Red Rock II Chapter 5:- Burning Bridges (A USB Story by Rufusluciusivan and Stormtrooper1990)
Posted: Mon Aug 18, 2025 7:33 am
Rural Louisiana, 5km West of the Van der Laar Estate, Monday 9th November 14:00pm
Lying on top of a small hill, hidden in the grass, Clinton cupped his hands around his eyes and observed the trail nearby.
“It’s them.” he warned his three companions.
Nancy, Sand, and Sylvié didn’t waste time. They immediately led the horses in the middle of the grove of trees next to which they were resting – hoping the thick leaves and bushes would be enough to hide their figures. At the same time, Clinton kicked their fire and concealed it, then he ran to hide with them like the Devil was after him.
Which, in a way, was right.
The stampede-like sound of a cavalcade got closer. They held their breath.
A group of people on horseback rode at full speed past their hiding spot. It was hard to get a good look because of the leaves, but Nancy numbered two dozens at least. All were women. All were armed. And they were led by a familiar face.
Victoria van der Laar was on the warpath.
“She struck me as the type to hold a grudge.” Nancy deadpanned.
“She’ll realize she rode past us when she reaches the next town.” Sand deduced. “Then we can expect she’ll turn back. We better not be on this road when it happens.”
“We can’t go through the bayou. We don’t know the area well enough.” Clinton warned. “Best course of action is to release the horses, and steal some disguises.”
Nancy sighed. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
16:00pm
“Desperate times call for desperate measures.” Clinton parroted.
In a ditch, three unconscious women were lying next to each other. They were bound with ropes, and gagged with thick scarves. One – a light-skinned brunette with green eyes – was naked, her well formed breasts with pink rose petal areolas and small trimmed womanhood on full display. The other two were wearing long thin white linen underdresses – plain, which suited the vows of poverty they had taken. One was a blue-eyed Caucasian blonde, the other had the dark skin, brown hair, and dark eyes of a Mexican.
Their coach was stationed nearby. The unconscious coachman himself was also trussed up and gagged, albeit in a different hole.
The women were traveling nuns. Sand, Nancy, and Sylvié were now clad in their garments – black religious robes, with the matching head veil and belt.
Nancy put a hand on his shoulder. “If God cared about His brides, then He’d strike us down where we stand.”
Clinton tried to answer with his usual playful banter, but only managed an awkward grimace of embarrassment. He’d been raised in a devout family – and didn’t share her sentiment about religion. Nancy had lost her faith the day her parents were murdered, but he hadn’t – not even after losing his wife and son. On the contrary, he had found solace in knowing that even at his lowest, he’d never be alone. It was probably their only point of disagreement, but he loved her too much to let it get in the way of their relationship.
Nancy couldn’t bear seeing him in distress. “Several coaches travel through this road every day, and Brett is riding the area. Hell, even that bitch Victoria could make herself useful and rescue them. They’ll be found soon. And if it eases your mind, we’ll send a telegram in the next town to make sure Brett knows where they are.”
Clinton nodded. “It’s best if we don't waste time. Victoria knows this area like the back of her hand.”
“Your trick should buy us some time.” Sand intervened. “It was a good idea, by the way. Releasing the horses near the swamp.” She chuckled darkly. “I wish Broken Nose good luck.”
“I sure would pay good money to see her search the bayou, with snakes and mosquito to keep her company.” Sylvié added.
18:00pm
Josephine slapped her cheek to get rid of an especially persistent mosquito. “Must we be riding through this swamp?” she complained.
“Boss says we’re cutting their route.” Jenny explained. “Remember the nuns we found robbed on the roadside by the criminals? Boss calculated their destination. Using this trail, we can block them before they reach the next train station.”
“What about the horses we found nearby?”
“Boss says it’s a trick. They want us to think they’re hiding in the bayou.”
“Then surely there must be an other way than in this Godforsaken swamp of-”
Suddenly, Josephine let out a cry when her horse’s leg got stuck in a traitorous water hole. She was ejected from her saddle and fell harshly onto the mud.
“Jo’!” Alice jumped from her own mount, and rushed at her side. She was relieved to see her lover was fine, save for a few bruises. Josephine had been lucky to be ejected – therefore she hadn’t been crushed by the falling horse. The horse wasn’t so lucky though. It was neighing in pain, unable to get back up.
Alerted by their cries, the whole bounty hunting party halted.
Victoria let out a volley of curses, and rode back to them. Still on top of her black stallion, she towered over the two lovebirds. Her eyes glared daggers at Josephine. “The hell?! Can’t you ride straight?! Don’t they have horses in Quebec?!”
“It’s those swamps! I- I’m not used to that kind of soil!”
“No excuses! Don’t make me regret taking you greenhorns with us!” Josephine’s horse was still neighing in pain, lying on its side. Victoria’s eye twitched. “And what’s HIS problem?!”
“I think he hurt himself.” Josephine patted the flank of her horse to try and ease its mind. “Maybe broke his leg.”
“Then leave him. Why do you think we brought spare ones?”
“He won’t survive on his own!” Josephine objected.
Victoria drew her gun, and shot the horse in the head. Then she glared at Josephine. “You have five minutes to saddle.”
Josephine briefly glared at the dead horse – then snapped out of her trance. Alice and Jenny helped her unsaddle the carcass to equip a spare horse.
Jenny grimaced nervously – it was a way to ease her tension. “It surely is something... to be on a hunt for State-wide criminals…”
“Did she have to put him down like that…?” Josephine muttered.
“We couldn’t afford the time to nurse him back to health, so the only solution was to make it quick…” Jenny objected. “We did such things too sometimes, back at the circus. Boss is a professional. She’s just being practical. And I get why she’s angry – heard the bandits attacked her sister.”
Alice bit her lower lip. “Yeah… I’m sure it’s that…” She didn’t share with her companions the nagging doubt in her mind. For a split second, she thought she had seen something in Victoria’s eyes. A mad glimmer that had petrified her to her core. No. It was a trick of light, she thought to herself. Or maybe just a trick of the mind. The bayou’s putrid smell was affecting her more than she had thought.
Victoria rode back in front of the group.
“That horse was young, healthy and thoroughbred. Way to burn down good money, Victoria.” one gunwoman commented. She had a cute but lined heart shaped face, with bright blue eyes and jet black hair tied into a bun with a little grey strands at the edges.
One glare of Victoria was enough to shut her up.
Mary, Victoria’s second-in-command, shook her head. “Ethel, I know you like being the contrarian of the team, but trust me one day it’ll bite you in the ass…”
Victoria opened her pocket watch, and counted five minutes – not one second more. Josephine was ready just in time.
“We move.” the bounty huntress exclaimed. “With the road they’re taking, their only course of action is to cross the Atchafalaya River. We’ll cut their escape route at Simmesport!”
Simmesport, LA, Tuesday 10th November 1884, 09:00am
Clinton muttered a curse under his breath when he saw the group of women on horseback waiting in front of the saloon of the recently-founded town of Simmesport. No need to be a genius to deduce the leader of this bounty hunting party was currently collecting information in the building.
“Shit… She saw through our trick… I was hoping to cross the Atchafalaya River here, and then the road would have cleared up to Chateau DeBeers…” He shook his head. “All the ways to cross the river are most likely already being watched.”
“Heard there’s a new railroad and a bridge being built south of here. In some place called Jamesville.” Sylvié mentioned.
“We’ll have to cut through the wilds. We can’t use the coach anymore. Or the nun robes.” Nancy commented.
She noticed a bunch of rowdy ranch-hands sharing crude jokes next to the town’s corral – clad in the classic ‘cowboy’ outfit: Stetson hats, sturdy shirts, chaps, and riding boots. Some of them were women. Their horses were tied nearby.
“I think it’s time we preach to these poor lost souls the importance of sharing with those in need…” Nancy smiled. “Like sharing their clothes…”
The cow girls didn’t feel threatened by the three nuns approaching them.
They should have…
A little while later, Nancy, Sylvié, Sand, and Clinton rode southwards. The three young women were wearing new sets of clothes and looked like your typical drifting cow girls looking for a job.
They were leaving behind a coach filled with unconscious ranch hands, gagged and trussed up like turkeys. Three of them had been relieved of their clothes – one was naked, the other two clad in their small clothes.
Jamesville, LA, 11:10am
Nancy, Sylvié, Sand, and Clinton reached Jamesville in a sorry state. They were exhausted because of their frantic ride through the wilds.
And, worst of all, they knew Victoria was already on their trail again.
The place itself could barely be called a city – more like a big village. It was a recent settlement – even more recent than Simmesport – and the only reason it existed at all was because of the bridge and railroad the DeBeers Company was building nearby. When Maximilian had had a train station built there, with the intent of then building a new bridge to cross the Atchafalaya River and cut down his transport fees, workers had come and settled. Nancy wouldn’t be surprised to hear every inhabitant was affiliated to the DeBeers Company in one way or another.
Which meant they had to be wary of everyone. Still, it was the closest place where they could cross the river and ride to Chateau DeBeers, near Lafayette.
“We can’t go on like that forever…” Clinton commented. They knew Victoria’s party was right behind them – the bounty huntress had managed to block their escape route, and flank them to the river. Victoria knew the region better than them. “Our horses won’t withstand that pace for much longer...”
“We must do something about Broken Nose.” Sand stated.
Sylvié stroked her hand. “I know you’re good, love, but even you can’t beat a whole bounty hunting posse by yourself…”
“If we kill her while she’s upholding the law, even if only technically, it’s game over. Brett can’t help us. We need another plan.” Nancy objected.
Clinton looked at the bridge crossing the river, a few miles away from the city proper. The bridge was currently under construction – while people on foot or on horseback could cross it, the DeBeers Company wanted the railroad to go through it. “Say, this is the only bridge in the area… If we were to… destroy it right as Victoria’s posse arrives here… we could trap them on this side of the river…”
Nancy nodded slowly. “If we cross it now, she'll catch up with us in one day. But if we wait until she enters Jamesville, and blow the bridge right before she crosses, we can buy ourselves a couple of days and cover our tracks… Then, it’s smooth sailing up to the Chateau DeBeers.”
“This kind of operation needs preparation.” Sand intervened. “Especially if you don’t want workers to be on the bridge when we destroy it.”
“I’ll buy you some time.” Clinton proposed. “I know a bit about how Victoria operates.”
“How much?”
“One day. We meet tomorrow, at midday, during the workers’ lunch break.”
“Let’s do it then.”
Jamesville, LA, Wednesday 11th November 10:48am
Jamesville was maybe small enough for all its inhabitants to be affiliated in some way to the DeBeers Company – whether as workers, mercenaries, pencil-pushers, or employee spouses – but fortunately it was still big enough for people to not pay much attention to the occasional traveler or new employee.
Or the three women pretending to be travelers willing to become new employees.
The search warrants had been changed since their venture at Baton Rouge – Sylvié’s description had been added to the wanted posters. Still, they could use the update to their advantage. Now, the posters mentioned a band of four outlaws – which meant their group of three attracted less attention than it should have.
“Our dirty clothes and chaps are telltale signs we’re not from here…” Nancy mentioned. “We’re the kind of people who’ll never be allowed near the bridge…”
“Guards have crests of the DeBeers Company on their scarves.” Sand added.
“Then we need a change of clothes. Preferably people who are important enough to not be bothered by workers and common guards.”
They roamed the streets for a while, pretending to shop for furniture, and discreetly eyeing the women they came across.
Nancy ultimately spotted one specific group.
The trio of guards was pretty unremarkable as far as thugs-for-hire went – with generic ‘tough gunhand outfits’: black boots, dark blue jeans, cartridge belt, plaid shirts, cowboy waistcoats, and Stetson hats.
