BREED: Part 3 of 3: Nomad


As we head towards the Shoshone encampment Ta-Nay relates how life has changed for the tribe since being forced to leave their ancestral home and hunting grounds by the Blue Coats. Life has become nomadic in that the tribe must seasonally move for sources of food and overwintering. This more frequently brings the tribe into conflict with our enemies, the Cheyenne.


At high noon it has become so hot that we seek the shade of some riverside trees. After helping the injured Ta-Nay to a small clearing and watering the Appaloosa I decide to strip off my loincloth leaving just my sheathed knife hanging from my waist thong and enter the cool river water. I submerge my head fully and feel the support of the flowing waters surrounding me. When I emerge I see two Cheyenne braves running at me from the opposite side of the river. They too are naked but for their waist thongs but their knife sheathes are empty as they are each brandishing their knives as they run through the water towards me. One is about two summers older than me and the other younger than myself, they have red and black warpaint stripes over their prominent cheek bones and long black braided hair held in place by leather head bands. Their running naked bodies are lithe like two cougars and their cocks rhythmically slap against their muscular inner thighs as they run at me, the resulting water spray wetting their now glistening copper bronzed lean bodies. I pull my knife and crouch in readiness to meet their attack. The older one meets me head on slashing his blade in an attempt to inflict initial damage before getting closer. As I parry his assault I notice the younger and inexperienced brave stands off but circles us to make frequent stabbing actions at me in an attempt to assist his tribal brother. I now lunge forward at the older one, attempting to defensively hold off his knife while stabbing at him with mine. However, as I do the younger brave’s knife slashes across my left bicep which weakens my defensive hold on the knife hand of my attacker. He is also holding off my knife hand as our naked wet torsos clash against each other. My defensive arm is now weakened and my opponent knows it, so as his blade slowly makes its way towards my belly I feel his manhood swell against mine in the anticipation of gutting me. As I found out fighting the other Cheyenne they are not used to the fighting style of the pale skins, so I quickly bring my knee up into the brave’s balls which makes him yelp in pain as he backs off clutching at his crotch while still holding his knife at me. Then, like wolves, both Cheyenne braves start to circle me slowly getting closer as I turn this way and that to hold them off. Suddenly >THWUUMP< an arrow embeds itself into the muscled left thigh of the younger brave “AYIIEEEE!” as he crumples into the shallow water. The older brave then snarls and makes a war cry “YAHAYAHO!” as he rushes at me. My left arm being weakened I am unable to counter the force of his assault and am knocked backwards into the shallows of the river. He lands atop of me as our wet naked bodies squirm against each other in a deadly struggle to stab into each other’s vitals. The Cheyenne snarls, “Green eyed snake die at hands of Chowta!” I feel the hot breath from his snarling face as we again attempt to hold off each other’s knife but he knows I am weakened by my arm wound and soon I feel the tip of his knife enter my left side and I cry out, “NNNGGGGG!” as I desperately try to stop the blade cutting in any further. Sensing victory the Cheyenne is clearly aroused and as I writhe under him I feel his whole body tense as his stiff manhood starts to explode its seed over my belly. As the indian spasms I act quickly and with a surge of force thrust my own knife into his left abs >SHKKT< “URRRGGGHHH!”. I follow through by turning to my left causing his body to role off me a little and, pulling my blade from his side, I thrust it into his outie navel as his tensing abdominal muscles put up a firm but futile resistance to the entry of my blade. He then lifts his head to cry out “ARRRGGGHHH!” as my blade enters deep into his viscera and I too shoot my victorious seed over his bleeding belly. As I roll him belly up in the shallows I stab him again in his quivering lower abs and twist the knife until his writhing subsides, our blood and seed mixing in the shallow water.


Clutching at my bleeding side I search the water for the younger brave but notice he has dragged himself out of the river towards the tree line and is now propped up against a tree. I then see Ta-Nay with an arrow notched in his bow slowly approaching the Cheyenne. The war painted Cheyenne’s chest and belly is heaving with pain and the fear of being cornered by his enemy. I then see Ta-Nay draw the bow at the injured youth and I shout, “NO TA-NAY!” He responds by lowering his bow by which time I am now between the Cheyenne and Ta-Nay. The Cheyenne is pressing himself tightly against the tree holding his knife at us trying not to show his fear. I say to Ta-Nay, “Why kill him when he is no longer a threat to us?” He replies, “He is unable to walk and in this wilderness will soon die, if we take him with us he will be killed by our people.” I kneel near to my young enemy who feigns a knife lunge at me and then he says, “Snake people no kill Grey Wolf!”  I sheathe my knife and point at the arrow in his thigh and say, “We not kill but Grey Wolf need arrow out of leg, Tontoo help Grey Wolf but Grey Wolf give knife to Tontoo.” The youth’s eyes search mine then he fixes Ta-Nay who responds by laying his bow on the ground. I hold out my hand and slowly Grey Wolf places his knife, still tipped with my blood, into my hand. 


Under Ta-Nay’s guidance I gather the herbal plants he needs, then a small fire is made. After the knife’s blade is heated in the fire I encourage Grey Wolf to bite down on a wooden stick while Ta-Nay cuts the arrow head from his thigh. As the Cheyenne bites hard upon the stick against the pain his whole body contorts and is drenched in sweat. Finally Ta-Nay manages to remove the arrow head and applies the herbal dressings to the wound which I wrap with some saved linen. The enemy youth then closes his eyes and collapses through pain and exhaustion. Ta-Nay says, “He is lucky that his muscular thigh stopped the arrow doing too much damage.” “As long as he is found by his people his youth will see him survive this.” “Now warrior let me clean and dress your wounds!”


After Ta-Nay has finished I search the area where the two Cheyenne had come from. I find food, bows and arrows, short spears and discarded loincloths. It seems these two were doing as I was, cooling off from the midday heat when they saw me. I recover all items and return to Ta-Nay and my enemy. Grey Wolf has regained consciousness and is clearly in less pain. I place the recovered items by his side and place his own knife in the sheath hanging from his thong. Our eyes again meet but instead of fear there is an unspoken acceptance of the truce between us. As we leave the injured Cheyenne youth behind we cannot know for sure he will survive. While I lead the Appaloosa with the mounted Ta-Nay he says, “Nameless warrior let Cheyenne enemy know name, why?” I reply, “To help him I needed him to trust me.” Ta-Nay replies wryly, “And what of your own people warrior, should they not be able to trust you also?” I ponder this for a moment but choose not to respond but am aware that Ta-Nay is smiling to himself.


Before sunset I see the silhouettes and long shadows of four indian riders boldly traversing a nearby hill top and then I see Ta-Nay signal to them before they make downhill towards us. All four are scantily clad just as I and clearly know Ta-Nay and while two attend the injured Ta-Nay the other two slowly circle their ponies around me. Then one, halting his pony, leans down to peer directly into my eyes, then suddenly sitting up tall laughingly says to the other, “His eyes are as green as grass!” Which makes the other laugh too as he now leans down towards me to get a closer look. Then I hear Ta-Nay sternly say, “Stop teasing our brother and get us back to our encampment!” One mounted Shoshone holds his hand out for me to grab to mount his pony behind him while another leads my Appaloosa with the injured Ta-Nay and we set off at a canter. It is not long before we enter the Shoshone encampment and I realise my heart is pounding being unsure of my reception by my half blood people.


As we dismount and Ta-Nay is helped down I realise I have been allowed to keep my weapons and then I am surrounded by a group of curious children who also show amusement at my green eyes. Yet I still see a look of distrust in the faces of some of the warriors I pass as we are led towards the centre of the encampment. I also take in the hive of activity around three buffalo carcasses being industriously reduced to usable hides, meat, fat and bone, the product of a recent successful hunt. 


