Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

by Purple Les

The Tequila Kid kept quiet as Arabella stared at the clear blue sky and began to talk. Not really talking to the Kid. More like talking to herself to get her thoughts in order.

“I’m Arabella Elizabeth Hodgekiss. I’m ten years old. My Pa sold his store in Ohio where we lived, and he took me, my Ma, my big sister and my little brother out west. We went with other people in a wagon train. They were all following this boy who said he talked to God. The boy was just twelve, but said he’d been chosen to be His prophet. They was like Mormons but different, cause they only took one wife.

When we got out west, my Pa left us with them and went to look for gold. He was gone for months. When Pa came back, he said we’d go back home to Ohio, cause we was rich now. We stopped at Adobe Wells on the way back, so he could take care of his bank business. My grandma lives there, too, so we stayed with her. When we went to leave, my little brother Dan had a fever, so Pa decided to leave him with Grandma. When he got better, she was gonna come back to Ohio with him.”

The Kid looked thoughtfully at Arabella. The girl’s fine features matched those of the little boy, the one she had tried to save. More than the family resemblance, the doctor at Adobe Wells had called the boy Dan. The Tequila Kid was certain now that the old woman and little boy were Arabella’s kin.

Arabella continued in a soft, flat voice. “Three days out on the trail, we was attacked by Indians. Pa saw them coming. Cause I was small, he put me in a broken water barrel on the covered wagon. Ma said to me to stay hid. That if I saw a chance to get away, to run and not look back.”

“I watched through the hole in the barrel, and I could see the Indians ride at us. Pa was trying to outrun them, but they overtook us and knocked our wagon over. The barrel went rolling off with me inside. Through the hole I could see them. They tied Pa to the wagon and beat him and kept askin’ him something over and over, but I couldn’t hear what it was.”

The Kid watched as Arabella’s eyes welled up with tears and her voice got softer. “They raped my sister and Ma. I saw them kill my Ma. They said my sister was next unless Pa talked. That’s when I snuck out of the barrel. I crawled away to where no one could see me, and then I ran.”

Arabella began to shake and cry as she said over and over, “I ran. Had to g-get help. Too scared to stop. I kept runnin’ till I couldn’t run no more. That’s all I remember.” With that, the girl broke down completely, her thin body racked by helpless sobs.

The Kid held Arabella and comforted her as best she could, but it took nearly half an hour for the girl to cry herself out and fall asleep. Carrying her over to where the bedroll was spread out, The Tequila Kid carefully laid Arabella down and covered her up.

Rolling herself a smoke, The Kid strolled around the water hole and the rocks, lost in thought. Some pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Some didn’t. There hadn’t been any Indians anywhere in the vicinity of Adobe Wells for years, much less any attacks. Anyhow, she’d never heard of an Indian behaving the way Arabella had described.

The more The Kid reasoned it out, the more certain she was that these were white outlaws who were dressed as Indians, out to rob Mr. Hodgekiss of his gold — the same outlaws she’d caught red-handed fleeing the bank.

The same sons of bitches who raped and killed Button’s brother and grandma, she told herself. And at least one of ‘em is still out there.

The way The Kid figured it, the Hodgekiss family had been followed out of town so they could be robbed of their gold. When it wasn’t found on the trail with the family, the outlaws rode back to town and tortured the son and grandmother to see it they had it. That must be how they knew the gold was in the bank.

The Kid studied the stars in the sky for a long time, turning over different angles of the mystery in her mind. Finally she got under the bedroll with Arabella and went to sleep.

The Tequila Kid woke at dawn. Arabella was still dozing soundly. The Kid walked over to the water hole to wash her face. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied motion in the grass. Realizing it was a jack rabbit, she whipped out her knife and threw it, spearing the animal before it could flee.

She restarted the fire, cleaned and skinned the rabbit carcass, rubbed it with seasoning from her herb pouch, impaled it with a small iron skewer taken from her saddle bag, then propping the whole thing over the fire with a couple of foot-long Y-shaped sticks she kept. Long as she lived, The Kid would be grateful to her adopted Mojave mother who had taught her the secrets of cooking.

