Cowboy’s Last Stop
Santa Fe, New Mexico
The beautiful cowgirl wore cutoff denim shorts that hugged her firm backside like a stonewashed second skin. Her wide hips swung from side to side as she sauntered across the bar towards the jukebox. Half the men in the place stared at her, admiring her ample breasts in the low-cut western-style shirt and her long, bare legs. A couple of the men even knew their way around cowboy boots well enough to recognize the 4,000 dollar Lucchese boots she was wearing. They probably wondered, “What in the hell is a girl like her wearing boots like those in a dump like this?”
She leaned her hip against the jukebox and kept the brim of her Stetson low over her face. Her blonde braid hung over her shoulder and teased the tops of her breasts. She slipped two quarters in the machine and punched in Johnny Lee’s Looking for Love. She watched the old jukebox pick up the vinyl and deposit it on the platter. A few might have recognized the song from the Urban Cowboy soundtrack. The cowgirl was willing to wager there was one man in the bar who would get her particular message.
A lanky man sidled up behind her as the music began to play.
“Hey there, sugar,” he said. “Want to dance?”
Sara Chambers tipped back the brim of her hat. It wasn’t the man she was looking for, just some well-meaning cowboy looking for a good time. Handsome enough. Young and eager.
“Not sure I would rate that as dancing music,” she said, surprising the cowboy with her posh English accent. She saw he wasn’t going to give up. Before he could try another line, she teased a finger over the front of his button-down shirt. “Buy me a drink and wait at the bar. Perhaps I’ll pop by in a bit.”
“Yeah? Alright!” He said, breaking into a slightly crooked grin. “What’re you drinking?”
“Gin and tonic?” She suggested. She saw his smile fade a bit and she added, “Or a beer. Something terrible and American.”
The cowboy tipped his hat and said, “You got it, sugar!”
Once he had gone off to wait at the bar, Sara turned her attention back to the other patrons of the Cowboy’s Last Stop. They were a dusty and surly lot. Most of them grizzled. She didn’t see any movement among the others, though a fair few were staring at her still, possibly contemplating some evil deed. She smiled at them.
“Now then,” she murmured. “Where was I?”
She gazed past the men to the small, disused dance floor near the empty stage. Just beside the stage, which looked like it hadn’t seen a live act in more than a decade, was the dusty object of her interest. The mechanical bull was crude by modern standards, pretty much a saddle on a couple of pistons, sharp edges rounded to make it slightly safer, but it looked to be built with automotive-grade pneumatics. Sara was willing to wager the machine on its most dangerous setting could prove a challenge.
She slid a dollar into the control box and a red flashing light went off on the wall beside the life-size mechanical bull. A fanfare played and a voice boomed, “RIDER, CHOOSE YOUR SETTING!” She glanced over at the patrons.
This certainly had the attention of every man in the bar. Even the waitresses and the bartender had stopped what they were doing to stare at her. The lad she had sent to the bar saluted her with a bottle of something dreadful. She flicked back the brim of her hat, gave the lad a wink, and cranked the difficulty dial to its maximum setting.
“Be careful, missy,” some concerned cowboy shouted. A few murmured in agreement with the man’s sentiment. Most of the men,
made of harder stuff or too drunk to care, just continued to stare at her.
Sara smiled at the patrons and swung a long, muscular leg over the back of the mechanical bull. Her firm bottom fit into the depression in the well-worn saddle. Frantic music began to play and a timer began its count above Sara’s head.
The bar was transfixed by the sight of the beautiful cowgirl-cumtreasure-hunter, the bull grasped between her muscular thighs, one hand on the saddle and the other above her head. The pneumatic machinery under the bull hissed and thumped. She should have been launched across the room, but her strong legs held her to the bull. The force of each mechanical buck thumped against her inner thighs and into the taut denim covering her quim.
Ratherexciting, she thought, letting the pleasure thump into her core, but clinging tightly to the bull. She bounced up and down atop it, her tits heaving in her western shirt, straining the buttons one moment and pulled downward the next. She lost her hat to the jerking motion and a lock of blonde hair tickled her nose like a feather. Her muscles ached and her pussy throbbed. She glanced back at the clock and was amazed to see only four seconds had elapsed.
“Get it, girl!” One man shouted.
“Ride that beast!” Another cried.
She was encouraged by whoops and whistles from the previously stony-faced patrons. The lad from the bar hurried over and retrieved her Stetson from the floor before the crowd trampled on it. The violent motions of the mechanical bull intensified suddenly and nearly dislodged Sara. She clenched tighter with her muscular thighs. The flashing red light hid the flush in her face as the pistons of the bull thumped and vibrated into her pussy.
“Yeahhhhh!” One drunk shouted, staggering dangerously close to the machine. “Almost there!”
He was right in more ways than one. The thumping against her pussy was driving her wild in a span of seconds. She gasped and rode atop the bucking bull, grinding her pussy against the worn saddle as the machinery thumped it against her warming folds. The timer flipped from six to seven seconds. The crowd stared as the machine kicked into its final, most difficult stage. It shook and swung from side to side. It spun in a circle, riding high and slamming down low on its truck shocks.
Sara held on the whole time, breasts finally bursting free of her western shirt, still encased in a lacy white bra, but drawing hoots and wolf whistles from the men. She threw back her head, cumming as the buzzer sounded. The ride pounded through her pussy, the intense pleasure rippling from her depths and her battered clit.
“Yesssss!” She cried, arching atop the bull. The pistons gave a last thump and hiss of released pressure and the bull slumped back down to its resting position. Sara’s thighs shook, her breasts quivered a last time, and she relaxed in the saddle. The men cheered her. She shouted, “I think I need one of those for my bedroom.”
Men clamped her on the back. A few gave her a goose on her shapely rear. Everyone was offering to buy Sara a drink; everyone except for the man with the wide face and chiseled jaw standing by the door to the back room. He had hard blue eyes that had seen things most of the cowboys in the bar hadn’t. He was well-built, middle-aged, but not too worn down by it, with a scruff of silverybrown hair on his cheeks and a scar that ran from the left corner of his forehead just below his hairline and down to his right eyebrow.
Sara pushed through the crowd to meet him. Her admirer from the bar pressed a cold beer into her hand. She took a swig and handed the beer back, never breaking eye contact with the big man’s blue eyes.
“Tex Love,” she said.
“Sara Chambers,” he replied. “You find what you’re looking for?”
She looked him from head to toe. He was clad in denim and a checked shirt. It suited him.
“Yes, I believe so, Tex,” she said. “A word?”
“Step into my office,” said Tex, gesturing to the door to the backroom.
It turned out to be a bit of a misleading door. It actually led to a short hallway between the two bathrooms and out of the building. Tex followed Sara down the rather unglamorous hallway and out past a stinking dumpster. His trailer was parked behind the bar. An old, rusty Airstream with light glowing through red curtains. No airconditioning, so it was as hot as the desert outside.
Sara took note of beer bottles strewn about, some old food boxes, and more than one firearm. The couch where they sat together looked like someone had jumped up and down on it until it had died. The man was an absolute slob, but it was hard to argue with his lifestyle as she kissed him hungrily and unbuttoned his shirt to reveal his hairy, muscular chest.
“You’re rather fit,” she said, teasing her fingers over his tiny nipples and down to the washboard of his abdomen.
