I was holding court and I was not amused.

Brin was at my side and I had managed to demand to be carried outside and sat in the sunlight. I was sat in the sun just outside of the lodge door. I had my saddle bags brought to me and managed to find my cigarettes. The smoke was good and the sunlight was good.

Petalesharo and Doc Banshee were in front of me and I wanted answers. But I also wanted coffee and Banshee just looked at me like I was babbling when I asked for coffee. I had seen a white woman working at a fire halfway down the camp, I asked Pete to have her come and make me coffee.

“She belongs to another”, Pete replied.

“Buy her”, I said and held up a pouch each of tobacco and gun powder. He grabbed the tobacco pouch and left to do the trade.

That left me, Brin, and Doc Banshee looking at each other.

“Sit”

Both Brin and Doc sat down on the ground.

Well fuck, that was interesting. So I ignored them and watched Pete’s progress dragging the white woman back across the camp. My back hurt and I was starting to feel grumpy. It would be nap time soon. But first some coffee and some answers.

I centered myself and tried to consider that I had just purchased a woman so that I could have a cup of coffee. I could ply myself with do-good moral feelings about that, but the reason I had done so was a cup of coffee. How many other slaves were here in camp that I just couldn’t see because of their dress and skin color?

Fuck it. I wanted some coffee and it only cost me a bit of tobacco. My soul might burn in hell for my intentions, but that was gonna happen anyway. Give me my damn coffee.

Pete was back with the woman. She was middle-aged, non-descript, and filthy; her eyes were lifeless. This woman had been destroyed by circumstances and I had just made her my problem. Maybe it’s me that keeps shooting myself in the back all the time.

I pointed to my food pack and told her, “There’s coffee and a pot in there, make me some.” I looked at Doc and said, “Show her where to cook”.

Bang! Off they both went leaving Brin, Pete and me alone.

I pointed to the spot next to me on the bench and simply said, “Explain.”

Petalesharo took a seat next to me and started in. I knew this was going to be a sob story.

Pete tried to short sheet it, “We made trade, one child of warrior dog for beautiful sister. It’s a good trade and sister is very happy.”

Well, hell, I should have expected him to run some line like that at me. Fucker was still trying to pull a fast one and pawn his sister off on me.

“Why no husband, Pete?”

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“She had. He brave warrior. He die fighting for Army. Three winters now, he dead.”

Well that was pretty much what I expected. I knew that the epidemics and the internecine wars had thinned the ranks of all the tribes so much that the US Army had basically walked in with a dust mop and taken over vast swaths of land. Conquering heroes of a scattered remnant of 7,500 where once 350,000 had lived and prospered. Mother Nature was a bitch with her tiny little buggy friends.

“Pete, I was sick.”

“Trade was made, she will be good wife.”

Fuck, I was stuck. If I tried to unwind the deal no man would ever touch her again. Michelle would not be happy with the problems I was bringing home for her to deal with.

“Where is my magic pistol?”

Pete left to get my M1911, it had disappeared when I collapsed and I definitely needed that back. I tested my left arm while I waited, I could fully use the hand but the arm still needed to stay still. I’d get a full sling around the arm and stash the .45 in there, even if I were going to be a gimp for a few weeks I wanted to have something to fall back on.

My coffee arrived about the same time as my pistol. The coffee wasn’t bad, but she’d need some training. Cleaning up first, but some serious training; you have to be able to make coffee. I took a sip of the coffee and grimaced. I pointed to my pack and said, “Sugar,” then slave woman immediately dug into the pack looking for sugar. This was kinda fun in a sick and twisted way.

I got my sugar and the coffee became ‘decent.’ I looked at her and asked, “You didn’t want any?”

Bless her frightened heart she looked confused but nodded her head.

“Well go on and get some then. Just leave me enough for another cup or make some more. Should be another cup in the pack.”

She was off like flash and I felt a little warm and fuzzy on the inside. But only a little. Sadly, she was still a slave until I got home and handed her over to Michelle. An unfortunate but necessary farce to insure her own safety. There was too much damage that needed to be carefully unwound before she could face the world again.

I had my coffee and I had a new cigarette so I looked at my new wife and said “Speak”.

I should have known that was going to be a mistake. I got a brief respite until Pete translated and Mt. Doc Banshee exploded in a non-stop torrent of words. It was impressive even to me and I’d been around the world a bit.

She went on and she even got her hands involved. We had a world class thespian on our hands here; she started to pace back and forth as she pontificated and I simply looked at Pete. He just shrugged his shoulders with a baleful grin on his face.

I look at white slave lady and pointed to my bag and said “whiskey.” I’ll be damned if she didn’t scramble over again and find one of the bottles in my pack. I popped the cork, took a swig, and poured a measure into my coffee. I handed the bottle over to Pete who had a swig of his own and handed the bottle back, as we sat and watched his sister go on. On a whim, I offered the bottle to slave lady and she took it and poured a healthy measure into her coffee before handing it back. We all just sat back to watch and listen.

Now I couldn’t understand a single word she was saying, but I’m sure she was holding discourse on the micro-economics of the lower Missouri River valley until I finished my cigarette and had enough. One last swig from my bourbon bottle, before I had slave lady put it away and then I said “Stop.”

“Pete, please translate for her.”

Pete nodded in assent.

“Is she happy to be my wife?”

Pete asked a short question and of course Doc went off on a running spiel. Pete gave me the quick translation while she talked.

“She is very proud to have been made the wife of such a powerful warrior. She says all the women are jealous that you paid such a big bride price.”

“Big bride price? I traded a dog for her while I was sick.”

“She says that Brin is a famous warrior dog now. Everybody knows him and he has his own coup stick.”

“Brin has a coup stick?”

Pete pointed at the entrance to the lodge which was adorned by two sticks with notches cut in them and red lines painted on each notch. Brin and I each had coup sticks.

“She made them herself. She also made a coup belt you can wear to celebration. She is very happy, so she talks.”

“Pete, does she ever stop talking?”

He just shook his head and gave me a woeful smile.