As we enter an open area surrounded by teepees I am conscious that the whole encampment seems to have gathered to find out more of this green eyed stranger. Then from a larger teepee, adorned with colourful depictions of a buffalo hunt, a mature warrior emerges and, from his stature and manner of those around him, I guess he is the Chief. He approaches Ta-Nay in greeting and obvious concern for his injuries but I am unable to hear what they discuss, however, I notice that as Ta-Nay speaks the Chief makes occasional glances at me. Then the Chief himself beckons me over to them. He says, “I am Chief Proud Feather and you have our gratitude for helping Ta-Nay but we would know the name of our Shoshone brother?” The silence is deafening as I see a sea of Shoshone faces straining to hear my response. Surely the term halfbreed would be offensive to them let alone just Breed! Ta-Nay had earlier got me to speak of trust, so, before what seems to be a gathering of the entire Shoshone nation I loudly say, “TONTOO! I am Tontoo.” Proud Feather responds, “Welcome to your people Tontoo!” “Now your wounds must be tended and later you can tell us of your life’s path that brought you back to your people.” While the Chief was speaking I could hear mutterings and my name being repeated by some of those gathered.


Later, during the early evening, I relate my life’s history and the massacre of the men of my village including my father. Chief Proud Feather knew of this and relates how life for tribes other than the Shoshone had also changed in the ten years since and of their resistance to being corralled within a reservation, their life now being that of nomads. Then Proud Feather says, “Tontoo, there are some here from your village who remember you, unfortunately your mother was also killed during that massacre trying to save your brother.” My…my brother… yes…yes; my suppressed memories flood my brain. I say, “Unka!… Unka would have been six summers when I last saw him and if he’d survived he’d be a fine young warrior today.” Ta-Nay, puts his hand on my shoulder and says, “Tontoo my friend Unka IS a fine young warrior, he was not killed with your mother and when he returns from a hunt you shall be reunited.” 


The following morning I am tending to the Appaloosa when I see the Chief’s son, Red Knife, who Ta-Nay had pointed out to me last night. He is about thirty summers with a thick set, powerful build and an arrogant bearing. He makes straight for me and sneers as he puts his hand over his sheathed knife and says, “You are an outsider, a halfbreed, when I am Chief there will be no place for your kind here, until then keep out of my way!” He then barges into my shoulder intending to walk off but I push back against him which makes him lose balance and stumble. He quickly regains his feet and immediately pulls his knife against me. I draw my knife in defence as we start to circle each other, Red Knife making stabbing and slashing actions trying to find a weakness in my defence, it is clear that he intends to kill me if he can. As he makes a forward stabbing action I grab his knife arm tightly and immediately thrust my knife hand towards his hard belly. However, what strikes his belly is my fist wrapped around the handle of my knife when the dull slap of a fist on tensed muscle is heard and Red Knife doubles up and groans. Knowing it would not go down well if I killed the Chief’s son on only my second day I throw my knife aside and attempt to disarm him but he recovers and we are suddenly locked in a deadly struggle to gain control of his knife. Red Knife is stronger than me but I am more agile as I manage to land a few more punches in his gut. Then I find myself backed hard up against a lodge pole which winds me and allows Red Knife to get his muscular left forearm across my throat trying to choke me. While I try to free his forearm from my throat with my right hand, I realise I am losing the battle to stop him from stabbing me in my belly and as he snarls into my face I feel the tip of his knife against my navel… Suddenly… >THWUMP< as an arrow lands at his feet… He looks over to see his father notching another arrow to his bow and releases me. After that we both try our best to avoid each other but it shows that not all Shoshone are as accepting as some.


During late morning there is a lot of excitement as a hunting party enters the encampment and I eagerly try to work out which one is Unka. There are three youths in the hunting party of six and they are clearly in good spirits as they lead two ponies backed with a number of gutted deer carcasses. I do not wish to embarrass my sixteen summers brother in front of his friends so I stay back. Then Chief Proud Feather approaches the hunting party and talks with one of the youths before gesturing in my direction. This must be Unka, my brother Unka! I see Unka stare straight at me, would he know me? He was only six and I eight when I was taken. Then Unka walks towards me as we both eye each other up seeking recognition. Unka is indeed a fine young warrior with a sinewy physique much like me at his age. His skin tone is more like that of a full blood Shoshone but his hazel eyes give away his true heritage, being a mix of our parents. Then we stand face to face neither knowing what to say, so I place my hands on his shoulders and he does the same and says, “Brother?” Holding back a flood of repressed emotions I reply, “Yes Unka, I am your brother Tontoo.” 


For the next ten months I strengthen my bond with not only Unka but with the tribe. I teach Unka how to be a better fighter by using a combination of wrestling and boxing and he teaches me to hunt. For the first time since I was eight I have a sense of belonging. In that ten months we have moved our encampment twice and as we head back into summer it is time to move once again to the hunting grounds where I first encountered my people. Chief Proud Feather summons myself, Unka and two other young braves to task us with scouting the old encampment grounds before the tribe arrive. So it is that me, now nineteen, and Unka and the other two at seventeen proudly undertake this important task for our Chief and people. 


I take my Appaloosa while the others mount coloured ponies. We are also armed with bows and arrows and short stabbing spears but I still have Sam’s revolver which I keep out of sight. Out of the four of us I am the only one to have killed an enemy, the others only counting coup upon close contact with an enemy during brief skirmish encounters. However, that was enough to show their bravery even though more experienced warriors would have always been nearby. Now, at seventeen, they are treated as any other warrior but long to spill their first blood of an enemy in battle.


By high noon it seems a strange coincidence that we reach the very same spot on the river where I encountered the two Cheyenne, Chowta and Grey Wolf. Here we water the horses and I let Unka and the others cool off in the river but insist they keep their knives with them. I do not enter the water but stand guard over them with the revolver to hand searching for any sign of movement through the trees. Nearby I find the spot where we left the injured Grey Wolf, he would now be Unka’s age if he survived, I just hope he got back to his people. 


After leaving the river we continue our scouting and to our relief soon spot a large herd of buffalo on the plains. As we approach the old encampment grounds we near the top of a shallow hill when I spot a group of five Cheyenne on foot. I task Running Fox to keep the horses low while myself, Unka and Timoway crawl on our bellies to the rise of the hill. We see three seasoned warriors and two youths all armed with bows and arrows. Seeing this opportunity as a way of proving his manhood Unka excitedly says, “We kill Cheyenne enemy with arrows, spears and knives!” I reply, “No Unka! We were sent here to scout not fight.”  Unka gives me a defiant look as if considering to disobey his older brother so I say, “Only a fool would rush into a fight where he is outnumbered!” Suddenly! >TWUUUMP< as an arrow lands too close for comfort and we see another Cheyenne youth on the next hill with bow in hand now alerting our presence to his tribal brothers below with the call of the crow, “Caw Kraa! Caw Kraa!” An arrow fired by Timoway makes him dive for cover. As we look down we see the war painted party making their way towards our position in a crouching stance with bows primed to fire. I tell Unka and Timoway to notch an arrow with me and aim for the lead Cheyenne warrior. I say, “Now!” as the three of us rise just enough to let loose our arrows? The lead Cheyenne warrior instantaneously receives two arrows, one in his left breast and the other in his upper abs as he is spun around before falling to the dirt. We just manage to get back down before a hail of arrows fly over our heads. Unka curses his failure to hit the enemy! I call for us to mount up but then I see Unka making his way, knife in hand, to where the isolated Cheyenne youth was taking cover. I call for him to return but he choses not to hear me. I silently curse my young brother as now we will have to engage the Cheyenne in battle.


