Bad Day at the Greasy Grass

She was contemplating me across the fire. Her eyes were shining. Those eyes and her beautiful face took my breath away. She was light skinned for an Indian. Of course, the Caucasian blood, which she was so ashamed of, would have some influence there.

Her eyes were huge with long thick eye-lashes. The intense blue was probably the result of her mixed heritage. But I have never seen anything like them before, or since. Her hair was thick and soft. She wore it in a pigtail, which extended to her butt.

She was probably younger than me. But, it was hard to tell. The Cheyenne don't use calendars. She had a beautifully proportioned body, full where it ought to be, and lithe in all the other places. Everything about the way she walked reminded me of the perfect symmetry and balance of the big mountain cats.

I said, "What are you thinking about?"

She said, "I was just thinking how noble and handsome you look."

I laughed heartily and said, "You don't have to flatter me. I'll take care of you anyhow."

She got an angry look and said, "I will always be honest with you. I will work hard for you. You will never regret my being your woman."

Well, there it was. She was declaring herself my woman. What that meant to a Cheyenne was that I would feed and protect her. In return she would serve me with her life. If sex was involved, it was just part of the service.

I had fucked, whores, other Indians and of course the inimitable Mrs. Schmidt. So why didn't I fuck Anovoo'o on the spot? It was because her situation was totally different. I felt a deep-seated tenderness toward her, and that feeling scared me to death. In less than twenty-four hours, this girl had worked her way past all my defenses, and was now deeply embedded in my heart.

I have no idea how a female, who was born and raised in an Indian tribe, and a Paddy from the wildest reaches of lower Manhattan, could bond with each other like we did. But I felt closer to Anovoo'o than I had ever been with Molly. If you want to call it love at first sight, then so be it.

Therefore, a lot more than sex was involved. If we got together, it could only be for love. I had loved just one woman, Molly, and that had ended very badly. I lost her to fate and an evil man. The last thing I wanted to do was tempt the gods by falling in love with a refugee from an alien culture. That was my instinct. But the attraction was there, and we could both sense it.

I put all those vacillating thoughts behind me as I tried to go to sleep. It got colder as the night progressed. She was wrapped in my blanket, teeth chattering. But, she wasn't complaining. I was freezing to death lying on my gum-rubber blanket without covering. I thought, "This is stupid," and patted the ground next to me.

She eagerly scrambled over, molded herself to me, pulled the blanket over us and sighed with contentment. Then she fell asleep. I was left with a supple body pressed against me, hard round buns pushed into my rapidly rising interest and my right hand draped over one full, round breast.

Her breathing quickened and she snuggled closer. Of course, that made me harder than an iron bar. We were fully dressed. But my bulge was finding its way between those two delectable globes. Anovoo'o moaned and began to pant.

This was getting ridiculous. I really didn't want to follow through with what was about to happen. But it was getting inevitable. So, with a final exercise of will, I rolled around so that we were back to back. She emitted a loud whimper of complaint. Eventually the panting and moaning died down.

However, In the middle of the night I had to go over behind a beech tree and relieve my distress.

She was bathing naked in the river when I woke up. I later discovered that Anovoo'o bathed daily. She was singing a happy little song as she scrubbed herself. She carefully rubbed her bounty of raven hair with a bouquet of lavender that she had picked. That explained why it was so silky, and smelled so nice.

The washing took a while because her hair was very thick, and it hung down to her butt. She had her back to me. I marveled at her long sleek legs and those two jutting round buns. Then she turned.

It was an astonishing sight. Her body was perfection. She had high round breasts. They didn't look particularly large with her dress on. But they were so broad and full that they covered most of her chest. Her big brown nipples were standing out in rigid points because of the cold river water.

She looked delighted. She said, "You woke up." She started to walk toward me, dripping, unashamed and just perfectly gorgeous. The Indians do not have white-man's hang-ups about their bodies. So, she was splendidly natural, without the slightest embarrassment.

She walked past me and bent at the waist to pick up her dress. The vision of that incredible tight ass and the lips that lay between it was not helping my state of mind. I thought to myself, "Lord give me strength."

