One Thousand White Women by Fergus Jim

Author:Fergus, Jim [Fergus, Jim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2010-03-31T21:00:00+00:00

If there is a Hell on earth, being abroad in the camp yet a third time that night was like walking through its labyrinths. A few dancers still staggered by the dying firelight. Others had fallen down in a jumble of bodies around the fire; some struggled to regain their feet while others lay writhing on the ground. Throngs of drunken savages, men and women, jostled me as I pushed by. Naked couples copulated on the ground like animals. I stepped over them, pushed aside those who came up against me, and, when it was necessary, cleared a path by swinging my club. It was as if the whole world had fallen from grace, and we had been abandoned here to witness its final degradation. Never had I felt more keenly our precarious situation. Never have I been more fearful. I thought of John Bourke, of all that he had told me, of all his dire warnings. Would that I had heeded him. How I longed now for him to hold me again in his arms, to carry me back to civilization, safe from the horror.

Then I came upon the most shocking sight of all. It was Daisy Lovelace surrounded by a group of men. She was lying on her stomach, covered in blood, her dress pushed up around her waist. The savages appeared to be taking turns upon her. I yelled and pushed through them as another fell atop her. I swung my club with all my strength and hit the man a solid blow on the back of his head. He groaned and went limp upon her, but before I could push him off, another one grasped me from behind and wrenched the club from my hand. Now they had me down, grappling and pinning my arms. I fought for all I was worth, kicking, biting, scratching, and spitting. They tore the dress from my body. I screamed again. Suddenly I heard the crack of a bullwhip, and then another, and one of the savages who squatted upon me grasped his throat and made a gurgling sound as he was lifted backwards like a child’s rag doll.

Then I heard a familiar voice, familiar in tone, but because it spoke in Cheyenne I could not place it immediately. But when the voice came a moment later in English I recognized it.

“Git the hell offa her, you miserable stinkin’ heathens!” It was the voice of my old muleskinner friend, Jimmy—my savior Dirty Gertie.

At that same moment two others came to my aid. Another of the savages was lifted off me and I heard Gretchen speak. “I kill you you gottdamnt drunken pig!” she said. “You are not my husband no more, I swear to God I kill you!” And she began to kick the man, who was too drunk to walk and crawled along the ground on hands and knees trying to escape her wrath. But Gretchen followed him mercilessly, taking measured aim with a heavy foot that sent him sprawling again and again in the dirt.

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