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This story is a work of fiction. The story and characters are copyright Radical Gopher and may not be duplicated or used without the express permission of the author. This story contains adult situations and should not be viewed by those under the age of eighteen.

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A DISTANT SHORE - THE STOCKADE

Gabe drifted in and out of consciousness for hours. Every time he awoke, the sway of the travois and his own, seemingly incurable exhaustion would lull him to sleep within moments. The day seemed to pass in jerks and starts. Before he knew it night had fallen and they were camped within the shelter of several large rocks. He looked up to see Snowbird stirring a small cook pot. Upon smelling its contents his stomach growled softly. He figured it a good sign that despite his wound he felt hungry.

Snowbird apparently heard him as well. She filled a cup with the soup she had been preparing and brought it over to the Marshall. Having already unbound him from the travois, she helped him sit up then gently pressed the tin cup into his hands.

"Drink," she said, sitting down next to him.

Lifting the soup to his mouth he gingerly sipped at the hot liquid. "Thank-you," Gabe replied. He drank slowly, enjoying the sensation of warmth that radiated outward from his stomach. He briefly glanced around the camp. Collier and Temple were tied to separate trees not far from the campfire.

"Are they giving you any trouble?" Gabe asked.

"No," Snowbird replied, shaking her head. "Though the girl screeches like an oraac in mating season." She quickly shifted to her native language. "I think she may be with child. It would be best if one of your own medicine chiefs confirmed this. She refuses to let me make even the simplest of examinations. As far as she is concerned, I am only useful for wiping her ass after she takes a shit, and even then she shouts her abuse for all to hear."

"Why not loosen her bonds enough so she can tend herself?"

"After what she did and what her father threatens? No!" The native girl refilled Gabe's cup and handed it back to him again. "You would think she would at least be grateful there is more than enough of the green paper to wipe her ass. Otherwise, I would be using leaves, and some of them are prickly."

"Green paper?"

Snowbird gestured towards several sets of saddlebags draped across the back of the packhorse.

Gabe glanced up. His eyes went wide when he saw the writing on the saddlebags. "Great Spirits, woman! You mean you've been wiping her ass with the army's payroll?"

"What else is it good for?" she asked simply.

The Marshall stared at her for several long seconds then began chuckling. As much as it hurt, he quickly found himself laughing out loud. When he finally managed to regain control after several long minutes the vixen made him lay down and examined his side. Fortunately, he had not pulled open the wound.

Gabriel looked around at their surroundings, but did not recognize immediately where they were. "Are we going back a different way?"

"Yes," Snowbird replied. "There is a family that lives near Choathala. They can tend you and watch your prisoners while I ride on and warn Swift Arrow about the raid into our lands."

"How long will it take to get there?"

"If we leave soon, we can be there by morning," she said.

"You plan on traveling at night?" he asked.

"If we are careful and keep our eyes open it should be safe enough. It is not as if we have much choice. Time is short."

"We'd make better time if you let me ride. I'm feeling stronger."

Snowbird firmly shook her head. "You are still too weak and there is too much danger you would tear open your wound again."

"Fair enough," he agreed reluctantly. "But when we get close to this refuge of yours, I want to go in riding, not like a load of baggage. I am a Federal Marshall after all."

Snowbird smiled wanly and nodded. Something in her expression though caught Gabe's attention.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

The native girl didn't answer. She took the now empty soup cup from the Marshall and turned to stand. Gabe quickly reached out and firmly took her hand. Instead of looking at him Snowbird lowered her head.

"Something is wrong," he said gently. "We're partners here... you can tell me, can't you?"

There was a very, very long pause and then Snowbird spoke in a whisper. "I... I have never... never killed anyone before today. I do not like what I am feeling." She looked at the Marshall. Her bronze mask shone dimly in the light of the campfire. Pain and regret filled the vixen's single, blue eye.