We breakfast on the supplies I had bought in her village. But, I quickly learned the value of Anovoo'o' s heritage. I shot a rabbit early in the day's trek. I left Anovoo'o at our evening campsite while I tied up, fed and groomed the horse. We needed to take very good care of that animal. It made the travel so much easier. Since, it carried all our supplies, and of course, Anovoo'o.

Anovoo'o was nowhere to be seen when I came back. I began to panic. Then I detected the mouthwatering smell of something cooking in a low stand of poplars. I sauntered over with an amused smile on my face. She was squatting down tending to our supper.

She gave me a delighted look and said, "Good, you're back. I just finished getting our campsite ready."

I had only been gone for forty-five minutes. In that time Anovoo'o had gathered firewood, started a fire, skinned and begun cooking the rabbit, dug up some camas to accompany our meal, and laid a fresh layer of leaves and branches next to the fire, as a soft foundation, for our blankets.

Her eye for terrain was excellent. We were completely hidden from everybody. So, we were safe. But we were also above the surrounding ground levels in case it rained. I thought to myself, "Every other woman I know would have just sat there and waited for ME to do all of that."

Anovoo'o, made our lives pleasant and comfortable for the entire trip. Both of us were private people. So, we didn't talk much. But we could sense the intense attraction we had for each other.

We filled in our history as we walked. She told me about her life. She had been part of the Band of Black Kettle, who was a well-known Cheyenne pragmatist and peacemaker, even after half of his Band was massacred at Sand Creek.

Anovoo'o had missed out on that party, only because she had been visiting her half-brother on the Crow reservation. Her dad got around.

The White blood would normally have made life in any tribe difficult. But she said that. Black Kettle was different. He had taken her in when all the other Bands refused her. He was very kind to her. And she loved him like a father.

She told me that Black Kettle was much more of a diplomat than a war leader, preferring negotiations over military action. But the White-Man was making relentless efforts to force the Cheyenne onto a dry, and arid reservation, far away from the buffalo.

Since buffalo were the Cheyenne's life's blood, it had driven her Band further and further south. That was what they were doing when she had been captured.

Anovoo'o knew nothing of world events. She only knew the simple world of her village. I might have been like she was, if I hadn't been dragged off to war. But since I'd "seen the elephant," I knew that we were both part of a shift in the realities of the west. That change would eventually extinguish every aspect of traditional Cheyenne life and culture.

***** Bozeman is in a high-plain between a number of tall mountain ranges. Most of those mountains had gold in them. Hence, Bozeman was a jumping off place for every grizzled prospector, tenderfoot miner, and shifty speculator.

Once I arrived I saw that it was also an ideal spot to settle down and make a little money. O'Brien's gold was going to be put to good use here.

Bozeman had been laid out five years prior to our arrival, and it had a reputation as a wild and lawless place, especially, since they started pushing herds along the Bozeman trail .

Every cow town attracts its share of rascals, ne'er-do-wells, gunslingers and bad actors. But, Bozeman was also the key to controlling the Yellowstone territory. So, the Army set up Fort Ellis, three miles out of town. The aim of the Fort was to get the whole region under the Army's control.

I walked around the grounds of the new Fort looking for opportunities. There were infantry and five companies of the Second Cavalry garrisoned there. The Second had incorporated my old unit after the war. And, I thought I might know some of the boys.

I was walking across the parade ground when I heard an elated, "Pat!!!" I didn't realize that voice was talking to me, since my name had been "Tim" for the past three years. Then, a burly soldier grabbed me by the arm.

He looked keen. I was gobsmacked. I said, "John!! John Blake, how the hell are you lad??!"

I am not a person who likes to socialize. In fact, I go out of my way to avoid talking to people. But Blake was a good fella and he had been a pal during the war. So, we did a little catching up standing there.

He had the same problem that I had. He got home to discover that his wife Nelly had come down with the fever and died. That was no more than a week before he got out.

He said the sense of injustice and loss nearly killed him and he figured that he had nothing else to live for. So, he decided to stay in the Army. At least it was a square meal and a job. He was a sergeant now.

He said, "Did you hear that Shamus O'Brien was killed right there in his own house. It was a Russian anarchist that done the deed. I lit a candle at Assumption Church for him." I could tell from the tone of Blake's voice that the anarchist was the guy he was memorializing, not O'Brien.

