not white silk, and you juice up quickly for a virtuous woman.  Take her Becky and have the men display her on the Lost and Found.  We will see if she is someone’s secret slave and wants to claim her.  Let all the Traditional people see what a Fallen Woman looks like. Take her.”

 

Becky ushered the crying Kathy Harris out of the small room.  Kathy Harris had red switch marks on her body, and a red ribbon tied around her throat.  Granny Mowbray came out carrying Kathy’s clothes and put them in a box.  “In case her master or her family want them.  I think they should be burned.”

 

Becky and the other schoolmarm forced the naked, crying Kathy towards the outside door. She was repeating like a mantra, “My name is Kathy Harris, I am a Free Woman, it was only the once, I loved him, it was not slave needs,” over and over.

 

There was a crowd outside the door when it opened.  It was silent.  The schoolmarms handed her to two men waiting there.  I could hear, “My name is Kathy Harris, I am a Free Woman,” as the door to the hut shut again.

 

Granny looked at Lorna.  Lorna stripped off her clothes quickly and followed Granny into the little room. This time the door closed tightly.

 

When Granny emerged with Lorna five minutes later, she too was wearing the red silk ribbon.  Granny said to her, “so many men at college and up at your reservation.  I am ashamed to be near you. If you go unclaimed at the end of the day, you will likely bring a good price, and you won’t need much training”

 

Lorna kept her head down, she said nothing, having lost all her jaunty demeanour.

 

The schoolmarms took her to the door, where two men took her away to the cheers and jeers of the crowd.

 

I squared my shoulders and followed Granny Mowbray into the room.  The examination was thorough. Granny easily brought me to arousal during the digital manipulation.  I was weighed and measured.  I did not speak except when spoken to.  I did not protest that this was all a mistake, that Patrick and I had been role-playing, that I wasn’t a slave. I was too intimidated by the Granny.

 

I suspected that any woman who admitted to playing sex games with her boyfriend, who played at being a slave would be condemned as having ‘needs’.  So even though I was a respectable woman, one who was not at all as nasty-minded as Granny Mowbray, I did not protest or complain.  

 

I did not resist as I was handed over to the men to be taken to the Lost and Found for exhibition.  I did not complain as even more people in the crowd saw me naked.  

 

I was defeated.