One had black hair, with a plump round face and brown eyes. Her haircut was a plain ponytail. The other two were related – cousins or sisters –. They shared the same curly dark blond hair, pointy chins, sharp facial features, and grey eyes. The eldest was slightly taller.
“Sending three guards to greet just one nurse… What were they thinking?!” the black-haired woman – who also seemed to be the leader – was complaining.
“Calm down, Jessie!” one blonde intervened.
“Guess they want us to carry her luggage.” the other added.
“Fuck them! I’m a gunhand! A fighter! Not some porter!” Jessie exclaimed.
“Overseers have a lot of trouble finding nurses willing to come work here. So when one agrees, they want the red carpet and everything to make sure she stays…”
“Bah! Let’s get this over with… We’ll cut through the wagon depot… It’ll be faster…”
The black-haired gunhand led the way, followed by her two partners. The trio failed to notice that eavesdroppers had listened to the whole conversation.
Nancy, Sand, and Sylvié shared a meaningful glance.
“Poor things…” Sylvié commented with a small smile. “We should do something…”
Nancy sized the three women up, and grinned as well. “It's our civic duty to relieve them of this thankless job...”
She, Sylvié, and Sand began to follow the gunwomen.
Jamesville Station, 11:03am
Michaela Quinn looked through the window of her wagon. The train was slowing down, entering the station.
She took a long breath, and braced herself. Remember this is not the East Coast. she told herself one last time. Don’t show them you’re smart.
At least, Jamesville wasn’t Baton Rouge… At least the people of Jamesville didn’t believe in swamp witches… much…
The wagon’s window sent her reflection back. Michaela Quinn was a woman in her mid-thirties with loose waist-long light brown eyes, and a white skin. One of her notable features was heterochromia, making her right eye brown and her left eye green.
Quinn adjusted her nurse outfit – a long one-piece black dress with a white apron fitted around the waist, and a frilly white nurse bonnet (plus black booties). She had chosen to show up fully-uniformed at the station, reasoning she would be more easily accepted by the townsfolk and workers. She knew how many people didn’t take kindly to the idea of an unmarried woman traveling on her own. Or the idea of an unmarried woman as old as she. Or the idea of a woman being independent, period.
The nurse knew firsthand how men would try to bring her down. Her father had been a doctor, so as a child she had dreamed of following in his footsteps. Then the harsh world had taught her dreams were for men, and women could only get their scraps. For a while, Michaela had felt bitter. Then she had learned to make the most of what she had. Being a nurse wasn’t the same as being a doctor, but she still had been able to achieve her dream in a way. Healing people had always been what was most important to her – not the status that came with the title of doctor.
Quinn grabbed her belongings – a purse-like doctor bag with one hand, her case with her personal belongings in the other. When she exited the train, Michaela discovered there was a small committee waiting for her.
Three gunhands.
“Good day, ma’am. We were sent to escort you.”
Michaela froze when she got a good look at them.
Were those three women? Dressed in men’s clothes, carrying guns. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Quinn prided herself in being a progressive woman, so of course she welcomed those ideas. But she’d never have thought she’d find more progressiveness in Louisiana than in the East Coast!
“Is there a problem?” the leader of the trio asked.
Michaela realized she was staring – how rude of her. “No- Not at all. I'm sorry. Michaela Quinn.” She introduced herself. "I'm the new nurse."
The leader nodded. "So we've heard." No sign of judgment in her voice – she didn't mind at all that Michaela was unmarried and independent.
Maybe I worried for nothing… Maybe the tales of hicks who still believe in swamp witches are exaggerated... Maybe I was the one having prejudices... How rude of me!
“Please follow us.”
Two of the gunwomen helped Quinn carry her belongings, which allowed the nurse to get a better look at her bodyguards.
The leader of the escort was a redhead. Her demeanor was confident, and her body was fit. She clearly had been a gunslinger for a long amount of time. Her first companion looked a lot sterner. Though given her appearance, Micheal wagered she was a Native – and given how rough Natives had it had, Quinn wouldn’t blame her for being sullen. She wouldn’t even have been surprised to learn this girl pretended to be Mexican to have some peace – and wouldn’t also be surprised to learn most hicks believed the story. The last companion was also very interesting – but in a different way. With her cute features and gentle demeanor, the brunette clearly didn’t look like a trained fighter.
"I trust your journey went well." the redhead said.
She was trying to put her at ease with small talk. Quinn appreciated her effort. "Yes. The trip was long, but uneventful. I'm glad I'm finally here. I didn't study medicine to sit idly all day. I want to be useful, make a difference, you see?"
"A noble goal." the redhead answered with a nod. "We'll be using a shortcut through the wagon depot area by the way. It's the fastest way to the construction site." she added.
Quinn nodded. She didn't exactly know why the redhead had felt the need to clarify herself, but the justification made sense. Doing so, she found her eyes once again drifting on the gun strapped onto the woman's belt. Like any nurse dedicating her life to healing people, Michaela hated weapons. But at the same time, she knew they were a symbol of independence – just like the trousers these women were wearing. “Are you working for Mr DeBeers?” Michaela asked her.
“Yes, ma’am.” the redhead answered.
“And he… you know…” Michaela gestured at their outfits, trying to find a way to quench her curiosity without being rude again. “… doesn’t mind?”
“Mr DeBeers only believes in profit. Men, women, he doesn’t care as long as you work hard and bring money to the Company.”
As a nurse, Michaela didn’t exactly like such a greedy business mindset, but still… If it meant giving women a chance to work as equals to men... “Guess I misjudged the DeBeers Company…”
The three gunwomen suddenly stopped walking, even though they were in the middle of the railway and wagon depot – still far away from the construction site near the bridge.
Michaela frowned. Had she said something rude without meaning to?
The red-haired gunhand looked the nurse in the eyes. “Ma’am, you seem like a fine lady. Do yourself a favor. Forget the DeBeers Company. When all this is over, go to the Van der Laar Estate. There are people here in need of a medicine woman of your caliber.”
Michaela frowned. She didn’t understand those cryptic words. “Excuse me?”
“No. Please, excuse me. There’s nothing personal.”
Michaela briefly felt a sharp pain at the bottom of her neck – the nurse in her recognized a swift blow using the cross of a gun. Surgical precision. Such a hit would knock out an adult woman almost instantly.
And it did exactly that.
11:10am
Michaela grunted when Sand knocked her out.
Nancy caught the falling woman against her and eased her limp body. “As I said, nothing personal.”
She wrapped her arms around Michaela’s torso and under her shoulders, just below the breasts, and dragged the unconscious woman to a specific stored wagon. Sand and Sylvié opened it, and helped her load the unconscious nurse and her luggage inside.
Three other women were already lying on the hay. They were bound with ropes and gagged with rags. One had black hair, with a plump round face and brown eyes. The other two were related – cousins or sisters –. They shared the same curly dark blond hair, pointy chins, sharp facial features, and grey eyes. They were the real guards who had been sent to escort Michaela to the construction site. Unfortunately for them, they had been intercepted by Nancy, Sand, and Sylvié on their way – and relieved of their duty and their clothes. The black-haired woman was fully naked, firm buoyant breasts with full dark pink puffy areolas and womanhood crowned with a trimmed black triangle of pubic hair, completely exposed. The other two were wearing their underclothes – white chemise and blue panties for the older one, grey underdrawers and a matching sleeveless undershirt for the younger.
Nancy laid Michaela onto the floor of the wagon.
“Sylvié, you’ll take her dress. She’s close to your size, and you’re better at impersonating civilians.”
“Got it.”
While Sylvié undressed herself and Sand went outside the wagon to watch the area, Nancy went down to work, stripping Michaela of her black booties, white nurse bonnet, white apron, and black dress.
Once the nurse was down to her underclothes, Nancy paused. Michaela was wearing light pink silk drawers with a leaf-and-flower pattern, and a Henry S. Lesher corset substitute combining white shoulder straps, white breast pads and beige armpit shield. Those underwear brought Lottie to her mind.
“Is this a nurse thing? Or maybe an East Coast thing?” she mused.
“People will think you’re crazy if they find you talking to yourself about underclothes.” Sylvié joked, having taken off her clothes save for her drawers and blouse.
“Says the girl standing in her underclothes right now.” Nancy retorted with the same playful tone.
“Touché.”
Nancy grabbed a coil of rope in a corner of the wagon, and worked on restraining Michaela. At the same time, Sylvié took Quinn’s nurse uniform, and slipped into the still-lukewarm clothes.
Nancy bound Michaela’s wrists and then her legs. She took the discarded scarf which had been part of Sylvié’s gunhand disguise, and used the thick red piece of cloth to cleave-gag Quinn.
Nancy left the real nurse lying on the hay next to the three gunwomen. She knew this wagon wasn’t meant to be used before the afternoon – the four prisoners would only be discovered in a few hours. The workers would get a big surprise, she’d wager.
Once Sylvié was in disguise, she and Nancy quickly rummaged through Michaela’s belongings.
They didn’t bother with the woman’s case – they weren’t robbers, she could keep her wardrobe, personal stuff, and money. They were aware Quinn had come here with the content of this case as her only belongings.
The purse-like bag however caught Sylvié’s interest – medical supplies were nothing to spit at.
“I used to patch up girls at my mother’s place before I left Paris…” she explained. “I think I can use them.”
Checking the bag’s content, the French girl also discovered several bottles of chloroform, several more of laudanum, and clean syringes.
“Now I feel silly. We wouldn’t have needed to bind and gag her had I checked her belongings sooner.”
Nancy shrugged. “We’re not thieves. It’s a good thing this isn’t your first reflex.” She briefly hesitated. “Still, that one we will keep. Not fond of the idea, but there’s no way we pass on such useful tools. Not with Victoria on our trail.”
“Do we use some on these four?” Sylvié proposed, a bottle of laudanum in hand.
Nancy pondered the option, but then shook her head. “Nobody will check this wagon before afternoon’s end. Ropes and gags should be enough. We may not know how many women we have to neutralize until our flight is over. It’s best to use our resources sparingly.”
She went to the wagon’s door, and knocked two times. She was answered by two knocks. Sand was signaling them the coast was clear. Nancy once again knocked two times, asking her friend to open the wagon.
Sand complied. They exited the wagon, and closed the door again to conceal Quinn and the three defeated guards. Then, they headed to the construction site.
Jamesville Construction Site, 11:18am
Sylvié looked the part in Quinn’s nurse uniform – “Black suits you.” Sand had said. – The French girl was walking at the front, Nancy and Sand were walking a step behind her, obscuring their faces with their cowboy hats.
Sylvié giggled, then asked: “So what’s the plan?”
“The nurse disguise will give us access to the construction site, but not to the bridge proper. Same with those low-rank guard outfits. I don’t know if Victoria drew inspiration from the Company or the Company drew inspiration from the Van der Laar Estate, but they clearly use outfits to show some hierarchy.”
“There aren't any Mexican girls among the workers… Only white and Chinese folks…” Sand commented.
“I guess this part is for Sylvié and I then.”
“I’m sure Sand won’t mind sharing me for a while.”
“I am the jealous type, but for my best friend I’ll make an exception.” Sand said with a straight face.
Nancy blinked. She noticed the amused sparkle in her friend’s eyes. “Did you just make a joke?” She looked at Sylvié. “Dear God, you’re rubbing off on her!”
Sylvié giggled, kissing her lover on the cheek. "In more ways than one I hope." She cheekily groped Sand's ass, eliciting a purr of delight from the young Navajo.
"Well I wouldn't mind doing some more rubbing off on you, later tonight." She winked playfully pinching the French girl’s ass.