An image flashed into his mind and Gabe remembered the arrow sticking out of Cooper's neck. He reached up with one hand and cupped it against her cheek ruff. He felt tears dampen his thumb. "I'm sorry," the wolf muttered. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. I should have been able to handle the situation better."

"I am a shaman," she said sadly. "I am dedicated to preserving life. Now I have dishonored my father, my people..."

Gabe shook his head. "No... You haven't." She looked at him quizzically. "What would have happened if you hadn't killed that outlaw?"

She sat silently for a moment. Gabe waited patiently for an answer "You would now be dead," she answered softly.

The Marshall nodded. "I'd be dead and we wouldn't be on our way to warn your people. As much as we'd like it to be, the world isn't black or white, good or evil. We make choices, some harder than others, to do what needs doing. That's what you did. You chose. It's the intent of those choices that make us who we are." He coughed, clearing his throat. "Trust me... I'm the last person on this earth who'd tell you that you chose wrong."

Snowbird reached up and gently removed the wolf's hand from her cheek, placing it across his chest and patting it. Wiping away her tears, she picked up his canteen and held it so he could drink. When he finished, she rose and set about breaking camp.

Gabe watched her as she moved about, seeing past the bronze mask. He hoped he'd given the vixen something to think about, something that would dull the feelings of guilt. He wished fervently he could remove her doubt and pain, but that was not possible. This was a struggle only she could fight.

* * * *

Sergeant McMullen stood at the open door of the tool shed eyeing the prisoners. Having been kept in the dark all day, the only thing they could see was a dark silhouette framed by the door and the setting sun behind him. After several moments of consideration, he pointed to one of native girls near the wall. Phibbs stepped in, grasped her roughly by the arm and hauled her to her feet. The old todd stood, cursing at him in his native tongue, but was backhanded by the soldier who then shoved the girl into the Sergeant's waiting arms. The grandfather fell to the ground, unable to catch himself because his hands were bound behind him, as were everyone else's.

Screaming and cursing the girl was dragged out into the yard and the tool shed door secured behind her. Those left behind added their muffled voices to the protest

"Looks like you've got yourself a real wildcat there Sarge," Phibbs laughed wickedly.

"Yeah... well, you just keep an eye on our prisoners. Don't open the door for any reason. You can call me if they get too noisy, but keep the door closed! I'll send Cutter out to relieve you in an hour or so, when it's your turn." The cougar saluted then leaned casually against the wall of the tool shed, watching as the bear dragged the vixen across the compound and into the long house.

Once inside he roughly threw the native to the floor. She landed amid the furs scattered near the hearth and rolled onto her back, glaring up at the Sergeant. Private Cutter came up behind him holding a rope. Following the bear's orders he yanked the vixen to her feet and fed both ends of the rope around her chest and under her arms. He then tossed it over the nearest rafter. The vixen tried kicking him in the crotch, but he turned and she connected painfully with his thigh.

"SHIT! That's going to leave a mark!" the hyena growled.

"Quite complaining and just hoist her. You'll have a chance to get even soon enough."

Following his instructions the hyena jerked down on the rope until the vixen hung about a foot off the ground. He then tied the rope off on a metal ring attached to the chimney. Grabbing a long wooden staff, both he and the bear tied the native girl's ankles to it, spreading her legs apart. A rope was then run from the staff's middle to the same chimney ring and pulled taut. Now, instead of hanging vertically, she was positioned at a very slight angle to the floor.

The two males set about stripping her of her buckskin clothing, piece by piece. Before long all that remained was a breechcloth, a pair of moccasins and a necklace made of oraac claws. Through it all she cursed and spat at the soldiers and while her words were unintelligible, her tone and meaning were not.