“You don’t beat around the bush, do ya?” He chuckled as she finished unbuttoning his shirt.
“Your machine left me in a bit of a state,” Sara said as she went to work on his belt buckle. “I’m afraid I absolutely must deal with that first.”
“What do you want with me, Sara?” Tex asked, his cowboy hat tipped back from his big, handsome face.
“Other than your cock?” She said, unzipping his jeans.
“Other than that,” said Tex.
“Ah, here we are,” said Sara, freeing Tex’s cock from his briefs. It was only about average in length, but wonderfully thick and with a bell end as big as a plum. Rather hairy, but she supposed beggars
could not be choosers. Sara gave the hard-eyed cowboy a wink and dropped her head rather eagerly to his lap. He sucked in a breath as she took him into her mouth, running her tongue around his cockhead and drawing on it with suction. She moaned around him as his manhood stiffened a bit more and she began to bob her head in his lap.
“Ain’t gonna complain about your methods,” chuckled Tex, leaning back and resting a hand atop Sara’s head. She looked up at him as she worked her soft lips halfway down his shaft, her spit soaking down the rest. His thicket of pubes tickled her nose, so she did not try to deep throat him. She bobbed vigorously up and down on him as she used one hand on his root and the other to begin fumbling off her tight shorts. Tex groaned, “Darlin’, you know what you’re doin’. I’m thinkin’ this ain’t your first rodeo.”
Sara popped her lips from his bell end and give him a frown. “First Rodeo? Were you a expecting a virgin, Tex?”
“I said I wasn’t complainin’ about your methods,” chuckled the cowboy.
“Good,” said Sara, pulling his bollocks out through the fly of his jeans. “I’m going to expect some answers when I’m through with you.”
She began tonguing and slurping wantonly on his fat bollocks while her hand worked his spit-covered shaft. Text groaned and twitched so much Sara though he might shoot off just from what she was doing. However, the big cowboy grumbled and pulled her up from his heavy sack.
“Darlin’, I want a good look at you,” he said and his big, callused hands went to Sara’s western-style shirt. He finished what the bull had started with the buttons and reached behind her to unbuckle her bra. Once he freed her large, pert breasts, he let out a whistle, knocked back his hat, and remarked, “Prettiest peaks I’ve seen since the Rockies.”
Before she could offer him a naughty rejoinder, Tex buried his face against her tits and began fondling them with both hands. She hissed as the cowboy nipped at her nipple, sucking hard and pinching her other bud. Sara rolled her eyes. Even Baxter had learned better behavior than that.
As if on cue, she felt her phone begin to vibrate. Her denim shorts were still on, though unbuttoned and unzipped. Tex continued to amuse himself with her breasts so she reached into her pocket and took out of her phone.
“Not a good time for a chat, Baxter,” said Sara.
“I was concerned for your safety, Miss Chambers,” said her favorite boffin. “The thermal scope on the drone shows you in close proximity to your contact. I thought he might be attacking you.”
“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” said Sara. Then another thought occurred to her. “Baxter, are you watching me?”
“Overwatch, mum,” said Baxter, sounding a bit embarrassed. Tex started to lift his face from Sara’s breasts and she pushed him back down. “Mmmmmmm,” moaned Tex, his face completely buried in her cleavage.
“You know he’s not attacking me,” she said. “You know what I am going to need to do to get this information. Why are you torturing yourself?”
“Just looking out for—“
“Unless you like to watch,” she said. “Is that it, Baxter? Voyeurism? Are you a bit of a cuckold?”
“That is notwhat I like,” snapped Baxter. “I just want… want you home safe and sound.”
“Awww, you are a sweet lad,” laughed Sara. “Well, I’ll be back soon enough and—“
Tex lifted his face from between Sara’s breasts again and this time plucked the phone from her grasp. He held it to his ear.
“Baxter?” He growled. “Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of the little lady.” Tex hung up the phone and tossed it over his shoulder into a pile of dirty laundry.
“How rude, Mr. Love,” said Sara.
“Only room for two in that bed back there,” said Tex with a nod of his head to the tiny bedroom at the back of the trailer.
“Oh, we aren’t going to shag on the sofa?” Sara raised an eyebrow. “How romantic!”
Tex scooped her up in his arms and she laughed as he carried her off the couch and into his bedroom. It smelled like old sweat, sex, and men’s aftershave in the tiny room. He threw her down onto the bed, peeling off her shorts and nearly ripping off her knickers. He planted two loud swats on her bum, leaving his handprints on her creamy cheeks as he moved behind her. She watched over his shoulder. Whataslabofaman, she thought, admiring his muscular abdomen and his chiseled chin. He took hold of his fat cock, rested one hand on her creamy bottom, and guided his manhood into her neatly-trimmed snatch. She sighed and he groaned as he pushed past her swollen cuntlips and thrust into the tight channel of her pussy. He hilted inside her, his heavy bollocks pressing against her clit and his body leaned against her firm, round bum.
“You don’t have to be so gentle, Tex,” she teased. “You saw me with the bull.”
“Heh, you got it, little lady,” he said and grabbed hold of her with hands so big they nearly encircled her slender waist. Tex pounded his cock hard into Sara’s tight pussy. She had been ready for everything, but Tex bucked a lot harder than the mechanical bull. He drove her face down into the musty pillows and held her tightly, slamming his muscular hips against the curve of her bum. The bed creaked and shook with the force of his thrusts.
“Oohhhhh, Mr. Love,” she moaned. “You know how to treat a girl!”
“Learned a few tricks in my day,” he panted, slamming her even faster. He shocked her a moment later with a wet finger up her arsehole. She cried out into the pillow as he slid his finger deep into her bum, curling it slightly as he bounced his hips against her cheeks. His cock seemed to swell inside her and his powerful strokes became more ragged and intense.
“Oh, darlin’,” he moaned. “You’re too tight. This old… ohhhh… old cowboy ain’t holdin’ out much longer.”
She arched her back and slid off his cock. Text grunted in surprise, his glistening red cock visibly twitching. She shoved him forcefully onto his back, his head and shoulders hanging over the side of the bed. She climbed atop him.
“Wouldn’t be much of a cowgirl on my knees, would I?” She said, scooping her hat up and settling it back on her head. She slid down onto his cock, straddling his hips as she began to ride.
“Ohhhhhh, you go on and ride it out then, darlin’,” said Tex, grabbing her bum with both hands.
“I reckon I just will,” she said, affecting a southern accent. She worked her hips with all the athleticism of a gymnast, riding up and down on his cock and making her plush breasts bounce and splash with the rise and fall of her body. Her pleasure built quickly. It seemed to catch up to Tex’s impending climax.
“Gonna let loose you keep goin’ like that,” he said, squeezing her ass tight.
“Let loose, Tex,” she gasped, riding his cock hard and fast. “Give me your big cowboy load!”
“Ohhhhhh what the fuck,” he groaned, thrusting upwards, his whole body tensing. He impaled her pussy on his fat cock. It jerked inside her just as she crested and began to cum. She wailed as pleasure rippled from her core and up into her body. Her sweat-slicked breasts bounced with her final ride across the finish line as Tex’s cock exploded deep inside her pussy. Her inner walls clutched at his
spurting member. Her hot, slippery cunt seemed to drink his plentiful seed.
She slid down onto him for the last time and slumped across his chest. He was gasping for breath, a grin on his face as his cock dribbled out the last of his load into her creamy pussy.
