ORDEAL

Spring was coming to the Piedmont as I traveled 
northward. It was 1781 and the news was not good. 
Cornwallis was busily rousing the loyalists in the 
Carolinas; Arnold was rumored to be on his way to 
Virginia, and I still had a long way to go to get back 
to my company up on the James. The road had been empty 
all morning but now a carriage lay ahead of me with no 
team to be seen. Odd, thought I.

The girl that sat on the pulled-down steps of the 
fancy rig looked sad indeed, nearly despondent, head 
down and knees wide apart. She was drawing on the 
ground with a stick and, I suppose, did not hear my 
slow approach. She glanced up as I dismounted and gave 
me a wan smile. There was neither team nor driver in 
sight so the problem was obvious. 

She stood and my cock stirred. She was a true stunner, 
dressed in the height of fashion and sporting a mop of 
dark red hair that cascaded over her shoulders and 
well down her straight back, a torrent of copper 
curls. I am, I know well and truly, a fool for 
redheads. She put her hands on her hips and thus 
spread open, her short jacket and displayed her 
bulging chest and trim waist. I smiled and knuckled my 
forehead, admiring her youth and beauty, wondering 
that I did not frighten her. Her luscious breasts were 
prime, true pippins, high and hard pointed.

"Need some help?" I asked, hopefully.

"No," she said, lifting her chin and showing her 
teeth, "I enjoy sitting out here in the middle of 
nowhere. I'm learning to love nature. What kind of 
tree is that?" She pointed with her stick.

"Hickory," I said, stepping back toward my mare and 
grabbing a stirrup.

"Wait," she said. "Wait. You're the first person I've 
seen in more than an hour. Where in the world am I? 
Don't go."

"What happened?" I asked as she resumed her seat, and 
I squatted on my haunches near her, member swelling 
along my thigh. Her impressive bosom was nearly bare, 
with her jacket flaring open as it was and her trim 
waist only emphasized the roundness of her hips and 
size of the jutting boobs with their prominent nipples 
that seemed to have escaped her tight-laced corset. 
She was lightly freckled, long-legged and, for a girl, 
wide-shouldered. She surely was a year or two short of 
twenty, still soft and fuzzy, but ripe for all that.

"Team ran off," she said absently. "Something broke, a 
bolt or some such thing, and the driver scurried off 
after them. Down that way." She nodded westward along 
the very narrow and deeply rutted trail.

I waited, watching her hazel eyes and soft lips, 
wishing I could look at a young woman without 
picturing her naked and heaving beneath me but 
enjoying the idea nevertheless.

"You hungry?" I asked, hoping to get my mind off her 
body.

She nodded, tossing auburn curls, "Ravenous."

I fetched some sausage, cheese and dark bread from my 
saddlebag, presents from the women I had recently 
helped to widow. Since my canteen was about fifty-
fifty white lightning and well water, I hesitated to 
share it. I used my bayonet to slice off some bread 
and made her a thick, one-sided sandwich, and then I 
squatted again and ate with her, enjoying her nearness 
and smell.

"Anything to drink?" she asked, chewing hard on the 
dry bread.

I uncorked my canteen and handed it to her. "Sip 
first," I said, "it's more than water."

She sipped and her eyes widened. She drank a bit more, 
swallowed and shivered. She handed me back the canteen 
and nodded her thanks. "Whew," she said. "What is 
that?"

"Corn whisky," I said after I downed a mouthful.

"How far is the next town?" she asked, chewing hard.

"No idea," I told her. "I'm just heading north, toward 
Richmond."

"Are you a soldier?" she asked, licking her fingers 
and then buttoning her tight-fitting jacket, hiding 
her luscious globes, as the sun started to sink and a 
cool breeze rose.

"How did you guess?" I said, giving her my best smile.

"I saw the gun," she said, "and the size of your 
knife. And there's something about you." She cocked 
her head to the side and her eyes sparkled with 
mischievousness. She took a deep breath and licked her 
lips. "My husband is a soldier, an officer," she said. 
"Captain."

"Virginian?" I asked.

"Loyal Legion," she said proudly, "cavalry and light 
artillery."

I nodded, not surprised. Her clothes were likely worth 
more than most poor folks' houses and land. "No 
servants?" I said, lifting an eyebrow.

She shook her head. "My maid ran off t'other day, to 
the coast I suppose."

"Slave?"

