The Bound Adventures of Tom Sawyer
Part 3 - Indian Wars
This story is a work of fiction, all characters and plot lines are fictional. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
The Bound Adventures of Tom Sawyer remains the property of the author. The story or characters may not be reproduced or republished elsewhere without the expressed written consent of the author.
When Tom returned home, he found Sidney ensconced in the tin bath in the kitchen. He looked sort of red and mottled. He was being worked on by Aunt Polly, who had armed herself with a stiff brush to remove patches of glue and fur from various parts of his anatomy. When Tom entered, she fixed him with a baleful glare and pursed her lips but said nothing. This was a very bad sign and Tom judged it prudent to retire to the bedroom without further conversation.
In truth, Aunt Polly was wrestling with her conscience for she realised that she had in fact been the architect of all this trouble. It was she that had set Sidney to spy on Tom and had set him up to tittle-tattle on whatever mischief Tom had been up to. Consequently, when she later came to even the score with Tom she wielded the switch with so little vigour and enthusiasm that Tom felt he had been cheated of his rightfully earned chastisement. Tom took her quiet mood as one of sad disappointment in his own behaviour, and deprived of the catharsis of a sound beating, retired to bed with a bad conscience. So much so in fact, that he was moved to enquire of Sidney whether he was now fully recovered. Sidney did not deign to reply but turned his face angrily to the wall.
In the light of a gloriously sunny morning, Tom's mood had lightened and he thankfully escaped from the house to join his friends. As if by common consent, boys from all over the town were congregating at the sand bar on the river where they were accustomed to bathe. The water was shallow here, the current slow, and the sand pleasantly warmed by the morning sun. Joyously, the boys stripped off their clothing and plunged into the tepid water. They laughed and splashed each other, dived under each other’s legs and ducked the unwary. They swung in long lazy arcs from the rope swing before plunging into the water below, and when they grew tired they flopped onto the sandy shore and stretched out luxuriously in the warm sunshine.
Presently, when the sun grew too hot and they became bored with their water games, Tom suggested that they withdraw to the shade of nearby woods and play a game of Indians. This was a familiar ritual to the boys and they swiftly divided themselves into two tribes. Tom transformed himself into the great Chief Running Bear leader of the Sioux nation whilst Joe fell into the role of Chief Hungry Wolf the leader of the Blackfoot braves.
The boys had, of course, gleaned their encyclopaedic knowledge of the ways of the tribes of the great plains from the impeccable source of the penny dreadful comic books which they all read avidly. These coveted, but forbidden, works of literature were read, re-read and passed from hand to hand until they fell to pieces. Anything printed within was, of course, the gospel truth.
Each tribe retired to find a mud patch and set about donning their war paint. Soon each brave was suitably adorned with an authentic pattern of streaks and daubs carefully calculated to enhance their status and to strike fear into the heart of their enemies. Each brave had a vest or shirt knotted about his forehead. This was their scalp and if it was taken then they became the prisoner of the enemy. Last but not least they wound about their waist a length of cord taken from the bag which Tom had, coincidentally, bought along. The game would be won when all of one tribe were captured and held prisoner.
In an instant the woods became a place of stealthy rustlings and mysteriously shaking bushes as the combatants stealthily worked themselves into positions of ambush. All too soon, the peace was broken by a series of blood-curdling whoops and war cries as scalps were savagely ripped from the first trembling victims. Soon the place was a mayhem of running boys and struggling bodies all accompanied by a cacophony of the twanging of imaginary bowstrings and the whirr and thud of arrows and the cries of the wounded and dying.
The tribal villages began to fill up with captured braves. For the small braves it was sufficient to sit or stand them against a tree and bind their hands behind the trunk and there they would stay wriggling their little bodies around and straining at their bound wrists. For the older and bigger braves something more elaborate was called for. A popular form of restraint was to bind wrists and ankles together behind the back in the manner of a tied hog. Some captors chose to elaborate on this by binding the elbows, or perhaps by throwing a rope over a low branch and pulling up on the hogtied victim until only his belly remained on the floor. However they were tied, few captors could resist playing with their captives a little – for it was an accepted fact that Indians always torture their captives. They would roll their victims around on the floor, delivering playful little slaps, pinches and tickles for the pleasure of having them grunt and squirm and protest.
Of course there were valiant rescue attempts. A group of braves would rush into the enemy village and drive off or capture the guards and try to free as many prisoners as possible before the inevitable counter-attack came. At first, it was all pretty even, but before long the Sioux nation began to prevail. As the count of Blackfoot captives rose, their were fewer left to guard their village and soon only the mighty chief Hungry Wolf remained at large. Running Bear of the Sioux called a council of war and sent forth six of his bravest warriors to hunt down the Blackfoot chief.
In a remarkably short space of time they returned, prodding along before them the bound figure of the once mighty chief. In the meantime Tom and his braves had been busy preparing a special place of torture as befitted a mighty chieftain.
Hungry Wolf was strung up in the form of an X between two closely growing trees. His hands stretched high and wide above, his legs pulled widely astride and tied off to the base of the tree trunks. Mustering all his dignity Tom approached his captive.
"How !" he said.
"Joe .. I mean Hungry Wolf, does you surrender and 'fess that the Sioux is better an' braver an' all roun' winners over the stinky old Blackfeet ?"
"Never! I aint never gonna 'fess that to you Tom Sawyer! You kin torture me and torture me 'till there aint nothing but scraps left, but I aint gonna give."
Unfortunately for Joe, Tom had long ago learned the whereabouts of all of his weak points and now set about making good use of his intimate knowledge. His fingers worked remorselessly over Joe's ribs and armpits, stomach and neck. Joe thrashed about desperately in his bonds, whipping his head about while emitting a long series of shrill screams, giggles and muffled choking pleas to desist. In the meantime, the rest of the Sioux were not going let Tom have all the fun. There was a generous supply of Blackfoot braves lying around conveniently restrained and they made good use of them. Never was there such an orgy of screeching, scratching, probing , prodding, stroking and rubbing all accompanied by the expected squeals of helpless hysteria.
At length, Tom held up his hand to restore order. Poor Joe hung exhausted in his ropes and Tom was ready to deliver the coup de grace.
"Hungry Wolf," he said, "I is real sorry that it done come to this. I always did like you some and you bin' a good friend an' all, but I gotta do it!"
Turning to his aide de camp, he paused for effect and then declared in a ringing tone, "Fetch the Eagle Feather !" Joe's eyes grew wide. With great ceremony the aide de camp produced a jackdaw feather that Tom had collected that morning. Shaking his head mournfully he approached his pinioned captive and delicately applied the tip of the feather to a helplessly exposed armpit.
We will draw a veil over the terrible events of the next few minutes. Suffice it to say that within a short time Hungry Wolf was heard to breathlessly gasp, "Nuff! I give!"
With the future of the American mid-west thus determined, the captives were released and the tribes trooped off back to river to wash off the war paint and enjoy some more wrestling and splashing in the warm water.
After supper that evening, Tom swiftly finished the few chores that his Aunt had set him to do and then left the house in search of further diversions. But, search as he might, he could find none of his usual companions. Eventually, he headed off in the direction of the isolated woods at the back of Carter's Hill intending to pursue a solitary occupation that he had lately begun to practice.
Little did he realise that there he would have an encounter that was to have far reaching consequences.
© Copyright Cinched 2009
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