“Bloody hell,” she laughed, still shuddering with aftershocks. “You’ve a nice cock, Mr. Love.”
“Thank you kindly,” he said, his words softly spoken between breaths.
A quick trip to the trailer’s tiny loo and a cold beer later and they sat on the bed together, still naked and still in the afterglow of their mutual orgasm. Sara leaned the dreadful but cold bottle of American beer against her overheated face. Tex drank his beer and stared at the rise and fall of her breasts.
“All them crusty cowboys in the bar might not have recognized you,” said Tex. “But I know who you are. We get CNN out here. So I’m wonderin’ why the lady who was given that award by the Queen of England for saving Europe from monsters just showed up in my bar.”
“The Order of the Garter. And my world saving days are behind me,” said Sara. “I am all business these days, Mr. Love.”
“Please stop callin’ me that,” said Tex. “Just ‘Tex’, now that we’re on friendly terms and all.”
“Very well. You may call me Sara.” She looked at him and his flaccid cock and wondered if he would be game for another round. He caught her staring and smiled. He saluted her with his beer and took another swig.
“Why’d you come lookin’ for me, Sara?” He asked her.
“There’s a certain mine that is not on any property maps or geological surveys my boffin has managed to recover. Someone, somewhere, has decided it shouldn’t be located.” She lowered her beer from her forehead and met his gaze. “I think you know where
it’s hiding. Your father knew. He wouldn’t have died without telling you.”
“Dad didn’t tell me about much,” said Tex, finishing his beer in a long gulp.
“Your father told you about the Delgado Mine,” said Sara. “And you know this part of New Mexico better than anyone.”
Tex fixed her with his hard stare. He spoke in a low voice, calm, but not at all casual. “There ain’t no totem. So you go on and forget about it.”
“Whether or not the totem is real—“
“May pa spent thirty years lookin’ for the Totem of the Skinwalker,” said Tex. “Yeah, he told me about the Delgado Mine. Told me right where it is, but I ain’t goin’ near that place. And I’m not tellin’ you where it is.”
“That is very disappointing,” said Sara, setting her beer on the nightstand. “I’d heard that Tex Love was the toughest treasure hunter in the Southwest. That cartels, gun-toting ranchers, and rabid coyotes can’t scare him away from a find.”
“It’s true,” said Tex, looking away from the lust in Sara’s eyes. “But lookin’ for that totem is what got my pa killed. They said it was spider venom, but I knew he wasn’t bit by a spider. That was a puncture wound, near as big as my finger. When he was dyin’ in my arms he made me swear I would stay out of the Delgado Mine. He said it was cursed.”
“It sounds to me like there is something to protect in that mine,” said Sara.
“It ain’t real,” growled Tex.
“Then prove it to me,” said Sara, stroking his chest and pressing her shapely body against him. “Take me there. If there is no totem to be found then I’ll go home empty-handed and you’ll go home a very rich man.”
He hesitated for a moment. He looked down at her hand as it crept from his hairy chest down his muscular abdomen and to his stirring cock. She wrapped her fingers around him, squeezing out a lingering droplet of his cum.
“How rich?” He asked.
She pressed her lips to his ears and whispered, “Ever wanted to be a millionaire?”
It turned out that Tex Love was a bit flexible on the oath he swore to his father. They celebrated their arrangement by making the whole trailer shake well into the night.
Sangre de Cristo Mountains
New Mexico
Tex Love handled his Jeep like he was riding the rodeo. The heavy tires tore over the open desert, bouncing them over rocks and nearly dislodging Sara from the passenger seat. The Jeep skidded to a halt atop a low hill just as the sunset painted the Sangre de Cristo Mountains their famous blood red color. They were beautiful, like immense tented napkins drenched in blood and capped with snowy peaks. They weren’t very hard to find, nor was the terrain very difficult for Tex’s modified Jeep.
“Where is the entrance to the mine?” Sara asked.
“That’s the trick,” said Tex, grinning under the brim of his hat. He rolled a cigarette with practiced ease and lit it with a flick of a Zippo lighter. “There ain’t no entrance to the mine. My pa dynamited it on his way out. So no geological survey in the last fifteen years is gonna find it.”
“Fair enough,” said Sara, lifting her aviator shades from her eyes onto her head. “So assuming you know how to find it anyway, how will we get it?”
“Oh, there’s another way in,” he said. “You just need to know how to knock.”
Tex puffed out a purple cloud of smoke and continued to grin. He swung out of the Jeep and walked to the back. He hefted out a three-meter long aluminum pole and fitted one end to a bracket on the front of his Jeep. He attached a thick steel plate to the far end of the pole.
“A bloody battering ram?” Sara scoffed. “Why not a hand grenade?”
“Hand grenades will start a brush fire,” said Tex in a way that made Sara think he was probably speaking from experience. “There’s a barricaded access shaft into the Velasquez Mine. This’ll open that up in a hurry. Pa knew about a tunnel connecting the Velasquez Mine to the Delgado Mine. But I don’t think he knew that I knew.”
Tex climbed back into the jeep and passes Sara his pair of binoculars. He pointed out the destination and she adjusted the focus on the binoculars for a better look. There was a narrow, winding dirt road up the side of the mountain range leading to a mine entrance boarded over and blocked with sawhorses. She could just make out the words posted on a dusty red placard above the mine entrance: SUBSIDIANCE DANGER! KEEP OUT!
If only every tomb and tunnel she had raided for treasure had come with a safety sign.
“Right,” said Sara, buckling her safety belt. “Let’s make our entrance.”
Text took a last drag on his cigarette and squinted through the smoke at the distant mountain. He stubbed the cigarette out in his Jeep’s ashtray, shifted into gear, and slammed on the accelerator.
The Jeep lurched off the hilltop and went bouncing across the rockstrewn ground to the road that wound its way up into the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. The road was no smoother than the rocky ground and the Jeep shook and banged over the uneven terrain. Sara was
rather glad she had always taken great care of her teeth; if she had any fillings they would have bounced loose.
Tex maneuvered the Jeep up the mountainside and onto the short straightaway facing the blocked mine tunnel. Wind buffeted Sara and pulled at a lock of her blonde hair. Tex clenched his jaw and revved the engine of the Jeep.
“Hang on, sweetheart,” he shouted over the motor.
The Jeep roared and leapt forward with such torque that it felt as if it was going to lift onto two wheel. The weight of the battering ram kept its nose down as it accelerated towards the blocked tunnel.
Sara saw sandbags in addition to the boards. She had a momentary flash of certainty that she was about to suffer a serious injury and then the ram smashed through the boards. The Jeep’s bumper collided with the sandbags and battered them aside in a welter of sand and wooden debris.
Sara jolted painfully in her harness, her breasts feeling as if they were about to be squeezed off her chest as the Jeep skidded into the darkness of the mine, its engine thundering in the enclosed space. Text braked hard and managed to bring the vehicle to a stop so close to a deep mine elevator shaft that the ram actually tangled in the rotting cables attached to whatever car might be suspended below in the shaft.
Sara exhaled as the vehicle stopped.
“Well done,” she said, unbuckling and climbing out of the Jeep before Tex could do something else extremely stupid. He shut off the engine and the Jeep’s headlamps and switched on his powerful handheld torch.
“This way,” he said, brushing past her.
