Captive Long Hair Soldier GirlChapter 3
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The captive long hair soldier girl known as “Badger Girl” because of her long duration blackened eyes from serious training received at the hands of her captors knew that the last “auction” location for the sale of the female prisoners would be her best opportunity at escape if she could only find a fast horse to carry her to safety.
Badger Girl’s real name was Margaret Hatcher and she was the widow of a cavalry captain slain at the burning of Fort McDonald down below the existing border. She had no real sense of grief over her loss because the captain was a rough sort of fellow that valued his whiskey and his cards a lot more than his acquired by contract wife. Margaret had not been wooed or romanced before the wedding and she received precious little love after she had the ring on her finger. She knew that the sly officer married her for the express purpose of enhancing his chances of promotion in a wilderness posting where a pretty face would be an asset in any social setting.
The Indian tribe that had captured her did not want to lose her because she had made some valuable contributions to the smooth operation of their borderline existence. They were forced to do so because they were being driven from the land due to lack of a steady food supply and the fact that the centralized government back in the east had decided the “Indian Problem” needed to be settled once and for all. That spelled extinction for the native population and it was beginning to look like they would all be forced to re-locate in the north just to continue their struggle for survival. The sale of Badger Girl would give them some much-needed funds to buy the supplies they needed for the journey.
They had reluctantly turned her over to the French brokers for transport to the auction locations for sale of female prisoners much needed in the north for common labor and to assume nocturnal duties servicing the male needs for female companionship.
Most of the female slaves would probably not last five years even in the best possible circumstances but Margaret was determined she would survive long enough to get a fast horse and find her future in another direction.
She already had a handgun hidden in her folds of clothing and she was long noted at the Fort as a fine shot and a skilled horsewoman able to adapt to almost any situation.
The Frenchman that had transported her had a desire to purchase her for his own needs but was short of funds to win the bid. He had returned to his settlement to borrow the cash needed and she was uncertain if he would ever return to buy her and seal her by marriage and the realization she had no other option.
Margaret had noticed at the last auction location that some of the Indians were a visiting tribe that had taken advantage of her nocturnal services as guests of her captors. She recognized the young brave that had mounted her no less than three times than night and she remembered the size of his manly equipment being the largest she had ever encountered with a fond memory. She knew that he had recognized her and his group seemed excited to see her in this situation. Strangely, she saw the circumstances as being to her advantage because she knew that tribe was well-respected in the Indian Territory and the warriors were feared by all sides because of their bravery in battle.
The prospect of being sold to either the French or the British settlements in the north was tantamount to a death sentence simply because of the lopsided ratio of men to women and that she would be required to service at least twenty needy males on a nightly basis just to meet the minimal requirements of after-hours nocturnal duties. Most of the slave women sent to those settlements didn’t last long because they were physically and mentally exhausted in just a few short years.
They had started this trek with almost fifty female slaves and now at the last stop there were only a dozen left with her in that select group. Most of the remaining women were young and attractive because the brokers wanted a bonus in the sale price for beauty and stamina. Margaret knew she was a premium catch for some buyer and would be expected to work tirelessly to return their investment. Most women would be daunted by the desperation that future would entail, but she was resigned to her fate and only bided her time until an opportunity arose for her to escape.
Late that night before the final sale of the season, she was awakened in her sleep by a hand over her mouth.
She recognized the Indians from the visiting tribe and she surmised immediately that they were trying to steal several of the remaining hostages from the French slave traders before the final sale in the morning. Apparently, she was to be included in their taking and considering the future in front of her with the French or British settlers in the north country, it was the devil you know vs the devil unknown and she kept her mouth shut just like the other women that had little care in their hopeless situation.
They had several fast moving canoes hidden under branches at the shoreline and with very little noise; they silently pushed out into the fast moving water heading back south to the Pacific Northwest Territory. The big buck that had used her repeatedly back at the camp of her captors was squatting down on top of her flustered flanks making her nervous about the state of his hardness on her sensitive rump. They were completely immersed in the act of escaping and there was not time for such foolishness and she was grateful of that fact because her heart was beating so fast that she thought it might burst.
The camp was still quiet as they slipped down the river under the light of the harvest moon that hung low and illuminated their path. She estimated that they had taken only four females and had one in each canoe.
The lead canoe was loaded with two extra braves besides the pair that were paddling. They had their loaded rifles at the ready just in case they were challenged during their escape from the slave trader’s camp.
Margaret was down on all fours not far from the fire. The mountain man called Kit was a dead weight on her tail bone and he was humping her about as hard as she had been humped by a non-Indian male to the best of her recollection. His juice flooded her down below giving her the energy she needed to fall asleep and charge up her battered body for the trials and tribulations of the next day’s stress. She was unable to see it in the dark, but his cock must have been overly large because her...
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