Knowing the horses will give us an advantage, myself Timoway and Running Fox mount up. By my estimate the group of Cheyenne will by now be just the other side of this hill. I get the other two to spread out and then give the signal to ride over the brow of the hill to engage with the Cheyenne. As soon as we clear the brow of the hill the four remaining Cheyenne are immediately below us and they scatter as we ride straight at them wielding our spears in a stabbing action. To avoid them using their bows we must keep at close quarters so we tightly turn back on them. Running Fox stabs his spear at a young Cheyenne brave impaling his left shoulder and, as Running Fox turns his pony, he follows through with a deep thrust just above the brave’s navel causing him to dig at his belly as he falls. One of the Cheyenne warriors gets an arrow notched to his bow and fires… The young Timoway is hit in his right breast knocking him backwards from his pony. As he rolls to a halt two Cheyenne braves are upon him like wolves and he is stabbed many times in the belly and chest. Seeing this I reach for Sam’s revolver and take aim and fire at the warrior that brought Timoway down. The nearly naked Cheyenne is hit in the centre of his chest and, clutching at his breast, is dead by the time he hits the ground. As I target the remaining seasoned Cheyenne warrior he already has his bow levelled at me. Without taking proper aim I fire the revolver grazing his left bicep causing his bow to drop and the arrow to fall short of my position. When I try again he is running, knife in hand, full at me. I take steady aim… but… nothing… the revolver has jammed! I quickly grab my short spear and dismount slapping the Appaloosa’s hindquarters to shoo it away so no Cheyenne can mount him. As the Cheyenne, knife raised, runs at me I thrust towards his exposed naked belly. The spear tip enters his lower belly at his loincloth waistband >SPFLITTT< which severs the strap causing his loincloth to fall away as the spear tip punctures his copper bronzed hide and lower belly. His mouth opens emitting just a guttural growl as the widening spear head makes a larger incision in his belly and starts to slice through his intestines. As he rigidly spasms he clutches at the spear’s wooden shaft, his face contorted in pain as his blood flows over and off his semi erect manhood. As I see one of the young Cheyenne braves levelling his bow towards me I let go of the spear just as the stricken warrior drops to his knees, swaying until he falls upon his side with my spear still in his guts. The Cheyenne youth starts to smile as he can see I have nowhere to take cover and am now only armed with a knife…


Meanwhile my younger brother Unka has been stalking the other young Cheyenne who alerted his group to our presence. Unka crawls on his naked belly towards where he believes the Cheyenne is but the Cheyenne has already seen him and with knife in hand runs straight at Unka. Unka can now see the Cheyenne coming at him and rises to meet his enemy’s assault, the momentum of the Cheyenne causes the two young indians to tumble down the long grassy slope. Locked together in a deadly knife fight their mostly naked sinewy bodies squirm together until they come to an abrupt halt at the bottom of the slope. Unka lands on his back with the war painted Cheyenne glaring down atop of him trying to plunge his knife into Unka’s breast. But the Cheyenne is suddenly distracted by the sight of his older brother being speared in the belly by me, Tontoo. Unka takes immediate advantage and jerks his knife hand free of the Cheyenne’s hold and in one action slashes his blade from right to left >SHKKT< across the Cheyenne’s firm belly just below his navel. The young Cheyenne cries out, “URRRGGGHHH!  NNNGGGGH!’ as he grasps his belly trying to hold back the entrails now oozing from the long gash wound. Unka feels the hot blood and gore from the Cheyenne’s opened belly flowing onto him and, knowing the Cheyenne is as good as dead, rolls him off. Then Unka looks into the war painted aggressively handsome face of his defeated enemy whose brown eyes are full of pain and fear. Unka pulls the Cheyenne’s loincloth aside and caresses his stiff and drooling cock until it shoots its last seed. Then Unka sees that death has removed the pain and fear from the Cheyenne’s eyes.


As the young Cheyenne brave levels his bow at me he says, “Shoshone snake you die slow death with arrow of Swift Deer in your belly.” But the Cheyenne youth does not see what I can see… Running Fox has dismounted and has sneaked up behind the distracted Cheyenne brave. Suddenly, from behind, Running Fox puts the enemy brave in a tight choke hold and pulls him hard back which causes his abdominals to become rigid as they are stretched backwards. Then Running Fox pulls the Cheyenne’s own knife from its sheath and says, “Now Swift Deer die with his own knife in his belly!” Knowing what is to come Swift Deer squirms and bucks against Running Fox to free himself but… >SPFLITTT< his flexed muscular belly is penetrated by his own knife just above his navel as he emits a muffled groan. Running Fox stabs again which enters just below his navel, then once more right into his outie bellybutton. The Cheyenne’s struggling ceases and when Running Fox releases him he crumples to the ground.


I nod my appreciation to Running Fox and turn to seek out the rest of the Cheyenne. I find the gutted Cheyenne and know only one remains so I run to the top of a rise and, looking down, I see Unka and a Cheyenne youth circling each other with knives drawn. Then Running Fox joins with Unka in closing in on the outnumbered Cheyenne brave who desperately points his knife at one then the other as he tries to back away. As I approach them I look into the face of the Cheyenne and, despite his war paint, I make out the familiar face of the young Grey Wolf from the river fight almost a year ago. I call out, “NO! STOP!” They both hear me but choose to ignore my command. I draw my knife and approach the Cheyenne who, in his fear, fails to recognise me and instead makes a knife thrust in my direction. However, I immediately turn my knife against my own younger brother which makes both Unka and Running Fox stop dead in their tracks. Keeping one eye on the bewildered Cheyenne brave I explain how myself and Ta-Nay had spared the life of Grey Wolf and ask that they do so now. Before they can answer Grey Wolf says, “It is you Tontoo, Grey Wolf remember crazy green eyed Shoshone who save his enemy.” Both Unka and Running Fox look at each other in disbelief. Unka says, “My brother is weak, Unka kill enemy!” I reply, “If Unka or Running Fox try to kill this Cheyenne you will have to fight me first!” Unka asks, “What would my brother have us do with the Cheyenne dog?” I reply, “Let him go unharmed.” Running Fox says, “This enemy was one of those who killed Timoway, I will fight Tontoo before I let him go free!” Unka adds, “As will Unka!” After a long pause I say, “We will take Grey Wolf unharmed back to our village for Chief Proud Feather to decide on his fate.” As I say these words I am filled with dread for young Grey Wolf’s chances of survival but Chief Proud Feather is a honourable Chief and will listen to me and Ta-Nay. I am also angry with myself for failing to protect Timoway but things could have been so much worse. I then turn to Grey Wolf and say, “Give me your knife Grey Wolf!” Grey Wolf’s brown eyes search mine for trust much as they did that distant day near the river. I again say, “Your Knife!” Grey Wolf slowly passes me his knife which I place in my loincloth waistband. I look over this young Cheyenne and see that since my first encounter with him his chest is deeper and his bearing more proud, this with his prominent war painted cheekbones and intelligent brown eyes makes me admire my handsome young enemy.


Soon I task Unka and Running Fox to watch Grey Wolf and to prepare a travois to take Timoway’s body back to our encampment while I gather the Appaloosa and ponies. While I am gone however, Unka and Running Fox unsheathe their knives and hold them menacingly against Grey Wolf’s naked belly. Unka says, “Cheyenne dog stab our friend in belly now we stab you in belly until your guts spill out!” Running Fox jabs the tip of his knife into Grey Wolf’s navel just breaking the skin which makes him suck his belly in and grit his teeth in pain as a trickle of blood flows down his belly and over his loincloth. Then Unka also jabs the tip of his knife into the Cheyenne’s bellybutton, all three are so close they feel each other’s body heat. As the two knives are held against Grey Wolf’s navel his loincloth protrudes out as does that of both Shoshone braves. Then Running Fox pulls away Grey Wolf’s loincloth to expose his now drooling hard manhood and then exposes his own moist cock which he rubs against that of his enemy whilst keeping his blade against the Cheyenne’s navel. Now Unka holds forth his hard drooling manhood and starts to rub it against the other two. Soon all three are breathing heavily in rhythm until they each spasm and shoot a stream of man seed over each other. Then both Shoshone remove their knives from the Cheyenne’s navel and all three replace their loincloths as Unka says, “Unka and Running Fox will gut Cheyenne dog if Chief say you are to die!”