Nancy rolled her eyes, indulgently. "Er ladies? I'm right here you know?" Her face then turned serious. "Besides, we are running out of time, Clint can only delay them for so long."
The construction site and bridge were a few miles from Jamesville proper. It was a maze of crates, wooden shacks, and piles of logs and railways. At its heart, there was the collective mess, a sawmill, and the field hospital. The bridge itself was almost finished – people could actually already cross it. The place wasn’t exactly guarded, but there were a few men and women in arms keeping an eye on things.
Two of such gunmen came across Sylvié. They glanced at her outfit. “You the new nurse?” the tall one of the duo asked.
Sylvié nodded and stepped forward, making sure to catch their attention and preventing them from looking too much at her two friends. She introduced herself: “Michaela Quinn.”
The tall man glanced at her face. “You look a lot younger than what we were expecting.”
Sylvié pretended to huff. “What an awfully rude thing to say to a lady!”
“No offense, ‘lady’, but by your accent you don’t sound like a ‘Quinn’.”
Nancy found herself holding her breath.
Sylvié didn’t lose her cool. Quite the contrary, she moved towards the tall guy and stared him down. “How dare you?! I’m from Quebec, you insufferable simpleton! First moved to Boston! And then here because your boss needs as many nurses as he can to heal you clumsy oafs!”
The tall man raised his hands. “A- Apologies ma’am…”
“Apologies accepted, but please tell me why you’re so intrusively suspicious.”
The gunman shrugged. “Orders from above. Overseers received instructions from the local officials. Who themselves received instructions from the parent company. We’re looking for four wanted criminals – one man and three women. Heard they caused quite the mess in New Orleans and Baton Rouge.”
“Bah! It’s out of our hands now!” his friend suddenly intervened.
“What do you mean? Did they send a bounty hunter?” Sylvié chose to discreetly pry information out of them. She added: “Or maybe a bounty huntress?”
“No. Some tracker. An Indian girl, can you believe it?!” The shorter man snorted derisively. “Heard the orders to hire her came from New Orleans. They even sent a Redskin in each major settlement of the area. Apparently, the Brownies are meant to succeed where we failed…” He spat on the ground. “I’d like to see them try!”
He didn’t notice Sand clench her fists. Nancy discreetly elbowed her friend.
Sylvié nodded her head slowly. “I see. What a story!”
“Good day to you ma’am. Take a tour of the site, then go to the hospital tent. They will brief you.”
“Got it.”
The three women headed to the heart of the construction site. However, as soon as they were out of sight, they strayed from the main path. They paused in the nearest blind spot they could find, in between a shack and a pile of wood. Sand wasn’t feeling well.
Sylvié took her shoulder. “Love, you’re alright?”
Nancy, however, quite easily deduced the reason behind her friend’s turmoil. “I don’t think the girl’s Navajo.”
“Of course she’s not!” Sand snapped. “No Navajo would lower themselves like that! Working for a white man’s big company! Those are the worst settlers! Greedy bastards who take our lands and burn our homes!”
“I think I’ve heard of these trackers, back in New Orleans…” Sylvié mused. “They’re Comanche, their tribe pledged their allegiance to the Company in exchange of its protection...”
“All Natives know in the bottom of their hearts that there’s no greater crime than taking up arms to defend the Whites’ big companies.”
“I see where you come from, but you need to keep a cool head.”
“We can’t let that woman roam freely. She’ll spot us.”
“I’m not saying we shouldn’t do anything about her. I’m saying we should do it for the right reasons.”
Sand took one breath. Then she nodded. “You’re right. I’ll deal with her.” Her face was neutral once again.
Nancy looked her in the eyes. “I trust you.”
Sand allowed herself a small smile. “And I trust you to keep Sylvié safe.”
They shared one quick embrace, then split up.
11:25am
A few washtubs had been installed next to a small clean stream, a little away from the main construction site.
Luck was on Nancy’s and Sylvié’s side. Currently, there was only one girl using the washtubs. She was a cute young woman with a heart-shaped face, and a few freckles. Her hair was the same color as dark honey and braided up to her waist, and her eyes were chestnut brown. Her outfit was sturdy and plain – a long dull brown skirt fitted around the waist with a white apron, and a dull orange baggy button-up shirt with a white collar and rolled up sleeves. She was covering her head with a white cloth bonnet.
The washer girl was humming a little tune to herself as she was cleaning a bunch of clothes.
Sylvié smiled brightly and entered the woman’s line of sight, careful to display her doctor bag. Nancy was walking next to her, though she was careful to remain in her shadow – not exactly out of sight, more on the sideline and in a way that didn’t draw attention to her.
“Good day, miss.” Sylvié said.
The washer girl saw the nurse uniform, and nodded respectfully. “Hello, ma’am.”
“Please. Call me Michaela. I’m the new nurse.”
“Scarlet.” the washer woman introduced herself. “Can I help you?”
Sylvié showed her doctor bag. “I was sent to do a check-up of all washer women.”
Scarlet eyed the bag a little warily now – like any sane human being, she dreaded going to see a doctor – and a nurse was almost like a doctor in her book.
“Oh, just a routine check. It won’t take much time. I just need you to sit on this bucket while I do a few tests.”
“Okay.”
Scarlet complied. Sylvié pulled out a stethoscope and pretended to listen to Scarlet’s heartbeat with it. She also checked the woman’s mouth and eyes. During the whole process, she kept stroking her chin, and muttering “Good… Good…” to herself. She didn’t know much about how real nurses and doctors acted, but she thought it was a decent impersonation. At least, Scarlet was fooled because she didn’t comment on it.
“Well, you look perfectly healthy to me.”
“Am I good?”
Sylvié searched through the doctor bag. “One last thing.” Discreetly, using the bag’s frame to hide her hands, she filled one syringe with a dose of laudanum. “Just a tiny prick.” She pulled out the syringe.
“I’m not quite sure it’s necessary-”
“Afraid of needles? Don’t worry. You’ll barely feel a thing.”
While she was talking, Sylvié and Nancy discreetly shared a glance. Nancy knew what to do.
Scarlet grimaced a half-hearted smile. “If you say so…” Sylvié’s nurse uniform commanded authority.
“No fear. I’ll make it quick.” Sylvié moved behind the washer woman.
Then, she suddenly clamped her hand onto Scarlet’s mouth, and jabbed the syringe. At the same time, Nancy grabbed the woman’s shoulders and immobilized her, forcing her to remain seated on the bucket.
Scarlet’s eyes widened in fear when she felt the injection. She attempted to struggle and get up, but she couldn’t do anything against the strengths of two women pinning her onto her bucket. Sylvié squeezed her hand to muffle Scarlet’s cries for help. “It’s not poison… Just something to make you sleep…” she whispered in the woman’s ears.
Quinn’s laudanum was high-quality. It didn’t take the drug long to knock Scarlet out.
The woman’s eyes rolled back into her skull, she exhaled one last moan, and fell into a deep sleep.
“Like the doctor ordered…” Nancy commented.
They eased Scarlet’s limp body onto the grass, using the washtub to half-conceal themselves, and stripped the washer woman of her bonnet, apron, sturdy skirt, long-sleeved shirt, and brown booties.
“How long will she sleep?”
“Three-to-four hours.”
“No need for ropes then.”
Sylvié and Nancy left Scarlet lying in a fetal position in one laundry basket. The washer woman was left clad in a plain grey sleeveless slip with shoulder straps. The undergarment reached up to her knees. Sylvié concealed her with laundry while Nancy put on her outfit.
Nancy grabbed an empty bucket, and adjusted her shirt to make sure her colt was concealed under the garment. She and Sylvié shared a nod.
“Let’s grab the dynamite. Sand should have dealt with the tracker by now.”
11:31am
Sand was a pragmatic person, but she could see the irony of tracking a tracker. Not that she cared – except to be extra careful. Her prey could easily become the predator if Sand made even one misstep.
She knew however she had the field advantage. She expected a Comanche tracker would have excellent observation skills and memory, but would also be more at ease hunting her quarry in the wild. In a settlement, the tracker would be at a disadvantage – too much noise, too much trails. But Sand would not. All her time spent with Nancy had taught her the subtle clues one needed to look for in a so-called ‘civilized’ area.
Still, Sand knew she had to be careful. In a straight fight, her opponent would have the advantage – she was aware she was still young by her people’s standards. If her foe was a professional tracker, Sand expected she’d be at least half-a-decade older.
No. She had to set-up an ambush. Turn her foe’s experience and reflexes against her.
Sand smiled harshly to herself. The tracker wanted a trail? She’d give her one. And when the woman would think her quarry was within reach… Then she’d strike.
The key was to be subtle – make sure the trail would be noticed, but not make it too obvious or else her foe might suspect a trap.
Sand left one faint footprint heading towards an empty alleyway between two warehouses, leading to a small storage backyard. Then, in that backyard, she left another one in front of a bunch of crates, to make it look like she had climbed them to conceal herself on top of the warehouse.
Next, she took off her boots to leave no trail, and headed to the other side of the backyard. She grabbed the edge of a small roof used to protect a bunch of empty barrels, and crawled into a blind spot which allowed her to watch the backyard.
From her vantage point, Sand waited and observed.
Some time passed.
And then, suddenly, she saw her.
The Comanche tracker stuck out like a sore thumb among the workers and settlers of the area – both because of her physical appearance and of her clothes.
She was a stern-looking woman with a tall aquiline nose, coarse black hair, dark brown eyes, and dark skin. Her haircut was two loose braids – one was resting on each shoulder. She had a lithe slim body, with shapely legs and well-toned arms. The tracker was in her late-twenties, still quite young, but Sand saw in her stance the Comanche had more experience and training.
She was wearing a sleeveless rawhide vest with a cowl, and matching pants. Various accessories were adorning her garments: feathers, beads and bangles. On her feet, she was wearing moccasins. A tomahawk was strapped onto her belt, and she was carrying a Winchester rifle. A coil of rope was wrapped around her left shoulder.
Sand’s body tensed in anticipation when she saw the woman notice the fake footprint she had left in front of the crates. The tracker reacted like she had expected. Warily, the woman inspected the pile, all senses on alert.
But it was also making her turn her back on Sand’s hiding spot…
It was her cue.
A part of Sand whispered to her to snap the woman’s neck and be done with it. Then she thought of Nancy’s words, of Sylvié’s eyes, of her own shame after she had assaulted Elizabeth.
I trust you. Nancy had said – and that had meant the world to her.
Sand readied herself for her trusted sleeper-hold, and jumped behind her prey.
The girl hadn’t grown soft and weak, Sand would give her that. Whether the tracker heard a faint noise or sensed a sudden air stream, she turned just in time to face the foe about to jump her.
Sand reacted just as quickly, and turned her sleeper-hold into a brutal tackle, pinning the girl onto the ground. The Comanche tracker grunted and gasped when her back hit the dirt, the wind knocked out of her. Sand knew she only had one second at most to press her advantage. Using the full weight of her body, she pinned the tracker onto the ground, and grabbed her throat to squeeze it.
The Comanche tracker didn’t waste energy with pointless struggles. She quickly assessed the situation. She attempted to gauge Sand’s eyes – her best course of action given how close they were, and since she couldn’t grab the weapons on her belt. Sand read through her intent, and blocked the tracker’s arms with her legs. The Comanche then attempted to unbalance Sand. Unfortunately for her, her lower body was pinned onto the ground by Sand’s entire body mass, and she couldn’t get a good grip on her with her arms blocked..
The woman’s eyes weren’t pleading – they weren’t even angry or defiant. They were calm, almost detached, as if she was silently asking her attacker if she was going to kill her.
Did she actually not care if she died?
