Waving goodbye, they urged their horses into a trot to hurry back to the wagons. Arriving at dusk, Olga related her adventure while she dined with the Smoots.
After the children were put to bed, Mr. Hatch called for a meeting.
“I’m sure that you have all heard of yesterday’s incident with the Indians. And I am sure that you have all heard exaggerated reports of Indian violence. However, I want to assure you that this train is in no danger. The Pawnee have never been known to hurt anyone. Mr. Meyer has spent the day with these Indians and he assures me that they are only interested in our haste to depart their favorite hunting grounds along the river.
“Yet, there is the matter of the Cheyenne tribes ahead of us. These Indians are known to be more aggressive. Yet, we have little to fear as we are such a large train with many armed men. The natives are known to harass small groups of settlers that they can easily intimidate and overpower. There have been no reports of attacks upon trains as large as ours.
“As wise men, though, we will be taking additional precautions. We will be traveling with the wagons closer together and with our children and livestock between the two parallel rows. Everyone is urged to keep together and cooperate with my men as they guide you.
“Now, most importantly, when we camp, everyone must stay close. No one is to wander away from the protection of the sentries. While I don’t expect it, the Indians have been known to assault individuals who are out of sight of the camp. Mr. Stoddard, I believe, has a personal experience to relate.” Hatch gestured to the man standing beside him.
“Yes,” Mr. Stoddard began, “it was last year when my brother and his family made this journey. From Fort John, he sent me this letter.” He held up the paper. “I’ll not read it all, but it relates an experience at happened when his wife was gathering flowers. While she was within sight of their wagons, she was at some distance away. Two Indians approached their wagons and through hand signals asked for food. Not wishing to anger them, my brother gave them what was left of a deer they had killed the previous day. The Indians took it. And then, as they rode away, they took the woman, too.
“My brother and his eldest son gathered and saddled their horses to give chase, but the Indians were hard to track. At dusk they found the Indians, who shot arrows into my nephew, killing him. With the rapid discharge of his revolver, my brother was able to scatter the Indians and recover his wife.” Mr. Stoddard’s voice trembled as he finished. “She had been divested of all clothing and visited other unspeakable insults upon her.”
He looked down and Hatch gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze.
“From this account,” Hatch continued, “I want you all to understand that in keeping yourself safe, you also keep your family safe. Mr. Stoddard’s brother lost his son in the rescue of his wife. Therefore, keep yourselves safe and keep your children close.” Hatch let these words sink into their memories. “One last thing, Mrs. Hatch will no longer ride ahead to prepare our midday meal. Therefore, we will be stopping for a longer rest at noon and each of you will be responsible for your own food preparation. To compensate for this lost time, and to get through the Cheyenne territory faster, we will be driving fourteen hour days.” He swallowed. “That’s all.”
Chapter 8
June 17, 1848
Cheyenne Territory
Much of the joyful camaraderie among the settlers was gone in the morning. For the next several days, everyone worried about the Indians, and kept their attention on the business of survival. Each morning, Mr. Meyer and the other scout rode ahead, searching for signs of the Cheyenne. Each day they returned with deer or buffalo meat to supplement the group’s food supply. At the end of each exhausting day, everyone took to their beds with little conversation.
On the third day, they reached the Platte River and camped in an area where the river bank broadened into a mile wide, marshy plain. The soil was too soggy to support the cottonwood trees.
“Mr. Meyer, are those Indians?” Olga pointed to a row of campfires on the north side of the river.
“No, those are campsites for other wagon trains along the north bank of the river.”
“Where did they come from?”
“They came across the Missouri River north of Independence, in Iowa. There is a new steam-powered ferry there, and it shortens the trip. They have been following the Platte.” He pointed to the west. “The river splits ahead. We will soon cross the South Platte River, and those people will be crossing the North Platte River when we reach Fort John. Then we will all head out into the desert.”
She watched the distant campfires.
The following morning, the train continued due west, while the river angled to the northwest, thus they separated from the river in search of firm, dry land that would support their wagons. Two days later, they reached the South Platte River.
“You can’t see it from here,” Thomas told Olga, “but the North Platte is a few miles north. We’ll cross the South Platte tomorrow morning, and then we will follow the North Platte.” The river valley was so broad that Olga could not see the ridge of hills that formed the valley’s northern boundary. However, Thomas pointed toward a line of hills from the west that split the valley in two. “The North Platte continues along the other side of those hills.”
As Olga and Martha were cleaning the dishes from their supper, it began to rain. Mr. Smoot hastened to erect a canvas awning beside the wagon and the two women dashed for its cover.
“At least it will keep the little buggers away,” Martha remarked.
Olga agreed that the one benefit of the rain was that it spared them from the torrential onslaught of the mosquitoes. That night the rain came down in buckets and drenched the travelers.
“The rain has soaked the ground, making a crossing too risky,” Mr. Hatch announced the following morning. A holiday was declared and most families used the time to make repairs and wash their clothes in the river. As there were no trees or brush of any kind, there was no privacy. To allow the women to bathe, vertical walls were constructed on the riverbank by stretching canvas sheets between tall stakes in the ground. The children and some of the men waded in the water and washed fully clothed. Mr. Hatch ordered the wranglers to keep a close watch on the hillsides for Indians.