Later, with the travois in place and Grey Wolf on Timoway’s pony which is tethered to my Appaloosa, we head off back to the Shoshone encampment. As Running Fox rides alongside the young captive Cheyenne he unsheathes his knife and, holding it against his own naked coppery toned belly, draws it down from bellybutton to loincloth to indicate to the Cheyenne what fate awaits him.


As we approach the Shoshone encampment something isn’t right. There is the sound of slow repetitive drum beats and wailing women. Before we get to the central area we are met by Ta-Nay who informs us that old Chief Proud Feather had died of unknown causes and his son, Red Knife, is now Chief. Ta-Nay then says, “Tontoo, you and your brother must be wary as Red Knife will try to have you banished or killed.” “I do not hold out any hope that your young Cheyenne captive, who I see is Grey Wolf, will be spared either.” I reply, “My brother and I are Shoshone and we shall not be driven from our people!” “Grey Wolf is under my protection and I intend to defend him, if necessary, by the tribal right of Blood Challenge!”  


Before we can make our way forward three riders approach, it is Chief Red Knife flanked by two seasoned warriors. Red Knife says, “Tontoo you and your brother are no longer part of this tribe so leave your prisoner and depart from here or join the Cheyenne in death!”  I reply for all to hear, “I Tontoo, Shoshone from my father’s seed demand my tribal right to the Blood Challenge and will meet your chosen challenger in a fight to the death!” Red Knife replies, “You are not true Shoshone and have no such right but Red Knife want Tontoo dead by my own hand.” “Red Knife accepts Blood Challenge of green eyed half breed but know this, after I kill you your brother and the captive Cheyenne will suffer the long death of many arrows.” The Blood Challenge is set for noon the following day. Later in the evening Ta-Nay visits me to express his suspicions that Chief Proud Feather may have been poisoned by his son but he needs proof. Ta-Nay then says, “Red Knife is a powerful warrior who has already come close to killing you so avoid a battle of strength with him.” “May the great spirit bring you victory my friend.”


The following day the preparations for the Blood Challenge are well underway with tribal dancers circling the makeshift arena to rhythmical drum beats. Nearly everyone from the Shoshone encampment is present to witness this Blood Challenge. Myself at nineteen summers and Red Knife at thirty summers stand naked on opposite sides of the arena while our bodies are oiled by our seconds. My second is my brother Unka who, along with Grey Wolf, will be killed if Red Knife is victorious. Then, as Ta-Nay enters the arena, the drums fall silent and he says, “A Blood Challenge has been made and accepted between Chief Red Knife and Tontoo.” “The Blood Challenge is a sacred rite and all must honour it” “Once they enter the arena there can only be one left alive unless both are killed.” “If either tries to leave before the other is killed they shall be speared to death!” Then eight war painted warriors take up their positions which outlines the arena, each armed with a short stabbing spear. Ta-Nay continues, “If any try to interfere with the Blood Challenge they will be speared to death!” Then Ta-Nay says, “The sun is now at its highest and the Blood Challenge shall begin!” Then a single drum beat sounds…


As Ta-Nay leaves the arena myself and Red Knife enter it and stand facing each other so close that our manhoods touch and we feel the warm breath of the other. I notice how Red Knife’s oiled coppery bronze skin glistens in the midday sun as his powerful body seems to undulate as he flexes himself in readiness for battle. Our eyes fix and our deep breathing seems to synchronise. A single drum beat sounds again… and we turn away from each other and move towards our seconds on the edge of the arena. Our seconds hand us each a short stabbing spear and we turn on the spot to look at our adversary. Another single drum beat… and we hold our spears at each other and commence to circle, searching for any sign of weakness to exploit. Red Knife cries out a war chant, “AIIEEAHANAY!” as he rushes at me with a forward stabbing action of his spear. I manage to parry his spear with mine as I sidestep but he quickly follows through by swinging his spear back around at me. I try to move away but >SHKKT< as his spear tip opens up a bloody gash across my lower back and I wince in pain. Fixing me with his eyes Red Knife uses his fingers to wipe off some blood from his spear tip and puts them to his mouth to taste my blood as he sneers at me. I now stab towards his belly with my spear but only manage to graze his left side as he move away. Angrily he lunges at me and I do the same as we clash our spears together using our strength to try to get them clear and deep stab our opponent. I feel his superior power and know I must use my greater agility to my advantage. Suddenly I disengage from this trial of brut strength and, diving and rolling on the ground, I get behind him as he turns to stab at me. However, before he can I thrust my spear quickly upwards and stab into his belly, just to the right of his navel >SPFLITTT< and he yelps in pain. As I still feel the resistance of his tight abdominals I know I have not entered into his viscera as he pulls himself away. He stands holding his bleeding belly wound scowling at me as another single drum beat sounds and we both return to our seconds to exchange the spears for hunting knives.


As the drum sounds again we each take up a classic knife fighters’ stance and again start to circle each other. I know I must not get caught up in a test of strength with him or I will die, I must exploit my greater agility. He lunges at my midsection and I spring to the side while I slash upwards with my blade >SHKKT< cutting him across his left breast. He then runs at me again making me backup towards the arena’s edge which I must not cross. Then he’s upon me slashing his knife >SHKKT< which cuts from above my navel to my right side drawing a line of blood. We again face each other panting from both the pain and our exertions, our glistening bodies covered in many bleeding wounds. Again he runs at me trying to get my back to the arena’s boundary which I manage to sidestep but then I see him stumble, putting his hand to the ground to steady himself. Seeing this I quickly turn on him to attack… but as I do his free hand throws the dirt he had secretly picked up into my face and my vision is seriously impaired. I try my best to focus… then I see the glint of his knife’s blade and I am just able to defensively grasp the wrist of his knife hand. Before I can stab at him he too has grasped the wrist of my knife hand and we commence to struggle against each other in an attempt to overpower and stab our adversary; a struggle of strength which I cannot win! 


Red Knife pushes hard against me and our oiled chest and bellies squirm together. His strength starts to force me to lean back and he takes a dominant position against me as our hardening and drooling manhoods rub together. My back feels like it will break and gradually but surely he pushes me backwards onto the ground and then he is straddling me pushing his knife towards my exposed naked belly while holding mine away. Even his cock is dominating mine which squirms underneath his. I glance over to see the shocked face of my brother and I know I cannot let him down, so I struggle and squirm with increased vigour against my opponent as I now bring my knife up towards his lower belly…However, his greater power once again halts my blade’s advance as he says, “When I have killed you your brother will suffer the long death of many arrows but before you die you too will suffer! Red Knife then totally overpowers my defensive hand against his knife and cuts into my skin and very slowly draws the tip of his knife across my lower abdominals. The pain is intense and as I writhe under him I cry out,“NNNNGGGG!” “URRRGGGHHH!” Suddenly my cock shoots forth a stream of my manseed which now mixes with the hot blood pulsing from my belly. I look up at Red Knife and see he has raised his knife high over his head in readiness to plunge it down deep into my viscera as I feel his cock rhythmically moving against mine, soon to express its final act of victory over me… 


Suddenly, >THWUUNK< >SHOOOMP< as two arrows slam into Red Knife’s oiled and bloodied naked torso, one in his right breast and the other immediately above the navel. He sways from their impact with a shocked look on his face, yet he still has hold of his knife above my abdomen. I wrench my knife hand free of his faltering hold and thrust it up into his lower belly >SPFLITTT< and agitate the blade in his viscera until he drops his knife and emits a guttural, “GURRRNNNGGG!” Then his manseed shoots across my bloodied belly and chest before he folds backwards with his arms hanging out to his sides, yet he is still partly propped up by his straddling stance. As I drag my tortured body from under him he remains in that macabre way with the two arrows occasionally twitching to show that he still barely clings to life. I look at his face and realise his barely open eyes are still looking at me so I fix his stare but soon his eyes no longer see.


