John C. Horst's Blog, page 14

His glance drifted down further to an ample bosom.

William Robinson Leigh Francis was tired and spent. He was in one of Redshirt’s private rooms in the main house, a great honor as a man of Francis’s stature would not normally rate anything more than a cot in the bunkhouse with the rest of the hands. He was all alone and thinking of Mags when he heard a knock at the door.

He opened the door. Standing there, as pretty as always, was Redshirt’s daughter. She smiled provocatively at Francis. It made him a bit uncomfortable.

“Hello, Francis.” She slid past him, not waiting for an invitation to enter the room.

“Hello, Yanaba. How you doin’?” He looked down on the top of her head as Yanaba was a tiny young lady. His glance drifted down further to an ample bosom. He was pleased to see her, but felt a little nervous, as it was not appropriate for her to be in his bedroom. It was not so much that he was afraid of what Redshirt might think or do, Yanaba was a grown woman in the chief’s eyes and her actions were her own. But Francis had Mags on his mind. Mags would not like a beautiful Navajo princess in her fiancé’s bedroom.

Yanaba was nearly eighteen and had been a widow for more than a year. She had two living children and she was the most beautiful woman Francis had known up until Mags. She liked Francis very much but was married when he came into their lives. Now that her husband was dead, Yanaba thought it would be good to test the waters.

She reclined on his bed, her long raven-colored hair, freshly brushed, cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. She wore a sheer sleeping gown of silk covered by a brightly colored Chinese robe. It was flimsier yet and hung open, not by accident. She was barefoot and rested one leg on the bed, revealing her shapely brown legs to mid-thigh.

She could tell right off her expedition would not be fruitful.

“Who is she, Francis?”

“Who’s who?” Francis was being a bumpkin again. He did not know how transparent his feelings were about Mags. The princess could tell, but Yanaba’s actions and dress were also distracting him and he was finding it difficult to concentrate.

“The woman you love.” Allingham

She was stunning, with skin bronzed to nearly the color of her Indian companions...

William Robinson Leigh Finally, after much prayer and recitation, the women arrived, Hilola bringing up the rear, the last to descend the ladder. She saw Ramon standing in the corner and smiled coyly at him. He thought back to the memory of his cousins receiving their first Holy Communion. Hilola looked every bit as devout and proud.

Hilola was chosen as one of three to participate in this ceremony. This was a great honor. One woman was quite old, Hilola apparently represented the middle-aged, and a young girl, representing youth, made up the trio. All had a cincture of woven cloth covering their pubic region, otherwise they were nude. Ramon felt that his heart would explode. The idea of Hilola bared for all to see made him feel, not jealous or even embarrassed, but proud. She was stunning, with skin bronzed to nearly the color of her Indian companions, her golden locks tied in the custom of the maidens, with great blonde rings of plaited hair resting on either side of her head. She stood solemnly, without her usual ubiquitous smirk, as she copied the solemnity of her female companions. She was offering the respect due the situation at hand.

They eventually stood in a line, in a corner of the kiva, after much singing and dancing and recitation by the shaman. The bald priest approached each one. Taking in a mouthful of water colored with yellow pigment, he blew a fine mist over the face, neck, shoulders, and breasts of each woman. He then grabbed up more pigments of many colors and, with his fingers, decorated them over the yellow groundwork he’d previously applied by mouth.

For the rest of the night, the three women stayed with the shamans and Ramon, dancing as the men chanted and sang. It was exhausting and exhilarating. The fatigue caused by the constant utterances and dancing put them all in a dreamlike state and only after the sun came up were the two lovers finally reunited in Ramon’s apartment. Allingham: Desperate Ride

Young lady, in all my ninety-three years on this earth, I’ve never seen such a leg.

Black Stockings XXI ~ Warren Criswell He remembered the collective gasp that went up as, without warning, she put her foot up on one of the powder kegs next to the counter, hiked up the skirt of her long dress exposing her lovely leg and thigh, to check how the gun would ride there, secreted away under her frilly black garter until needed.