Sara lingered for a moment before following. For a man that had refused to ever go near the Delgado Mine he seemed perfectly willing to track it down. Of course, she had counted on the offer of a
million dollars in cash. Perhaps that explained everything. In her experience, Americans were often very mercenary.
The beams of their lights swept through all the dust their crash into the mine had created. Sara followed cautiously behind Tex. She had brought a little hold out pistol, but her trusty 45s had been left back at the hotel. She had thought walking into the bar with a gun on her hip might have invited the wrong sort of attention. She felt a bit naked without it.
“Watch your step,” said Tex, offering a hand to help her over a small collapse in the tunnel floor. Sara could have easily leapt over it, but took his hand to allow the cowboy to feel manly. He pulled her against him for a moment, his smile turned menacing by the under light of his torch.
It was a long walk – with some crawling – to reach the tiny access shaft that brought them into the Delgado Mine. As soon as they entered this other mine, Sara felt a familiar current in the air. Danger. Supernatural danger. Something did not want them invading its territory.
“This is the upper level,” said Tex, shining his light at some longmoldering mining equipment. “We’ll need to reach the main shaft and climb down to get to the lower levels. You a good climber?”
“I’ve done a bit,” said Sara.
Tex hefted a duffel bag he had brought with them. “I’ve got some ropes and harnesses we can use these to—“
Something gave way under his foot. He cried out and dropped to a knee.
“What happened?” Sara asked, crouching beside him.
“Floor gave way,” he groaned, pulling his foot out of the small hole. “Mighta been a trap. Ah. Shit.”
He held his foot up gingerly. Sara couldn’t see a break, but when she touched his boot to try to remove it he let out a most unmanly yelp of pain.
“I can’t see anything unless you get that boot off,” said Sara.
“It’s broke,” said Tex. “I can feel the bones grindin’. Go on. I’ll wait for you here.”
“Where am I going?” She scoffed. “Down below,” said Tex. “The room is down there. It’s… ah… it’s somewhere down there. My pa was sure of it. I can’t make the climb with my ankle busted up like this.”
“Well, don’t go crawling off without me,” said Sara. “You are my ride back to civilization.”
She took Tex’s larger flashlight and set off. It wasn’t far to the deep shaft into the mine. The elevator was at the top, but the floor had rotted away and it was an open shaft into the darkness far below. Sara squeezed between the elevator cart and the walls of the shaft and free-climbed down into the depths. She moved in almost total darkness with the beam of the light shining below her to alert her of any dangers.
One thing became clear as she descended and found rope-marks rubbed into the grime on the wall: someone had been this way before. Several times. After a long, sweaty descent, she reached the bottom and found more evidence of visitation. There were wrappers from energy bars, discarded ropes, and even a few shell casings. It was the last of these that heightened Sara’s tension. She kept her holdout pistol tucked in her trousers, but felt for it to make sure it was still in her pocket.
The tunnels on the lower level were a maze of false starts and dead ends. She had to backtrack to the shaft several times before she discovered a tunnel that reached deep underground. It was partially collapsed and difficult going, but she climbed over the rubble and squeezed through the collapse. When she emerged on the other side, she was in a strange part of the mine.
The tunnel widened into a large, low-ceilinged chamber. There were numerous candle stumps and strange totems of bones, feathers, and
beads placed around the room. There was an eerie quiet to the room. She had the sudden feeling that someone was behind her and turned around. There was no one to be seen. She swung back around, playing her torchlight over the wall to search for an exit.
The beam illuminated three men, naked but for loincloths, with long, dark hair and dark eyes. They were well-muscled and their handsome features seemed to reflect Native American heritage. One of the men seemed fairly old, almost elderly, but the other two men were young and strapping. They glared at her with cold hatred.
“Hello there,” said Sara and she held up her hand that wasn’t on the torch. “Don’t mean to intrude. My name is Sara Chambers. I am, ah, investigating some—“
They moved without betraying any signal, leaping at her in unison. They were impossibly strong and their bodies were cold and clammy. They wrestled her to the ground and knocked the torch from her grasp so it went rolling across the chamber floor. The elder of the trio was atop her and he wrapped his powerful hands around Sara’s throat. His expression betrayed little emotion, but the crushing strength constricted her windpipe and his intention was clear.
Sara didn’t have the strength to overpower these lads and she was pinned in such a way that there was no hope of reaching her pistol. Knowing she only had seconds before she would lose consciousness, she decided on a different approach. She had one arm free so she reached between her body and traced the elder’s muscled chest, abdomen, and down to his loincloth. She reached beneath it and felt his flaccid cock. She gripped it, squeezed it, and began to wank him. It was awkward and uncomfortable. She felt her vision beginning to gray out.
The hands on her throat slackened. The warrior atop her grunted and looked down. His cock had begun to stiffen in Sara’ hand. It was a bit small and uncut, but she skinned back the head with each stroke and it fluffed up nicely.
“What is this?” The warrior’s tone was flat. “You touch me there?”
“I come in peace,” she croaked through his hands.
He released her neck and sat up astride her waist. He stared down at her hand bouncing the front of his loincloth as she wanked his hard cock. She only stroked him faster as the blood flow returned to her head.
“What is she doing to him?” One of the other warriors asked.
“She is touching Red Feather’s spear,” observed the third.
“I told you,” said Sara. “I don’t want a fight.”
“Ohhhhhhh, Red Hand, it’s good,” moaned the elder called Red Feather.
“Bring your cock up here, Red Hand,” said Sara, smiling at the younger warrior. “I’ll give it a suck.”
The younger warrior looked to the elder. Doubt furrowed Red Feather’s brow, but he seemed to decide that Sara meant them no harm and he nodded his head. They shifted off of her and released Sara.
They stood and she knelt before them. Red Feather was in the middle, Red Hand to his right, and the other, Red Sky, to his left. Sara kept to her promise. Her mouth eagerly engulfed the elder’s cock, her lips sliding over his shaft and up to his tip as her hands worked the cocks of the younger warriors. They marveled in disbelief as this beautiful white woman pleasured them.
The sacred chamber echoed with the sounds of Sara’s slurping mouth and the soft groans of the warriors. Red Feather let out a cry of pleasure and exploded between Sara’s lips. She took his seed in her mouth, surprised at its warmth given his strangely clammy flesh. Despite the shock, she swallowed it down, only allowing a little to dribble down her chin. Red Feather staggered back and sat upon the floor.
The two younger warriors crowded in closer around Sara and she began to move between them, sucking one as she stroked the other. Back and forth, her hot mouth cradling their warrior spears. She
yielded control to her inner whore, moaning around their cocks as she took turns eagerly sucking on them. They were both larger than the elder and they came almost simultaneously. Sara cried out, wanking them both onto her face and into her cleavage. Thick ropes of spunk lashed her face and dripped from her chin onto the upper curves of her breasts.
The warriors groaned and fell back with the elder. Sara scooped cum from her cleavage and licked her fingers clean. She laughed at the three warriors as they stared at her with stony disbelief.
“Your methods are not like the others,” said Red Feather. “You drain our power with your womanly charms.”
“There were others?” Sara asked, rising to her feet.
“Men,” said Red Hand.
“Several have come over the centuries,” said Red Sky. “We have slain some and turned the rest away.”
Sara stepped closer to the defeated warriors and offered a hand up to Red Feather. He looked at her hand for several seconds before accepting. She pulled him to his feet.