The two soldiers stood back and admired their handiwork. Despite being roughly handled, the vixen was quite beautiful. Her fur was a reddish-brown with a cream colored flash that ran from between her thighs and up along her belly, chest and throat. It ended along the underside of her chin. Her hands and feet were covered with a dark brown fur and her tail tip was cream colored. The same dark brown edged her ear tips. Soft brown eyes glared angrily at her captors. Long, straight, raven-black hair hung down either side of her face ending just below the shoulder blades

The bear reached up and ran a hand along the inside of her thighs. Pushing aside the breechcloth, he continued brushing it along the fur of her mound, enjoying the velvet softness he found there. The vixen flinched visibly from his touch, but was unable to pull away from him. Traveling up her belly, his hand cupped her modest, but firm breasts, first one, then the other. He paused long enough to sharply tweak both her nipples. She jumped in response, bouncing slightly against her bonds. His hand moved back towards her cunt and she growled threateningly, thrashing her tail in anger.

"Look at that, Sarge. I don't think she likes you touching her there," the hyena chuckled cruelly.

McMullen picked up a short, thick rope and tossed it to the private. "Well, maybe you can show her how disappointed we are with her attitude, especially when it comes to kicking her betters."

Cutter smiled, made a loop with the rope then whipped it sharply across the native girl's legs. She jerked in pain, letting go a loud whine before clamping her jaw shut. The blow raised a thick welt underneath her fur. He repeated it several times, moving across both legs and up under her tail. In at least two places her fur took on a much darker red color as it became bloodstained. Through it, the girl winced, but refused to utter any sound, stubbornly denying them the pleasure of hearing her suffering.

The Sergeant watched, then frowned and shook his head. "No, not like that Cutter," he said taking the rope's end from him, "You're hitting her too hard. You want to bruise her, not break the skin. Haven't you ever punished slaves before?"

"Only that one you had Phibbs and me work over back in town."

"Just let me do it, then," the Sergeant said. He began working the vixen over, slowly and methodically from the souls of her feet to the back of her neck. By the time he finished her body was a mass of welts and bruises, many hidden by her fur. She cried, despite her earlier resolve not to show weakness. Tears stained her fur and her head was bowed in submission. Annoyed by the noise, the Sergeant pulled out a spool of twine. Grabbing her muzzle, he forced it closed then wrapped the twine about it and tied it off, muffling her voice.

He looked over at Cutter. "Go relieve Phibbs and tell him to pick out another girl to bring with him."

"Hey... I thought we were gon'na..."

"We will," the bear replied. "We've got all night and you'll get your turn. We just needed to create an object lesson for the others."

The hyena shrugged and left the long house. About five minutes later Phibbs entered, dragging behind him another vixen. She was almost a duplicate of the first girl except her hair was reddish-brown and not black. The Sergeant guessed they were twins.

Seeing her sister hanging from the rafters the vixen broke free of the cougar's grasp and ran over to her, bending to look her in the face. She spoke to her, but the first girl did not respond other than to turn her head away in shame. Standing straight, the second girl stared into the bear's eyes.

"Bastard!"

The Sergeant grinned. "So... one of you knows some civilized words. That makes this easy." He stepped up to her and with one swift movement punched her in the gut. She fell to her knees, gasping for air. McMullen looked at Phibbs. "Cut her loose."

The cougar knelt and using his knife sliced through the rope binding her hands. The Sergeant went over and picked up the short length of rope used to beat the first vixen. This he cinched around her throat. Looking down at the second vixen, he waited until she had recovered her breath. "Take off your clothes!"

The native girl glared up at him, but didn't budge. With a quick movement the bear twisted the rope. The first girl began to buck and thrash as her breath was abruptly choked off.

"NO!" screamed the second vixen, trying to rise and throw herself at the soldier. Phibbs quickly kicked her feet out from under her, forcing her back down. The Sergeant waited about fifteen seconds before loosening the rope. He then looked back at the girl on the floor.

"Take off your clothes... or else."

Slowly, reluctantly she complied, staring angrily up at him the whole time. When she had finished, the bear nodded once at Phibbs.

