The effect was game changing; the thickly braided ponytail, widely based at the scalp, tore loose in a long, ragged and uneven scalp lock. This, Teeth That Rip Flesh threw contemptuously into the water in front of him. Instead of maintaining his hold, Pretty Man relinquished his arm lock and grabbed with both hands at the top of his head, his fingers feeling only bone. The suture lines of the skull were clearly visible. He looked to the blue sky and began screaming so hard that no sound came from his mouth. Teeth That Rip Flesh waded several steps away with his back turned, rubbing his neck to restore circulation.
Poquerhienee up to now had effectively maintained a façade of disinterest in the melee occurring in the aqua arena. It had been her intention to see her younger suitor kill the cruel and abusive older man, who nevertheless owned several hundred horses and was continually away from the fort. But now her disinterest had been replaced not only with concern that her young heart throb might succumb to her other, more gruesome champion, but also the horror that she would endure being his wife. She stared at the horrific aberration of the horse trader struggling away from the panicked Pretty Man. As she watched him kneading the circulation back into the thick sinews of his neck, he locked eyes with her, and smiled.
Teeth That Rip Flesh turned around, sound roaring back into his ears as his senses restored. On both shorelines of the creek crowds milled about, waving and shouting drunkenly, firing rifles and revolvers into the air, urging the combatants on. But there was no sign of Pretty Man. Suddenly Teeth That Rip Flesh was lifted up from beneath the water, his knees held together as he fell backward and disappeared under the agitated surface.
“Look at what you’ve done to my arm!” Elizabeth Custer had the sleeve pulled up to her elbow; red welts were clearly visible from the firm grip of the excited Et-nah-wah-ruchta.
”I very sorry, Mrs. Custer. I dunno what come over me. I sorry. I watch fightin’ in creek, like watchen’em fight. Please forgive.”
Elizabeth noted absently that both of the fighters had gone underwater again and turned to the evilly beautiful Indian face that beseeched her with imploring, sloe eyes.
“Well, I suppose my forgiveness could have a price.” answered Libbie, the tone of her voice hardening as she did so.
Poquerhienee’s view of the combat was being obstructed by drunken revelers who had forgotten that she was the belle of the ball; they were jostling and pushing one another aside in order to get a better view of the struggle agitating the water. Shouting over the din of laughter and shouting, of curses and threats, of mothers screaming for their children to not enter the water too near where the two competitors fought, Poquerhienee gesticulated for several of her entourage to assist her onto the lower branches of the tree. She observed with dread the figures of the two struggling men as they periscoped up once more from the water, each with his hands clamped around the other’s neck as they strangled each other. The corners of Poquerhienee’s mouth were contorted into a snarling frown as she saw that the remaining scalp of Pretty Man had slid part way down the skull as he throttled the object of his antipathy. The temporal muscles on the sides of the skull were visible as his muscles bunched on his massive arms with the effort.
Teeth That Rip Flesh felt the thumbs of Pretty Man digging into his esophagus, and he redoubled his effort as he kneaded his dirty thumbnails into, and beneath the neck skin of Pretty Man. Once the thumb nails had cut through the skin, getting his thumbs under the skin and ripping it loose was his next order of business. The wounds were not life threatening, but they did cause Pretty Man to release his grip on the bull neck of Teeth That Rip Flesh. Reflexively Pretty Man thrust both hands to his own neck and Teeth That Rip Flesh reacted immediately; lunging forward and sinking his sharpened, pointed teeth into the massive trapezius muscle that extended out from the neck and onto the broad right shoulder. Then he ripped a mouth full of flesh from the steak like slab, swallowing it whole as he received an enormous eardrum bursting open handed cuff to the left ear.
“What price, what price you have Lady Custer?” Et-nah-wah-ruchta asked, with uneasy suspicion.
“Well, my sister by marriage has always found the male anatomy to be utterly repugnant, and while I allow for audience, I repudiate all forms of physical contact altogether. The touch of a hand to my person places into my disposition an utter state of melancholy.”
The monologue was lost on the Indian woman.
“I wish those two pigs would hurry along and kill each other, Libbie.” spoke Margaret, her voice was low and controlled.