Blake added puzzled, "They gave all his money to his wife, Molly O'Brien. It's funny, I thought she was YOUR wife?"

I threw my arm around his shoulder and said conspiratorially, "She still is me bucco. But I'm officially dead. I've done a whole lot better with the new one. She makes Molly look like a Dublin fishmonger."

We parted. But Blake had given me an idea. He had told me that there were no sutlers at the fort. I had a big bag of cash to buy victuals and other sundries. All I had to do was get Colonel Brackett to let me sell to his men and I could double O'Brien's stake. A little gold might have to change hands. But I knew I could do it.

I was mulling that over as I rode back to find Anovoo'o. I thought I could buy a Conestoga from one of the immigrants. Some turned back when they saw how high the mountains were, or just settled down where they were.

I could, stock it with all kinds of tempting things and wheel it up to the gates of the fort. I'd been a soldier. I knew what would sell to horse cavalry troopers.

My only problem would be getting the things to sell. But there was regular river traffic up-and-down the Yellowstone and I could ship things in on the steam boat Far West. That was the paddle wheeler that brought in goods for the Army.

Meanwhile, Anovoo'o was visiting the Cheyenne encampment. The Indians were congregated around the Fort, hoping that the Army would protect them from the local White settlers. The settlers were looking for any excuse to exterminate the Cheyenne; because they viewed them as "foreign."

The Army was no better than the settlers in terms of attitude. They saw all Indians as belligerents. But the politics back in Washington dictated that the Army do its duty.

Hence, there was an uneasy truce between the Indians and the soldiers. That was mainly based on each side acting like the other didn't exist.

I wanted a home base. I had lost any illusions about life the instant I saw O'Brien and Molly together. It's easier to just drift if you have gold in your saddle bag. But eventually the money would run out. So, it was time to think about the future and Bozeman seemed like as good a place as any.

Anovoo'o had managed to plant a small seed of optimism. We had finally made love. And it was as spiritually uplifting as I had imagined it would be. So, I had a glimmer of hope now.

It happened as we made our way north. And it was natural and spontaneous. I had shot a buffalo, which was no feat of marksmanship. Since, there were about 700 of them just standing around in a herd. it would have been harder to miss.

Then, in a single half-day Anovoo'o turned the creature info tasty provisions, useful implements and a waterproof sleeping blanket. She did that using nothing more than my Bowie knife.

So, we were no longer sleeping in a blanket that smelled of horse. The following week I added a black bear to our bag. Thanks to Anovoo'o' s skills our nightly bed was now as grand as the ones at the Astor.

Even though the frost had begun to appear, and it was snowing in the higher elevations, it was toasty luxuriating under all those animal skins. In fact, it was so warm that we began sleeping in the nude.

The first night was all it took. There was no ludicrous wavering. We just fucked like animals.

Anovoo'o has a particularly nubile rump. Most Indian women have muscular butts. They work hard from sunup to sundown. But there was something in Anovoo's heritage that turned her ass into a perfectly round little work of art.

Looking at her in profile you could see her substantial breasts and her jutting buns, and she looked like the letter p joined at the bottom to the top of the letter d. So, the instant the smooth naked skin of her two solid globes pressed against my front, I sprang an erection for the ages. And I found myself almost instantly knocking at her door.

She could feel it. Because she gave a desperate cry of long-suppressed need and shoved herself back so hard that I was instantly buried to the hilt in the hottest wettest two centimeters of heaven on this earth.

She groaned and said something in Cheyenne extended her arms over her head in front of her and began to shove back frantically. I thrust forward, and we coupled like that for a couple of minutes, just totally out of control. Then I needed to see what she was thinking.

I said, "Wait, wait, wait." She stopped trembling like she thought she'd done something wrong.

I said, "Roll on your back. I want to look in your eyes." She instantly moved onto her back and I climbed between her widely spread thighs. I was amazed by how hard her body was. I had never touched a woman who was so thoroughly solid.

The fire highlighted the planes of her beautiful oval face, her high cheekbones, and her little pointed chin, with her exquisite lips. Her huge eyes were compelling me, overflowing with emotion.