She nodded. "A gift from my father." Then she wrinkled 
her forehead.

"Could you take me somewhere, to the next town or an 
inn, someplace I could wait." She looked about and 
scrunched her lips together, furrowing her forehead. 
"It's getting dark. I really don't want to spend the 
night out here."

"Wait for what?" I asked as we both stood. She might 
have been five-foot-five or so, maybe nine or ten 
stone, a very healthy young woman, probably built for 
endurance rather than speed. I was eager to mount her 
and find out, and I pulled at my waistband to adjust 
my britches a bit, riled but not ready.

"Well," she said, looking worried, "I'm sure my 
husband or some of his men will come looking for me. 
We were supposed to meet at a crossroads before 
sundown. My driver's a drunken fool."

"Dangerous to ride in the dark," I said as the 
cloudless sky turned various shades of purple.

She nodded. "You think I'm safe here; I mean to sleep 
here?"

I shook my head and swallowed a smile. "No ma'am, 
nobody pretty as you are is safe anywhere."

She lifted her chin and looked me in the eyes. "What a 
thing to say."

We heard the jingle of harness chains before the 
riders rounded the curve in the woods, four of them, 
single file and at a fast trot. I squinted and she 
waved.

"See," she said, "I knew it, my husband's men. See 
those hats?"

I saw them and quickly looked for escape routes, 
figuring my horse was a goner. The small group rode up 
in some dust and their leader, a sergeant by his 
stripes, doffed his hat as I backed away. "Mrs. 
Harrison, ma'am?"

"Yes, yes," she said happily as he dismounted, hitched 
up his britches and scratched at his groin, lips 
pursed. "I certainly am glad to see you." She nearly 
bounced with pleasure.

The man looked her up and down as one might size up a 
cow or horse at a county fair's stock auction. 
"Yes'm," he said, rubbing his hands together, "yer 
driver tole us you was here. An' who's this big 
feller?"

"Man that stopped to help me," she said. "Gave me some 
food."

"That so," he said, waving his other men off their 
horses and then looking at me, eyes narrowed. "Why 
don'chu git on yer way."

I stepped back toward my horse, and he smiled.

"Shank's mare's good enough for you, snot-nose," he 
said. "All these damn farmers have horses," he said to 
his three leering men. They were looking at the woman 
with absolute hunger, all but salivating, elbowing 
each other and passing whispered comments. I knew that 
look since I was guilty of it enough times myself. 
"Git on," he said to me, jerking his thumb at the 
woods. "Yer cob's the King's horse now."

I hesitated and looked at the lovely young woman. Now 
she appeared rather fragile as well as very luscious 
and desirable.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, raking at her mop of 
hair.

"It's all right," I told her, backing up as the three 
men tied their horses to a scrubby tree and then 
removed their belts.

"Go on, shit-kicker," the sergeant said, his hand on 
the hilt of his short sword as he leaned toward me, 
"This here piece is too good for you."

I scurried along the trail into the woods without 
further talk, shamed by the laughter behind me but 
fearing what was to come. I stopped at the first big 
tree and waited, leaning back and listening, fear 
mixing with anger. I wanted the woman, of course, but 
I also wanted my horse, and four men were in my way of 
both goals.

"Mark," asked the sergeant as I quietly came back 
though the forest, trying to figure out how to get at 
them without harming her, "wasn't you first las' time, 
on that there milkmaid yestidday, the fat one?"

I could not hear the answer.

"No, you fool," the girl shouted, "I'm Captain 
Harrison's wife!" Cloth tore. "No, please," she cried 
again, real fear in her plaintive voice.

"You're a prime piece a'ass, thas' what you is," the 
sergeant growled at her as I crept closer. "Strip! Yer 
turn Bob; whip it out an' git it ready."

"No," she yelled, and then there was a general laugh.

"Lookee there," the sergeant said happily, "she done 
fell down, stupid cow. Go on, Bobby, y'kin poke `er 
right there. Jim, grab `er arms."

I circled around as quietly as I could, hoping to get 
to my musket, but when the woman screeched, I stopped 
being patient, drew my bayonet and charged though the 
brush, some sort of scream in my throat. They seemed 
to freeze as I burst from the woods.

One man was kneeling between her kicking legs with his 
white cock in one hand and her thigh in the other 
while another grinning soldier held her wrists high 
above her head with a boot on her shoulder. The other 
two were standing and watching, enjoying the show of 
bare legs, auburn bush and flailing feet. I skewered 
the sergeant first, right in the kidneys, kicked him 
aside and swung at the other standing horseman, 
slicing open his arm and chest. 