He remembered grinning when Arvel blurted out, Je-sus, Chica, you’re going to give these boys a heart attack. He was genuinely embarrassed. He remembered Chica’s reply, Don’ say Dios name in vain, Pendejo. These men are all married; they’ve seen a lady leg. And then old Mose Harper, a man who was likely the oldest resident of Bisbee, leaning forward and, in his frail, laconic voice commented, Young lady, in all my ninety-three years on this earth, I’ve never seen such a leg. The Mule Tamer II, Chica's Ride

...one hand on the grip of her six shooter and the other holding the head by its long hair.

Salome Maria came back several hours later, the head was as pale as porcelain and no longer drained blood or other fluids.

As she shook the head dry, she heard someone coming and stood, one hand on the grip of her six shooter and the other holding the head by its long hair. She looked like Perseus standing there.

The prospector seemed to know the story, as he averted his eyes from the head, looked down at the ground and held up his hands in surrender.

“Howdy, Miss.”

“Hello.”

He was a gringo and the first one Maria had met, other than the priest. He wore heavy work clothes of canvas and pulled a mule along behind him. He did not expect to find another human being out here, let alone a beautiful female holding a severed head.

Maria returned to her task and wrung out the burlap bag. She put the head in and tied it off.

“That fellar’s seen better days.” Maria's Trail

...and now she reclined, like Bathsheba, her long tresses moved aside, revealing all her womanly charms.

Susanne by Gérardin By five he was as clean as possible, wearing a new shirt and trousers. Even his beard was now clean with the matted hair, knots and food remnants combed away. The hair on his head was combed and even trimmed a little. He waited outside the Princess’s door until her man called him in.

Finally, at a half past five, he was there, in her little lair, her bordello of happiness and his heart beat so strongly, even painfully, in his chest that it radiated up his neck and past his ears until he could easily count his pulse banging away at his eardrums. She was breathtaking, and now she reclined, like Bathsheba, her long tresses moved aside, revealing all her womanly charms.

She was so clean, as she lay, legs splayed, her feet bare, the soles pink as a baby’s. Even her feet, toenails and fingernails were clean. She smelled heavenly.

She smiled a decadent smile at old Eli; she was actually enjoying this a little. He was mesmerized; she could do anything to him at this point. She could make him end his own life if she had it in her to do so; but she didn’t. She knew he was a pretty good prospector and if she could endure an hour with him, she might get him to come back with chunk after chunk of the yellow gold. She could be rich after half a dozen hours.

“Pour us a drink, Eli.” Allingham

“You’re a Jew, aren’t you?”

Geri Dunn “What’s your name, mister?”

“Hobbs.”

“What were you thinking about so hard just now, Mr. Hobbs?”

“I beg your pardon?” If she were not so adorable, Hobbs would have considered her impudent.

“You were thinking real hard. You had a funny look on your face and I was just wondering what you were thinking about.”

“Oh, just, just thinking. Nothing worth talking about.”

“I’m Kate Walsh, eh, Katherine, but everyone calls me Kate.” She reached out to shake his hand and Hobbs complied, taking her small hand gently, engulfing it in his great fist.

He looked about for an adult. A child such as this should not be on her own, and Hobbs suddenly wanted to admonish both the little girl and her guardian.

“Don’t you know that it is not wise to speak to strangers, little girl?”

“Oh, my daddy says it’s all right when it’s a lawman, or when it’s a man of God.” She looked him over. “You’re both, and besides, my mommy is right over there.” She pointed to a pretty, well-dressed woman conducting business with an agent. The woman smiled and waved to the little girl. Her attention had been diverted from the business at hand.

Hobbs felt a sense of relief, and smiled at the precocious child.

“You’re a Jew, aren’t you?” She did not wait for a reply. She held up a hand and her face turned serious as she remembered what her father had taught her. She straightened her back and gave the greeting she’d been taught. “Shalom,” nodding seriously as she said it.

“Shalom, yourself.” Hobbs was pleased and gave her a broad smile.