The girl was a traitor. Sand hated everything she stood for. And yet, deep down, she knew this woman would still understand her better than any white settler who wasn’t Nancy, Sylvié or Clinton. It made her hate the girl even more.
But Nancy trusted her, and Sylvié loved her. Sand looked her anger in the eyes, just like her friend had told her. She recognized it for what it was. And she let it go.
Crushing the throat would have been easy, but Sand decided against it – only applying the pressure needed to choke the woman into unconsciousness.
The tracker’s body gave up. Her eyes rolled back in her skull, and she went limp. Sand waited, taking the time to make sure the Comanche woman wasn’t faking unconsciousness. Once she was satisfied, she checked the pulse and throat of her victim. Heart was beating steadily, she was merely unconscious. Larynx wasn’t crushed, she could breath fine.
Sand exhaled softly. She was feeling… numb. Still, because she was Rushing Sand, she shook her head and moved forward. Her friends were counting on her.
“This wasn’t out of kindness.” she whispered to the unconscious girl. “And I hope you return to your tribe in shame for what you did. I hope your whole tribe feels shame for what they did.”
Still, in a way, she was proud of herself – like she had promised to Nancy, she hadn’t acted on bitterness or spite or even anger. She had done what was necessary to protect her loved ones, and nothing more.
Sand stripped the tracker of her weapons and garb. She removed all the woman’s trinkets as well – both because she needed to disguise herself and because she thought that traitor didn’t deserve them. The tracker was naked under her vest and pants, firm pert breasts with dark brown areolas and small clean shaven womanhood on full view.
Sand used the coil of rope the Comanche woman had been carrying as part of her equipment to bind her wrists and forearms. For the legs, she used strips of her discarded gunwoman shirt. Same for the gag – although she fashioned a thick one out of several strips, to make sure the tracker was fully silenced. Sand was extra careful with the knots – assuming a hardened Comanche tracker would be a lot better than a settler at breaking free of her bonds. She stashed the girl into an empty barrel nearby, hoping the tight space would make it harder for the woman to break free of her bonds.
Putting on the Comanche tracker’s clothes felt odd – for some reason, the feeling of this outfit was more familiar than the settlers’ garments and undergarments she usually had to wear.
Sand adjusted the weapons. Confident the white folks were too warped by their prejudice to tell a Navajo and a Comanche apart, she headed to the bridge.
Dynamite Shed, 11:46am
For obvious reasons, the dynamite was stored in a small shelf far away from the rest of the construction site, in a secluded small valley. One lone guard was watching the door.
She was a woman.
“There sure seems to be a high number of women working as gunhands in this area.” Sylvié commented. “Not that I’m complaining of course, but I still find it… odd.”
Nancy nodded. “I bet this isn’t something DeBeers will advertise – and even less put in the historical records – he’s vain, he wants to look manly. But at the same time, he must have realized he can double his profits if he doubles his work force… And the more women guard the area, the more men he can put to work on the bridge.”
Nancy observed the guard. She was small and skinny, with braided light brown hair and hazel eyes. Her outfit was pretty generic as far as gunhands went – brown Stetson hat, black scarf, red-and-black plaid shirt, blue jeans, and brown boots. She was probably low-ranked.
“This one doesn’t look particularly dangerous. Probably a local farm girl with the bare minimum of training. Still, if she panics and fires a shot, everyone a mile around will run here and the whole heist will fail. And I won’t be able to sneak behind her stealthily.”
The trail to the shed was indeed devoid of any hiding spot.
“Good old-fashioned bluff it is then.” Sylvié decided.
“We can’t use the routine check-up excuse this time. Those things never happen to a guard when on duty.” Nancy put her laundry basket, and only kept the bucket. “But I’m pretty sure she’ll be happy if a kind nurse and a kinder washer girl bring her some water.”
Sylvié smiled.
“This time, I’ll be the one distracting her. You knock her out.” Nancy added.
“You’re sure? I’ve never knocked out a woman by myself yet – Sand did it for me, and with Scarlet I had your help..”
“That girl’s in your league. She’s not strong and she’s not trained. She’s only dangerous if she grabs her gun.” Nancy retorted with an encouraging smile. “Use the chloroform if you’re worried you may hurt her with the syringe. I’ll step in if you need my help.”
Sand took a breath, and poured chloroform on a kerchief, which she then concealed in her apron. “I’m ready.”
The girl guarding the shack was clearly bored out of her mind. She barely raised an eyebrow when she saw two women walk the trail towards her.
“Hello!” Nancy said.
“Hi.”
“We were sent to bring you some water.”
“Wish you were sent to relieve me…” The guard sighed. “But thanks. That’s awfully nice of you.”
Nancy saw the keys of the shed dangling on the guard’s belt. “Oh please. Pleasure is all mine. Really.”
The guard bent forward. She frowned when she saw Nancy’s bucket was empty. “Hey! Is this some kind of joke-MMMMHHHH?!”
Sylvié wrapped one arm around the guard’s waist and arms, and clamped the chloroform-soaked kerchief onto the girl’s nose and mouth with her other hand.
Nancy watched carefully, but didn’t move – she’d only intervene if things got out of hand. It was a perfect opportunity for Sylvié to learn the basics.
The guard was indeed just a local farmer – she didn’t even think of grabbing her gun or attempting to hit her attacker with the back of her head or her feet, the two tactics a veteran would’ve tried. Instead, she did what every person with no training always did – she reflexively tried to grab the hand and arm immobilizing her, not realizing that she couldn’t get a good grip and therefore wouldn’t be able to loosen them.
And sure enough, it was what happened. Sylvié wasn’t a physical fighter, but her opponent couldn’t think straight because of her surprise and her panic. Plus, the narcotic fumes of the chloroform prevented the sentry from thinking straight.
Chloroform needed some time to knock an adult woman out, but they were in a secluded area and nobody walked on them. Eventually, the gunwoman’s struggles weakened. Her eyelids fluttered. Her cries for help became slurred moans. Then her eyes rolled back, her eyelids closed, her head lolled forward, and her body slumped into Sylvié’s arms. She had fallen into a deep sleep.
There was a short moment of silence.
“I- I did it…” Sylvié whispered in awe.
“Congratulations.”
The ecstatic French girl gently laid her burden onto the ground. “I’ll be honest. I wish my first time was with Sand.”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure you’ve already had another kind of ‘first time’ with her…” Nancy answered with a wink.
Sylvié smiled wistfully. “That’s true…” She looked at the sleeping sentry. “You want me to use laudanum on her?”
Nancy shook her head. “We’re not leaving her in the middle of the construction site – unlike Scarlet. If she’s gagged, nobody will hear her cries for help. Laudanum is our best tool to incapacitate someone non-lethally. Let’s not waste it.”
“Got it.” Sylvié snatched the keys on the woman’s belt, and the scarf she was wearing on her neck to gag her with it. She went to unlock the shed’s door.
Nancy grabbed the small sentry by the legs, and dragged her inside the shed. “A shame she’s too short for us. If not, you could've taken her outfit – I’m not quite sure nurses are a usual sight on the bridge proper.”
“I’m pretty sure we can convince another guard to lend us her clothes.”
“True.”
Inside the storage shed, they found the dynamite – and enough coils of rope to bind the unconscious sentry.
“Looks like this one’s lucky. We don’t even need makeshift bonds. She’ll get to keep all her clothes.” Nancy mused.
“Save for the scarf.” Sylvié commented as she was cleave-gagging the sentry with her own scarf.
“Please save me from wise-crackers! I fear what we may release to the world after we’ve finished training you…” Nancy joked. At the same time, she bound the woman’s wrists and ankles.
To conceal the trussed up sentry, Nancy chose the easy way and left her inside the shed – she simply took the woman’s gun, and checked she didn’t have matches on her before she locked the door.
They hid the dynamite in Nancy’s laundry basket.
It was time to head to the bridge proper.
Jamesville Bridge, 11:54am
Unfortunately, the trail to the bridge proper was also guarded by a lone woman.
Said sentry was wearing a black long coat over a grey button-up shirt, dark blue jeans, a black leather belt with a colt, and black boots. Her head and face were half-obscured by a black Stetson hat and a matching scarf tied around her neck. Her body and face looked angular, and her coal black hair was tied into a no-nonsense ponytail. Her dark brown eyes and thin lips conveyed a very sullen expression. She was hamming it up a little. Nancy and Sylvié suspected part of the sentry’s attitude was just for show – the woman was putting on a mean front to look more intimidating.
However, her rifle clearly wasn’t for show, and contrary to the shed’s guard she looked trained.
Nancy groaned in annoyance. “Ugh. Long Coats.”
Sylvié raised an eyebrow. “Is that a fashion statement?”
“Don’t ask me why, but Long Coats somehow tend to be a pain to deal with. They’re just mean.”
“Well, you’ll be mean enough for the both of us then.” Sylvié joked. “Just like in the Van der Laar Estate? I distract her, you sneak behind her back and knock her out?” she proposed.
Nancy noticed a few bushes that would conceal her easily. “Fine by me.” She took her empty bucket with her, and left the basket containing the dynamite concealed behind some rocks.
“Still holding on to that thing? I mean, I commend your dedication, but still...”
“You’d be surprised how thick-headed Long Coats are.”
Sylvié waited until Nancy got closer to their quarry while using the cover of the bushes, then she approached the longcoat-clad guard. She flashed the sullen-looking woman her brightest smile, and showed her the doctor bag.
“Hi, gorgeous. I’m the new nurse.”
“No you’re not.”
The blunt retort briefly startled Sylvié. “Ex- Excuse me?”
“New nurse comes from Boston. Your accent doesn’t match. And don’t pretend you’re from Quebec. I can hear you’re French. Not French Canadian. French. Also, you don’t have the hands of a nurse. They’re too calloused for that. Those are the hands of a woman who spends a lot of time washing clothes, and cleaning floors. Maid, I’d wager. Fancy maid, given the way you talk. Some sort of lady-in-waiting.”
“Oh dear.”
“I’m going to arrest you, by the way.”
Nancy sent the guard to slumberland with a well-aimed bonk on the head with the bucket she was carrying.
“Uh. Disguise didn’t work. When did that ever happen?” Sylvié deadpanned as the sentry collapsed onto the ground with the grace of a potato sack.
Nancy threw the bucket away. “Always beware of the Long Coats. For some reason, they tend to be smarter than average.”
“Well, for a given definition of ‘smart’. She couldn’t resist a victory monologue…”
Nancy shrugged. “I said smart, not clever.” She took a knee, and unbuttoned the sentry’s coat. “It’s best you stop pretending to be a nurse.”
Sylvié pulled off the woman’s boots. “I assume Long Coats are also high-ranked guards.”
“You assume well.” Nancy unbuttoned the Long Coat’s shirt.
“High-ranked enough to go wherever they please?” Sylvié pulled off the woman’s jeans, revealing (surprisingly feminine) light pink underdrawers.
“Of course.” Nancy opened and took off the shirt. The Long Coat’s camisole matched the drawers – light pink and a bit frilly.
“Do I get to order you around then?”
“Only if you don’t take too much advantage of it.”
Sylvié winked. “No promise.”
A few minutes later, the sullen (but secretly girly) Long Coat was taking a nap in the middle of some bushes in her underclothes – looking as peaceful as a newborn baby – while Sylvié, having donned her clothes and hidden her former nurse uniform, escorted Nancy to the bridge. They chose to sacrifice another dose of laudanum on this woman – since they had to leave her concealed near the main road, and feared a passerby could hear her moans for help if she was merely gagged. They were therefore confident the sentry would sleep for the next couple of hours.
Workers were leaving the bridge for midday lunch. Sylvié used the long coat and hat to conceal her identity, and didn’t speak to them. She answered their salutes with gruff nods. They were all fooled.