Although I am near collapse I look around bemused as to why I am not dead. Then my brother Unka runs to my side to support me, followed by Ta-Nay who says, “I got the proof I was looking for from a Shaman who mixed the poison that Red Knife used to kill his father.” “Red Knife’s actions break our tribal laws and defile this sacred Blood Challenge!” “Come Tontoo, we will have your wounds tended and will talk more when you have regained your strength.” It is then that I lost consciousness.


Two days later I awake and find my wounds tightly wrapped in herbal dressings. Through blurry eyes I see Unka sitting cross legged near to me. When he sees me regain consciousness he is beside himself with joy and says, “Brother, we thought we had lost you to your fever and blood loss but Ta-Nay summoned many Shamen to your aid.” Then Unka offers me food and drink, “Here Tontoo, you must eat and drink to make you strong again.” It is another day before I am strong enough to stand. Then Unka helps me into the centre of the encampment and my eyes are met by a sight I never expected. There smiling at me, resplendent in his chieftains headdress, is Chief Ta-Nay! He warmly greets me and we all sit cross legged on a blanket as both Ta-Nay and Unka explain how Ta-Nay was made Chief by the will of the Shoshone people. Then, flanked by two spear wielding warriors, Grey Wolf joins us and is clearly pleased to see my recovery. Unka says, “The Cheyenne only need guard to stop some Shoshone from killing him before we set him free but we not ready for him to go yet!” I then catch a glint in both the eyes of Unka and Grey Wolf. 


A week later I am walking in woodland for exercise when I hear whooping and then grunting as if a fight is going on. As I work my way through the trees it gets louder until I see both Unka and Grey Wolf wrestling naked in a clearing. But then, to my horror, I see Grey Wolf atop of Unka holding a knife at Unka’s belly. I quickly unsheathe my own knife and start to rush forward to defend my brother. Then I see Running Fox nearby casually holding a bow with an arrow notched and I stop in my tracks in the realisation they are playing at knife fighting. They are taking turns to fight each other but because Grey Wolf is still an enemy they cannot fully trust him which probably adds to their excitement. They each have their tribal war paint applied to their faces to enhance the experience. Then, dropping his bow, I see Running Fox dive onto Grey Wolf’s back and wrestle him off Unka so he is belly up. Then, two on one, Unka follows through with a feign knife thrust into Grey Wolf’s bellybutton. I watch unseen for a bit longer in an understanding of why their firm manhoods ooze with the excitement of a successful ‘kill’.


Another week later and I accompany on horseback the three friends to the boundary between Shoshone and Cheyenne territory. I reach across and place my hand on Grey Wolf’s shoulder and say, “Today we part as friends, let us meet again as friends and not as enemies!.” Grey Wolf nods in agreement. Then both Unka and Running Fox start roughhousing with their Cheyenne friend when it is clear they really want to hug each other. Grey Wolf then holds his fist in the air and whoops as he crosses over into Cheyenne territory. He turns his pony back towards us for a last glance before spurring his pony on with a parting whooping which is enthusiastically joined in by Unka and Running Fox. As I watch Grey Wolf depart I silently ask the spirits to bring about peace between our peoples and for us to unite against the great flood of the pale skins.


We now turn and slowly ride back to our encampment and to my great joy both Unka and Running Fox start boisterously roughhousing with me and I am filled with a warm sense of belonging.



I am Tontoo! I am Shoshone! We survive!




Custom image courtesy of Ras Roleplay 




BREED: Part 2 of 3: Outcast




It is now high summer as I pass through badlands. To my reckoning I’ve turned 18 summers but just when that was is lost in time along with the distant images of my previous life. As I pass through these badlands I avoid travelling around noon and try to keep within the limited shade of the rocky escarpments as much as I can. But the thing about doing that is it puts you close to where all sorts of varmints can hold out, rattlesnakes, cougars and… indians…


I’m on my horse at walking pace when I notice some debris falling down the sedimentary wall I’m alongside. As I look up I’m already too late to react to the coppery bronzed form of a semi naked indian leaping like a cougar at me. His momentum throws me from my horse and we both hit the ground and roll to a halt. We quickly get to our feet and I draw my knife at him only to find he has a grin on his face. Then… >THUUUNK< as an arrow buries itself into the ground at my feet. I spin around to find another indian with his bow drawn and ready to fire another arrow into my body. I desperately try to recall native words from my distant boyhood, “Shoshone! Shoshone!… peace… Shoshone friend… parley… speak.” The one that jumped me at first looks puzzled but then his expression turns to one of anger. He snarls as he asserts, “SHO-sho-nee not your friend, there is no peace, Shoshone kill enemy of Shoshone!” I come to the realisation that these indians are my people, they are Shoshone. I slowly put my hand to my chest and, patting it, say, “Me Shoshone, you Shoshone, we Shoshone.” There is a long pause before both Shoshone start laughing, the first one approaches to within a few feet of me and abruptly stops laughing and then forcefully gestures for me to drop my knife; not having much choice I comply. Then he places his left hand on my naked chest and puts the tip of his knife into my navel and pushes me back against the rock wall. We are in close eye contact and l am looking for those telltale signs that he is going to actually stab me. He then says, “Green eyed false tribesman not Shoshone, I gut you for false tongue!” I start to feel his knife’s tip turning in my navel accompanied by an intense visceral sensation in my belly which uncontrollably causes my manhood to respond. The Shoshone looks down at my moving loincloth and calls back to the bowman, “The green eyed one likes my knife in his belly.” They both start laughing again and the bowman gets closer to see for himself. The knife wielding one takes his left hand off my chest to reach down and then pulls my loincloth away fully exposing my excited and now drooling manhood. 


This engaging moment allows me time to take in some detail of my attackers. They are both older than me at around 25 summers and the knife wielding one has less muscle than the bowman. They each have a leather headband, hide loincloth, moccasins and armbands; both, like me, have straight long black hair. Their cheekbones and foreheads are adorned with lines of green and red warpaint. They are lightly armed with sheath knives and bows with quivered arrows. 


Just then he starts to put some pressure on his knife and begins twisting it inside my innie navel which almost makes me lose control of myself. He then touches the tip of my cock to wet his fingers in my cock-drool which he holds up for the other to see. As I feel even more pressure being exerted I see in his eyes he is about to thrust his blade into my guts. I immediately headbutt him which momentarily stuns him long enough for me to reach for his knife and turn the blade towards his own belly. As he realises what is happening I feel his strength trying to turn the blade back at me. All the while I have one eye on the bowman who is now rapidly moving his bow attempting to target me without hitting his own tribesman. The knife is now held in a struggle between our bellies as the Shoshone snarls into my face and I feel his warm panting breath on my cheek. However, I am stronger and inevitably I manage to thrust his own knife deep into his navel with an audible >SPFLITTT< as he cries out, “AAARRRGGGHHH!”. I immediately pull the blade from his guts to throw at the bowman but see he is about to release an arrow at me so, grabbing the Shoshone before he falls, I turn him towards the bowman whose released arrow penetrates deep into the centre of his back with a dull thud and a grunt.