A roar erupted from the crowds thronging either edge of the creek, distracting the trio and drawing the attention of Et-nah-wah-ruchta once more to the fighting in the water.
Teeth That Rip Flesh screamed like a mountain lion in pain and anger as he held his hand to his left ear-of which the eardrum had burst. Lashing out with his right hand, the size of a ham, he was caught off guard as Pretty Man seized the wrist and maneuvered it into an arm lock behind the older man’s back. Heaving upward with all his might, he dislocated the extremity from its shoulder socket with a dull, sickening popping sound.
“Oh! Did you see that, Margaret? It appears that the young man has gained the advantage over the older man!” shouted Libbie.
Margaret moved in on Et-nah-wah-ruchta, her voice was thick and husky.
“What do you think about that?” asked Margaret.
“Touch me an’ I kill you!” responded the startled Et-nah-wah-ruchta, as she spun around electrified, facing Margaret.
Poquerhienee had climbed twelve feet up the cottonwood tree and sat perched on a large branch, maintaining her balance by holding onto a smaller branch on either side of her. It seemed to her that the fight had swung decisively in Pretty Man’s favor; she watched with hope and astonishment as he quickly wrenched the disjointed arm nearly full circle. No longer bound by the now useless arm, Teeth That Rip Flesh turned about face unexpectedly and lurched forward, grabbing the nose of Pretty Man with his pointed teeth and sheared it off.
“Threaten her again and I'll see to it that your husband is sent to Texas and that you move into my house!” hissed Elizabeth Custer in a sibilant warning to Et-nah-wah-ruchta.
Libbie advanced on Et-nah-wah-ruchta, massaging away the red welts that remained on her wrist. Leaning forward Elizabeth cautioned her maid servant with measured words, anger barely held in restraint.
“Now you listen to me Et-nah-wah-ruchta and you listen well. When those two rascals are finished killing each other in that creek, we will go back to the Custer House and you will help Margaret and myself prepare our meals and baths. I am utterly fatigued with this day's events, and poor Margaret is almost beside herself in wishing to egress from this abominable event. You are not to return home until you have ministered to the sufferings of Margaret and myself. Margaret will instruct you on the trivial details while I undress.”
Distracted by the admonishment of Libbie, Et-nah-wah-ruchta turned her head quickly to the creek, the image of Teeth That Rip Flesh spitting an object from his mouth into the water reflected from the black pupil of her obsidian eyes.
Pretty Man thrust his hands to his face and stepped back, his left foot slipped on the surface of a smooth rock, causing him to go under the water unexpectedly. Teeth That Rip Flesh spat out the nose of Pretty Man into the water, where it was immediately seized by several small fish which fought over it before it disappeared. Teeth That Rip Flesh advanced uncertainly toward the point where Pretty Man had submerged. Poquerheinee swatted flies and gnats away from her sweaty face with one hand, as she held onto a tree branch with the other. Her small buttocks were seated firmly on a large branch as she watched the combat with mounting horror.
Teeth That Rip Flesh continued to scour the bed of the creek, feeling with his bare feet for Pretty Man, uncertain from which angle the next attack would ensue. A commotion from a short distance downstream prompted Teeth That Rip Flesh to look to his right. Poquerheinee could see from her eyrie that something had occurre
d downstream that was creating an uproar. Elizabeth Custer raised her opera glass to her eyes in order to see what was agitating the throng of Native Americans that were running toward the bend in the creek fifty yards downstream.
A village hetman, the same who had assumed command when the sachem fell to his death, approached the cottonwood tree where Poquerheinee sat perched. She watched as the villagers pulled the lifeless body of Pretty Man from the bend in the creek. She turned her head to where Teeth That Rip Flesh was wading ashore in knee deep water. His gait was unsteady and water dripped from his large, dangling penis as it swung from side to side. Without warning, Teeth That Rip Flesh collapsed into the water face down. No one rushed to help him as the spectators nearest heard the bubbles coughed from his lungs as he inhaled the water.
“This changes everything.” Muttered Elizabeth to no one in particular.