“Those are our mules,” she pointed to the barge dragging a good distance behind the churning wheel of their craft. “My mommy and daddy and Uncle Bob breed the best mules this side of the Mississippi.”

“I see. They look to be fine beasts.”

“And every one tamed and trained, either for hauling or riding, so as to suit the customer’s requirements.” She sounded like an advertising poster saying that, and it tickled Hobbs to hear it from such a tiny voice.

She looked her stock over as they floated across the river. “I’m going to miss them. I love those mules. Lots a people don’t like mules. Say they’re stubborn and mean, but they’re not, mister. My daddy says that mules are the smartest animals on earth, and he even counts people in that.” She grinned. “My daddy says a mule is smarter than the human trying to get them to do things, and once you know that, you can get a mule to do anything, as long as it fits into the mule’s ideas of what’s right, and not what’s wrong. As long as you only ask the mule to do the things he thinks are right to do, you can get them to do anything for you.”

“Well, Miss Kate, I am certain of that.” Hobbs hid his cynicism. He never did like mules very much. Allingham: Desperate Ride

...and a delusional whore the only thing separating him from the booty.

William Etty “Promise what?”

“You won’t call me that again.”

“Okay, I promise.” He laughed and decided to tease her a little. “What are you, then?”

“I’m an entertanoar.” She straightened her back proudly as she made the declaration.

“A what?”

She thought hard about it, knew that wasn’t quite right and tried to remember the correct word. It wouldn’t come to her so she repeated the same word, with the accent on a different syllable this time and an extra consonant for good measure. “An entra, entratrainoar.”

“An entertainer?” Ramon laughed politely. She was an entertainer certain enough.

“No, no, a person that’s in, in business. I’m a business lady.” She poked herself in the breast with a thumb, defiantly.

“Oh, an entrepreneur.” He stood up dramatically and, pretending to pull a hat from his head, made a deep bow. “A thousand pardons, my lady Hilola. I did not know.”

She was pleased and smirked a little as she pulled her knees to her chin. Ramon grabbed a blanket from inside the tent and carefully covered everything below her waist. It seemed everything she did, every movement she made, was designed to keep him distracted.

He laughed out loud. What a predicament. What a crazy predicament to have more money than he’d ever need in his life. Money enough to put him in good graces with el Presidente Díaz, and set his mother up in a fine Spanish villa for the rest of her days, all sitting, just a few feet away, and a delusional whore the only thing separating him from the booty. Allingham: Desperate Ride

“I am an old woman, Francis, and no longer sleep.”

Frida Francis sat with Rosario and they waited for the night to pass. The animals were celebrating down in the worst part of town and, as the Irishmen were not on guard, were raising hell this night. Shots were almost continuous, shouting and cursing and retching abounded.

Rosario would keep watch while the men rested.

“Mamacita, you need some sleep, too.”  Francis looked out the little shooting hole next to the old woman lying on her belly. He put an arm over her and with his hand squeezed and patted her pudgy shoulder lovingly. She wanted to cry. Francis was not himself. His movements had become even more erratic and unsettling and Rosario knew what he was planning. He had no intention of living beyond morning and there was little, if anything, she could say or do to change his mind.

“We’ll give ‘em hell tomorrow, won’t we, ma’am?”

“We will Francis. Now go, lay down, get a little sleep.”

“And you, what about you? We should take turns, Mamacita. We should take turns.”

“I am an old woman, Francis, and no longer sleep.” She smiled and watched him and waited. She hoped that he’d drift off to sleep. She could not stand to see the misery in his eyes; could not stand to see into his tortured soul.

He got up and poured more coffee. He drank cup after cup. He was so keyed up, now, that he had a tremor in his hands and voice. He returned to his spot next to the old woman, pressing his body against hers.

“Rosario?”

She was a little shocked, taken aback as he addressed her by her proper Christian name; Francis never did this. It was a habit of his to come up with nicknames or to call folks something besides their real names.

“Yes, Francis?”

