The San Pedro River ran muddy and fast down at Trabuco Pass. It was hardly the ideal setting for laundering, but that wouldn’t deter Miss Cora Lee. The wretched young lady hadn’t donned a clean change of clothes since the day her small party split from the larger wagon train. Now that they didn’t have the strength of a large number, her father had made it clear that Apache territory was no place for unnecessary efforts like those concerning personal hygiene. At each stop, Cora and her companions would march away from the riverbank as soon as enough drinking water was secured for the horses and themselves.
Being the only woman in the group was wearing. It was futile to beg the rowdy men for understanding. The old boys carried the crust of dirt on their brows with kingly pride, and they seemed to be in competition to determine whose bodily perfume could be the foulest. But not young Miss Cora Lee. Even in the most desolate wastes, young Miss Cora Lee would fight against man and river to keep the dignity and poise of civilization alive.
After two grueling weeks, her father had decided to set up the night camp at a manageable distance from the river. This was the opportunity she had been waiting for. With a sure and quiet step, Cora left the camp under the cover of night wearing only her nightgown and carrying her most prized garments under her arm. Hopper, the old cookie, stood watch, but the mescal he had had for dinner kept him nice and lazy; the damned Apache had better come blowing trumpets if they expected any sort of a fight.
The full moon shone vividly on the San Pedro, just down the steep hill. The girl thought of running down and plunging into the water, but it was not to be. She had to walk slowly, carefully, for she knew the landscape was plagued with vicious plants and critters. Old Reverend Bread had even told her of a cactus that would detach its limbs and hurl them angrily at its victims, and she wasn’t keen on meeting one of their kind on that particular night. So, slow and careful as ever, Miss Cora Lee found her way among the brush while intently focusing her bright blue eyes on every small moonlight shadow that stood between her and the wild waters.
The sound of Cora's steps turned into a crunch as she transitioned from the smooth dirt to the graveled bank. She stooped and reached toward the water. Her dainty fingers recoiled at the unexpected coolness. Suddenly washing her body didn't seem so appealing. "Maybe just the clothes tonight," she thought. Cora held a nugget of soap she had been treasuring in her hand, bid it farewell, and quickly got to work on her favorite Sunday dress.
Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
The water didn't seem so bad after a while. Cora's legs got tired from squatting so she kneeled on the wet gravel. The sweet smell of soap filled her nostrils as she carefully scrubbed the fine fabrics. Then she sat back to rest and caught her own scent again. The hard contrast only made it more evident that a bath was in order. With some reluctance, she gathered her courage and, after laying the dresses on a rock, she walked into the black waters until they covered her knees. Cora plunged the last bit of soap into the water, lifted her skirt, and began to work the grime away. The sensation was incredibly refreshing. She splashed water all over herself and made the most of the little soap she had left. For a moment she closed her eyes, smelled her scented hands, and pictured herself back in Saint Louis, coming out of her bath ready to put on her corset and rub some Florida Water on her neck.
But the dream didn’t last long. Her eyes opened instantly when she heard a sudden sound rising over the river rushing. It was a crunching sound—the sound of hoof against gravel.
Cora stood paralyzed, her fists and jaw clenched and her breathing stopped. Her eyeballs darted toward the bank but a passing cloud had covered the moon and she saw only darkness. Darkness all the way to the dim flicker of the camp’s fireplace, high up the slope, which now seemed worlds away.
Crunch, crunch, crunch…
Could it be a wild animal? The faint hope vanished as quickly as it came. She had raised horses since the day she first stepped down from her cradle. It was a horse. And it carried the weight of a rider.
Crunch, crunch. It stopped.
Cora stood still. There was a chance one of the men had come looking for her from the camp. All this could end in a spanking from her father and a fun little story to tell around a campfire on nights to come. But if it was them why hadn’t they called for her? She could now hear the horse breathing just a few feet away. Her eyes welled up. Her chin quivered. Her lips parted slowly.
“Papa?”
The cloud passed. The moon shone again on the river. Cora’s scream woke everyone back at the camp, but it was too late.