“What has happened?” asked Margaret. “I want to know what is going on!”
Clearly Libbie was frustrated, and began gathering her things as she spoke sharply to Et-nah-wah-ruchta.
“What unseemly mirth is this?” asked Libbie of Et-nah-wah-ruchta, “To what end do you restrain the words from leaving your lips? Words which would beguile, and beggar us to stay at this wretched event, I’ll wager!”
Et-nah-wah-ruchta responded to Libbie’s statement by explaining to Margaret; “Both mens die. Arikawa from many days ride come from all aroun’ to see creek fight, see Poquerheinee take buck. Now hetman tell Poquerheinee choose husband.”
The three women watched as Poquerheinee descended from the tree and began arguing with the hetman. Both were gesticulating wildly, waving their arms and motioning with their hands.
“Go down there and discover what Poquerheinee decides, as Margaret and I prepare to depart.” commanded Libbie.
“Oh Libbie! Do tell me we will not persist in our stay one moment more!” expostulated Margaret.
“We will leave with Et-nah-wah-ruchta in our company as soon as she returns. She approaches even now.” placated Libbie.
The maid servant was excited and searched for the words to make the two white women understand what Poquerheinee demanded in this unusual situation.
“Poquerhienee say to hetman she take husband that win fightin’ in creek. She say let all men fight in water, if they wanna plant face between thighs.”
The trio of women looked to the creek banks and saw to their amazement several dozen young men stripping themselves of clothing, many of them were very drunk.
“Them men no have wives. All gonna fight in water for Poquerheinee.”
Already there were several pairs of warriors engaged in combat, not waiting for the hetman to signal the go ahead. Others were entering the water. One warrior, a big heavily tattooed brute, attacked another from behind in waist deep water, wrapping his arms around the victim’s neck as he mounted him piggy back, scissoring his legs around the surprised man’s waist. Dragging him under the water, he held him there. The muscles stood out in bold relief on either side of his neck as he strained to hold the man under.
“Well, all of that is fine and dandy, but we have to go now.” retorted Libbie Custer.
The flank of the horse quivered and shook as a large, greenish horsefly bit deeply into its flesh. Et-nah-wah-ruchta watched the fighting with intensity as she untied the reins from the low hanging branch of the cottonwood tree.
“My goodness, Libbie! What if there are no men left among the village to provide the garrison with scouts and translators?” asked Margaret.
The feather weighted phaeton was a unique four wheeled English High Flyer which leaned slightly and righted itself as Libbie mounted the left side of the carriage.
“Good riddance.” Libbie answered, “The preponderance is a menagerie of vagabonds and wastrels. Once the women have pulled the naked bodies of the men from the creek and dragged them to the garbage heap, those men will realize their life’s fulfillment in the stomachs of their poor, starving dogs!”
Et-nah-wah-ruchta handed Libbie the reins as she climbed aboard the phaeton and positioned herself between the two ladies and resumed the reins. A skillful driver, she adroitly maneuvered the huge beast with a series of clicking sounds and set the beast bounding up the dirt road.
“Heeeyahhh!” Et-nah-wah-ruchta shouted as she plied the buggy whip.
The phaeton had four large spoked wheels; the rear wheels were substantially larger than those of the front. The springs were light and the body small. Everything that unnecessarily added weight had been intentionally omitted. The buggy was light, fast, and dangerous. It had no side panels but had a closed back with a calabash top that shielded the occupants from the sun. The firm yet comfortable leather seat was high backed and stuffed with horse hair. The back of Et-nah-wah-ruchta was outlined in sweat on the face of the tanned horsehide seat leather each time she leaned forward, yelling:
“Heeeyahhh!”
Chapter Twenty One ~ The Far West Approaches
Libbie Custer sat on the leather club chair, her night gown buttoned up to her neck. She wore house shoes made of buffalo fur and her legs rested on a matching futon. Her hair was still wet from her bath and was brushed straight down. She sipped strong black coffee from an ornate china coffee cup. Elizabeth would have been in bed, deep in exhausted slumber, were it not for the sight unfolding before her eyes. Et-nah-wah-ruchta brushed the tangles from the mane of auburn hair that cascaded over the well-formed shoulders of Margaret, who was clothed only in a towel and shivered both from being freshly bathed and from unimaginable excitement. Et-nah-wah-ruchta was fully dressed. The play of muscles on her back and shoulder blades with each stroke of the hairbrush were hidden by the doe skin pull over dress, which was adorned with beads sewn into the leather garment in intricate designs.