“Do you think there’s ghosts?” He didn’t look at her but rather peered down the street, watching, waiting, hoping for someone to kill.

“I don’t know, Francis, perhaps.” She thought about it and decided to talk a little, hoping it might calm him down. “You know, in our country, we are Catholic. But there is the pagan celebration, el Día de los Muertos, the day of the dead.”

Francis grinned. He always liked to hear about things of which he knew nothing. She continued. “Many people believe that the dead are among us all the time, and many even set a table for them, just as if they were alive.”

“And you, do you do this, Mamacita?”

“No, Francis. I would have to have a table that was as long as the barracks to accommodate so many of my dead.” She smiled and crossed herself. Allingham

“Don’t call me a idiot, ya half-breed Mexican ass.”

She pulled off her dress and quickly dove in, teasing him by flaunting her womanly charms and just as quickly hiding them from his view by sinking into the swiftly moving water. “Come on!” She playfully splashed him and got everything around the fire wet. It hissed and steamed. She had generally made a mess of everything.

Ramon stood up, red faced and furious. “Stop it, idiot!”

“Don’t call me a idiot, ya half-breed Mexican ass.”

“Whore.”

“Mesesto.”

“Mestizo! He glared at her as he wiped the water from his face. “You’re so damned dumb you can’t even insult a person properly. Mes-ti-zo. Mes-ti-zo. How many times must I tell you, you stupid bitch.”

He turned and dug through the boat’s cabin and found a couple of trade knives. He walked in the direction of the garden and remained gone several minutes.

Hilola sat by the fire and dried off and dressed as she waited for him to return.

“Where’d you go?”

“To pay the Indians.”

She laughed and looked at him as if he were stupid. “You chump. The deer probably eat more than we took. Those savages would never miss it.”

“Don’t call them that. Savages!” He looked her over. “Who’s calling who a savage?”

He packed up and got on board. He looked her in the eye. “Come on, we’re leaving.”

“I’m not ready to leave yet.” She threw another bit of wood on the fire which Ramon had thoroughly extinguished, and looked back at him defiantly.

“I don’t have time for this nonsense, Hilola. Come on, we’re wasting daylight.”

“Who the hell died and left you king of this company? Sure weren’t Jimmie.” She laughed out loud at the thought of Jimmie in his watery grave. “He’d have a fit if he could. Which he can’t ‘cause he’s dead.” She threw her head back and screamed at the sky. “Dead! D-E-D, dead!”

Ramon stood, glaring for a long moment. He was furious with her. He considered manhandling her and pulling her back on board so they could move on, but he thought better of it. She was wild and unpredictable, this one. He wondered who’d come out ahead in a fight.
Allingham; Desperate Ride

“Oh, just admiring my pretty Hopi goddess.”

Luna -Evelyn De Morgan For the rest of the night, the three women stayed with the shamans and Ramon, dancing as the men chanted and sang. It was exhausting and exhilarating. The fatigue caused by the constant utterances and dancing put them all in a dreamlike state and only after the sun came up were the two lovers finally reunited in Ramon’s apartment.

They were given breakfast to be eaten alone. Finally they stretched out on the grass mat of a bed, and Hilola made love to Ramon, still wearing the wildly painted body decoration and native hairstyle. It was as if they had both transcended their earthly shells and were now living the life of another, otherworldly creature.

Ramon woke her as he gazed at his love, now minus the loincloth. She smiled at the lust in his eyes. “What are you doing?”

She stretched and looked even more appealing to him, lying on their grass mat bed.

“Oh, just admiring my pretty Hopi goddess.”

“Hopi goddess, that’s silly.”

“No it’s not. You did a wonderful thing, saving that child and,” he looked about, hoping to find an example, but didn’t. “You know, they make little dolls of creatures, spirits, and I bet somewhere, at this very moment, someone is making one of you. I’d swear it, Hilola, I’d swear it.”

“Well, that’s all they get of me.” She pulled him onto her body and looked down, disappointed that the paint was now fully dry and beginning to flake off. “You get everything else.” Allingham; Desperate Ride