She made a pot of coffee while the meat sizzled, occasionally turning the spit so it would roast evenly.

“Morning, Kid.” Arabella said, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she sat up. “What smells so good?”

The Tequila Kid thought for a moment and then said, “We’re having us some roasted chicken for breakfast. How’s that sound?”

“That sounds great!”

She sounds more like an ordinary little girl today, The Kid thought. “Well, it’s almost ready, Button. Why don’t you wash up some, then we’ll eat.”

After breakfast, The Kid gave Arabella the task of looking for sticks of wood for that night’s fire, while she cleaned up the camp. After that, they rested on the bedroll in the shade of the rocks. The Kid rolled a cigarette and lay back, smoking it thoughtfully.

“What was it like livin’ with the Indians, Kid?” Arabella asked.

“Well, livin’ with the Yavapai was pure hell. But the Mojave, they was right kind to me and my sister.” Glancing at the wide-eyed girl, The Kid realized that Arabella was interested in hearing more, so she settled in to tell her story.

“I guess it took me and my sister some gettin’ used to. They didn’t do nothin’ like civilized white folks would. And yet after we got used to it, they seemed more civilized and Christian to us than white people.”

“How you mean, Kid?” asked Arabella.

“Well, I guess the first thing was the way they lived. They was real kind to everyone. They shared everything they had with each other. Some of it took some getting used to, though. I mean, well, till Mojave kids are nine or ten years old, they go bare naked.” Looking over at Arabella, she noticed that the girl’s face was slightly flushed.

“Boys and girls?” Arabella asked. The idea of boys and girls her age being naked together all the time gave her some naughty thoughts.

“Yep, that’s right, Button. Me and my big sister were pretty beat up from the way the Yavapai had treated us. Our Mojave family healed us up and fed us good. It didn’t take much time to learn their language, and pretty soon, we were part of the tribe.”

“Kid? Did you and your sister… um, did you go ‘round not wearin’ anything?”

Finishing her smoke, The Kid took apart the butt of the cigarette, smiling to herself. Hmmm… kinda interesting, the things Button wants to hear more about.

“You mean, did we dress like the Mojave? Guess because I was just eight or so I maybe should have been naked all the time, but I think it was my sister that got them to let me wear something. The men just wore loincloths and moccasins. The women wore moccasins and skirts made out of tree bark. That’s all me and my sister ever had on.”

The Kid could almost hear the wheels spinning in Arabella’s head. “You mean everyone could see you and your sister’s…” the girl swallowed hard before she continued, “…bare chests?”

“That’s right, Button. We also swam every day. Men, women, boys, and girls.” The Kid looked sideways at Arabella and added, “They was real good swimmers, the Mojave. Showed me and my sister how. Everyone swam bare naked, too.” The Kid enjoyed the shocked look and red cheeks on Arabella’s face.

“Gosh!” was Arabella’s response. “What else?”

“Well,” the Kid continued, “They would have these festival feasts now and then. They encouraged the boys and girls who were ten or older to get naked and, y’know, try sex things with each other. Boys and girls. Or girls and girls or boys and boys. They didn’t have no prejudices.”

“Did you…?” Arabella’s voice trailed off.

“Yep. I got to admit me and my sister took to it all like ducks to water. I tried lots of things. I liked girls the best, and my sister was real popular with the boys. See, they didn’t marry like white folk. If you liked someone, you moved into their house and you was married. If the marriage went bad, you moved out.”

“Kid? Do you have a Christian name?”

“My right name was Mary Ann Wallace. My Mojave name was — well, you couldn’t pronounce it, but it meant White Raven.”

“That’s pretty,” said Arabella.

“I had me an Indian nickname too. It translates as Happy Mouth Vagina. My sister’s nickname was Stink Vagina or Sore Vagina. Not that it really smelled bad, she just used it a lot. It was for sure sore sometimes!”