“Ouch, you sadistic beast!” Margaret shouted, exaggerating her expostulation to frighten and intimidate Et-nah-wah-ruchta.
Margaret stood up, turning about and facing Et-nah-wah-ruchta. She allowed the towel to fall from her shoulders. The contrast between the physiques of the two women were profound; the tan, athletic figure of the Native American woman bore little similarity to the full bosomed European American woman that faced her.
“I have never beheld such fierce beauty” murmured Margaret, as she placed her hands on either side of the Cree’s head, twisting her fingers in the wet, black hair.
“Dog!” shouted Et-nah-wah-ruchta. “I told you once, sister of Elizabeth Custer, if you touch me I kill you!”
Margaret stepped back with an “Unghh!” The Cree had slapped the large, pendulous breasts of the white woman with a clenched fist, and it had knocked the breath from her.
Et-nah-wah-ruchta lunged into the surprised Margaret, who crossed her arms over her breasts which were engorged from the vicious blow of the Indian woman. The Cree (Arikawa) wielded her hands like claws, her right arm describing an arc as she sought to rake Margaret’s face with her taloned fingernails.
“Bitch!” hissed Libbie as she grabbed the younger woman’s hair from behind and jerked her head back. Margaret lost no time regaining her composure and seized the advantage offered by the intrusion of her sister in law.
The moment was interrupted by furious knocking at one of the front doors.
“Mrs. Custer! Mrs. Custer!” a voice shouted from the veranda of the home.
“Now don’t you two do another thing until my return!” expostulated the exasperated general’s wife.
“What is it you want?!” demanded the annoyed Elizabeth Custer as she flung open the door.
Dressed in her full length robe, buttoned up to the neck, she betrayed severe annoyance to the foul smelling, old soldier-a habitual ne’er do well and alcoholic who did chores for the Custers.
“I’m sorry Ma’am, but the Far West steamboat is coming down the creek and is within eyesight of the fort. There are many wounded from the 7th on board and mention of a disaster was sent by runner. You said you wanted to be told.”
“Wha
t are you saying?” responded Libbie.
“Some kinda disaster, ma’am. Really ain’t heard too much more’n that, ma’am!”
Libbie saw the drunkard’s eyes looking beyond her, and into the bedroom where the sounds of glass breaking and of women cursing could be heard.
“Is there somethin’ goin’ on? Ma’am? I hear somethin’ back there in that yonder room. Maybe I oughta go have a look-see…”
“If you step one foot in my house, my husband will have you tied to the wheel of the wagon and bull whipped!” threatened Libbie Custer, there was venom in her voice, and hatred. Hatred of the foul smelling miscreant that stood before her, his uniform filthy, hair unwashed and beard unshaven. She involuntarily gave a start and stepped back when she saw several large fleas emerge and disappear into the scroungy, graying beard.
“Well, there was another somethin’ that ah forgot to relate to you, Mrs. Custer!” the washed out, poor excuse for a soldier managed to divulge. He smiled, releasing the fetid breath from rotted, decaying teeth.
“You get out! Go on! I don’t want to hear anymore!” responded Libbie, her voice was shrill, and carried with it the tone of worry. She had looked into the blurred, cataractic eyes of the wastrel and had seen a premonition of her most horrifying fear.
“Why, it’s about yore husban’ ma’am - General Custer!”
“Go on! Get out, I said! Get!” Libbie’s voice was frantic, the noises emanating from the bed room ceased.
“They sayin’ he done gone an’ gotten his self killed! That’s what they sayin’ ma’am! It’s just somethin’ awful! An’ I mean to offer my sincere condolences.”
The eyes of the stuffed animals that adorned the walls seemed to be alive with a horrible understanding…
Metal Storm: Weird Custer A Novel Page 13