The Comanches of Texas and surrounding areas did not exist at all until they acquired the horse from the Spaniards; they represent plains-dwelling Shoshones who came down from the mountains to live life as raiders on horseback, and are often said to have been the best horsemen on the plains.
As raiders, they commonly preyed on frontier towns. Young women were normally taken captive, to be either sexual playthings for the warriors or to be sold back to their relatives (sometimes both). Susan Miller was a granddaughter of Daniel Boone. What is described here became a standard tactic for Comanche raiders, tying women captives to trees and shooting them with arrows so pursuers would stop to rescue them. The women’s nudity is historical too, it was standard Comanche practice to strip captives naked as soon as possible. There was a scandal later about such pursuers stopping only long enough to put the wounded women out of their misery.
In an amusing sidelight to this, a woman was taken who was wearing a whale-bone corset, and the Comanches could not figure out how to get it off her. She was so tied to a tree and shot, but the arrows lodged in the corset and she was uninjured and survived. The whalebone corsets, once the purview of showgirls and prostitutes, became very popular very quickly in west Texas.
The Comanches had not progressed much more than a mile from the settlement they'd just raided when, evidently in response to something a fast-riding warrior coming up from behind had told them, they reigned in their horses near a small grove of trees. Roughly, the warrior who'd captured Susan Miller yanked her down, set her on her feet. Instinctively, she tried to cover her breasts and groin with her hands but decided that was absurd. The Indians had stripped her completely naked on capturing her, there was no part of her they hadn't already seen.
In any case, the choice wasn't hers. Taking her by the hand, her captor dragged her quickly a nearby tree; with amazing swiftness he tied her to it, fastening her hands behind the slim trunk. Nearby, she saw her fellow captive, the equally naked Angela Catherwood, being tied to another tree by a different warrior, in exactly the same fashion.
"What are you doing?" she demanded when he took a few steps back, though she had no idea whether he understood English or not.
He smiled and stared at her for a few seconds. Susan was only nineteen, in the full flush of her beauty; her hair was long and dark, her breasts high and pert, her waist slender, her legs long and perfectly-shaped. Angela, two years younger, was no less a beauty; she was a bit shorter, a bit more delicately built, and her hair was red.
She turned her face toward Susan, resignation apparent in her green eyes. "They're going to kill us," she said flatly.
"Kill us!" Susan cried. "But why?"
"As a delay; as a distraction. They know they're being pursued, and they know the men will stop to check on us when they see us, check to see if we're dead. We will be, but the Comanches will get the time they need."
Wild-eyed, Susan turned her head, looked back at their captors. They seemed to be arguing among themselves, Angela's captor in disagreement with the others. Finally, however, he shrugged his shoulders and turned to face the two women. Susan yelled at him in protest, but, staring fixedly at Angela, the man slipped his bow off his shoulder and drew an arrow from the quiver on his back.
"You see?" the red-haired girl said, her tone lifeless, hopeless. "And it looks like I'm going to be first..."
Susan continued to yell, but the Comanche nocked the arrow and drew the bow. Angela stared back at him silently; ignoring Susan, he took careful aim.
The bow twanged; flashing foward, the arrow buried itself in the younger girl's abdomen, a bit above her navel. Blood spurted; Angela groaned, but the sound was almost unnoticed under Susan's shrill scream. With six inches of arrow piercing her, Angela squirmed in pain against her bonds; her captor, however, was already drawing another arrow.
This one struck her right breast, just inside the nipple; another hard iron arrowhead and another six inches of wooden shaft passed into her soft body. More blood gushed out; the girl's eyes snapped tightly closed, and she was chewing her lower lip. Susan had fallen silent in horror, and Angela's agonized groaning now was the only sound breaking the quiet of the moment.
After a few seconds she opened her eyes and looked up; the Indian already had a third arrow drawn, and, as if that was his cue, he released it. It tore into the girl's lower abdomen, a little to the left of center, right at the upper edge of her sandy pubic hair. Blood streamed down her legs.
Angela gave voice to a sobbing cry. "Oh God," she moaned, "Oh God, shoot me in the heart, kill me, please...!"