“It’s almost time.” Nancy commented after the last worker had left. “We’ll set up the dynamite. Sand and Clint should regroup with us any moment now.”
Lying on top of a small hill, hidden in the grass, Clinton cupped his hands around his eyes and observed the trail nearby.
“It’s them.” he warned his three companions.
Nancy, Sand, and Sylvié didn’t waste time. They immediately led the horses in the middle of the grove of trees next to which they were resting – hoping the thick leaves and bushes would be enough to hide their figures. At the same time, Clinton kicked their fire and concealed it, then he ran to hide with them like the Devil was after him.
Which, in a way, was right.
The stampede-like sound of a cavalcade got closer. They held their breath.
A group of people on horseback rode at full speed past their hiding spot. It was hard to get a good look because of the leaves, but Nancy numbered two dozens at least. All were women. All were armed. And they were led by a familiar face.
Victoria van der Laar was on the warpath.
“She struck me as the type to hold a grudge.” Nancy deadpanned.
“She’ll realize she rode past us when she reaches the next town.” Sand deduced. “Then we can expect she’ll turn back. We better not be on this road when it happens.”
“We can’t go through the bayou. We don’t know the area well enough.” Clinton warned. “Best course of action is to release the horses, and steal some disguises.”
Nancy sighed. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
16:00pm
“Desperate times call for desperate measures.” Clinton parroted.
In a ditch, three unconscious women were lying next to each other. They were bound with ropes, and gagged with thick scarves. One – a light-skinned brunette with green eyes – was naked, her well formed breasts with pink rose petal areolas and small trimmed womanhood on full display. The other two were wearing long thin white linen underdresses – plain, which suited the vows of poverty they had taken. One was a blue-eyed Caucasian blonde, the other had the dark skin, brown hair, and dark eyes of a Mexican.
Their coach was stationed nearby. The unconscious coachman himself was also trussed up and gagged, albeit in a different hole.
The women were traveling nuns. Sand, Nancy, and Sylvié were now clad in their garments – black religious robes, with the matching head veil and belt.
Nancy put a hand on his shoulder. “If God cared about His brides, then He’d strike us down where we stand.”
Clinton tried to answer with his usual playful banter, but only managed an awkward grimace of embarrassment. He’d been raised in a devout family – and didn’t share her sentiment about religion. Nancy had lost her faith the day her parents were murdered, but he hadn’t – not even after losing his wife and son. On the contrary, he had found solace in knowing that even at his lowest, he’d never be alone. It was probably their only point of disagreement, but he loved her too much to let it get in the way of their relationship.
Nancy couldn’t bear seeing him in distress. “Several coaches travel through this road every day, and Brett is riding the area. Hell, even that bitch Victoria could make herself useful and rescue them. They’ll be found soon. And if it eases your mind, we’ll send a telegram in the next town to make sure Brett knows where they are.”
Clinton nodded. “It’s best if we don't waste time. Victoria knows this area like the back of her hand.”
“Your trick should buy us some time.” Sand intervened. “It was a good idea, by the way. Releasing the horses near the swamp.” She chuckled darkly. “I wish Broken Nose good luck.”
“I sure would pay good money to see her search the bayou, with snakes and mosquito to keep her company.” Sylvié added.
18:00pm
Josephine slapped her cheek to get rid of an especially persistent mosquito. “Must we be riding through this swamp?” she complained.
“Boss says we’re cutting their route.” Jenny explained. “Remember the nuns we found robbed on the roadside by the criminals? Boss calculated their destination. Using this trail, we can block them before they reach the next train station.”
“What about the horses we found nearby?”
“Boss says it’s a trick. They want us to think they’re hiding in the bayou.”
“Then surely there must be an other way than in this Godforsaken swamp of-”
Suddenly, Josephine let out a cry when her horse’s leg got stuck in a traitorous water hole. She was ejected from her saddle and fell harshly onto the mud.
“Jo’!” Alice jumped from her own mount, and rushed at her side. She was relieved to see her lover was fine, save for a few bruises. Josephine had been lucky to be ejected – therefore she hadn’t been crushed by the falling horse. The horse wasn’t so lucky though. It was neighing in pain, unable to get back up.
Alerted by their cries, the whole bounty hunting party halted.
Victoria let out a volley of curses, and rode back to them. Still on top of her black stallion, she towered over the two lovebirds. Her eyes glared daggers at Josephine. “The hell?! Can’t you ride straight?! Don’t they have horses in Quebec?!”
“It’s those swamps! I- I’m not used to that kind of soil!”
“No excuses! Don’t make me regret taking you greenhorns with us!” Josephine’s horse was still neighing in pain, lying on its side. Victoria’s eye twitched. “And what’s HIS problem?!”
“I think he hurt himself.” Josephine patted the flank of her horse to try and ease its mind. “Maybe broke his leg.”
“Then leave him. Why do you think we brought spare ones?”
“He won’t survive on his own!” Josephine objected.
Victoria drew her gun, and shot the horse in the head. Then she glared at Josephine. “You have five minutes to saddle.”
Josephine briefly glared at the dead horse – then snapped out of her trance. Alice and Jenny helped her unsaddle the carcass to equip a spare horse.
Jenny grimaced nervously – it was a way to ease her tension. “It surely is something... to be on a hunt for State-wide criminals…”
“Did she have to put him down like that…?” Josephine muttered.
“We couldn’t afford the time to nurse him back to health, so the only solution was to make it quick…” Jenny objected. “We did such things too sometimes, back at the circus. Boss is a professional. She’s just being practical. And I get why she’s angry – heard the bandits attacked her sister.”
Alice bit her lower lip. “Yeah… I’m sure it’s that…” She didn’t share with her companions the nagging doubt in her mind. For a split second, she thought she had seen something in Victoria’s eyes. A mad glimmer that had petrified her to her core. No. It was a trick of light, she thought to herself. Or maybe just a trick of the mind. The bayou’s putrid smell was affecting her more than she had thought.
Victoria rode back in front of the group.
“That horse was young, healthy and thoroughbred. Way to burn down good money, Victoria.” one gunwoman commented. She had a cute but lined heart shaped face, with bright blue eyes and jet black hair tied into a bun with a little grey strands at the edges.
One glare of Victoria was enough to shut her up.
Mary, Victoria’s second-in-command, shook her head. “Ethel, I know you like being the contrarian of the team, but trust me one day it’ll bite you in the ass…”
Victoria opened her pocket watch, and counted five minutes – not one second more. Josephine was ready just in time.
“We move.” the bounty huntress exclaimed. “With the road they’re taking, their only course of action is to cross the Atchafalaya River. We’ll cut their escape route at Simmesport!”
Simmesport, LA, Tuesday 10th November 1884, 09:00am
Clinton muttered a curse under his breath when he saw the group of women on horseback waiting in front of the saloon of the recently-founded town of Simmesport. No need to be a genius to deduce the leader of this bounty hunting party was currently collecting information in the building.
“Shit… She saw through our trick… I was hoping to cross the Atchafalaya River here, and then the road would have cleared up to Chateau DeBeers…” He shook his head. “All the ways to cross the river are most likely already being watched.”
“Heard there’s a new railroad and a bridge being built south of here. In some place called Jamesville.” Sylvié mentioned.
“We’ll have to cut through the wilds. We can’t use the coach anymore. Or the nun robes.” Nancy commented.
She noticed a bunch of rowdy ranch-hands sharing crude jokes next to the town’s corral – clad in the classic ‘cowboy’ outfit: Stetson hats, sturdy shirts, chaps, and riding boots. Some of them were women. Their horses were tied nearby.
“I think it’s time we preach to these poor lost souls the importance of sharing with those in need…” Nancy smiled. “Like sharing their clothes…”
The cow girls didn’t feel threatened by the three nuns approaching them.
They should have…
A little while later, Nancy, Sylvié, Sand, and Clinton rode southwards. The three young women were wearing new sets of clothes and looked like your typical drifting cow girls looking for a job.
They were leaving behind a coach filled with unconscious ranch hands, gagged and trussed up like turkeys. Three of them had been relieved of their clothes – one was naked, the other two clad in their small clothes.
Jamesville, LA, 11:10am
Nancy, Sylvié, Sand, and Clinton reached Jamesville in a sorry state. They were exhausted because of their frantic ride through the wilds.
And, worst of all, they knew Victoria was already on their trail again.
The place itself could barely be called a city – more like a big village. It was a recent settlement – even more recent than Simmesport – and the only reason it existed at all was because of the bridge and railroad the DeBeers Company was building nearby. When Maximilian had had a train station built there, with the intent of then building a new bridge to cross the Atchafalaya River and cut down his transport fees, workers had come and settled. Nancy wouldn’t be surprised to hear every inhabitant was affiliated to the DeBeers Company in one way or another.
Which meant they had to be wary of everyone. Still, it was the closest place where they could cross the river and ride to Chateau DeBeers, near Lafayette.
“We can’t go on like that forever…” Clinton commented. They knew Victoria’s party was right behind them – the bounty huntress had managed to block their escape route, and flank them to the river. Victoria knew the region better than them. “Our horses won’t withstand that pace for much longer...”
“We must do something about Broken Nose.” Sand stated.
Sylvié stroked her hand. “I know you’re good, love, but even you can’t beat a whole bounty hunting posse by yourself…”
“If we kill her while she’s upholding the law, even if only technically, it’s game over. Brett can’t help us. We need another plan.” Nancy objected.
Clinton looked at the bridge crossing the river, a few miles away from the city proper. The bridge was currently under construction – while people on foot or on horseback could cross it, the DeBeers Company wanted the railroad to go through it. “Say, this is the only bridge in the area… If we were to… destroy it right as Victoria’s posse arrives here… we could trap them on this side of the river…”
Nancy nodded slowly. “If we cross it now, she'll catch up with us in one day. But if we wait until she enters Jamesville, and blow the bridge right before she crosses, we can buy ourselves a couple of days and cover our tracks… Then, it’s smooth sailing up to the Chateau DeBeers.”
“This kind of operation needs preparation.” Sand intervened. “Especially if you don’t want workers to be on the bridge when we destroy it.”
“I’ll buy you some time.” Clinton proposed. “I know a bit about how Victoria operates.”
“How much?”
“One day. We meet tomorrow, at midday, during the workers’ lunch break.”
“Let’s do it then.”
Jamesville, LA, Wednesday 11th November 10:48am
Jamesville was maybe small enough for all its inhabitants to be affiliated in some way to the DeBeers Company – whether as workers, mercenaries, pencil-pushers, or employee spouses – but fortunately it was still big enough for people to not pay much attention to the occasional traveler or new employee.
Or the three women pretending to be travelers willing to become new employees.
The search warrants had been changed since their venture at Baton Rouge – Sylvié’s description had been added to the wanted posters. Still, they could use the update to their advantage. Now, the posters mentioned a band of four outlaws – which meant their group of three attracted less attention than it should have.
“Our dirty clothes and chaps are telltale signs we’re not from here…” Nancy mentioned. “We’re the kind of people who’ll never be allowed near the bridge…”
“Guards have crests of the DeBeers Company on their scarves.” Sand added.
“Then we need a change of clothes. Preferably people who are important enough to not be bothered by workers and common guards.”
They roamed the streets for a while, pretending to shop for furniture, and discreetly eyeing the women they came across.
Nancy ultimately spotted one specific group.
The trio of guards was pretty unremarkable as far as thugs-for-hire went – with generic ‘tough gunhand outfits’: black boots, dark blue jeans, cartridge belt, plaid shirts, cowboy waistcoats, and Stetson hats.
One had black hair, with a plump round face and brown eyes. Her haircut was a plain ponytail. The other two were related – cousins or sisters –. They shared the same curly dark blond hair, pointy chins, sharp facial features, and grey eyes. The eldest was slightly taller.