Thomas did not stay in camp. He crossed the river on his horse early in the morning and scouted the far bank for firm land that would support the weight of the wagons.
The wagon train lost no time as they began the crossing of the river the following morning. The river was two-thirds of a mile wide. Most of the riverbed was firm sand, less than two feet deep, but many hidden holes were filled with quicksand. To safeguard their crossing, ropes were used to bind each wagon to the one before it. Thus, when a wagon sank into the soft sand, those in front of it would help pull it free. The wranglers used their horses to pull the lead wagon through the deep spots.
Olga was fearful of entering the slow moving brown water. She sat in the wagon, atop their supplies, with the two children. She was uncertain if she was reassuring them or if they were comforting her. They watched Mr. Smoot as he urged the oxen into the water. Thomas was astride his horse beside them. Although the first several minutes of the crossing were uneventful, she wished she had chosen to ride with him.
She screamed when the wagon dropped several inches with a sudden jolt. A few feet further along it sprang up again as the wheels climbed out of a quicksand pit. This up and down pattern continued shaking the life out of those in the wagon. At one point, the wagon sank so deep that it began to float. As planned, the ropes attached to the wagon in front pulled tight and eased them across the deep hole. While some water leaked through the wagon’s wooden planks, this drained away as soon as they were back on firm sand.
Once on the opposite bank, they followed stakes left by Thomas that led north to the hill. This hill was too steep for the wagons to climb, so they turned east around it before resuming their westward trek. The wagons remained canted on the hillside at an uncomfor
table angle, but the ground was firm.
That evening, they camped beside a stream between the hills and the North Platte River. The firmer soil supported a few cottonwood trees and thick brush along the banks of the stream. Olga, Martha, and another woman, Mrs. Ester Coombs, went into the brush to use the latrine.
“Look, sand cherries.” Ester picked a small fruit from a bush and ate it. “They’re ripe. We can make some pies.”
The three women began picking the small, dark red fruits. They collected slightly more than they ate as they followed the row of bushes. After half an hour, Olga looked around. Disoriented, she could not see the campsite through the brush.
“Where are we?” she asked. ”Shouldn't we be getting back to camp?”
“Oh, we are not far, see the hills?” Martha pointed toward the southern hills. “We will be back before anyone misses us.”
“What are you women doing?” Rees’s harsh voice startled Olga. Turning around, she watched Rees and Thomas ride their horses toward them. “Everyone is looking for you. Why did you wander off?” he continued his snarl.
“We-we were picking sand cherries for pies,” Ester said, as though that would be sufficient justification.
Thomas dismounted. “Why don’t you see these two women back to their husbands,” he said to Rees. “I’ll take care of Mrs. Graus.” Olga was certain that he had emphasized the word ‘care’. His tone was eerily reminiscent of the tone Peter used to announce that she was due a spanking.
As though he was herding calves, Rees urged Martha and Ester back to camp. Thomas approached Olga.
“Don’t you remember the rules?” he asked, and then answered his own question. “You are to remain within sight of camp.”
Olga scanned the brush, looking for some evidence that she could still see the camp, but she could not. Her belly quivered as she wondered what he was going to do to her to take care of her. “I’m sorry. I guess we simply got carried away picking the fruits. We were not in any danger.”
“How do you know? We rode upon you unseen. And we weren’t even trying to sneak up on you. A dozen Indians could be hiding in this brush.”
“As I said, we made a mistake. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too, but you see, we can’t possibly just let this go. Something must be done to ensure this doesn't happen again.” He locked eyes with her. “Have you ever been spanked before?”
Her gut clenched and her voice froze in her throat. She could only nod.
“I am responsible for you.” His said in a smooth, even tone.
Olga’s spine shivered as he unsheathed his Bowie knife. He whacked off a two-foot long, thin branch and stripped it of leaves.
He means to use a switch on me!
As the meaning of his intention materialized in her brain, she thought of running, but her feet remained rooted. She opened her lips and tried to suck in a breath, but her diaphragm froze.
He doesn’t appear to be angry. Perhaps he is just threatening. He is only going to scare me.
“So, it is my intention to deal with this myself,” he continued. “However, if you would rather, I’m sure that either Mr. Smoot or Mr. Hatch would do the honors.” He made a test swoosh of his switch through the air. He snapped it against his boot and its sharp report made her jump.
Oh, God no, this is not a mere threat.
Olga imagined that Abram was busy administering a paddling to Martha, and she had no interest in submitting herself to Hatch.
“No,” she swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’m ready for my punishment now.” The notion of having Thomas’s hands upon her made her core tingle. An excitement quivered within her. Her pussy pulsed.
He sat on a log and patted his knee. With slow, deliberate motions, he rolled up his sleeves exposing the taut muscles of his forearms.
“Let’s get this over with. Raise your skirts.”
Olga lifted her skirt, but left her underskirt in place.