Arabella couldn’t help but laugh. The Kid liked the child’s laugh. It put her in mind of a happy-sounding bird song.

The girl studied her grownup friend. “How old are you, Kid?”

“Reckon I must be nineteen, maybe twenty.” The Kid rolled another cigarette and smoked it slowly. She wasn’t used to jawing so much about herself. Arabella was proving to be a little curiosity box, though.

“Where’s your sister now, Kid?”

The Kid took a long slow puff on her cigarette and put it out. “We had a bad famine one year. Real bad. Lots of the tribe starved. My sister would have maybe lived through it if she hadn’t been givin’ me part of her own food. She saved my life — and it cost me hers.” The Kid felt a hot tear burn its way down her cheek.

“Gosh. I’m sorry, Kid.”

“That’s okay, Arabella. We’ve both lost kin. We know how it hurts.”

They were quiet for a long time. Then Arabella asked, “Why did you leave the Mojave tribe?”

The Tequila Kid wondered if she could talk about it. It had been a few years now. Finally she decided to give it a try.

“Well, Button, I didn’t leave. They was taken away from me.” The look on Arabella’s face showed she was puzzled, so The Kid took a breath and continued.

“The Mojave was nice to everyone. Even when they maybe shouldn’t have. If soldiers came by, they fed and traded with ‘em. Me and my sister always hid when they were there. See, we was afraid they might try to take us back to live with the white man again.”

The Kid swallowed hard. A lump had come to her throat. “A few years later, the soldiers come back again. There’d been a lot of white men round our land. They’d come for the tears of the sun. When our men tried to make ‘em leave, the fighting started.”

“What’s tears of the sun, Kid?”

Gazing at Arabella, The Kid gently said, “That’s what the white man calls gold.” Tears came to her eyes, and she tried to blink them away. “One day, all our men had gone out to fight the soldiers. While they was gone, more soldiers come riding into our homes.”

The Tequila Kid pulled her knife out and looked at it. Then she put it away and pulled her knees up to her chest, staring down at the ground. “The soldiers killed everyone they saw. The old men tried to fight. So did the little boys. They died first. The old women was all killed next. They scalped my grandma. Most of the other women and girls got raped before they was killed.

“My sister was already dead a year or two from the famine. My wife, Sky Fawn, was raped and killed while I was there. Then this soldier was about to rape me when he saw my blue eyes. Well, you see, Button, sometimes a white girl brought back from the Indians was worth a reward from her family. So instead of raping me, he brought me back to the fort with them.

“Well, there weren’t no reward for me. That made ‘em sorry they’d even bothered bringin’ me back. Now I had no one. No white family, no Indian family. The Christian women at the fort didn’t want nothin’ to do with me. So the woman who ran the trading post took me in.”

The Kid laughed to herself. “Big Bertha was her name. She ran the store, only it was also the whorehouse and bar. The girls all treated me kind. Bertha didn’t make me do no whoring, mind you, though I did sleep a lot with one of the girls there.”

The Tequila Kid wasn’t used to talking about herself. Now that she’d started, she kept going. Talking to the girl seemed easy for some reason. It was clear that Arabella didn’t understand it all, but she seemed to like listening.

“Ever since I was a little girl, I’d hunted food for my family. I was a crack shot with a rifle or pistol. Came to be a fast draw, too. I guess it ain’t the best skill for a girl, but it sure came in handy for gettin’ food. So I’d hunt game for Bertha, too. After I’d been with her a year or so, it was just time to move on.

“I’d got me a real nice horse. Buttercup, I named her. She was my best friend, even if she was just a horse. Long story short, Button, I ended up at one point helpin’ out some Texas Rangers in a shootout. They kinda took me in, and I been an agent for ‘em ever since.”

“You mean you’re a lawman, Kid?”

The Kid smiled and fished a badge out of her green corduroy vest. She held it up for the girl to see. Arabella took it to hold and look at and exclaimed, “Gosh, you’re a Texas Ranger!”