As the bowman reaches for another arrow from the quiver I release the dying Shoshone and lunge towards the bowman with the bloodied knife. On seeing my action the bowman drops his bow and quiver and pulls his own knife at me. This Shoshone is lithe with defined abdominals and channel leading to his outie navel; although I am not as defined as him we are about evenly matched. Crouching we start to circle each other looking for any signs of weakness or distraction in our adversary. As the full blood Shoshone crouches I admire how his muscular belly arches down to disappear under his loincloth. But… oh fuck!… the distraction of this is all he needed as he is now springing at me. We clash like rutting stags as we each manage to defensively grab the other’s knife arm and start a deadly struggle to get cold steel to slice into our opponent’s hot vitals. As our naked bellies make contact his war painted face is contorted as he bares his teeth at me. We seem to be at stalemate when I notice a raised flat rock slab just behind him. I muster all my strength and force him to back up towards it until… tripping he falls backwards onto the slab of rock with me atop of him. We are now in full body contact with bellies and loins squirming together. His knife trying to enter my chest and mine… my knife… during the fall my knife has entered his left side. I now see pain in his eyes and feel the squirming power of his abdominals against mine as he writhes under me. I exploit this advantage and twist the knife in his side, “AYIIIEEEE!” This weakens him enough for me to force his knife arm back against the rock slab. I look into his pained eyes and say, “Now you feel knife in your navel.” With that I pull the blade from his side and slightly roll to expose his belly and place the tip of the blade into the centre of his raised navel. I start to twist and catch the blade in the ridges of his navel until I hear a low guttural growl from him as his writhing becomes more rhythmical. Suddenly the tip of his glistening manhood is exposed from under his loincloth to make direct contact with mine as our cock-drool is mixed together. I try to relax my grip on him to calm him down but as soon as I do he again tries to use his knife against me, so I firmly push the knife’s blade through his navel and underlying muscle into the soft guts below. He cries out, “URRRGGGHHH!”as he writhes, his tight abdominals trying to stop the blade’s descent into his viscera. I feel a hot gush against my belly and gradually feel his resistance wane.


The sight of the two dead Shoshone warriors, my people who wanted to kill me, sends a shudder through me. If my own people do not accept me then who am I? what am I? I take a bow and quiver of arrows, an extra knife and a pair of leather armbands and, on recovering the Appaloosa, continue my journey across the badlands.


The following day, as I ride inside a short canyon, there is a sudden single gunshot that ricochets off the canyon walls spooking my horse and causing it to gallop away with me trying to regain control. On reaching the end of the canyon I manage to turn the Appaloosa into a circle which soon brings him back to walking pace. But who was shooting at me? From behind an outcrop I scan the canyon area but cannot see anyone. I decide to hitch up the Appaloosa, gather my bow and arrows and, crawling on my naked belly, work my way slowly up the slopping canyon wall. The heat of the exposed rocks burn against my belly as I keep low. Then I hear a metallic click, the click of a revolver hammer being primed to fire…


Instinctively I roll towards the cover of a boulder as another shot ricochets near to me with rock shards stinging my side. I notch an arrow to my bow and crouch low looking for a way out. Then I hear a familiar voice “Come out from there Breed or I’ll come in firing!” It’s the blacksmith’s son, Sam Tweed, the powerful 19 summers SOB who beat me into submission by squeezing my balls and then tried to string me up. “BREED!” Sam shouts. I can see no way out that wouldn’t get me shot in trying so I drop my bow and arrows and, raising my hands, slowly walk out from behind the boulder. Standing there is Sam with his revolver pointing right at my belly as he slowly walks towards me. He then pushes the revolver’s muzzle right into my navel and says, “Make one move and I’ll blast your guts out of your back.” He then reaches for my knife and places it inside his waist belt alongside another one which I find strange because he already has a further sheathed hunting knife hanging from his belt. He then slowly moves behind me and orders, “Put your hands behind your back savage!” I comply and then he grabs my wrists to bind them behind my back. He says, “Breed, there’s a price on your head and I’m aiming to collect, now move!” With that he jabs me in the back with the revolver and pushes me towards a gap in the rocks. Then we emerge into a clearing and I see his horse tied up and there, hog tied, is a loincloth clad full blood indian wearing an empty knife sheath on his waistband. He looks about a couple of summers older than me and is lean, his black hair is braided in a fashion I cannot recall. As we approach this indian I see he seems disturbed, of Sam I guess but on getting closer I see he is fixing me with a look of hate and fear.


Sam says, “Well lookie here I’ve got myself my own injun tribe!” Then Sam notices the look the indian is giving me. “Breed, I don’t think this here buck likes you.” “I was gonna kill him when I caught up with you but now I think we’ll have ourselves some fun first.” Sam points at the indian but looks straight at me as he says, “That’s how I tracked you Breed, or at least your horse, it takes a savage to find a savage so I first caught me a pure bred redskin to find you.” I continue to say nothing. Sam suddenly pushes me to the ground and, still holding his gun at me, takes a few steps back. He then proceeds to take off his shirt exposing his pale skin, his deep chest and slightly rounded belly belying his abdominal muscles hidden beneath a layer of fat. His firm biceps and forearms forged from his blacksmith labours. Dark body hair covers his chest with a trail of hair from his outie belly button disappearing under his low slung waist belt. Sam then says, “You see Breed I enjoyed wrestling you and making you submit but what I really wanted to do was kill you as you were getting quite a reputation for being a fighter when you’re just a savage animal”. “So here’s the thing, the price on your head, for what it’s worth, is alive or dead!” “I’m gonna fight you again but this time I’m gonna kill you Breed, but before I do I think this here buck wants a piece of you but don’t worry as I’ll kill him if he tries to take my reward from me, let’s just call it your warm up fight!”


Sam draws a knife and comes over behind me and cuts my bindings and then steps away saying, “Now remove your loincloth, untie the hostile and get him to do the same.” Upon removing my loincloth I approach the indian to which he stiffens his body up against the canyon wall. I make eye contact, my green eyes to his brown and then I reach down to untie him and quickly step back. He uses his hands to massage each wrist and leg in turn and then slowly stands up into a stance of defiant pride. I again speak native words from my past but upon each utterance he sneers at me. Then, to my surprise, he starts speaking in a native tongue somewhat different to what I was using yet still comprehensible to me. “You may be a cub of the wolf and the coyote but I still see you as one of the Snake people, a Shoshone and enemy of the Cheyenne!” He continues, “This paleskin wants to kill us both and I know I am to die but it shall be as warrior in battle against sworn enemy, You!” Sam interjects, “What are you two yammering away at?” “Get the hostile naked!” Before I can say anything the Cheyenne, in understanding, removes his own loincloth. There we stand facing each other naked with just a leather thong carrying empty knife sheaths at our waists. His coppery bronzed skin tone against my bronzed brown. Sam, holding his revolver at us, shouts, “FIGHT!”


We lock hands and try to overpower each other but neither gives, so we separate and try again. This time the Cheyenne manages to grab me around the waist and uses his legs to overbalance me. As I fall to the ground he’s upon me and we wrestle, naked, on the ground in front of a gun toting Sam and I can’t help notice that he is actively rubbing his crotch as we squirm and slide against each other…


Going through puberty the only physical contact I had was one of violence so my manhood would very often respond during a fight, much to the amusement of those betting on the outcome. Yet I saw many, like Sam, touching themselves while watching me fight naked. Although my opponents wore jeans they could not hide their swollen and often drooling manhoods from my intimate contact with them. So it is no surprise that as we wrestle naked both the Cheyenne’s and my own manhood respond to the stimulus.


Soon the Cheyenne’s belly is exposed to my fist so I let fly and a dull slap is heard as my fist is met by the firmness of his abdominals, the impact causing his engorged cock to flick up and hit my hand. The Cheyenne let’s out a “OOMMMPH!” and has a surprised look on his face. As we continue to wrestle it becomes clear that he is unfamiliar with the art of fist fighting and my numerous punches are starting to weaken him. We both become exhausted from both the wrestling and the giving and receiving of punches, so we both fall back onto the ground with our chests heaving to breathe and the Cheyenne rubbing his tender belly.