Then I yanked the would-be rapist up by his hair and 
drove my big blade all the way through him, striking 
bone as he howled. It would not come out so I left the 
bayonet in him and went after the man who had been 
holding her arms. I kicked him in the balls, then in 
face and the ear after he fell, stomped on his chest 
and got turned at the woman's warning cry just in time 
to see a bleeding soldier pull the pistol from his 
gasping sergeant's belt. 

As he cocked it and held it up toward me with both 
hands, the woman rolled over and kicked him in the 
belly. The pistol fired almost straight up and I was 
on him in a second, throttling him and then bashing at 
his skull with the pistol butt until it caved in.

I stood panting, hands on knees, looking around as the 
young woman got to her feet, brushed her clothes and 
came to stand beside me, her hand on my heaving back, 
holding her dress together at her bared breasts.

"I don't understand," she said. "They were my 
husband's men."

I put my foot on the chest of the one they had called 
Bob and drew my blade out of his limp body. I cut the 
throat of the man I had stomped since he was gasping 
for breath like a fish out of water. I heard the women 
moan and choke as I did that. I wiped my blade on his 
jacket, sheathed it and then faced her. "Like I told 
you," I said, my heart thumping. "You're just too damn 
pretty. These here were animals, not men." I snorted 
for breath.

She came into my arms and I held her until she stopped 
shuddering.

"Now what?" she said, looking up at me.

"There's a ravine over yonder," I said, pointing, 
"passed it coming up the hill. I'll toss the bodies in 
there." I flipped her the sergeant's heavy purse, 
turned him over on his face and dragged him away by 
his feet. I enjoyed watching his body tumble down the 
hill and disappear in the brush. In short order, the 
other three went the same way, vanishing as if they 
had never been. 

When I scuffed away the trail of blood and got back to 
the carriage, it was almost fully dark but a sickle-
shaped moon was rising. The girl sat on the step where 
I had first seen her, a bit more bedraggled but just 
as handsome and desirable, perhaps more so with her 
torn bodice hanging open and her double-mounded chest 
turning silver. My foul mind churned up an image of 
the knot of hair between her long legs.

I squatted before her and put my hand on her knee. 
"Now we have four horses, but no way to hitch them 
up."

She nodded and gulped.

"Never saw anybody die before," she said quietly. 
"That was awful"

I handed her my canteen and she took a good draught. 
So did I and then another before I corked it closed. 
The liquor burned its way down to my riled member.

"My husband will find me," she said, nodding to 
herself.

"Not tonight." I stood. "But we'd best make a small 
fire just in case anybody is out looking for you. 
Keeps the critters away."

"How could you do that?" she asked as she stood beside 
me and put her hand on my forearm. I knew what she 
meant.

"My job, missus," I said. "I'm a rebel."

She stood on tip-toe and kissed me, kissed me hard and 
quick, grinding her belly into my groin, hands linked 
behind my neck, lips parted. "Never kissed a rebel 
before either," she said with a small chuckle. She 
tasted awful good, but I had managed to keep my hands 
off her for some reason.

I gathered some brush, my mind whirling, while she 
picked up an armful of sticks along the old road, and 
we made a conical fire. She went back to sitting on 
the carriage step.

"Would they have killed me?" she asked as I poked the 
fire and leaned bigger sticks into the flames.

"Likely," I said. "Then told your man you were gone 
when they found the carriage."

"And, and attacked me, raped me?" she asked quietly. 
"All of them?"

I did not answer. I knew she knew.

"Will you sleep beside me?" she asked. "Hold me? I'm 
shaking; my heart is pumping madly."

"That's too much to ask," I said, sorely tempted, 
"I've got a blanket roll. You sleep in there. I'll 
stay out here."

"It excited me," she said. "I must admit it, all that 
blood, the violence of it, the fear, that man holding 
my leg. I can still see the look on their faces, like 
you said, animals. And yours; you were wild."

"You kissed me," I said nobly, trying to ignore the 
swelling beneath my codpiece, the usual result of a 
brief and bloody fight and a lovely and willing woman. 
"That's enough reward." Her eyes pleaded, and she 
stood with her elbows back, making me a present of her 
lush body, the top of her tight-fitting dress hanging 
open, an invitation.