“Sending three guards to greet just one nurse… What were they thinking?!” the black-haired woman – who also seemed to be the leader – was complaining.
“Calm down, Jessie!” one blonde intervened.
“Guess they want us to carry her luggage.” the other added.
“Fuck them! I’m a gunhand! A fighter! Not some porter!” Jessie exclaimed.
“Overseers have a lot of trouble finding nurses willing to come work here. So when one agrees, they want the red carpet and everything to make sure she stays…”
“Bah! Let’s get this over with… We’ll cut through the wagon depot… It’ll be faster…”
The black-haired gunhand led the way, followed by her two partners. The trio failed to notice that eavesdroppers had listened to the whole conversation.
Nancy, Sand, and Sylvié shared a meaningful glance.
“Poor things…” Sylvié commented with a small smile. “We should do something…”
Nancy sized the three women up, and grinned as well. “It's our civic duty to relieve them of this thankless job...”
She, Sylvié, and Sand began to follow the gunwomen.
Jamesville Station, 11:03am
Michaela Quinn looked through the window of her wagon. The train was slowing down, entering the station.
She took a long breath, and braced herself. Remember this is not the East Coast. she told herself one last time. Don’t show them you’re smart.
At least, Jamesville wasn’t Baton Rouge… At least the people of Jamesville didn’t believe in swamp witches… much…
The wagon’s window sent her reflection back. Michaela Quinn was a woman in her mid-thirties with loose waist-long light brown eyes, and a white skin. One of her notable features was heterochromia, making her right eye brown and her left eye green.
Quinn adjusted her nurse outfit – a long one-piece black dress with a white apron fitted around the waist, and a frilly white nurse bonnet (plus black booties). She had chosen to show up fully-uniformed at the station, reasoning she would be more easily accepted by the townsfolk and workers. She knew how many people didn’t take kindly to the idea of an unmarried woman traveling on her own. Or the idea of an unmarried woman as old as she. Or the idea of a woman being independent, period.
The nurse knew firsthand how men would try to bring her down. Her father had been a doctor, so as a child she had dreamed of following in his footsteps. Then the harsh world had taught her dreams were for men, and women could only get their scraps. For a while, Michaela had felt bitter. Then she had learned to make the most of what she had. Being a nurse wasn’t the same as being a doctor, but she still had been able to achieve her dream in a way. Healing people had always been what was most important to her – not the status that came with the title of doctor.
Quinn grabbed her belongings – a purse-like doctor bag with one hand, her case with her personal belongings in the other. When she exited the train, Michaela discovered there was a small committee waiting for her.
Three gunhands.
“Good day, ma’am. We were sent to escort you.”
Michaela froze when she got a good look at them.
Were those three women? Dressed in men’s clothes, carrying guns. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Quinn prided herself in being a progressive woman, so of course she welcomed those ideas. But she’d never have thought she’d find more progressiveness in Louisiana than in the East Coast!
“Is there a problem?” the leader of the trio asked.
Michaela realized she was staring – how rude of her. “No- Not at all. I'm sorry. Michaela Quinn.” She introduced herself. "I'm the new nurse."
The leader nodded. "So we've heard." No sign of judgment in her voice – she didn't mind at all that Michaela was unmarried and independent.
Maybe I worried for nothing… Maybe the tales of hicks who still believe in swamp witches are exaggerated... Maybe I was the one having prejudices... How rude of me!
“Please follow us.”
Two of the gunwomen helped Quinn carry her belongings, which allowed the nurse to get a better look at her bodyguards.
The leader of the escort was a redhead. Her demeanor was confident, and her body was fit. She clearly had been a gunslinger for a long amount of time. Her first companion looked a lot sterner. Though given her appearance, Micheal wagered she was a Native – and given how rough Natives had it had, Quinn wouldn’t blame her for being sullen. She wouldn’t even have been surprised to learn this girl pretended to be Mexican to have some peace – and wouldn’t also be surprised to learn most hicks believed the story. The last companion was also very interesting – but in a different way. With her cute features and gentle demeanor, the brunette clearly didn’t look like a trained fighter.
"I trust your journey went well." the redhead said.
She was trying to put her at ease with small talk. Quinn appreciated her effort. "Yes. The trip was long, but uneventful. I'm glad I'm finally here. I didn't study medicine to sit idly all day. I want to be useful, make a difference, you see?"
"A noble goal." the redhead answered with a nod. "We'll be using a shortcut through the wagon depot area by the way. It's the fastest way to the construction site." she added.
Quinn nodded. She didn't exactly know why the redhead had felt the need to clarify herself, but the justification made sense. Doing so, she found her eyes once again drifting on the gun strapped onto the woman's belt. Like any nurse dedicating her life to healing people, Michaela hated weapons. But at the same time, she knew they were a symbol of independence – just like the trousers these women were wearing. “Are you working for Mr DeBeers?” Michaela asked her.
“Yes, ma’am.” the redhead answered.
“And he… you know…” Michaela gestured at their outfits, trying to find a way to quench her curiosity without being rude again. “… doesn’t mind?”
“Mr DeBeers only believes in profit. Men, women, he doesn’t care as long as you work hard and bring money to the Company.”
As a nurse, Michaela didn’t exactly like such a greedy business mindset, but still… If it meant giving women a chance to work as equals to men... “Guess I misjudged the DeBeers Company…”
The three gunwomen suddenly stopped walking, even though they were in the middle of the railway and wagon depot – still far away from the construction site near the bridge.
Michaela frowned. Had she said something rude without meaning to?
The red-haired gunhand looked the nurse in the eyes. “Ma’am, you seem like a fine lady. Do yourself a favor. Forget the DeBeers Company. When all this is over, go to the Van der Laar Estate. There are people here in need of a medicine woman of your caliber.”
Michaela frowned. She didn’t understand those cryptic words. “Excuse me?”
“No. Please, excuse me. There’s nothing personal.”
Michaela briefly felt a sharp pain at the bottom of her neck – the nurse in her recognized a swift blow using the cross of a gun. Surgical precision. Such a hit would knock out an adult woman almost instantly.
And it did exactly that.
11:10am
Michaela grunted when Sand knocked her out.
Nancy caught the falling woman against her and eased her limp body. “As I said, nothing personal.”
She wrapped her arms around Michaela’s torso and under her shoulders, just below the breasts, and dragged the unconscious woman to a specific stored wagon. Sand and Sylvié opened it, and helped her load the unconscious nurse and her luggage inside.
Three other women were already lying on the hay. They were bound with ropes and gagged with rags. One had black hair, with a plump round face and brown eyes. The other two were related – cousins or sisters –. They shared the same curly dark blond hair, pointy chins, sharp facial features, and grey eyes. They were the real guards who had been sent to escort Michaela to the construction site. Unfortunately for them, they had been intercepted by Nancy, Sand, and Sylvié on their way – and relieved of their duty and their clothes. The black-haired woman was fully naked, firm buoyant breasts with full dark pink puffy areolas and womanhood crowned with a trimmed black triangle of pubic hair, completely exposed. The other two were wearing their underclothes – white chemise and blue panties for the older one, grey underdrawers and a matching sleeveless undershirt for the younger.
Nancy laid Michaela onto the floor of the wagon.
“Sylvié, you’ll take her dress. She’s close to your size, and you’re better at impersonating civilians.”
“Got it.”
While Sylvié undressed herself and Sand went outside the wagon to watch the area, Nancy went down to work, stripping Michaela of her black booties, white nurse bonnet, white apron, and black dress.
Once the nurse was down to her underclothes, Nancy paused. Michaela was wearing light pink silk drawers with a leaf-and-flower pattern, and a Henry S. Lesher corset substitute combining white shoulder straps, white breast pads and beige armpit shield. Those underwear brought Lottie to her mind.
“Is this a nurse thing? Or maybe an East Coast thing?” she mused.
“People will think you’re crazy if they find you talking to yourself about underclothes.” Sylvié joked, having taken off her clothes save for her drawers and blouse.
“Says the girl standing in her underclothes right now.” Nancy retorted with the same playful tone.
“Touché.”
Nancy grabbed a coil of rope in a corner of the wagon, and worked on restraining Michaela. At the same time, Sylvié took Quinn’s nurse uniform, and slipped into the still-lukewarm clothes.
Nancy bound Michaela’s wrists and then her legs. She took the discarded scarf which had been part of Sylvié’s gunhand disguise, and used the thick red piece of cloth to cleave-gag Quinn.
Nancy left the real nurse lying on the hay next to the three gunwomen. She knew this wagon wasn’t meant to be used before the afternoon – the four prisoners would only be discovered in a few hours. The workers would get a big surprise, she’d wager.
Once Sylvié was in disguise, she and Nancy quickly rummaged through Michaela’s belongings.
They didn’t bother with the woman’s case – they weren’t robbers, she could keep her wardrobe, personal stuff, and money. They were aware Quinn had come here with the content of this case as her only belongings.
The purse-like bag however caught Sylvié’s interest – medical supplies were nothing to spit at.
“I used to patch up girls at my mother’s place before I left Paris…” she explained. “I think I can use them.”
Checking the bag’s content, the French girl also discovered several bottles of chloroform, several more of laudanum, and clean syringes.
“Now I feel silly. We wouldn’t have needed to bind and gag her had I checked her belongings sooner.”
Nancy shrugged. “We’re not thieves. It’s a good thing this isn’t your first reflex.” She briefly hesitated. “Still, that one we will keep. Not fond of the idea, but there’s no way we pass on such useful tools. Not with Victoria on our trail.”
“Do we use some on these four?” Sylvié proposed, a bottle of laudanum in hand.
Nancy pondered the option, but then shook her head. “Nobody will check this wagon before afternoon’s end. Ropes and gags should be enough. We may not know how many women we have to neutralize until our flight is over. It’s best to use our resources sparingly.”
She went to the wagon’s door, and knocked two times. She was answered by two knocks. Sand was signaling them the coast was clear. Nancy once again knocked two times, asking her friend to open the wagon.
Sand complied. They exited the wagon, and closed the door again to conceal Quinn and the three defeated guards. Then, they headed to the construction site.
Jamesville Construction Site, 11:18am
Sylvié looked the part in Quinn’s nurse uniform – “Black suits you.” Sand had said. – The French girl was walking at the front, Nancy and Sand were walking a step behind her, obscuring their faces with their cowboy hats.
Sylvié giggled, then asked: “So what’s the plan?”
“The nurse disguise will give us access to the construction site, but not to the bridge proper. Same with those low-rank guard outfits. I don’t know if Victoria drew inspiration from the Company or the Company drew inspiration from the Van der Laar Estate, but they clearly use outfits to show some hierarchy.”
“There aren't any Mexican girls among the workers… Only white and Chinese folks…” Sand commented.
“I guess this part is for Sylvié and I then.”
“I’m sure Sand won’t mind sharing me for a while.”
“I am the jealous type, but for my best friend I’ll make an exception.” Sand said with a straight face.
Nancy blinked. She noticed the amused sparkle in her friend’s eyes. “Did you just make a joke?” She looked at Sylvié. “Dear God, you’re rubbing off on her!”
Sylvié giggled, kissing her lover on the cheek. "In more ways than one I hope." She cheekily groped Sand's ass, eliciting a purr of delight from the young Navajo.
"Well I wouldn't mind doing some more rubbing off on you, later tonight." She winked playfully pinching the French girl’s ass.
Nancy rolled her eyes, indulgently. "Er ladies? I'm right here you know?" Her face then turned serious. "Besides, we are running out of time, Clint can only delay them for so long."