“You three have been here all that time?” She asked as the other two warriors stood up beside the elder.
“Yes, Sara Chambers,” said Red Feather. “We are the guardians of the Totem of Change. It is a cursed power which we must not permit to fall into the hands of the ghost faced devils.”
“White blokes?” Sara frowned. “Well, I confess to my ghostliness. But I am no man. And I am no devil.”
The three natives conferred for a moment, their voices low and their language indecipherable. They turned back to Sara.
“You do not want the Totem of Change, Sara Chambers,” said Red Feather. “It is powerful, yes, but it is also a great evil. The one who bears it will take the lives of the innocent and will wash the land in blood.”
“I have no intention of bearing it,” said Sara. “On the contrary, my intention was to place it in my private vault and safeguard it. The totem is not safe here.”
“You say that now, but its powers will corrupt your mind,” warned Red Sky. “You can use this power to become anyone. To assume their life for as long as you desire. This power is irresistible. It is why the totem was entombed in this cave.”
“We will never allow you to pass us,” said Red Feather. “Turn around and leave this place, Sara Chambers."
“I could do that,” said Sara. She toyed with the collar of her western shirt, fanning it against her cleavage. ”Or I could drain the rest of your power. With my womanly charms.”
She unbuttoned her shirt slowly as the three warriors stared. Their expressions were unreadable as she revealed her lacy bra and the mounds of her breasts. She unbuckled it an exposed her tan lines and the stiff buds of her nipples. The warriors stepped away and conferred with each other in their language. They glanced back just as Sara bent over and peeled down her dusty denim shorts to reveal her thong squeezed between her firm buttocks. She peeled that out as well, showing off the pale pink knot of her arsehole and the shaved mound of her pussy.
She turned around to face them again and they had stopped talking and were staring at her naked body.
“We have decided,” said Red Feather.
“Yes?” Sara raised an eyebrow.
“We choose the power draining,” said Red Feather.
“With your womanly charms,” added Red Hand.
“To drain our power,” said Red Sky.
“Well, I suppose we had better get started then,” said Sara, sauntering towards them. The three brave warriors trembled with desire, their cocks rising to attention at the sight of her naked body.
She grasped the cocks of Red Sky and Red Hand as she leaned her lips to Red Feather and kissed him.
Sara had not entered the mine thinking she would be having a foursome with three strapping guardians of the totem. Then again, she’d ended up having sex with some sort of guardian more times than she could count. These three were at least handsome with their well-muscled, reddish-tan skin and deep, soulful eyes.
They fucked like beasts once things got going. She was bobbed her mouth on Red Feather’s cock while she bounced her slick pussy on Red Sky’s twitching tool. She kept one hand wanking Red Feather’s cock as she looked over her slender shoulder at Red Sky. He was doing a bit of his own wanking to the sight of her with the other two warriors. She wet a finger in her mouth, locked eyes with him, and reached down to push her slick digit into the tender pink ring of her arsehole.
“One spot left, Red Sky,” she purred, fucking her arse with her finger. “Show me what a brave warrior you are and shove that spear up my bum.”
Red Sky stared transfixed by the sight of Sara round bum bouncing up and down on Red Hand’s cock. The warrior beneath her stretched her pussy with his mahogany manhood and reached around her to squeeze her plush rear. His hands spread her cheeks wide, giving Red Sky an even better view of her arsehole.
“Ohhhhhh, by the Great Spirit, it feels so good,” groaned Red Hand as he thrust his cock up to meet Sara’s eager ride. Her tits bounced with each slide her clutching cunt took on the warrior’s fat cock.
“Ohhhhh, yes, fuck me, Red Hand!” Sara cried and she returned her mouth to Red Feather’s cock, moaning around it, “Mmmmmmhmmmm!”
Red Sky could take it no longer. He squatted behind Sara and rested a hand on her slender back. He used his other hand to guide his cock between her spit-wet cheeks. His cockhead rubbed against her
arsehole as she bounced atop Red Hand. He stabbed forward, impaling her pink pucker on his hard shaft.
“MMMMMMMMM!” She cried around the cock in her mouth. Red Feather cradled her head, holding her to her task of pleasuring him with her lips and tongue. With Red Sky drilling his stiff cock up her arse, she was filled in all three holes. It felt amazing!
She arched her body and threw her bum back against both cock, impaling her stretched arsehole and her tight pussy onto the spears of the warriors. She flicked her tongue along the shaft of the cock in her mouth, her moans muffled by the twitching shaft between her lips. It was difficult to keep it in her mouth as Red Sky bucked beneath her cunt and Red Hand rammed his hard length up her arse.
“Oh, Great Spirit, forgive me,” cried Red Sky, his fingers tightening on Sara’s bum.
He thrust deep into Sara and his mighty spear throbbed into her clutching cunt. He remained frozen mid-thrust as his cum spurted upwards in warm pulses. In that same moment, Red Hand groaned, his hands around Sara’s waist and his cock twitching deep in her arsehole. The hot pump of his seed into her bum finally pushed Sara over the edge.
“MMmmhmmmMMMMMM!” She moaned and slurped messily on Red Feather’s cock as powerful spasms of pleasure rocked her body. She jerked her hips, fucking back against two spurting cocks in the same stroke. She was filled with warm warrior cream until it dripped from both her holes and her tremors of ecstasy receded.
Red Hand and Red Sky were spent, their cocks growing flaccid as they slumped to the floor of the chamber. Red Feather’s cock was still stiff and almost purple with need. Sara slid her lips from him, feeling the cum of his comrades dripping from her freshly-fucked holes.
“Are you going to fuck me, Red Feather?” She purred, stroking him against her full, pouty lips.
“I have no choice,” groaned the elder warrior as his cock twitched in Sara’s grasp.
She chuckled at how easily she had bested the three warriors. She pulled the elder atop her and wrapped her muscular legs around him. She did not even need to use her hand to guide his hardness to the creamy folds of her cunt. He thrust between those slippery lips and filled her in a stroke, groaning so loudly that she felt the vibration through his cock.
“Ohhhh, Great Spirit, you are wet,” he groaned as he began to move his hips and fuck in and out of her creamy cunt. Each thrust sloshed lewdly in her freshly-fucked pussy and churned the spunk in her depths. He seemed unable to relent, holding her hips and pounding his cock with rapid, desperate strokes into the clutching channel of her cunt.
Red Hand and Red Sky moaned listlessly, their heads lolling as they watched Red Feather fucking Sara on the floor of the cavern. The elder warrior let out a ragged cry that echoed from the stone walls and his cock burst deep inside Sara. She moaned with pleasure, squeezing her walls around him as he emptied his hot load into her pussy. His thrusts slowed and he collapsed heavily atop her body. She let him catch his breath and then pushed him off of her.
“You have battled us and won,” groaned Red Feather. “We will offer you no more resistance.”
“Good,” said Sara, pulling on her shorts. “I’m glad we could settle the matter as friends.”
“Is that what you call friendship?” Red Sky rasped as he tried to sit up. He was too weak. He abandoned the effort with a groan and flopped back down again.
“Another spirit guards the final sanctum,” said Red Feather, his voice hardly more than a whisper. He lifted a hand and pointed to a small tunnel. “The spirit of the Red Wolf is the final defense against interlopers. He has never before been called upon to protect the Totem of Change.”