"Come," she said, pulling me up from the small fire. 
"Don't tell me nonsense. I'm no child." She kissed me 
again, and this time my hands had a field day, a town 
fair, a tented circus. Her buttocks were round and 
firm, her back smooth and muscular, her breasts soft 
and hard-pointed when I shucked her out of her jacket 
and popped open her remaining buttons. She gasped and 
gnawed at my mouth, writhing in my grip and working on 
my belt buckle with real fury as my hand slid down her 
stay-covered belly.

My belt and bayonet fell to the dirt and I pried open 
my fore-flap and released my rigid pike. It sprang out 
as if made of spring steel. She was shaking her head 
and making only small noises when I pushed her back to 
the side of her carriage, lifted her skirts, spread 
her legs with my knee, hefted her butt and impaled 
her, sinking all the way to the hairy hilt with one 
long thrust between her trembling and sucking lips. 
She was ready, ripe and dripping, but she uttered a 
moaning cry and rocked back, lifting her chin when I 
struck bone. 

I pulled up her legs one after the other, and she 
wrapped me in them and arched her back so only her 
head and shoulders touched her rig as I plunged 
repeatedly into her welcoming quim, and she quivered 
and rippled in response. She gasped and cried out in 
pleasure while I simply grunted and gritted my teeth 
rocking the carriage relentlessly by pressing her 
against it, flexing from the knees. We came nearly 
together, me first, jolting us both, and then she 
climaxed with a wild howl and clawing fingers, bucking 
like a wild thing on my fully extended spear, her feet 
kicking my rump.

As she sobbed and her legs slid down, I lifted her 
hips and withdrew, dripping and still blood-hot and 
oak-hard. Wordlessly, we undressed to shirt and shift 
and adjourned to the interior of her carriage. I was 
not aware there were so many different possible 
permutations in such an enclosed space. The one I 
believe I liked best had her upon her back on one of 
the seats, her feet drumming on the roof of her 
carriage and my toes braced on the side while I banged 
my thick root into her. We were serenaded by the 
carriage springs. We both panted out our joy in each 
other's strength. 

Eventually, I was on the floor, my knees bent to fit 
the space, and she was atop me, riding like a mad 
cavalryman, intent on climbing the hill of pleasure 
one last time before we were both exhausted. She did 
not make it, but the attempt was well worthwhile, and 
she fell into my arms, her extended nipple in my 
sucking lips, mewling out, "God, god, god, god."

When she was curled on one seat and asleep, I covered 
her and went out to roll up in my blanket beneath the 
carriage after prodding our few cinders back to life 
and seeing to the horses. I tried to recall how many 
times we had done it as I fell into well-earned sleep 
but gave up and simply dropped into darkness.

The sky was turning pink when I awoke. As usual, I was 
impossibly hard and desperately in need of 
satisfaction, of friction, of sex, of release. I 
stepped up into the carriage, still wearing only my 
shirt, and sat across from the sleeping female, who 
looked barely nubile, her hair in wild disarray. She 
was curled into a small shape, knees near her chin. 

A hazel eye opened, looked up at me and then down at 
the head of my engorged member which stood trembling 
at a very rare angle, rising howitzer style, 
unlimbered, loaded, primed and ready to fire. She sat 
up, holding her blanket about her bare body and faced 
me, our knees touching, her charms in shadows, nipples 
prominent in the cool air. She looked into my stubbled 
face and smiled.

She reached out a hand and touched the overheated 
monster's fat head with a fingertip, pushing it down 
and watching it spring back up. She licked her lips. 
"I don't think I can," she said very quietly, looking 
again into my eyes. "That's awfully big."

I smiled, exercising great patience. "We can but try." 
Lust surged through me, and my rigid member jerked 
spasmodically.

I brought her over to my knees, blanket and all, 
scooted myself forward and pulled her to me. She bit 
at her lower lip, put her hands on my shoulders and 
her knees on the seat edge, raised a bit so her firm 
boobies were right in my face. The head of my thick 
pike found its longed-for home and penetrated at once 
as her knees came past my buttocks.

"Ah," she cried, eyes closed as she sank down on it. 
It was a damn tight fit. I thrust and she wiggled. In 
and up it went, jerking and throbbing. She made small 
noises, like a trapped animal's, deep in her throat 
and then, once we were firmly joined, she sighed out, 
"Ahh, ah, ahh. I’m ruined." The carriage rocked and 
shook as we enjoyed each other. She leaned back 
against my grasp and came repeatedly until she 
collapsed on my shoulder, spent and limp, moaning and 
trembling. 

