[This is a work of fiction. The story is an unadulterated and unabashed attempt to tickle male fantasies and perhaps some female fantasies as well. As such, the story may or may not totally conform to reality. With some historical exceptions, all other locations, events, and characters are entirely fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.]
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The day was hot and the ride in the stagecoach was bumpy, very bumpy. The trip was also quite dusty, not to mention extremely hot. I'd been out east for the last four years to a female finishing school in Virginia. I was on my way home at last.
Father, Jed Barstow, had sent me there from our Texas ranch one month after mother died. She died on a cold winter day on January 20, 1874, my sixteenth birthday. It had been a very long four years in that cloistered school.
By the way, my name is Theresa Barstow. But I prefer the nickname of Tess. Definitely not Terry, Reese, or Ressa.
I was nearly numb from the horribly uncomfortable and very long ride from the last train station that was the closest to the ranch I could get. To say I was irritable, even bitchy, was an understatement. I was daydreaming about my homecoming with Father when I heard someone up top shout, "Indians!"
The driver whipped the teams into a full gallop. My three fellow passengers looked dismayed. The ugly little whiskey drummer was literally quaking in his boots. The gambler who'd been manipulating a deck of cards most of the time he had been riding, drew a Colt pistol and seemed calm enough.
It was the cowboy sitting beside me that was the calmest of all. He simple picked up his Winchester rifle from the floor and leaned it out the window on his side.
"Get down, Miss Tess, there'll be bullets and arrows flying in a minute," was the cowboy's quick comment to me before he leaned out.
When he had boarded six hours earlier, the cowboy had introduced himself as Dell. The whiskey drummer's name was Sid. The gambler called himself Mississippi Tom. Shots rang out up top.
"That'd be the guard and his rifle," said Dell. Then Del's rifle barked. "Got that'n." Shots continued from up above. Del's rifle fired frequently now also. "They're gettin' a might close," muttered Dell.
One Indian had caught up alongside the coach on my side, opposite Del and fired an arrow through the window. The arrow missed the drummer and lodged in the throat of the gambler. Without thinking, I reached down and picked up his dropped Colt and in one, swift, spontaneous reaction, whirled it around and snapped off a shot.
The Indian's head exploded in a crimson cloud. I calmly drew a bead on a second Indian and dropped him from his horse. And then a third. I was astonished, but calm. As a frontier ranch resident before goin to school out east, I had a very good teacher in weapons and their use in the ranch foreman. From that time I also knew I had an innate ability to handle them well. This was not my first time to use a weapon in my defense, but I apparently hadn't lost the ability.
The whooping and yelling died out completely and the driver slowed the horses to a trot. We surviving passengers let out our breath and began to breathe again. We took stock of our condition and found the gambler a bloody mess and quite dead. The rest of us were shaken, but unhurt.
Dell said, "Whoever was shoot'n on that side must have done some good. Adding in my gun and those up top, we drove 'em off."
The whiskey drummer managed to say, "The missy here was doin' the shoot'n on this side. She got three of 'em."
"Three?" queried Dell.
"Yep," replied the drummer, "Exploded the head of one of 'em just like a watermelon."
"I didn't know you could shoot, Miss Tess."
I just blushed and looked down. Outwardly, I appeared calm, but I was shaking inside something fierce. Meanwhile, the driver had brought the stage to a halt to let the horses blow and to check on his passengers.
The driver climbed down and opened the door. "I'm sorry for the gent there that got kilt, but it looks like we got 'nuff fire power together to make it too dear for 'em to finish the job,"
"Likely,' Dell added.
"We should be alright for now," the driver continued, "Waco, our next stop, is only a couple of hours away. You two gents hep me get the body to the boot in back for the rest of the ride."
Sid and Dell complied and then climbed back in. The driver got back up top. With a loud crack of his whip, he got the team underway again. The drummer began sampling his stock and quickly passed out. I'd been sittin' beside Dell from the start of the trip as I had no wish to be squished between the detestable tipsy drummer and the snakelike gambler.
Dell and I resumed our forward facing seat together across from the rear facing seat of the drummer. We slowly resumed our conversation that had been on and off from the start of the trip.
I'd already told him a short version of my story and that I was very anxious to see my father again after four years.
"Growing up on the ranch, is that where you learned to shoot so well?"
"Yes."
"Amazing. Unbelievable, actually. But just the same, you did it."
"So what's your story, Dell? In the past six hours, you've told me little about yourself."
"Me? I'm just a cowboy, heading for a Waco area ranch and a new job punch'n cows. My old boss said a friend of his needed help and he'd recommended me for the job."
"So what ranch are you goin' to be riding for now, Dell?"
"A ranch called the Bar BQ."
"What? The Bar BQ? That's Father's ranch! That's where I'm going too."
"Will wonders never cease," replied Dell.
My right hand grabbed Dell's left hand and squeezed--rather hard. I didn't let go after squeezing him.
"Will wonders never cease," repeated Dell.
"I hope you don't think me too forward, but I like you and was so afraid the end of this ride would be the last I'd see of you. And I do want to keep seeing more of you. At least if you don't think me too forward, I do."
"Is that what they teach you in those fancy schools out east, to chase after men?"
"Oh no, quite the opposite in fact. And that's the whole trouble. We girls have been so corralled and held down in the school for four years, we were all about to explode. Our natural feelings had to be kept bottle up or we were harshly punished. A few were kicked out of school."
"Didn't you have dances and other gatherings with boys?"
"Yes, that was part of the etiquette training, but we only had boys over for dances twice a year, Christmas and the fourth of July. And those were chaperoned so tightly, no one had a chance to misbehave. But there were chances and most of the girls, me included, took a lot of chances to get a hold of what we coveted, man flesh. We managed."
"You mean you fucked?"