If the Comanche understood her words he paid them no heed. He drew another arrow, took a step to the side, and fired it into her left side, just under her ribs. More blood pumped out; while Angela continued to groan and writhe, the Indian slung his bow back over his shoulder and turned away, walking back toward his horse.
Angela opened her eyes and looked over at Susan. "My God, my God, they aren't even going to kill us, they're just going to leave us here to die slowly...!"
The Comanche who'd captured Susan came back to stand in front of her. "Yes," he said, surprising them by speaking in English. "The white soldiers not stop, mebbe, if they sure you dead." He smiled, an utterly charming expression, a stark contrast to what he was saying. "Mebbe you be dead, mebbe not. They got to be sure." He did not unsling his bow immediately, but he drew a broadheaded arrow from his quiver and toyed with it. With his other hand, he touched Susan's face. "You pretty," he said. "Mebbe I not kill you, eh?" As he spoke, Susan felt the tip of the arrow graze against her belly, slip down through her navel, move a little lower yet. Still, reading a certain hope in his words, she gave him her most appealing smile, trying to convince him to keep his bow shouldered. He smiled broadly.
And he continued to smile as he shoved the arrow into her with his hand, angling it upward and forcing it far into her naked and unprotected body.
The Comanche laughed as if this were some huge joke. Gasping, Susan bent over as far as her bonds would allow, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, tears flowing from them as freely as blood flowed from her belly. The Indian waited for a few seconds, waited for her to reopen her eyes and look back up at him. By the time she did he had another arrow out, and the hard point was less than an inch from her right breast.
"No, please," she begged. "No---aaaahhhhh!" She squirmed as he shoved the arrow in, right through her nipple, burying the head in two hard pushes. She kept begging as the shaft started following it in. "Oh, God, please---ahhhhh!---stop, stop, no, please, oh---aahhhh!---please, please--ohhhh!"
Eventually, he did stop; she opened her eyes, looked down at the hardwood shaft passing into her breast where her nipple used to be, at the thick line of blood streaming down from it.
She gagged; another thick stream of blood ran from her mouth. Slowly, she looked back up at the Comanche; again, he had an arrow in his hand. Again, he was pointing it toward her right breast.
"Ah, no," she managed to moan. "No, no...!"
He ignored her again; he struck her with the arrow's point, driving it right into her chest, an inch or two below the previous one. She thrashed her head from side to side and moaned as he worked it on in, making sure it too was lodged deep in her lungs. Then he turned away, as the other man had, and sprang onto his horse. She again raised her head; now the bow had come off his shoulder. With a cry, he launched a fourth arrow at her. It struck her left side, just over her hip, biting in deeply. At last, with a series of whoops, the Comanches rode away, leaving the two girls alive but mortally wounded, awaiting the arrival of the pursuing soldiers.
"You should," Angela said, "have begged them to kill us. You shouldn't've begged them to stop." Her voice was very weak, very soft.
It was an effort for Susan to look over at the other girl, but she managed. Angela was hanging limply in her bonds, a pool of blood at her feet, four streams of red decorating her skin, and four feathered wooden shafts sticking prominently out from her body. Susan herself looked much the same, except that not quite so much of her blood had yet collected on the ground.
The soldiers did arrive, some ten minutes later--an eternity to the two suffering girls. As planned by the Comanches, they stopped, dismounted, and ran to the helpless captives--both of whom were, at that point, still alive and conscious.
A sergeant, stubble-faced and rough-looking, stopped in front of them and shook his head. "Shit, Lieutenant," he cried, not even bothering to speak to the girls. "These two ain't agonna live. We gotta git on, catch up with them Injuns!"
"Well, we can't just leave them like they are!" the Lieutenant replied testily. "There'd be hell to pay, Sarge!"
"Please help us," Susan managed to gasp. "Please..."
The sergeant glanced at her. "Yo're beyond help, lady," he snapped. He turned back to the officer. "Let's jest put 'em out of their misery and go," he suggested. "Jest put a bullet in thar heads."
"No, please..." Susan moaned.