I pulled her off my blood-hot pole, turned her limp 
body about and brought her back to my still-eager ram, 
entering her soaked quim's bruised lips very slowly, 
my hands gripped together at her waist, fingers 
probing for her sensitive nubbin. Deeper and deeper I 
sank, and she groaned and shook, leaning away from me. 
Before I was done, she was holding herself bent 
forward with her hands on the opposite seat and 
meeting me thrust for thrust until I finally exploded 
in her, crying out in joy and relief like a wild 
creature and pumping time after time unto her silky 
depths.

We dressed quietly, kissed briefly as I did up her 
stays, sipped some whisky for breakfast, and I rigged 
a blanket side-saddle for her. She found her jewelry, 
and we were off by the time the sun had topped the 
trees and the squirrels were chattering at us. By high 
noon, we had seen no one else on the narrow road and 
found not a single place to get some food, not even a 
farm house or the promised crossroads. It was as if 
the world had vanished while we slept. Then we topped 
a hill, and there was an inn, a mill, a silver stream, 
a smithy's furnace and a troop of blue-clad men with a 
neat row of pale tents.

"Maybe we should part here," I said to the young 
woman, my hand on her firm thigh, hoping she might 
say, let's swive first.

"Um," she said. "I suppose. But I can't ride in as if 
nothing happened."

I nodded and down the hill we went and right on into 
the midst of the loyal cavalrymen. I dismounted by the 
largest tent and helped her down. An officer appeared, 
a very young one, and she stopped him. 

"Thompson, isn't it?" she said.

He nodded and bowed.

"Where is Captain Harrison?"

"Called away, ma'am, some sort of meeting." He glanced 
at me and then at her disordered hair and torn 
clothes.

"This his tent?"

He nodded and held the flap open for her. I followed 
her inside and held her close in the semi-darkness.

"You'd better leave," she said. "I'll think of some 
sort of story."

I kissed her again, kneading her rump, tonguing deeply 
into her throat.

"I'll stay at the inn, just in case," I said after I 
pulled my mouth from hers.

She nodded and looked away.

I pushed my cock down my leg and left.

Several hours later I was enjoying the dead sergeant's 
money when one of the tavern girls came and handed me 
a message, a folded piece of paper. "Waiting outside" 
was all it said.

And she was, cloaked and hooded. We kissed and 
grappled our bodies together.

"He won't be back until this Saturday," she said when 
her mouth was free. "I told that ensign I did not want 
to sleep in a tent."

I brought her in under my arm and took her right up to 
the bed I had rented, sure no one had seen her face. I 
paid the woman I had hired for the night two shillings 
and told her to find another man. She smiled and 
kissed me; I smacked her rump. "I'm right next door 
t'you all," she said. "If you needs anything special."

By the time I got back to the room, she was completely 
bare and under the quilts, waiting for me with a wide 
smile. I got out of my clothes and into her arms in 
about ten seconds, and we were hard at it in twenty, 
making the bed rattle. She had been wonderful in the 
carriage, tireless and inventive, but now, in this big 
bed, she was a wild thing, insatiable and indomitable. 
We made the war and the world vanish in the throes of 
the two-backed beast. I did my very best, but ended 
begging for quarter, for mercy, for sleep.

She petted my shrunken manhood, kissed its bruised 
head and turned her back to me, giving me a sniff of 
disgust or regret. I snuggled close, felt inadequate 
and we slept, my hand cupping her heavy breast.

I awoke with the young woman shaking my shoulder. 
"Hist," she whispered. "He's here, my husband. I heard 
his voice outside there." She pointed to the front 
window. The sun was up, barely but up nevertheless. It 
was as late as I had slept in some time.

I rolled out, fully engorged, my huge horn bobbling 
and rearing well before me, gathered up my clothes and 
boots and scooted out the door and then into the next 
room down the hall. The bar girl I had planned to 
roger rolled over, yawned and welcomed me to her small 
bed without a question. 

At about the time she was gasping as I sank my huge 
ram all the way into her well-oiled folds, boots 
thumped up the steps and someone pounded on the door I 
had recently left.