The construction site and bridge were a few miles from Jamesville proper. It was a maze of crates, wooden shacks, and piles of logs and railways. At its heart, there was the collective mess, a sawmill, and the field hospital. The bridge itself was almost finished – people could actually already cross it. The place wasn’t exactly guarded, but there were a few men and women in arms keeping an eye on things.
Two of such gunmen came across Sylvié. They glanced at her outfit. “You the new nurse?” the tall one of the duo asked.
Sylvié nodded and stepped forward, making sure to catch their attention and preventing them from looking too much at her two friends. She introduced herself: “Michaela Quinn.”
The tall man glanced at her face. “You look a lot younger than what we were expecting.”
Sylvié pretended to huff. “What an awfully rude thing to say to a lady!”
“No offense, ‘lady’, but by your accent you don’t sound like a ‘Quinn’.”
Nancy found herself holding her breath.
Sylvié didn’t lose her cool. Quite the contrary, she moved towards the tall guy and stared him down. “How dare you?! I’m from Quebec, you insufferable simpleton! First moved to Boston! And then here because your boss needs as many nurses as he can to heal you clumsy oafs!”
The tall man raised his hands. “A- Apologies ma’am…”
“Apologies accepted, but please tell me why you’re so intrusively suspicious.”
The gunman shrugged. “Orders from above. Overseers received instructions from the local officials. Who themselves received instructions from the parent company. We’re looking for four wanted criminals – one man and three women. Heard they caused quite the mess in New Orleans and Baton Rouge.”
“Bah! It’s out of our hands now!” his friend suddenly intervened.
“What do you mean? Did they send a bounty hunter?” Sylvié chose to discreetly pry information out of them. She added: “Or maybe a bounty huntress?”
“No. Some tracker. An Indian girl, can you believe it?!” The shorter man snorted derisively. “Heard the orders to hire her came from New Orleans. They even sent a Redskin in each major settlement of the area. Apparently, the Brownies are meant to succeed where we failed…” He spat on the ground. “I’d like to see them try!”
He didn’t notice Sand clench her fists. Nancy discreetly elbowed her friend.
Sylvié nodded her head slowly. “I see. What a story!”
“Good day to you ma’am. Take a tour of the site, then go to the hospital tent. They will brief you.”
“Got it.”
The three women headed to the heart of the construction site. However, as soon as they were out of sight, they strayed from the main path. They paused in the nearest blind spot they could find, in between a shack and a pile of wood. Sand wasn’t feeling well.
Sylvié took her shoulder. “Love, you’re alright?”
Nancy, however, quite easily deduced the reason behind her friend’s turmoil. “I don’t think the girl’s Navajo.”
“Of course she’s not!” Sand snapped. “No Navajo would lower themselves like that! Working for a white man’s big company! Those are the worst settlers! Greedy bastards who take our lands and burn our homes!”
“I think I’ve heard of these trackers, back in New Orleans…” Sylvié mused. “They’re Comanche, their tribe pledged their allegiance to the Company in exchange of its protection...”
“All Natives know in the bottom of their hearts that there’s no greater crime than taking up arms to defend the Whites’ big companies.”
“I see where you come from, but you need to keep a cool head.”
“We can’t let that woman roam freely. She’ll spot us.”
“I’m not saying we shouldn’t do anything about her. I’m saying we should do it for the right reasons.”
Sand took one breath. Then she nodded. “You’re right. I’ll deal with her.” Her face was neutral once again.
Nancy looked her in the eyes. “I trust you.”
Sand allowed herself a small smile. “And I trust you to keep Sylvié safe.”
They shared one quick embrace, then split up.
11:25am
A few washtubs had been installed next to a small clean stream, a little away from the main construction site.
Luck was on Nancy’s and Sylvié’s side. Currently, there was only one girl using the washtubs. She was a cute young woman with a heart-shaped face, and a few freckles. Her hair was the same color as dark honey and braided up to her waist, and her eyes were chestnut brown. Her outfit was sturdy and plain – a long dull brown skirt fitted around the waist with a white apron, and a dull orange baggy button-up shirt with a white collar and rolled up sleeves. She was covering her head with a white cloth bonnet.
The washer girl was humming a little tune to herself as she was cleaning a bunch of clothes.
Sylvié smiled brightly and entered the woman’s line of sight, careful to display her doctor bag. Nancy was walking next to her, though she was careful to remain in her shadow – not exactly out of sight, more on the sideline and in a way that didn’t draw attention to her.
“Good day, miss.” Sylvié said.
The washer girl saw the nurse uniform, and nodded respectfully. “Hello, ma’am.”
“Please. Call me Michaela. I’m the new nurse.”
“Scarlet.” the washer woman introduced herself. “Can I help you?”
Sylvié showed her doctor bag. “I was sent to do a check-up of all washer women.”
Scarlet eyed the bag a little warily now – like any sane human being, she dreaded going to see a doctor – and a nurse was almost like a doctor in her book.
“Oh, just a routine check. It won’t take much time. I just need you to sit on this bucket while I do a few tests.”
“Okay.”
Scarlet complied. Sylvié pulled out a stethoscope and pretended to listen to Scarlet’s heartbeat with it. She also checked the woman’s mouth and eyes. During the whole process, she kept stroking her chin, and muttering “Good… Good…” to herself. She didn’t know much about how real nurses and doctors acted, but she thought it was a decent impersonation. At least, Scarlet was fooled because she didn’t comment on it.
“Well, you look perfectly healthy to me.”
“Am I good?”
Sylvié searched through the doctor bag. “One last thing.” Discreetly, using the bag’s frame to hide her hands, she filled one syringe with a dose of laudanum. “Just a tiny prick.” She pulled out the syringe.
“I’m not quite sure it’s necessary-”
“Afraid of needles? Don’t worry. You’ll barely feel a thing.”
While she was talking, Sylvié and Nancy discreetly shared a glance. Nancy knew what to do.
Scarlet grimaced a half-hearted smile. “If you say so…” Sylvié’s nurse uniform commanded authority.
“No fear. I’ll make it quick.” Sylvié moved behind the washer woman.
Then, she suddenly clamped her hand onto Scarlet’s mouth, and jabbed the syringe. At the same time, Nancy grabbed the woman’s shoulders and immobilized her, forcing her to remain seated on the bucket.
Scarlet’s eyes widened in fear when she felt the injection. She attempted to struggle and get up, but she couldn’t do anything against the strengths of two women pinning her onto her bucket. Sylvié squeezed her hand to muffle Scarlet’s cries for help. “It’s not poison… Just something to make you sleep…” she whispered in the woman’s ears.
Quinn’s laudanum was high-quality. It didn’t take the drug long to knock Scarlet out.
The woman’s eyes rolled back into her skull, she exhaled one last moan, and fell into a deep sleep.
“Like the doctor ordered…” Nancy commented.
They eased Scarlet’s limp body onto the grass, using the washtub to half-conceal themselves, and stripped the washer woman of her bonnet, apron, sturdy skirt, long-sleeved shirt, and brown booties.
“How long will she sleep?”
“Three-to-four hours.”
“No need for ropes then.”
Sylvié and Nancy left Scarlet lying in a fetal position in one laundry basket. The washer woman was left clad in a plain grey sleeveless slip with shoulder straps. The undergarment reached up to her knees. Sylvié concealed her with laundry while Nancy put on her outfit.
Nancy grabbed an empty bucket, and adjusted her shirt to make sure her colt was concealed under the garment. She and Sylvié shared a nod.
“Let’s grab the dynamite. Sand should have dealt with the tracker by now.”
11:31am
Sand was a pragmatic person, but she could see the irony of tracking a tracker. Not that she cared – except to be extra careful. Her prey could easily become the predator if Sand made even one misstep.
She knew however she had the field advantage. She expected a Comanche tracker would have excellent observation skills and memory, but would also be more at ease hunting her quarry in the wild. In a settlement, the tracker would be at a disadvantage – too much noise, too much trails. But Sand would not. All her time spent with Nancy had taught her the subtle clues one needed to look for in a so-called ‘civilized’ area.
Still, Sand knew she had to be careful. In a straight fight, her opponent would have the advantage – she was aware she was still young by her people’s standards. If her foe was a professional tracker, Sand expected she’d be at least half-a-decade older.
No. She had to set-up an ambush. Turn her foe’s experience and reflexes against her.
Sand smiled harshly to herself. The tracker wanted a trail? She’d give her one. And when the woman would think her quarry was within reach… Then she’d strike.
The key was to be subtle – make sure the trail would be noticed, but not make it too obvious or else her foe might suspect a trap.
Sand left one faint footprint heading towards an empty alleyway between two warehouses, leading to a small storage backyard. Then, in that backyard, she left another one in front of a bunch of crates, to make it look like she had climbed them to conceal herself on top of the warehouse.
Next, she took off her boots to leave no trail, and headed to the other side of the backyard. She grabbed the edge of a small roof used to protect a bunch of empty barrels, and crawled into a blind spot which allowed her to watch the backyard.
From her vantage point, Sand waited and observed.
Some time passed.
And then, suddenly, she saw her.
The Comanche tracker stuck out like a sore thumb among the workers and settlers of the area – both because of her physical appearance and of her clothes.
She was a stern-looking woman with a tall aquiline nose, coarse black hair, dark brown eyes, and dark skin. Her haircut was two loose braids – one was resting on each shoulder. She had a lithe slim body, with shapely legs and well-toned arms. The tracker was in her late-twenties, still quite young, but Sand saw in her stance the Comanche had more experience and training.
She was wearing a sleeveless rawhide vest with a cowl, and matching pants. Various accessories were adorning her garments: feathers, beads and bangles. On her feet, she was wearing moccasins. A tomahawk was strapped onto her belt, and she was carrying a Winchester rifle. A coil of rope was wrapped around her left shoulder.
Sand’s body tensed in anticipation when she saw the woman notice the fake footprint she had left in front of the crates. The tracker reacted like she had expected. Warily, the woman inspected the pile, all senses on alert.
But it was also making her turn her back on Sand’s hiding spot…
It was her cue.
A part of Sand whispered to her to snap the woman’s neck and be done with it. Then she thought of Nancy’s words, of Sylvié’s eyes, of her own shame after she had assaulted Elizabeth.
I trust you. Nancy had said – and that had meant the world to her.
Sand readied herself for her trusted sleeper-hold, and jumped behind her prey.
The girl hadn’t grown soft and weak, Sand would give her that. Whether the tracker heard a faint noise or sensed a sudden air stream, she turned just in time to face the foe about to jump her.
Sand reacted just as quickly, and turned her sleeper-hold into a brutal tackle, pinning the girl onto the ground. The Comanche tracker grunted and gasped when her back hit the dirt, the wind knocked out of her. Sand knew she only had one second at most to press her advantage. Using the full weight of her body, she pinned the tracker onto the ground, and grabbed her throat to squeeze it.
The Comanche tracker didn’t waste energy with pointless struggles. She quickly assessed the situation. She attempted to gauge Sand’s eyes – her best course of action given how close they were, and since she couldn’t grab the weapons on her belt. Sand read through her intent, and blocked the tracker’s arms with her legs. The Comanche then attempted to unbalance Sand. Unfortunately for her, her lower body was pinned onto the ground by Sand’s entire body mass, and she couldn’t get a good grip on her with her arms blocked..
The woman’s eyes weren’t pleading – they weren’t even angry or defiant. They were calm, almost detached, as if she was silently asking her attacker if she was going to kill her.
Did she actually not care if she died?
The girl was a traitor. Sand hated everything she stood for. And yet, deep down, she knew this woman would still understand her better than any white settler who wasn’t Nancy, Sylvié or Clinton. It made her hate the girl even more.
