The shack, weathered a light grey, was the definition of abandoned. Beside the Colorado where it passed Austin, the shack and nearby structures once had been used to warehouse goods brought by riverboats. No more. Ox wagons and railroads had made them obsolete. No one came here anymore.
Amelia and Jocelyn paused outside, almost hysterical with anticipation, excitement, and guilt... To open the door seemed unthinkable. But Amelia knew that they would open it. Absolutely do it.
Her older cousin, Fritz, was a soldier of fortune, though Amelia would not have used that term. Fritz rode with the Texas Rangers, sometimes against Mexicans, most often against the remaining Comanches. Back along the Colorado River, in the Llano Estacado, and beyond in the Palo Duro Canyon, the Comanche still ruled.
And when warriors, often teenaged boys, thundered along by night under a 'Comanche moon' an outlying farm, a ranch, a small settlement would see men slaughtered, castrated; women raped or sliced open, houses and barns burned, and boys and girls who were old enough taken as slaves. Always, it was cat and mouse as the Texas Rangers sought the Comanche on the endless plains wherever the Comanche chose to strike--but the Rangers only could respond.
Fritz had appeared unannounced in the Austin café owned by Amelia's family and where she was a waitress. All were part of the German immigrant community in Austin. Amelia knew Fritz gladly take her out behind the smokehouse, any night, but felt no urgency. He seemed to have women unlimited. And so he just dropped in to grab a meal and chat, flirting with Amelia.
"Yeah, we interrupted a raid down by the Brazos River. Another few minutes they'd have overrun the cabin and everyone would have been gutted, castrated or disemboweled, and the kids gone."
"Oh, God," said Amelia. "Thank God the rangers got there!"
"Mostly luck. If we knew there they would strike..."
"Well, great work, Fritz." She bent over and kissed him. Who cares if he misinterpreted it. And, for that matter, what was the interpretation, anyway?
"You're what? Just out of high school?" asked Fritz unnecessarily. "Some young Comanche not much older than you took a spill, went flying over his horse's head. While he was still dazed, we grabbed him. He's down in the old riverboat shack, tied hand and foot with rawhide strips. We're deciding what to do with him."
At that, Amelia had thoughts difficult to resist or deny. She blushed just slightly. Devilish Fritz cocked his head, smiling. looking at her.
He knew his cowgirl cousin. He said, "Absolutely helpless."
And Amelia grinned.
Jocelyn usually would follow Amelia anywhere. It was a responsibility, in a way, Amelia know. At eighteen, Jocelyn was a gorgeous German American girl with a perfect face framed by long blond hair and with a strong, curvy body. Amelia was slender, taller, with lush chestnut hair and a face made alluring by her serious, studious look. She wore glasses. Which only made her face more teasing.
"I guess we could get arrested," whispered Jocelyn. "Or the whole town would know what we did?" She added, "Amelia, what are we going to do, anyway?"
"Have some fun," said Amelia. "We can do anything we want. Anything!"
"But I mean...he's still a person," whispered Jocelyn.
"He kills women and slits them open. He kills men and cuts off their balls. He violates girls. Steals children. Then, he burns down everything."
"And you want to...?"
"Just play with him, for heaven's sake!" breathed Amelia. "Like he plays with women!"
"I can't," said Jocelyn, her whisper anguished.
"Fine," said Amelia. She put the key Fritz had given her in the lock, turned it, opened the door, stepped in.
He was about as tall as Amelia or Jocelyn, a reddish bronze statue. From his calves to his thighs, across his stomach and chest, to his face, he was sculpted in muscle. His arms were stretched to either side and tied at the wrists. His legs were spread apart, ankles tied. He had been left only a breechclout to cover his privates.
He started as Amelia stepped in. She paused for a moment, looking back, prepared to close the door. Silently, Jocelyn stepped in. Amelia grinned and slammed the door shut.
For the first time, now, they heard the young Comanche speak but understood nothing. His tone was angry--furious--and commanding. Amelia knew if they were women in his village, he would be beating them--or worse. And yet, at the same time, Amelia thought she heard the distant hint of fear, the plea, the whine...
"I have no idea what he's saying," said Amelia.
Jocelyn was shaking her head. She had to decide, now, if she would look into the captive's eyes. Hold his gaze. She let herself imagine his eyes, coal-black, blazing, looking down into the face of his terrified captive. To her, he did not seem afraid, only frightening.
Amelia boldly stepped closer to him, very close, her face less than a foot from his. Jocelyn thought of Amelia as the "wild woman" in her life. Not many girls acted the way Amelia did.
Now, Amelia turned to Jocelyn with that devilish grin. She asked, "Anything you want to see first?"
"Oh, Amelia!" breathed Jocelyn.