"Margaret," a man's voice said, and the woman 
answered. The bawd beneath me wrapped her legs about 
me, and I arched up automatically, driving my shaft 
still farther in, getting down to doing what my body 
demanded, deep plowing, row after long row, turning 
over her flesh, furrow after furrow. We grunted 
together, and I broke a sweat.

Loud voices invaded my attention to the pleasurable 
task at hand and then the door burst open while I was 
reared above the girl on fully extended arms and 
hammering my long ramrod into her at better than 
double-time.

"This yours?" the uniformed man in the doorway asked 
as I missed a couple of beats and the women hammered 
my chest and whinnied. He held out my belt and bayonet 
while behind him in the hall stood the young woman, 
wrapped in her quilt, suppressing a smile as I still 
rogered on despite the interruption, my hips serving 
the woman automatically with half-foot thrusts.

"Looks like it," I said, feeling my stones begin to 
swell and tremble as I rammed away, nearing 
fulfillment.

"What was it doing under my wife's bed?" he asked, 
shaking the heavy weapon to me.

"Gave to her for protection," I said, grunting with 
effort as the girl writhed and bucked on my spear, 
gasping. I congratulated myself briefly on the quick 
lie, and then returned to the job at hand, ignoring 
him as best I could.

"I want to talk to you," he said, closing the door.

I made to pull it out of the wench, but she locked me 
in with her strong legs and forced me to finish what 
we had so well begun. When I finally stood, well 
satisfied, she lay spread-eagled on her rumpled bed, a 
smile on her wide face, her groin a swamp.

"Damn that was good," she hoarsely whispered. "You can 
come back anytime and bring your long friend with 
you."

I got into my clothes and knocked on the door of the 
front room.

"Come," said a man's voice and I entered.

The woman was still in bed, the quilt held to her 
throat, eyes gleaming.

"Well," he said, still angry, "tell me about 
yesterday, about how you come to know this young 
woman, my wife here."

Behind him she nodded and smiled.

"Met her on the road," I said, swallowing the 'sir' I 
might have said. "Seems her team broke loose and her 
driver went after them."

"She told me that," he said. "Go on."

"Then some men, yours I suppose, wearing that uniform 
anyway, they came up." I paused and she gave me a 
small nod. "She thought they had come to rescue her."

"And?" said the man, "what happened? Go on."

"Well, you aren't going to like this; they attacked 
her, and I ran back when I heard her yell. There was a 
fight."

"A fight?" he said. "A fight, with my wife in the 
middle?"

I nodded and behind him, she smiled.

"It didn't last long." I said.

"Then what?" he asked.

"In the morning," I said, skipping over the most 
pleasant part of the story, "we rode on in to your 
camp, and last night she came to sleep here. I'm not 
sure why, but after that attack I can understand. She 
saw me downstairs. I was drinking some, with the bar 
girl."

"And you gave her this thing?"

"Yep," I said. "She is awful pretty, you know?"

"I do not believe a word of it, but I'm sending men 
back for our carriage. Perhaps they will discover the 
truth."

"Tell them to look in the gully," I said. "There's 
four bodies they might want to bring back."

"Four?" he said, looking from his wife to me.

We both nodded.

"A big sergeant and three men," I said.

He shook his head and handed me my bayonet.

I stood and buckled it on. "I'll be leaving," I said.

"Wait," he said and went to the window. "Wentworth," 
he called, "bring two men up here."

"Robert," the woman on the bed cried out.

"I intend to find the truth," the young officer said, 
turning to face me, his hand on the hilt of a fancy 
sword.

"Don't you believe your wife?" I asked, my hand on my 
bayonet.

He licked his lips as feet thudded the steps.

"Don't kill him," the girl cried as I drew my weapon. 
I hit the man in the jaw with my big blade's handle in 
my fist and he was jarred back. I jumped through the 
window, slid down the porch roof, landed on my feet 
and ran for the shed. I tossed my saddle on my mare, 
checked my musket and lit out, not even looking back.

A mile down the dusty road, not hearing any pursuit, I 
slowed and let the good horse amble on, blowing hard. 
Then I debated what to do. Something called me back. I 
knew I should go on and let the two of them make 
peace, but it did not feel right. I trotted back 
toward the inn wondering why I was doing that.

The room was empty. The bartender made a face at me. 
"He hauled her out back. She was crying."

I found them in a stall, led there by the crack of a 
whip and the girl's yips. He had her cornered and 
stood at the open end, legs spread, a long carriage 
whip in his hand. She wore only her shift and stays. 
Her forearms, legs, chest and back bore bloody 
stripes. Her hair flowed wildly as she jumped back and 
forth, trying to dodge his blows.