You could see her profound reaction to the sensation as I slid back into her. But she was imploring me. She wanted to be totally committed to somebody. That was the bond we were sealing.

She must have spent her life utterly alone. Her odd blue eyes would mark her as different. And no matter how beautiful and accomplished she was, she could never be completely accepted by the people around her.

She must have tried hard to fit in; done all the things that a Cheyenne woman could do in order to please the members of her tribe. She must have worked harder than the rest, been more attentive to her elders obedient and responsive to the men in her life. But there was always that sense of not quite being Cheyenne enough.

I understood what she was feeling. In everybody else's mind I was Irish scum. I saw it in the way they treated me. To the nativists and toffs, I was a drunk, and a trouble maker, lazy and shiftless, no matter how sober I was and how hard I worked.

They were more-than happy to use my muscle to keep themselves safe. But they didn't want me in their neighborhoods, or saloons. Guys like O'Brien made it big. But they weren't going to be getting any invitations to the Vanderbilt's Fancy Dress Ball. So, I knew what senseless bias felt like.

Anovoo's soul was wide open to me and I felt nothing but tenderness and caring. I sensed her eagerness to please just one man. And I instinctively knew I could trust this woman with my heart.

She might be from an entirely different world, with a completely different set of life experiences. But we were fundamentally the same person. She would always be my other half and she would never betray me.

All of that came in a flash of insight. Just as, her eyes clouded and then rolled slowly up into her head. Anovoo'o was brought up in a culture that worshiped nature. She was not constrained by the Puritan limitations of western morality. So, she had none of its inhibitions. She expressed her sexuality naturally. And she was driven by two atavistic needs; to please me, and to please herself.

As soon as I entered her she threw her head back and gave a wild shriek. Her hips came up to meet me. Then she wrapped her strong legs around me. She wanted to hold me as deep inside her as she could.

She was lost in her passion now, absolutely driven by her need. She was moving her hips in tight little circles, rotating me within her tightly clenched passage, making crooning, "Hungh, Hungh, Uhhhh, Uhhhh!" effort noises.

In all that time she had me locked motionless between her muscular thighs. It was clear that Anovoo'o was on a mission and she was going to do all the work herself. She knew what she wanted, and she wasn't going to stop her insane movements until she got to her goal. That happened almost immediately.

Her eyes flew wide with surprise. Like she hadn't expected it to happen so soon and she yelled something unintelligible in Cheyenne. Then she bent her body into a bow and began to quiver all over. Every muscle in her body was locked rigid. While she was doing that her eyes were staring at me with an indescribable complexity of passion. It was almost worshipful.

When her insides began to calm, she nimbly reversed our position. Now, she was looking down at me with the same adoring look on her face. She was doing everything she could to get me to the finish. Her hips were a blur of activity as she rocked back and forth, making little sounds of pleasure.

Then she began to move up and down. The sensation of her hotness and tightness, rising and falling, was indescribable.

She has very broad and full breasts that sit solidly on her rib-cage. They are so meaty that her bouncing caused them to move en-masse, without flopping. I took one of her big brown nipples in my mouth and bit lightly. The shriek came from the depths of her soul, her insides went crazy and she began to writhe once more, fingers gripping my shoulders in a total frenzy.

That pushed me over the edge and the two of us howled our passion to the starry mountain sky. She flopped senseless next to me. I gazed off into the infinite cosmos trying to get my sanity back, staring at the bare branches of the poplar tree that formed our love nest.

After a short while I turned on my side, propped my head on my arm, and looked down at her. She was panting like she had run a very long distance. I was equally winded. But I said the thing that I knew was true, "I love you Anovoo'o, I will love you forever. We will die in each other's arms. Promise me that."

She looked at me just as lovingly and said, "I've been searching for you my whole life. I finally found you. I will bear your children and take care of you. I will never leave your side."

So, the Paddy and the Indian maiden were joined forever under the brilliant stars of the high plains. It was as binding a vow as any that had ever been exchanged in front of the Pope. And the surrounding mountains, the scrub pine, and the infinite sky were a much grander stage than St. Peter's.