Sam suddenly shouts, “KILL HIM BREED!” as my own knife lands in the dirt next to me. I roll onto my side and immediately grab at it and, as I do, I see the look the Cheyenne is now giving me, one of acceptance as he sits up onto his haunches. I sense what he is about to do so I shake my head at him but… too late… as he springs forward at me with both of his hands going for my throat. As he lands upon me he lets out a long,“UNNNGGGHHHH!” as his lower belly is impaled by my knife. Yet he is still trying to strangle me so I know I must end this for him and follow through by slicing my knife from side to side in his lower guts until he is still. I then roll the Cheyenne’s naked form off me and see he is still alive as his bleeding belly heaves and quivers. His eyes open and his hand reaches out to touch mine as if in a gesture of thanks… >BANG< as I see the Cheyenne’s body violently jerk when a bullet hole appears in his chest. I turn to see Sam lowering his gun and I realise I am feeling both sadness and anger over the death of… an enemy? My mind is too overloaded to work through these alien emotions so I just roll back onto the ground, my chest and blood covered belly heaving from exhaustion. 


Then Sam barks, “Get up Breed, I reckon you’re ready to take me on again.” As I slowly get to my feet I see a shirtless knife wielding Sam and it dawns on me that my anger was not against the Cheyenne but towards this sadistic bastard. Sam adopts a classic knife fighting stance and slowly moves towards me. I just continue to stand there, Cheyenne blood from my belly dripping off my manhood. Sam makes a tentative, almost teasing lunge with his knife but I don’t react. Sam Tweed starts to smile as he looks at me, from his perspective he sees an exhausted and soon to be defeated savage animal in need of culling. However, after years of abuse and violence, knowing when to react has become an instinct in me. Sam moves in for the kill but as he lunges I suddenly grab his knife arm and, using his own momentum, spin him around twisting his knife arm back behind him until he is forced to drop the knife. From behind him I use my left forearm to put him in a tight choke hold which makes him use both hands to attempt to free himself. I then bring my knife around his waist and lunge inwards towards his belly… The blade enters his lower belly just above his belt buckle and directly into the trail of hair leading from his navel to his cock with a loud >SPFLITTT< as he cries out, “AAARRRGGGHHH!” I then start cutting the blade upwards through fat, muscle and hair following the hairy trail to his outie navel, “URRRGGGHHH!” “UNNNGGGHHHH!” His bucking and writhing against me soon turns to a shudder as I start to hear the slapping of his entrails sliding from his opened belly cavity and hitting the ground. When I release my choke hold his eviscerated body slumps down onto the pile of his own steaming guts.


Eventually I set about finding my Appaloosa and collect anything of use, such as the revolver, ammunition and supplies. I do not take anything belonging to the Cheyenne to avoid a revenge attack. I unhitch Sam Tweed’s horse and let it loose to find its own way home. Later I find a source of water for the horse and me to drink. As I cleanse myself I have the strong sense I am being watched… Then I hear a native tongue, “Brother Shoshone I am in need of your help.” I spin around with my knife at the ready but see no one. I say loudly, “SHOW YOURSELF!” Then from behind an outcrop appears another Shoshone warrior who is clearly injured with deep lacerations across his chest and upper abdominals. He is almost in a state of collapse so I go over to him and help him to get to the water. This warrior is older than the other two I encountered, maybe 30 summers and but for his injury would be a formidable opponent. I help him to drink and to bathe his wounds and as sunset approaches I decide to light a small fire and share the rations I had found in Sam’s saddlebags. I sit cross legged opposite him at the campfire and see he is now stronger and in less pain; he also studies me with a calm look. I say, “What beast caused your injuries?” As I suspected he replies, “Cougar!” He continues, “I was with two young warriors when I was attacked but they just left me to die after it ran off.” Realising he is referring to the two I had killed I become uneasy and say, “Why did they not help you?” He replies, “They are trouble for our people as they just want to kill all non Shoshone which will surely bring the Blue Coats back for revenge upon us.” When I hear this I am flooded by distant memories of the soldiers’ attack upon my village. He continues, “I was trying to convince them to change their ways for the good of the Shoshone people but they would not listen to me.”Then I ask, “Why do you call me Shoshone?” He gives me a puzzled look and replies, “Because I see you as Shoshone!” “It is not uncommon for those of mixed blood to be treated as Shoshone as long as they choose to be so.” “It has alway been so between other tribes as it is now, even between the Paleskins.” I say, “I killed the two Shoshone of which you speak because they tried to kill me.” He replies, “They were as mad dogs, had it not been you then our tribe would have had no choice but to kill them, they chose their own path!.” “I am Ta-Nay, how are you known?” I struggle to find an answer but reply, “I am known to the Paleskins as Breed but it does not yet feel right for me to answer to my tribal name of Tontoo.” I see in his eyes a look I take to be of confusion over my response. Ta-Nay then says, “Until you are ready I will not call you other than Warrior but know this, you are more a Shoshone than those two mad dogs you killed.” “Warrior, will you help me get back to our people?” Before responding I pause for a while and then simply nod my head. 


The next morning I help Ta-Nay to mount the Appaloosa and walking alongside head off as directed towards the Shoshone camp.




I am Breed! I am Shoshone! I survive!




Custom image courtesy of Ras Roleplay 


BREED: Part 1 of 3: Savage


My name is Breed because it has been the only given name I have been called for over half my life. My father was a Shoshone warrior and I was whelped from a white settler that a Crow raiding party had captured and later traded with my father for a coloured war pony. When I was eight summers the blue coats came one dawn and massacred all the adult males in our village. Despite my dark skin tones, one blue belly, on seeing my green eyes, had taken me to the nearest town to be ‘made white again’. But that was never going to happen as the white frontier townsfolk treated me no better than a beast of burden and they never trusted me. From the moment I arrived, come nightfall, I would be locked in the stables with the horses and dogs. The term halfbreed soon turned to Breed which, after so much abuse, became who I now am, no more than an animal like those working beasts I tend to.


The owner of the stables, a cruel bastard, used to take pleasure in beating me. When I was fifteen summers his son, Jack, two summers older than me also thought he could fight me into submission. During one beating from Jack I hit back knocking Jack off his feet. What I hadn’t realised was that Jack’s father had been watching from the shadows. He had a wild look in his eyes and stormed over to me and ripped off my shirt and jeans, saying, “Breed, if you’re gonna fight against a civilised opponent then you need to be seen for what you are… a naked savage!” Then he told his son just to take his own shirt off and have another go at me. Although naked I again hit Jack, this time, right in his guts which winded him. I was just about to follow through and wrestle Jack into submission when Jack’s old man grabbed me and threw me hard against some railings, knocking me out cold. 


After that Jack’s old man started arranging wager fights in the stables with me always set against older youths. I was always portrayed as the untamed naked savage but the old man soon realised that I was now prime stock making him a fistful of dollars a match. Though this didn’t stop him and Jack regularly using a bull whip on me to keep me subservient. Despite me not getting any schooling I could backchat against the best but would always get beaten for it. During my wager matches the crowd who’d bet on me would chant “Breed!…Breed!…Breed!” I was a sinewy son of a bitch then and when wrestling the older white boys there was a clear contrast in muscle tone as well as skin colour between us.


At night I used to strain to remember that distant tribal life and language but this life of fear and punishment would always cloud it over so I gave up trying. It also dawned on me that I was only useful to my keepers while I was still winning wager matches for them and the day would surely come when I couldn’t anymore, what then? Unbeknownst to me that day was fast approaching. 


In my seventeenth summer one night the old man had lined up three matches for me, this after a full day of toil in the fields and stables. I won the first two with submission wrestling holds. However, my final opponent was the blacksmith’s son who was a powerful adversary. Our sweating bodies were locked in wrestling combat for longer than the other two matches put together but, in the end, he grabbed my exposed balls and squeezed so hard I had to submit to avoid permanent damage. When the spectators leave I try to get some rest but Jack and his father enter the stable, securing the door behind them.