"Can't do that," the lieutenant told him curtly, ignoring her. "We gotta bring the bodies in. The doc'd know we killed 'em, not the Comanches."
"Doc'd understand."
"I'm not going to take that chance." He stood before the girls, shaking his head. "Look, I'm going to leave it up to you," he said, loudly enough for nearby soldiers to hear. "You ain't gonna make it, the Comanches made damn sure of that. Now, I'll do what you ask me--I'll send you back with a couple of my men, an' you'll be dead afore you get back to town--an' you'll suffer a lot more. Or, if'n you want, we'll finish you off. With them arrows."
Susan groaned again, but Angela didn't hesitate. "Kill me," she asked. "Now. However you want to, I don't care. Just kill me."
The lieutenant nodded. "Take care of it, Sarge," he said.
With a nod, the sergeant stepped up and grabbed the arrow that was piercing the girl's belly, the first one she'd received. Putting his hand between her breasts to brace himself, he yanked it out with one hard pull, tearing her abdomen severely in the process. Fresh blood poured out, splattering on the ground.
Now she groaned; the sergeant put the bloody point of the arrow against her neck. "Here we go, sweetie," he said. "You all set? Got any last words?"
"Just do it," she whispered.
He shoved hard; Her skin resisted for a moment, but then the arrowhead slid right into her soft throat. She gave voice to a gurgling little cry as a new fountain of blood shot out; he pushed on, burying the arrowhead and an inch or so of shaft. Her body twitched violently a few times, then hung limp; gradually, the flow of blood subsided.
"'At takes care o' her," the sergeant said. He turned to Susan. "How 'bout you?"
"I don't want to die! Please, please...!"
"Ain't got no choice 'bout that, lady. 'Specially not now, now that we done done yer friend. Slow or fast, them's th' only choices you got."
"She has no choices," the Lieutenant said flatly. "Just kill her, sarge. Or let one of your men do it."
Susan stared at him. "No, no, I...!"
She was entirely ignored. "Well, I done one awready. Matthews, c'mere and take care of her, awright?"
A young soldier with a very hard-looking face rushed over. "You bet, sarge!" he said, almost gleefully. "Do you--?"
"And after you finish, soldier," the Lieutenant said, cutting him off, "take down the bodies and take them back to town."
Matthews protested this assignment, but he too was ignored, and the detachment rode off, leaving him and Susan alone. After watching them leave, he strolled back to her. "Well," he said. "It's just you and me."
"Please help me," Susan begged. "Please don't kill me. Take me to the--"
"They said take you down," he went on, drawing his knife. With a quick move, he sliced her bonds; then, after sticking his knife in the tree, he helped her down to the ground. To her amazement, he began removing his pants. "Might as well have some fun while I'm at it," he said as he exposed his erection. After pushing her legs apart, he knelt between them and rammed his penis inside her violently.
Her shock was so great she could not speak; she remained silent even when he grabbed one of the arrows piercing her breast and tore it savagely out of her. After pumping his hips a few more times, he became still, and he set the point of the arrow against her belly, just under her breastbone.
"C'mon, now," he said, pressing it down. "I done this with squaws before, never with a white girl. It's real good. A girl's pussy wiggles all around when she's dyin'!"
She still couldn't speak. He pushed harder; the arrowhead broke through, began slipping back into her. Gasping, she spasmed upwards, her legs stiffening.
"Yeah, that's it!" the soldier cried, pushing the arrow on in. "Shit, you're good!" Leaving that arrow, he grabbed the one standing in her side, ripped it out, and, with a sharp downward blow, pierced her left breast with it. Working it around, he forced it a little deeper; her eyes flew wide open and her body stiffened even more, trembled even more violently, as the dark blood started gushing out around the shaft.
"Awright!" Matthews screamed. "Man, what a ride! Die for me, lady, die for me!" He drove the arrow farther, grinding it into her heart; her body quivered violently, he trembled and screeched in orgasm. Finished, he withdrew; by that time Susan's corpse was becoming still. Whistling, he pulled up his pants and began loading the corpses on the horse the troop had left.