“That too,” he pointed to her underskirt. “Pull everything up.”
On my bare!
Olga sucked in a breath and shuddered. She stared at the frightening implement in his hand. She’d never been switched before. He snapped the switch against his boot, startling her into action. Trembling, she reached behind her back and gathered the material of her skirt and underskirt. She raised the hems to the tops of her thighs.
“Over my lap—now!”
She pressed her bare knees into his leg and, as she folded over his lap. She presented her ass to him.
“Sir, let me say again how sorry I am,” she whispered. “And I assure you that this will never happen again.” She hoped her contrition would lessen the punishment and end the embarrassment of a near stranger seeing her exposed bottom.
“Are you now?” He yanked the hems right up to her waist and she felt the cool breeze on her bare nether. “I know you won’t wander off again. And I’m pretty sure that no one else will either, after word of this spreads through the camp.”
He pressed her back firmly into place and snapped the switch across her buns. Despite her best effort to keep her jaw clamped shut, she screamed. He withheld the second stroke as the burning of the first spread. The instant that she regained control, the second flaming stripe was added to her pristine bottom. A third and a fourth followed. Wailing, she imagined her bottom to be a welted mass of candy cane bruises.
“Please, Mr. Meyer, can this not be enough?” she pleaded between sobs.
In response, he tossed the switch aside. However, instead of allowing her to rise, he hoisted her bottom higher. He patted her bottom and began to pelt her bruised derrière with his hand. While not so severe as the switch, his slaps had a sting to them.
She screamed again and again as her abused flesh was further attacked. Thrashing her legs in the air, she struggled to free herself from his lap.
“Hold still. If you continue to struggle, I’ll use the switch again.” He cupped her bottom. His hand felt cool and soothing. “One way or another, you will get a proper spanking.”
She forced herself to hold still and gripped his leg with both hands. “Yes, Sir.” She twisted her ankles together and steadied herself for further swats. “I won’t resist,” she whispered as she sobbed. She diverted her thoughts to what he might be thinking with her bare bottom under his bare hand.
His grasp held her tight and he smacked her on the tender flesh where her thighs merged into her bottom cheeks. Shrieking with this new pain, she attempted to propel herself forward. However, this effort only positioned her bottom higher on his lap. While she did not attempt to resist him, she lost control of her legs. With her feet wildly kicking in the air, he brought the palm of his hand down squarely between her thighs for a particularly hard smack.
Rather than scream, her diaphragm froze as he touched her. Following the stinging swat, he did not lift his hand. He held his grip upon her soft flesh and the tips of his fingers grazed along her puffy folds. Holding her breath, she froze in his grasp. After what seemed to be an eternity, he began to massage the sting away. The heat from her backside spread to her pussy as he massaged her glowing flesh.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes.” His discipline had been more severe than any of Peter’s, but somehow Thomas’s touch turned the pain into luscious pleasure.
He removed his hand and smoothed down her skirts.
Thomas pulled her up and sat her down on his lap. While her bottom ached, she did not resist. He held her to his chest and stroked her hair.
“It’s all right, you can cry,” he said.
Her breath released and she burst into a continuous sob. He held her face to his chest as her emotions poured out with her tears. She inhaled his manly scent as she had done that first day when he saved her.
“I’m so sorry for endangering myself and the others,” she said.
He is saving me again.
The sense of safety filled her as she cuddled in his arms. She was empty of anger, shame, and fear
. An awareness of renewal overcame her.
“Thank you,” she whispered as her sobs subsided.
“You are thanking me? That is not what I expected to hear.” He wiped the tears from her face.
“Yes, thank you for caring so much about my safety.”
“Indeed, I do care for your safety and I will repeat this as often as necessary. So, you had best pay close attention to the rules from now on.”
She nodded while holding her face nestled against his chest.
He hugged her again. His finger lifted her chin. In the most surprising manner, he gently kissed her. Momentarily startled, Olga trembled, and then she melted into his arms.
“We'd better be getting back,” he whispered as their lips parted. He helped her to her feet. “Don’t forget the sand cherries. I am looking forward to a pie.” He grinned, and for a moment, they laughed.
Leading his horse, they walked back to camp.
Martha and Ester were both standing before Mr. Hatch. He was lecturing them while they rubbed the backsides of their skirts. Without being told, Olga took her place beside them.
“Well, Mrs. Graus, as I was telling these two women, should such an event occur again, it will be the men who risk their lives in search of you that will administer the punishment. And the next time, you will not be punished in the privacy of your wagons. It will be here, in the middle of the camp for all to see. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” the three women responded.
“Now, we are all expecting some cherry pie, so get busy.”
They hastily prepared the pies and baked them in large Dutch ovens suspended over the fires.
After serving the pies, Olga retired to her makeshift tent under the Smoot’s wagon. Stripping down to her underskirt and chemise, she examined her bottom. Surprisingly, it was not all that sore. While the lines of welts from the switch were still visible, she was not as bruised as she had expected. However, she resolved to never experience Thomas’s strong arm swinging a switch again.
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