“Red Wolf?” Sara finished lacing up her boots. She shot a wary glance at Red Feather. “Does this happen to be a giant wolf?”
“He does run… a bit large,” croaked Red Feather before collapsing back onto the floor. Sara saw she would be getting no more answers out of the well-fucked guardians.
She set off into another maze of tunnels that led her deeper into the earth. She would have lost her way completely – crawling in one passage and wading through the water of a half-flooded tunnel in the next – without the drumming. It began just as she was beginning to fear she was truly lost. It started as a faint vibration she felt when she pressed her fingertips to the walls. It grew louder and louder and the tunnels grew hotter as she ventured deeper. It became the unmistakable beating of a hand drum by powerful hands. It thumped and echoed through the tunnel like the heartbeat of the earth itself. She followed it deeper, the sound thumping around her, a faint ruddy glow ahead.
Red Wolf sat with his furry legs in the Lotus position. He was taller than a man and had the broad, furry head of a wolf. His body was wolflike but bipedal and his arms and hands were like a fur-covered, crude version of a man’s arms and hands. A bushy red tail curved around his hip. Sara emerged slowly from the last bit of tunnel and stood before him. The sound of drumming, so overwhelming in the tunnel, was suddenly gone.
There were candles lit in alcoves all around the room, but most of the light was coming from Red Wolf himself. His ruddy glow colored the chamber and Sara along with it a distinct red color.
His eyes opened and revealed two brightly glowing orbs with no pupils. He regarded Sara with those inhuman eyes and for the first time she realized the Totem of Change, the so-called Skinwalker Totem, was hovering in the center of the room.
It was about the length of a human arm bone and looked as if it might have been carved from one. It depicted dozens of animal and human faces seeming to blend from one into the other as if masks
made of wax were being melted in a cauldron. The intricacy of the carvings and the horrific, dead-eyed expressions of the faces sent a tremor of fear up Sara’s back.
“I have not seen a human in over 600 years,” boomed a voice directly in Sara’s mind. “Why have you come before me? Do you seek my council or do you try to take what is not yours?”
“I have come to protect the Totem of Change,” said Sara, stepping cautiously closer to Red Wolf. “Too many know it is here. They will come to take it.”
“They will fail,” said Red Wolf. “As you will fail.”
“I have defeated the warriors,” said Sara and she took another step towards Red Wolf. She began to unbutton her shirt. “I will defeat you.”
“That…what are you doing?” Red Wolf cocked his lupine head to the side and stared at her as she removed her shirt and bra. The bright light of his eyes flickered as he blinked at the sight of her ample breasts.
“It is so hot in here,” she said, which was not a lie. “I am only trying to cool off, Red Wolf. You don’t mind me removing my clothing, do you?”
The giant wolf man stared in disbelief as Sara undressed. She was sticky with sweat and exhausted after her long journey deep into the earth, but she made as much of a dance of it as she could, kicking off her boots and stripping out of her trousers. Red Wolf sniffed the air with his lupine snout.
“You are in heat,” he said. “You have been mating with males.”
“Three males,” said Sara. “Four if you count my mortal cowboy friend.”
“You defile this sacred place with the stench of sex?” Red Wolf shifted where he sat and Sara saw the glistening reddish length of his cock sliding from its furry sheath. A depraved pang of desire stirred in her core. Red Wolf was no beast, he was an ancient spirit
with intelligence beyond most humans, yet his body was so similar to his namesake.
She thought, AmIreallygoingtofuckanimmortalwolfmanspiritto gettheSkinwalkerTotemfromhim?
“You must leave this place,” boomed the voice in her head. “Leave it or I will be forced to, um, destroy you.”
The hesitancy was all the permission she needed. Sara ignored the threat and approached Red Wolf close enough to touch him. He did not try to get up from his Lotus Position, but he leaned his shoulders back as if flinching away from her. She smiled. He was afraid of her and her naked lovely bottom. The smell of sex clinging to her had driven the poor old spirit wild with lust.
“Six-hundred years is a long time, Red Wolf,” she said and stroked his furry face and sleek pelt. It tingled beneath her fingertips as if alive with electricity. “Even you must have desires. Do not resist your urges, Red Wolf. I am here for you. Sheath your cock inside my warm, wet folds.”
“You are not human,” his voice whispered in her head. “You are touched by gods from before the Great Spirit.”
“I am human,” she said, her hands sliding down to wrap around his immense red cock. “But you are right, Red Wolf. I have mated with gods before. I’m something of an expert.”
She pressed her naked body forward, cradling the hot, slippery length of Red Wolf’s cock against her toned tummy and between the soft mounds of her breasts. Red Wolf’s tongue lolled from his mouth and he began to pant. Squeezing her creamy breasts, lubricated with sweat and a bit of his beastly precum, she began to give him a vigorous wank. His furry chest rose and fell rapidly and his loud panting blew across her face, blowing loose strands of hair in the hot current.
“It feels so good,” moaned the voice of Red Wolf. “What are you doing to me?”
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All things have been delivered unto me of my Father: and no one knoweth who the Son is, save the Father; and who the Father is, save the Son, and he to whomsoever the Son willeth to reveal him. Luke, 10, 22.
I know the things which have been, those which are, and those which are to be; but me nobody knows. VII, 26.
Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Matt., 11, 28.
Forsaking all duties, come to me as thy sole refuge. I will release thee from all sins: do not grieve. XVIII, 66.
But that ye may know that the Son of Man hath authority on earth to forgive sins,—Mark, 2, 10.
Of all mortals, he who knows me to be unborn, without beginning, the great Lord of the world, being free from delusion, is released from all sins. X, 3.
If any man would come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me. Mark, 8, 34.
In thought renouncing all actions unto me, intent on me, applying thyself to the yoking of thine intellect, be thou always thinking of me. XVIII, 57.
So, therefore, whosoever he be of you that renounceth not all that he hath, he cannot be my disciple. Luke, 14, 33.
Having thyself yoked by the yoke of renunciation, thou shalt come to me. IX, 28.
Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Matt., 11, 28.
In him seek shelter with all thy might: by his grace thou shalt attain supreme peace, the eternal dwelling-place. XVIII, 62.
If they have called the master of the house Beelzebub, how much more shall they call them of his household? Matt., 10, 25.
hating me in their own bodies and in those of others. XVI, 18.
And blessed is he, whosoever shall find none occasion of stumbling in me. Matt., 11, 6.
Deluded people, ... not knowing my highest nature as great lord of entities, disregard me, as I have assumed a human body. IX, 11.
My yoke is easy, and my burden is light. Matt., 11, 30.
To the constantly-yoked Yogi, who constantly remembereth me, never thinking of another, I am easy of access. VIII, 14.
Learn of me. Matt., 11, 29.
Learn from me. XVIII, 50.
It would lead us far afield to set forth in detail all the striking things that Jesus has to say about His own person and mission, but it may be well to quote a few passages exhibiting lines of character and thought not exemplified above:—
(a) His meekness and lowliness.
“I am meek and lowly in heart.” Matt., 11, 29.
(b) The conditions of His earthly life.
“The foxes have holes, and the birds of heaven have nests; but the Son of Man hath not where to lay His head.” Luke, 9, 58.
(c) The necessity that He should die for men.
“And He began to teach them, that the Son of Man must suffer many things, and be rejected by the elders, and the chief priests,
and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again.” Mark, 8, 31.
