Unruffled Courage

Ben sat motionless, watching the outline of someone walking toward him on the same narrow footpath he himself had taken earlier. Closer the person came. Closer. Ben could now see it wasn’t Joe, but rather an Indian, small in stature, and carrying a basket. Fearing detection, Ben unsheathed his tomahawk and hunkered lower to the ground, opening his mouth slightly to keep his breathing inaudible. He remained absolutely still, becoming one with the fauna and flora. The forest gave the appearance of having returned to its primeval splendor with the waterfall as its main focal point. And then, in an instant, Ben spied a Cherokee female walking past his secret perch.
A slender woman, she wore a white robe of sorts, fastened with a leather belt. Her hair was coiled around her head and clubbed up with some colored ribbons. Beads hung low around her neck. Her deerskin moccasins were laced up around the calves of her legs. Intent upon finding a comfortable spot near the waterfall to wash her clothes, she paid little attention to anything else.
“Thank God she didn’t see me!” Ben thought as he glanced back down the path for any sign of another hostile. “She seems to be alone. What’n the hell is she doin’ out here all by herself?” he wondered.
Several minutes lapsed. Ben continued to stare down the path. Feeling confident that no one else was coming, he turned his attention to the creek bank. The Indian was squatting with her back to him near the water’s edge and washing clothes in the creek.
“I hope she’s done and outta here ’fore Joe gits back,” Ben mused. “That’s all I need—for her to see me and Joe and then go runnin’ through the woods like a screamin’ banshee in the middle of Cherokee country. Please, God! Help me git through this!” he begged silently. Returning his tomahawk to its sheath, Ben slowly climbed back to his sitting position on the tree stump. “That’s better. I can keep an eye on her and the path at the same time,” he decided. Remaining alert, he waited, nervously anticipating Joe’s signal.
The squaw took the last garment out of the basket and dipped it into the water. Humming a tune, she vigorously rubbed it over a smooth creek stone again and again before dunking it back into the water one last time. After wringing as much water from the blouse as she could, she draped it over a nearby bush to dry.
Ben studied the clothes on the bushes. He noticed they weren’t the usual buckskins worn by Indians he was familiar with. Some were plain cotton fabric blouses and knitted under-skirts. Others were skirts made from a scarlet-colored material. He knew immediately she was not a typical Indian squaw who wore deerskin dresses. Ben, growing more restless by the second, continued his vigil.
“Oh, good Lord,” sighed Ben, watching her sit contentedly beside the creek. “She’s gonna sit there and wait ’til they’re all dry ’fore she leaves. I’m in deep trouble!” he thought, shaking his head in disbelief. Then, thinking nothing worse could happen, Ben watched as she unlaced her leather moccasins and took them off.
“What’s she doin’ now?” he wondered.
The female, still with her back to him, slowly stood up. She lifted the strings of beads over her head and, bending down, placed them inside her moccasins. Unfastening her belt, she let it drop. Her robe-like cloth, draped around her torso as she edged closer to the water, now hung loosely from her shoulders.
“Damnation! I don’t believe this!” thought Ben, nearly oblivious to everything else around him.
Turning slightly, she pulled her cloth robe down off her shoulders and tossed it beside her moccasins. Ben could just see the hint of a breast. He leaned forward, anticipating her next move. She reached up and untied the ribbons in her hair and pulled out the short wooden stick used to hold her chestnut brown hair in place. Free, it cascaded down her back, reaching the cheeks of her small round butt. Wading into the creek, she tossed the stick and ribbons onto her robe, then made her way toward the waterfall. Ben followed every inch of her progress until she disappeared under the water.
“Oh! What I wouldn’t give to be a pool of crystal clear water right now,” he yearned. He took a quick peek over his shoulder to make sure nobody was watching him, feeling like a little boy who was looking to steal a cookie from an unattended cookie jar. Staring intently at the water, he flinched when she broke the surface near the waterfall. She still had her back to him as she stepped into the wall of water rushing down from the rocky ledge above.
“Please, Joe, don’t show up now!” he begged in earnest. Just a little . . .”
But, before he could mouth another word, she turned and faced Ben’s direction, stopping his thought process in mid-sentence. For there, standing completely naked with cold water running down her perfectly proportioned, dark brown-nippled breasts, was the most strikingly beautiful woman he had ever seen. Ben couldn’t take his eyes off her. Remaining transfixed, he was held captive by her sexual allure as she stood in nearly hip-deep water. He knew he shouldn’t look, but his desire to peruse her body more closely won out, and he permitted his eyes to drift downward toward her partially visible crotch.
“My, oh my!” Ben sighed. “This sure did turn out to be a pretty day.”
Feeling giddy and breathless, he sat enjoying the view and initially didn’t hear the ruckus off to his right in the woods. Then, the snap of a tree branch caught his ear.