"Get down!" the cougar ordered

The native girl slowly lowered herself to her hands and knees. Phibbs handed his pistol to the Sergeant and undid his trousers. Kneeling behind her, he forced her legs apart then rammed himself into her without any preliminary preparation. She yelped sharply in pain.

"Damn..." the Private smiled. "She's tighter than a five-hundred dollar whore!" He began thrusting in and out of the vixen, slowly at first, and then faster as she began to bleed from the abusive treatment. Anger and shame washed across her features, accompanied by tears of pain. Several times she yelped as the cougar continued plunging in and out of her mound. The barbs of his feline penis gripped and tore at her until with one last vicious thrust Phibbs hilted himself and spasmed within the native. Thick pulses of cum stung and burned her from the inside.

The cougar withdrew then switched places with the Sergeant. The bear wrapped his arms around her torso and lifted her onto his shaft, pinning both her hands in front of her. Though not barbed, his male-hood was twice as thick and half again as long. The native girl whimpered as she felt herself spread even wider and the vigorous plunging began again. In some ways this was worse, for now gravity ensured that each thrust went as deeply as possible. She could feel his length pounding painfully against her cervix, though it did not penetrate.

The punishing rape continued for almost ten minutes before the Sergeant finally unloaded into the vixen, then carelessly withdrew and tossed her onto the furs. He pulled up his trousers and nodded to the cougar who went to trade places with Cutter. When the hyena arrived he picked up where the bear had left off.

* * * *

A thin band of light was just edging the horizon when Lieutenant Evans rode back toward the stockade. He'd successfully traveled as far as Henderson's Gap without making contact with any of the local natives. The way was clear for Colonel Collier's raid. If their luck held, by tomorrow morning they would take the Chimney Rock tribe by surprise.

The fennec scowled at the thought. They were not formally at war with the natives, and the raid into their land still seemed wrong, or at the very least, wrong headed. He could understand the Colonel's desire to save his daughter, but deep down he still felt they should be working with Marshall White Cloud, not circumventing his authority. Unfortunately, not being in command, he was not permitted to do more than voice an objection then carry out the orders of his superior.

Approaching the stockade, he suddenly had a sense that something was decidedly wrong. The feeling was confirmed when he got within a stone's throw of the main gate. There, hanging by his neck from the top of the wall was the old native... dead. Evan's face went hard and grim. He whistled, long and loud and after several moments Private Phibbs' face appeared along the top of the wall holding an oil lantern.

"OPEN THE GATE!" the Lieutenant snapped.

The cougar saluted and disappeared from view. Moments later the gate swung oprn and Evans rode into the stockade. Dismounting, he handed the reins to Phibbs and marched straight over to the tool shed.

"Begging the Lieutenant's pardon... Sergeant McMullen ordered the door be kept closed, so the natives wouldn't cause any more trouble than they already have."

Evans ignored him and unlatched the door, swinging it open. "Give me the lamp," he ordered. Phibbs handed him the lantern and the Lieutenant slowly swung it around the small room. Four of the five native women sat cringing back along the far wall of the shed, naked save for small scraps of clothing they tried to cover themselves with.

The room reeked of blood and stale sex. All four of them were tied together with a single line of rope that was looped around each of their necks. Even in the dim lamp light he could make out the ruffled fur and dark bruises that were deep enough to show through. The fifth girl, who was still clothed and the young boy, were doing their best to tend to the others. The eldest vixen clutched at an empty cradleboard, staring straight ahead at the far wall.

Furious, Evans turned and left the shed, striding purposefully across the compound towards the long house. Behind him Phibbs quickly latched the shed door again. The Lieutenant strode up to the front door. In his anger he practically kicked it open.

"SERGEANT MCMULLEN! PRIVATE CUTTER! TURN TO!"

The two soldiers practically jumped up from the furs scattered across the floor, both staring blurry eyes at the enraged officer.

"Where's the baby, Sergeant!"

"I... uh, well you see sir..."

"WHERE IS IT?"