(d) His spirit of service and self-sacrifice.
“Even as the Son of Man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister, and to give His life a ransom for many.” Matt., 20, 28.
“But I am among you as he that doth serve.” Luke, 22, 27.
(e) His claims on the allegiance and love of men.
“Every one who shall confess Me before men, him shall the Son of Man also confess before the angels of God: but he that denieth Me in the presence of men shall be denied in the presence of the angels of God.” Luke, 12, 8-9.
“He that loveth father or mother more than Me is not worthy of Me; and he that loveth son or daughter more than Me is not worthy of Me.” Matt., 10, 37-38.
(f) His universal sympathy.
“Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of these My brethren, even these least, ye did it unto Me.” Matt., 25, 40.
(g) His declaration that he will return to judge all men.
“Many will say to Me in that day, Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy by Thy name, and by Thy name cast out devils, and by Thy name do many mighty works? And then will I profess unto them, I never knew you: depart from Me, ye that work iniquity.” Matt., 7, 22-23.
(h) His presence with his followers.
“For where two or three are gathered together in My name, there am I in the midst of them.” Matt., 18, 20.
The Gītā is one of the most eloquent possible proofs of the fact that the human heart cries out for an incarnate Saviour. Scarcely less impressive is the evidence furnished by the reception of the Gītā by Hindu readers: not the greatest of the Upanishads, neither the Chāndogya nor the Katha, has had one quarter of the influence exercised by this late poem; and the secret undoubtedly is to be found in the attraction of the man-god Krishna. How many generations of pious readers have found in the story of the life and teaching of the incarnate god something to which their deepest and most persistent religious instincts have responded! How many to-day turn to Krishna in their trials and troubles!
On the one hand, then, we have the imaginative portrait of Krishna, surrounded by millions of adoring worshippers—touching spectacle! On the other, stands the historical Jesus of Nazareth, Son of Man and Son of God, stretching out His nail-pierced hands to India, as He says, “Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” Rightly read, the Gītā is a clear-tongued prophecy of Christ, and the hearts that bow down to the idea of Krishna are really seeking the incarnate Son of God.
IV. We have been able to see some little distance into the selfconsciousness of Jesus, and to realize in part at least that on which He grounds His claim to the heart of every man; but we have not yet learned the secret of that most marvellous of His powers, His power to win human love. To that we must now address ourselves.
It is a well-known fact of history that, shortly after the death of Christ, His followers began to preach in His name, and that very soon the new faith began to spread rapidly. We have already learned from Tacitus that in 64 A. D. there was “an immense multitude” of Christians in Rome itself. Now the greatest of all the early missionaries was Paul. He was the apostle of Europe. We mention his name here, because we wish to refer to one of his Epistles. These letters are the earliest of our Christian documents. The series begins with two brief letters, both written, with a short interval between them, to the church at Thessalonica. The most probable date for them is 49 A. D., that is, only twenty years after the death of Christ. But the letter we wish to use is one sent from Ephesus to the
church of Corinth[235] about 55 A. D.,[236] that is, twenty-six years after the death of Jesus. We must not stay here to speak of the splendour of the ethical feeling and teaching of the Epistle further than to say that it manifestly has its source in Jesus. We must direct our attention to other facts which appear in it.
Christianity, we note, has already spread from Judæa into the provinces of Asia[237] and Galatia[238] in Asia Minor, and Macedonia[239] and Achaia[240] in Europe. Phœnicia, Syria, Cilicia and Cyprus are not mentioned; but we know from other sources[241] that they too were already evangelized. Thus in twenty-six years the Church of Christ has become a great organization, extending through many lands, yet conscious of its unity in Christ.[242] We note also that then, as to-day, BAPTISM is a solemn ceremonial act, in which a man through the action of the Holy Spirit becomes a member of the body of Christ,[243] while THE LORD’S SUPPER is a recurrent feast, in which the members of the Church have fellowship with the Lord and with each other.[244]
But what we would call special attention to is the place assigned to Christ in the Epistle. With reference to the Christian, Christ is THE LORD;[245] with reference to the Father, He is THE SON;[246] He is spoken of as the Lord of Glory,[247] the Power of God,[248] and the Wisdom of God;[249] and prayer is offered to Him.[250] All spiritual authority and power are attributed to Him.[251] The Church is His body,[252] and He supplies His grace and power to every member.[253] He will come back again to earth in glory,[254] and will then reveal all secrets and judge all men.[255]
But there is another point still more noteworthy, and that is the way in which the crucifixion of Christ is interpreted. Instead of regarding that judicial murder as a regrettable incident, like the assassination of Cæsar or the death of Socrates, Paul and his fellow-believers glory in it,[256] not only as the crowning event of the divine revelation made in Christ, but as the consummation of His work as the Saviour of men.[257] Paul makes it the basis of all his preaching,[258] and in it he finds all the wealth of spiritual wisdom which Christianity contains.[259] He contrasts the wisdom of God wrapped up in that divine tragedy with the worldly wisdom of earthly rulers.[260]
What can be the explanation of this extraordinary attitude to such an event?—The basis of it is the solemn declaration, which Paul makes in the Epistle, and which he says he made to his converts first of all, that ON THE CROSS CHRIST DIED FOR OUR SINS.[261] The crucifixion, as a bare event in history, is but an act of wicked folly on the part of the rulers of Judæa; but, viewed from the standpoint of morality and religion, it is a divine act of world-wide significance. In the blood of Christ a new covenant had been made between God and man.[262] This is the Gospel, which all the Apostles teach, and which all the churches believe.[263] Through faith in Christ, on the basis of this tremendous assertion, the Corinthian Christians, like the rest, had been saved,[264] i.e., they had received the forgiveness of their sins[265] and the sanctifying Spirit. [266] They thus no longer belonged to themselves: they had been bought with a great price, the blood of the Son of God.[267] They were no longer part and parcel of heathen society; each one was a member of the body of Christ.[268]
What led Paul and all the other Apostles and all the early Christians to form such an extraordinary theory? How did they come to the conclusion that the crucifixion was not a squalid tragedy, but a divine sacrifice? This letter tells us quite plainly; the reasons were these: Jesus Himself declared before He was crucified, that His death was to be the basis of the New Covenant, [269] and this declaration of His had been divinely confirmed by His Resurrection. [270]
Now mark: this letter was written within twenty-six years of the event. The majority of the twelve Apostles, and multitudes of other men who had known Jesus, were still alive.[271] Paul’s good faith is beyond all question; and, as he was intimate with Peter and John and the rest of the Apostles, and also with James the brother of Jesus,[272] he had access to the very best information possible. Further he had been one of the most violent opponents of Christianity. His testimony is, therefore, evidence of the very highest value. We may conclude, then, with the utmost certitude that we are standing on an immoveable historical foundation, when we say that Jesus, before His crucifixion, said He was about to die for the sins of men.
But this evidence does not stand alone. It is a historical fact, acknowledged by scholars of every school, that all Christian
churches have from the very beginning celebrated the Lord’s Supper.[273] Now this universal usage in so many churches, divided not only by long distances but in many cases also by minor differences in doctrine, cannot be explained at all except as a result of a command of Jesus Himself. If any single disciple had started such a practice, it could never have won its way to universal acceptance. Now consider the significance of this fact: Jesus, on the night in which He was betrayed, took bread, broke it, and bade His disciples eat it, saying, ‘This is My body.’ He then took a cup of wine and bade them drink it, saying, ‘This is My blood.’[274] The scene is absolutely without a parallel in the history of the world; and it can have but one meaning, viz., that Jesus regarded His death as a sacrifice.