"Stop that," I yelled, and the man spun and flicked 
his whip at me, nicking my forehead as I raised my arm 
in defense. I grabbed the end, wound it in, pulled the 
handle from him and tossed the whip away. He came at 
me with a roar, and I hit him in the face. He sat 
down, legs outthrust, blood in his mouth.

"You rogered her, didn't you?" he demanded, wiping his 
mouth with the back of his hand.

Behind him the girl shook her curly head and pulled 
her shoulder strap back in place, ending a fine 
distraction. Her firm breasts were globular and tipped 
with cherries.

"Well?" he demanded, spitting, "she's a round-heeled 
trickster, isn't she?"

"Your wife," I said, yanking him up to his feet and 
pulling his face close to mine, "is as good and brave 
a woman as I've ever met. She fought for her honor 
when it would have been wise to yield." I shook him 
some, dislodging his small wig.

"But she slept with you," he blubbered, "admit it."

"I never talk about such things," I said. "If she was 
mine, I'd believe her."

"You can have her," he cried. "Take her away."

"You're a fool," I said pushing him back into the 
stall.

He drew his sword with a hissing ring and thrust at my 
stomach, jumping forward on his right foot and 
slipping in the straw. I moved aside and kicked him in 
the knee. He crumpled and I put a foot on his wrist 
and disarmed him.

"Don't kill him, please," the young woman cried. 
"Please." She grabbed my hand and pressed herself to 
me.

"What did you tell him?" I asked.

"The truth, that you slept under the carriage," she 
said. "He won't believe me."

I pulled the man up by his coat collar. "It's the 
exact truth," I said, happy to be saying it.

She turned to him and held his arm. "Come, come," she 
said soothingly. He thrust her aside and ran from the 
shed. I let him go, resisted the temptation to take 
the girl for a quick roll in the hay, held her briefly 
and patted her rump. Then we headed back toward the 
inn, she a step behind me on the stones.

Her husband dashed through the back door, a big pistol 
in his hand. I spun and tackled the women down to the 
dirt as he fired. I believe I actually felt the ball 
pass over us. I scrambled to my feet and saw that he 
was cocking the other barrel. I drew my bayonet and 
charged, weaving slightly across the twenty paces that 
separated us, ducking low and hoping. He waited, a 
smile on his face, and had me dead in his sights at 
only two or three steps when he pulled the trigger. 
The pistol misfired and as the pan flashed, my knife 
disemboweled him before he fell back against the 
doorjamb screaming, his gripping hand filling with his 
guts.

His wife came and touched his close-cropped hair and 
then held my arm, ignoring the blood dripping from my 
big blade.

"He was a fool," I said, enjoying the feel of her, the 
warmth.

"Yes," she said, her lips quivering, a tear on one 
cheek.

Men from the camp retrieved the body while the girl 
stayed in her room. The young ensign asked me a few 
questions and then talked with the inn keeper. I went 
up the stairs and found her dressed, her hair combed, 
quite composed, hands in her lap on top of her laced 
stays.

"I'll go back to my own home, to my father's place," 
she said.

"Where's that?" I asked, admiring her coolness as well 
as her beauty.

"Oh, twenty-some miles," she said with a very small 
smile. "Upriver. If we get started right after they 
bring in my carriage, we might get there before dark."

"We might?" I said.

"I doubt it," she said, holding back her smile, "the 
roads are so poor."

It took us five days to cover the twenty miles, but we 
spent four of those days in a large bed on the second 
floor of a stage-line's big inn. We took turns 
fetching food and drink and left the room only to 
visit the privy or walk, hand in hand, by the stream. 
Those days fit the definition of idyll.

Her father was a brisk man of fifty or so who owned 
several hundred acres and a dozen adult slaves. She 
was welcomed like the prodigal son, and I was fed and 
cozened like some sort of hero.

"I never cottoned to that Harrison boy," her father 
told me. "Too straight-laced he was. Prissy; you know 
the kind."

I nodded and smiled. "Your daughter's a very fine 
young woman," I said, "I'm sure she'll find a better 
man now."

"Good looking, ain't she?" he said. "A lot like her 
ma, God rest her."

"Yessir." I said.

After supper, we parted very politely and courteously. 
I went back to the war with real regret.