The old man says, “You let me down Breed!” “ Now don’t take this personal but the time has come to teach you a lesson you’ll not soon forget.” The old man then starts to clap the bull whip against the floor. The nineteen summers Jack puts a shotgun he has with him down and removes his shirt showing more muscle development since I’d whipped his ass two years earlier. But on taking off his shirt I can now see an unsheathed hunting knife tucked inside the waistband of his jeans next to his navel. Jack quickly pulls the knife from his waistband which makes me rise, naked and unarmed, from my straw bale bed. The old man says, “Wait Jack! he’s as dangerous as a cornered wildcat, he needs softening up some first.” With that the old man cracks the bull whip in my direction which catches me full across my back as I turn to avoid its lash, >THWAAAKK< “Urrrggghhh!” I cry out feeling the searing pain. Jack says, “I’ve got him pa, let me do this on my own now.” Then Jack stares right at me and says, “Now Breed, I’m just gonna cut you up a little so your wounds will remind you not to go losing us all our hard earned wager money again, you got it boy?”


Then Jack lunges in a slashing action straight at my naked belly but, in my pained state, my reactions fail me and >shhkkt< his blade makes a shallow slash across my lower abs outlining its path with a trickle of blood as I wince through gritted teeth. Jack excitedly says to me, “Yeah, that’s it Breed, now you getting the idea boy”. As Jack holds his knife at me, he partially turns his head towards his father and exclaims, “See pa! I told you I could handle him.” “Now I’m just gonna cut me a piece of prime beef and……..” Jack’s words are cut short by me springing at him while he was bragging to his father. As I spring he quickly recovers to meet my assault but we both now have a hold of the knife and, still standing with our naked chests and bellies squirming together, we wrestle for control of the knife. Closely locked in this struggle I can recognise in Jack’s grey eyes an emotion all too familiar to me…. FEAR! Then Jack makes a near fatal mistake, he releases his left had from the struggle to control the knife to punch me hard in my belly wound believing it would make me release my hold. However I am use to pain and I take advantage by forcing Jack back towards some hay bales and then, suddenly lunging forwards, I cause him to fall backwards, landing belly up on top of a bale with me squirming over him. Upon this action Jack’s grip on the knife is further weakened and I tear it from his grasp saying, “Let’s be blood brothers Jack!” Still grasping Jack’s right hand I turn my body off his to expose his stretched out abdominals and navel and, with his own knife in my right hand, I slice just the tip across his belly and navel >shkkt< “Urrrggghhh!” also drawing a line of blood. Then I lay back across him to mix our belly blood together saying, “There Jack now we’re blood brothers, welcome to the tribe!” Jack is incensed and snarls back up at me. Just then >THWAAAKK<  as the old bastard brings the bull whip full down on my back for a second time, “Aiiiyeee!” Followed by the old man saying, “Get off my son you halfbreed savage!” 


I am about to roll off Jack to take up a defensive stance away from them both when Jack suddenly springs back into action as I start to disengage from him. This sends me spinning sideways and when I regain my feet I see Jack, his face full of hate, lunging with a pitchfork towards my chest. I manage to parry this lunge with my left arm but Jack’s momentum again brings him directly towards me while he still has hold of the pitchfork preparing to use it again. Getting inside his lunging area we again make full body contact when I thrust the hunting knife directly into his navel >Spflittt< feeling the momentary resistance of his abdominals to the blade, “Eaaarrrggghhh!” I then place my left arm around his back to pull him close. Face to face I again see not only pain but fear in his grey eyes as I twist the blade deeper into his guts as he cries out, “Urrrggghhh!” my own belly and cock is then met with a hot gush of his life’s blood. >THWAAAKK< as the old man lashes my back once more but this time I don’t react to it and, pulling the blade from Jack’s navel, I lunge it again and again into Jack’s lower abdominals and guts until his knees buckle and he falls to the ground. 


>THWAAAKK< as I feel yet another lash upon my back and, spinning around, I fix his glaring gaze, as he says, “You murdering savage you’ve killed my son now you’re gonna die halfbreed!” With that he drops the bull whip and makes for where Jack left the shotgun. I say, “No! it’s your turn to die you evil old bastard!” As the old man reaches for the shotgun I grasp the pitchfork shaft and, like a spear, throw it towards him >Thuuunk< as the pitchfork buries itself deep in his chest, his mouth opens wide but no sound comes out as he staggers backwards to fall to the ground. 


Just then I hear a noise from behind me…. a descending shadow…. then blackness… When I come around I’m still naked but slumped bareback on one of the horses in the stables with my hands tied behind my back. Around me are jeering townsfolk and suddenly up in front of me pops the blacksmith’s son with a noosed rope which he throws up over a wooden beam. I struggle against my bindings but they’re too tight to loosen. The blacksmith’s boy is about to put the noose over my neck but pauses to say, “If that coot hadn’t short changed me on my winnings I wouldn’t have come back to confront him and find that you’d murdered them both you bloody savage…” He then puts the noose over my throat and pulls it taught as he continues, “But I caught you and now you’re gonna be hung to death, that’s the kind of frontier justice we live by”


Suddenly the blacksmith’s boy is pulled down to the ground by the town’s Sheriff, Virgil Coffee. The Sheriff grabs the rope and pulls it back down from the beam and stares at my multiple body wounds choosing to ignore some of the townsfolk’s protests at his intervention. While still examining my wounds he loudly says, “There’s laws in this town and if any of you are aiming to challenge them then I’ve got four armed deputies ready to discuss it with you from the confines of your own jail cell.” “Now I’ll thank you all to kindly disperse from here before I turn around!” Within minutes the stables are emptied apart from me, the Sheriff and two corpses. The Sheriff helps me to the ground but does not untie my hands, then he says, “Listen son, this frontier town is about as lawless a place as you’ll find.” The cruel way you’ve been treated over the years has touched my conscience but a halfbreed like you is outside the law for most around here.” “I could make them set up a trial for you but you already know the outcome.” “I’ve got some loyal armed deputies clearing this part of the town so I’m giving you your only chance at freedom, if there can ever be that for you”. The Sheriff then cut my bindings and allowed me to change and gather my belongings. By the time I had done this I could see that he had tacked up the Appaloosa I was going to be hung from saying, “With all that money you earned for them I think it fair that this horse is now yours, there’s also a rope, canteen and knife.” “You’re a wanted man and will soon have a price on your head so keep away from white folk!” 


Under the cover of darkness Sheriff Coffee escorts me to the town’s periphery but before he releases me he puts his hand on my shoulder which makes me feel uneasy as the only physical contact I’m used to is violent but he keeps it there and says, “Son, I’ve never called you Breed but before you go can you tell me your real name?” I look into the Sheriff’s blue eyes and for the first time in my captivity I see something I hadn’t seen since a child, the warmth in another’s gaze, so I tell him. I say, “l..l…l was known as Tontoo which is Shoshone for green dragonfly because of my green eyes.” Virgil Coffee presses his hand more firmly into my shoulder, smiles and says, “May your dragonfly guide you home Tontoo.” He then slowly turns his horse and heads off back to town. The experience of saying my tribal name out loud after all these years had been more difficult than I had expected and I find myself fighting hard to keep other deeply suppressed memories from my consciousness lest they make me a weaker man in my search for survival and acceptance.


With the Sheriff’s words ‘Keep away from white folk’ running through my head I decide to exploit my looks and turn native. After leaving the lawless town far behind I cover my tracks and rest up until dawn. Cannibalising the full leather tack the Sheriff had provided me with and parts of my white mans’ attire I fashion a leather headband, moccasin style footwear, leather waistband with sheath knife and a supple leather loincloth. For my Appaloosa I just use a rope halter to ride bareback and, using plant pigment, mark him as my own with my coloured handprints. I am now a displaced halfbreed indian who should avoid everyone if I want to survive, especially with just a hunting knife to defend myself. Yet I resolve to be as fierce as a puma in defending my right to survive and will take what I need to do so. 

               

   I am Breed! I am animal! I am survival!.

 

Tales of the Wild West #3

  A prairie town in Utah Territory circa 1880. Six outlaws have killed the sheriff and his deputies and for weeks have been terrorising the ...