"In the basket over there, sir, safe and sound. I figured taking it from the mother would guarantee her cooperation."

Evans strode across the room, noting the stack of native women's clothing piled haphazardly into one corner. Here too he could smell the stink of blood and stale sex. Reaching the basket, he pulled back the blanket covering it and sighed with more than a little relief as the infant began wailing loudly.

Picking up the basket, Evans turned on the bear. "I left you in command so that you could watch the prisoners... not abuse them or turn them into your own personal harem!"

'Begging you pardon, sir. But they are the enemy..."

"They are NOT the enemy, McMullen! There is no enemy here! They are civilian non-combatants and as such are entitled to our protection, not abuse. I don't know everything that happened here... but I swear, Sergeant... I will find out and see you standing before a General Courts Martial to answer for all this." Evans marched out of the building, carrying the basket with him. The bear followed close behind, pulling on his uniform.

"Lieutenant... sir! With all due respect only the Colonel can convene a General Court, and with his daughter captured by natives I don't think he'd be inclined to punish one of his soldiers for showing a little entrepreniual spirit."

The fennec wheeled sharply. "Entrepreniual spirit!" he roared. "Is that what you call it; beating, raping and murdering helpless prisoners?"

"No, sir. Not prisoners... slaves!"

"SLAVES?"

"Yes, sir," replied the Sergeant. "Slaves. Under Article 25 of the Military Code prisoners captured in a time of war may be sold to duly designated individuals."

"We are not at war, McMullen! And our treaty with the local tribes forbids us taking any of their people for the filthy slave trade."

"The Colonel told me sir that under present circumstances the treaty was no longer in force and I would be allowed to profit from this campaign."

For a long moment the Lieutenant said nothing, weighing what the Sergeant had just told him, confirming the doubts he had been having about this whole operation.

"Well then," he replied, "if the military won't take the steps necessary to punish your actions here, I guess I will have to report it all to Marshall White Cloud." Turning away contemptuously, the fennec continued towards the tool shed.

Sergeant McMullen suddenly went cold inside. Military authority, especially Colonel Collier and Captain Lewis he could deal with. The Marshall was another thing entirely. He had a reputation for seeking out and administering the kind of rough, frontier justice that was frequently overlooked by the courts as a necessary part of maintaining law in a lawless land. He gestured to Cutter and Phibbs as he followed Lieutenant Evans towards the tool shed.

Opening the door, the fennec gently lifted the child from its basket and delivered it safely into the arms of its native mother. Though frightened, she looked into his eyes and knew instinctively that here was a fur with a good heart. In that same instant her eyes went suddenly wild and she tried shouting a warning.

Evans whirled, but was unable to dodge the blow that slammed into the side of his head. He dropped to the ground then felt two sets of hands grab him and drag him out of the shed. Someone quickly latched the door closed. Blood ran copiously from the Lieutenant's nose pad and he looked up to see McMullen standing grimly above him, his pistol out and held loosely at his side.

"You know, sir. For a while there, I thought we had a chance to become friends. But sorry to say, I can see there's just a little too much sense of right and wrong in you. You think these natives here are people. Well they're not. They're chattel. But I'll never convince you of that. And, since I have no desire to spend the next few years looking over my shoulder to see if your Marshall White Cloud is gunning for me I'm afraid that you're going to have to become just another casualty of war."

He cocked the pistol, aiming it at Evan's head. "Sorry, sir. It's not personal; it's just business." The Lieutenant flinched, squeezing his eyes shut.

A shot rang out and for an instant the fennec thought he was dead, but when he opened his eyes and looked up he saw the Sergeant standing above him, holding a shattered hand. The bear's pistol lay at his feet unfired. Evan's eyes tracked across the compound toward the open gate. There, sitting astride a horse with a white furred vixen next to him sat Gabriel White Cloud; a smoking pistol gripped firmly in his left hand.

"Nobody Move!"

TO BE CONTINUED...