Tucking the badge back into her pocket, The Kid said, “That’s right, Button. After I get you someplace safe, I promise you I’ll get the men that killed your family.”

Then the Kid’s heart sank as it hit her that she had to tell Arabella what had happened in Adobe Wells. “Um, listen, Button. There’s something I have to talk to you about…”

She thought it best to leave out the part about the gold, and she glossed over the grisly details of how Arabella’s brother and grandmother were killed, just telling her that they were dead.

Arabella cried, then sat numbly, staring at her hands. The Kid hugged the child, then asked, “You have any other kinfolk, Button?”

“I have an aunt and two cousins in Oak Creek. I guess maybe they might take me in. I’d rather just stay with you, Kid. Can I?”

“Well, Button, we’ll be together till I get you to Oak Creek. I hear that’s become a real boom town. It would be better for you to grow up there then on the trail with me. I lead a pretty rough life. Tell you what, though. If you like, I’ll pay you a call whenever I pass through. We’ll still be friends.”

“I’d like that a lot,” Arabella said, nodding. Then she nestled into the woman’s strong arms. “I love you, Kid.”

The Kid stared in wonder at the child. “I… I love you too, Button,” stunned to realize that she really felt that way about this precious little girl.

*****

Later that afternoon, while Arabella was napping, The Kid caught and killed a large lizard, which she prepared and cooked over the fire in her small skillet, mixing in the last can of beans and a generous pinch of seasoning.

Arabella woke up to the smell. “Gosh, Kid. That smells great. What is it?”

“It’s chicken again. I fried it up with some beans this time. Come dig in.”

They ate in silence. Afterwards, Arabella helped the Kid clean up the camp. Observing the girl, The Kid judged that she was fit to travel now.

The Kid had been puzzling on how best to get them both to Oak Creek. She’d hoped maybe a wild horse would come by the water hole, but hadn’t seen any. She could hoof it to the next town or ranch, but that meant leaving Arabella on her own. Not a good option, even if she could persuade the girl to remain behind.

Only one solution: she and Arabella would have to travel on foot. It would be rough on the girl, but they couldn’t stay there forever.

For no particular reason, the Kid clambered up onto the rocks to look around. If it had been any other moment she would have missed what she then saw — a flash of light. She watched that spot a long time and then saw a small patch of dust rise up and move slowly down the horizon. After a few minutes, the dust cloud vanished.

Someone was trailing her. She’d figured it might happen. The Kid was the last one with the four bags of gold in her possession. Sooner or later, that fifth man would wonder about it. Did his partners get it from her and ride off, leaving him out of the cut? Maybe he wondered if The Kid killed his partners, then elected to keep the gold for herself. However the man figured the situation, he wasn’t about to let that gold go unaccounted for — not after killing an old woman and a child to lay his hands on it.

The Kid could tell by the way she’d been tracked that the fifth man, whoever he was, had hired an Indian to do his dirty work. There was no way a white man could have got this close without giving himself away. Got about half an hour before he gets here, she figured. Right after sunset.

Climbing back down, the Kid called Arabella to her, pausing to take her blanket from the bedroll. “Come with me, Button.” Leading the girl downstream from camp, she took her into a stand of tall grass.

By this time, Arabella was visibly nervous. “What’s goin’ on, Kid?”

Spreading the blanket on the ground, The Kid told her, “This is real important, Button. You stay hid here in the grass till I come back for you. It may be a couple of hours, it may be all night.”

Arabella was puzzled and frightened, but paid close attention. “Listen,” the Kid went on, “You may hear yells or shooting or whatnot. Whatever happens, you stay here and stay quiet. Don’t be scared none. I’ll be back for you.” The Kid kissed Arabella’s cheek, then hastened back to the camp.

She got a fire started, then settled in.

The fire was beginning to wane when a tall man suddenly rose up out of nowhere. He looked in silence at the sleeping figure in the bedroll, then drew his gun from its holster and cocked the hammer back.

What happens next? Find out in Chapter Three!