But Nancy trusted her, and Sylvié loved her. Sand looked her anger in the eyes, just like her friend had told her. She recognized it for what it was. And she let it go.
Crushing the throat would have been easy, but Sand decided against it – only applying the pressure needed to choke the woman into unconsciousness.
The tracker’s body gave up. Her eyes rolled back in her skull, and she went limp. Sand waited, taking the time to make sure the Comanche woman wasn’t faking unconsciousness. Once she was satisfied, she checked the pulse and throat of her victim. Heart was beating steadily, she was merely unconscious. Larynx wasn’t crushed, she could breath fine.
Sand exhaled softly. She was feeling… numb. Still, because she was Rushing Sand, she shook her head and moved forward. Her friends were counting on her.
“This wasn’t out of kindness.” she whispered to the unconscious girl. “And I hope you return to your tribe in shame for what you did. I hope your whole tribe feels shame for what they did.”
Still, in a way, she was proud of herself – like she had promised to Nancy, she hadn’t acted on bitterness or spite or even anger. She had done what was necessary to protect her loved ones, and nothing more.
Sand stripped the tracker of her weapons and garb. She removed all the woman’s trinkets as well – both because she needed to disguise herself and because she thought that traitor didn’t deserve them. The tracker was naked under her vest and pants, firm pert breasts with dark brown areolas and small clean shaven womanhood on full view.
Sand used the coil of rope the Comanche woman had been carrying as part of her equipment to bind her wrists and forearms. For the legs, she used strips of her discarded gunwoman shirt. Same for the gag – although she fashioned a thick one out of several strips, to make sure the tracker was fully silenced. Sand was extra careful with the knots – assuming a hardened Comanche tracker would be a lot better than a settler at breaking free of her bonds. She stashed the girl into an empty barrel nearby, hoping the tight space would make it harder for the woman to break free of her bonds.
Putting on the Comanche tracker’s clothes felt odd – for some reason, the feeling of this outfit was more familiar than the settlers’ garments and undergarments she usually had to wear.
Sand adjusted the weapons. Confident the white folks were too warped by their prejudice to tell a Navajo and a Comanche apart, she headed to the bridge.
Dynamite Shed, 11:46am
For obvious reasons, the dynamite was stored in a small shelf far away from the rest of the construction site, in a secluded small valley. One lone guard was watching the door.
She was a woman.
“There sure seems to be a high number of women working as gunhands in this area.” Sylvié commented. “Not that I’m complaining of course, but I still find it… odd.”
Nancy nodded. “I bet this isn’t something DeBeers will advertise – and even less put in the historical records – he’s vain, he wants to look manly. But at the same time, he must have realized he can double his profits if he doubles his work force… And the more women guard the area, the more men he can put to work on the bridge.”
Nancy observed the guard. She was small and skinny, with braided light brown hair and hazel eyes. Her outfit was pretty generic as far as gunhands went – brown Stetson hat, black scarf, red-and-black plaid shirt, blue jeans, and brown boots. She was probably low-ranked.
“This one doesn’t look particularly dangerous. Probably a local farm girl with the bare minimum of training. Still, if she panics and fires a shot, everyone a mile around will run here and the whole heist will fail. And I won’t be able to sneak behind her stealthily.”
The trail to the shed was indeed devoid of any hiding spot.
“Good old-fashioned bluff it is then.” Sylvié decided.
“We can’t use the routine check-up excuse this time. Those things never happen to a guard when on duty.” Nancy put her laundry basket, and only kept the bucket. “But I’m pretty sure she’ll be happy if a kind nurse and a kinder washer girl bring her some water.”
Sylvié smiled.
“This time, I’ll be the one distracting her. You knock her out.” Nancy added.
“You’re sure? I’ve never knocked out a woman by myself yet – Sand did it for me, and with Scarlet I had your help..”
“That girl’s in your league. She’s not strong and she’s not trained. She’s only dangerous if she grabs her gun.” Nancy retorted with an encouraging smile. “Use the chloroform if you’re worried you may hurt her with the syringe. I’ll step in if you need my help.”
Sand took a breath, and poured chloroform on a kerchief, which she then concealed in her apron. “I’m ready.”
The girl guarding the shack was clearly bored out of her mind. She barely raised an eyebrow when she saw two women walk the trail towards her.
“Hello!” Nancy said.
“Hi.”
“We were sent to bring you some water.”
“Wish you were sent to relieve me…” The guard sighed. “But thanks. That’s awfully nice of you.”
Nancy saw the keys of the shed dangling on the guard’s belt. “Oh please. Pleasure is all mine. Really.”
The guard bent forward. She frowned when she saw Nancy’s bucket was empty. “Hey! Is this some kind of joke-MMMMHHHH?!”
Sylvié wrapped one arm around the guard’s waist and arms, and clamped the chloroform-soaked kerchief onto the girl’s nose and mouth with her other hand.
Nancy watched carefully, but didn’t move – she’d only intervene if things got out of hand. It was a perfect opportunity for Sylvié to learn the basics.
The guard was indeed just a local farmer – she didn’t even think of grabbing her gun or attempting to hit her attacker with the back of her head or her feet, the two tactics a veteran would’ve tried. Instead, she did what every person with no training always did – she reflexively tried to grab the hand and arm immobilizing her, not realizing that she couldn’t get a good grip and therefore wouldn’t be able to loosen them.
And sure enough, it was what happened. Sylvié wasn’t a physical fighter, but her opponent couldn’t think straight because of her surprise and her panic. Plus, the narcotic fumes of the chloroform prevented the sentry from thinking straight.
Chloroform needed some time to knock an adult woman out, but they were in a secluded area and nobody walked on them. Eventually, the gunwoman’s struggles weakened. Her eyelids fluttered. Her cries for help became slurred moans. Then her eyes rolled back, her eyelids closed, her head lolled forward, and her body slumped into Sylvié’s arms. She had fallen into a deep sleep.
There was a short moment of silence.
“I- I did it…” Sylvié whispered in awe.
“Congratulations.”
The ecstatic French girl gently laid her burden onto the ground. “I’ll be honest. I wish my first time was with Sand.”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure you’ve already had another kind of ‘first time’ with her…” Nancy answered with a wink.
Sylvié smiled wistfully. “That’s true…” She looked at the sleeping sentry. “You want me to use laudanum on her?”
Nancy shook her head. “We’re not leaving her in the middle of the construction site – unlike Scarlet. If she’s gagged, nobody will hear her cries for help. Laudanum is our best tool to incapacitate someone non-lethally. Let’s not waste it.”
“Got it.” Sylvié snatched the keys on the woman’s belt, and the scarf she was wearing on her neck to gag her with it. She went to unlock the shed’s door.
Nancy grabbed the small sentry by the legs, and dragged her inside the shed. “A shame she’s too short for us. If not, you could've taken her outfit – I’m not quite sure nurses are a usual sight on the bridge proper.”
“I’m pretty sure we can convince another guard to lend us her clothes.”
“True.”
Inside the storage shed, they found the dynamite – and enough coils of rope to bind the unconscious sentry.
“Looks like this one’s lucky. We don’t even need makeshift bonds. She’ll get to keep all her clothes.” Nancy mused.
“Save for the scarf.” Sylvié commented as she was cleave-gagging the sentry with her own scarf.
“Please save me from wise-crackers! I fear what we may release to the world after we’ve finished training you…” Nancy joked. At the same time, she bound the woman’s wrists and ankles.
To conceal the trussed up sentry, Nancy chose the easy way and left her inside the shed – she simply took the woman’s gun, and checked she didn’t have matches on her before she locked the door.
They hid the dynamite in Nancy’s laundry basket.
It was time to head to the bridge proper.
Jamesville Bridge, 11:54am
Unfortunately, the trail to the bridge proper was also guarded by a lone woman.
Said sentry was wearing a black long coat over a grey button-up shirt, dark blue jeans, a black leather belt with a colt, and black boots. Her head and face were half-obscured by a black Stetson hat and a matching scarf tied around her neck. Her body and face looked angular, and her coal black hair was tied into a no-nonsense ponytail. Her dark brown eyes and thin lips conveyed a very sullen expression. She was hamming it up a little. Nancy and Sylvié suspected part of the sentry’s attitude was just for show – the woman was putting on a mean front to look more intimidating.
However, her rifle clearly wasn’t for show, and contrary to the shed’s guard she looked trained.
Nancy groaned in annoyance. “Ugh. Long Coats.”
Sylvié raised an eyebrow. “Is that a fashion statement?”
“Don’t ask me why, but Long Coats somehow tend to be a pain to deal with. They’re just mean.”
“Well, you’ll be mean enough for the both of us then.” Sylvié joked. “Just like in the Van der Laar Estate? I distract her, you sneak behind her back and knock her out?” she proposed.
Nancy noticed a few bushes that would conceal her easily. “Fine by me.” She took her empty bucket with her, and left the basket containing the dynamite concealed behind some rocks.
“Still holding on to that thing? I mean, I commend your dedication, but still...”
“You’d be surprised how thick-headed Long Coats are.”
Sylvié waited until Nancy got closer to their quarry while using the cover of the bushes, then she approached the longcoat-clad guard. She flashed the sullen-looking woman her brightest smile, and showed her the doctor bag.
“Hi, gorgeous. I’m the new nurse.”
“No you’re not.”
The blunt retort briefly startled Sylvié. “Ex- Excuse me?”
“New nurse comes from Boston. Your accent doesn’t match. And don’t pretend you’re from Quebec. I can hear you’re French. Not French Canadian. French. Also, you don’t have the hands of a nurse. They’re too calloused for that. Those are the hands of a woman who spends a lot of time washing clothes, and cleaning floors. Maid, I’d wager. Fancy maid, given the way you talk. Some sort of lady-in-waiting.”
“Oh dear.”
“I’m going to arrest you, by the way.”
Nancy sent the guard to slumberland with a well-aimed bonk on the head with the bucket she was carrying.
“Uh. Disguise didn’t work. When did that ever happen?” Sylvié deadpanned as the sentry collapsed onto the ground with the grace of a potato sack.
Nancy threw the bucket away. “Always beware of the Long Coats. For some reason, they tend to be smarter than average.”
“Well, for a given definition of ‘smart’. She couldn’t resist a victory monologue…”
Nancy shrugged. “I said smart, not clever.” She took a knee, and unbuttoned the sentry’s coat. “It’s best you stop pretending to be a nurse.”
Sylvié pulled off the woman’s boots. “I assume Long Coats are also high-ranked guards.”
“You assume well.” Nancy unbuttoned the Long Coat’s shirt.
“High-ranked enough to go wherever they please?” Sylvié pulled off the woman’s jeans, revealing (surprisingly feminine) light pink underdrawers.
“Of course.” Nancy opened and took off the shirt. The Long Coat’s camisole matched the drawers – light pink and a bit frilly.
“Do I get to order you around then?”
“Only if you don’t take too much advantage of it.”
Sylvié winked. “No promise.”
A few minutes later, the sullen (but secretly girly) Long Coat was taking a nap in the middle of some bushes in her underclothes – looking as peaceful as a newborn baby – while Sylvié, having donned her clothes and hidden her former nurse uniform, escorted Nancy to the bridge. They chose to sacrifice another dose of laudanum on this woman – since they had to leave her concealed near the main road, and feared a passerby could hear her moans for help if she was merely gagged. They were therefore confident the sentry would sleep for the next couple of hours.
Workers were leaving the bridge for midday lunch. Sylvié used the long coat and hat to conceal her identity, and didn’t speak to them. She answered their salutes with gruff nods. They were all fooled.
“It’s almost time.” Nancy commented after the last worker had left. “We’ll set up the dynamite. Sand and Clint should regroup with us any moment now.”