But the direct statement of Paul is corroborated, not only by the institution of the Supper, but also by this fact, that the doctrine, that Christ died for our sins, is an integral part of the teaching of Jesus as that is handed down to us in the Gospels. We have already seen that He held that His death was necessary for the establishment of the Kingdom. We must now set out His teaching on this subject with a little more fulness. We shall restrict ourselves to a single Gospel. In the earliest saying that refers to it, His death is a future event, coming inevitably, and destined to bring sorrow to His disciples. “And Jesus said unto them, Can the sons of the bride-chamber mourn, as long as the bridegroom is with them? but the days will come, when the bridegroom shall be taken away from them, and then will they fast.”[275] In the next it is much more clearly defined. Its necessity is emphasized; we are told that the agents are to be the religious leaders of Israel; and it is to be followed by the resurrection. “From that time began Jesus to shew unto His disciples, how that He must go unto Jerusalem, and suffer many things of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and the third day be raised up.”[276]
Twice over this same prophecy is repeated, the last time with more detail.[277] Then follows a most striking saying, in which He speaks of His death as voluntary: it is a giving away of His life; and it is explained as the climax of His life of service; for the gift is ‘a ransom for many,’ that is a price paid, in order to redeem many from sin. “The Son of Man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister, and
to give His life a ransom for many.”[278] We need not linger over the next sayings, though each has its own interest.[279] The last saying occurs in the account of the institution of the Supper. In these words He teaches in the clearest way, first, that His death is to be the ground of forgiveness, and secondly, that after His death He is to be the source of the spiritual life and strength of His followers. “And as they were eating, Jesus took bread, and blessed, and brake it; and He gave to the disciples, and said, ‘Take, eat; this is My body.’ And He took a cup, and gave thanks, and gave to them, saying, ‘Drink ye all of it; for this is My blood of the covenant, which is shed for many unto remission of sins.”[280] The teaching of Jesus is an organic whole, and is incomplete without this, His own interpretation of His death of shame.
Jesus, then, gave Himself up to death as the sacrifice for the sins of men. Our Christian documents go on to declare that He rose from the dead on the third day, and that this resurrection of His was God’s confirmation of the sacrifice of His Son. That men should at first sight disbelieve the astounding assertion, that the crucified Jesus rose from the dead, is not to be wondered at; but the fact remains. Sceptical scholars have laboured for centuries to explain away this extraordinary occurrence, but no one of these scholars themselves will venture to say that any explanation hitherto given is satisfactory. The latest attempt, that made by Schmiedel in the Encyclopædia Biblica, is a farcical failure. The following are the adamantine facts which no rationalism has ever yet succeeded in crushing or melting: —(a) the Christians declared that they had seen Christ and spoken with Him after His resurrection; (b) they were absolutely sincere in this belief[281]; (c) the Christian Church arose as a result of this conviction; (d) the grave was empty. The account of Christ’s appearances given in the fifteenth chapter of our Epistle is well worth study. Those who wish to look into this question further may consult Ballard’s Miracles of Unbelief, pp. 135 ff.
We have thus, by a serious historical inquiry, reached the conclusion, that Jesus of Nazareth, the founder of the Christian religion, declared, before His crucifixion, that He was about to die for the sins of men, and that this assertion of His was sealed with the divine
approval by the unique miracle of the resurrection. We have also seen that this was the Good News, which Paul and all the other Apostles preached, and on which the early Church was founded. It is this that has won for Jesus the love of myriads; it is this that has been the magnet to draw them away from sin. It is the source of the joy and vital power of the Christian life.
Now let us recollect the poem upon The Servant of Jehovah, which we considered in our third chapter. How marvellously Jesus corresponds to the extraordinary idea which that poem discloses, the despised and oppressed prisoner who endures in uncomplaining meekness the uttermost shame of a violent death, and is finally recognized as having been “pierced because of our trangressions, and crushed because of our iniquities.” That anyone should write such a poem, seems strange in the extreme; that Jesus should have fulfilled it, is infinitely more wonderful.
How comes it that this Jewish carpenter, with His three years of public life and His cross of shame, fulfils so many ideals and aspirations? He brings in the new age which Virgil and his contemporaries sighed for; He is Plato’s just man; He utters from His own self-consciousness such things as the author of the Gītā imagined an incarnate god would say; He gives Himself up to death, in sheer love, as a sacrifice for sin, thus fulfilling the deepest needs of man, as expressed by the old Hebrew seer; and He is the only human being whom men of every race and clime can heartily admire and unhesitatingly imitate. Nor is this all: many other convergent lines of thought might be suggested, in the light of which Jesus stands out as the ideal of our common humanity and the fountain of the love of God.
How is all this to be explained? Wide chasms sever the Hindu sage, the Greek philosopher, the Hebrew prophet and the Roman poet; yet in Jesus their several ideals are reconciled in a loftier unity. Once in the course of the centuries East and West have actually met! Nor was the meeting merely the resolution of antitheses in a wider conception: what the Jew and the Indian, the Greek and the Roman, dreamed of as the unattainable, that Jesus actually accomplished in this work-a-day world of ours, amid storms of the cruellest hatred
and calumny.—What is your candid opinion about Him, brother? How are you to solve the problem raised by His life, death and place in history? Can He be better described than in His own words, SON OF MAN and SON OF GOD?
APPENDIX.
NEO-KRISHNA LITERATURE.
The Neo-Krishna movement is about twenty years old. Before 1880 Vaishnavism does not seem to have been in great favour with the higher castes of Bengal. Traditionally they were Saivas or Sāktas rather than Vaishnavas; and English education, which bore very heavily for half a century on every form of Hinduism seems to have told with peculiar severity on Krishnaism. But shortly after 1880 a great change becomes visible: Krishna begins to be praised on every hand, and ancient Vaishnava books are read and studied with avidity The new movement seems to have owed its origin, on the one hand, to the teaching and influence of Ramkrishna Paramhansa, Keshub Chundra Sen, Bijoy Krishna Goswami and Shishir Kumar Ghose; and on the other, to the efforts of two or three noteworthy literary men, who threw themselves into the task of painting the character of Krishna with extraordinary enthusiasm. The Gītā at once leaped into greater prominence than ever: numberless editions and translations of it have been published. Many essays have appeared comparing Krishna with Christ and Vaishnavism with Christianity. Thus a large Krishna literature, both in English and Bengali, has sprung up. The following seem to be the more important books of this literature:—
1884
Essays in Prachār on Krishnacharitra by Bunkim Ch. Chatterji. 1886
1. Krishnacharitra, Bunkim Ch. Chatterji, 1st edition. A volume in Bengali prose on the character of Krishna.
1887
2. Raivatak, Nobin Ch. Sen. An epic poem in Bengali on Krishna’s youth. 3. The Bhagavad Gītā, or the Lords Lay, Mohini M. Chatterji. An English prose translation of the text and of parts of Sankara’s commentary. An attempt is made to put the Gītā on the same level as the New Testament.
1888
4. Krishna Jivani, Prosanna Kumar Vidyaratna. A life of Krishna in Bengali prose. 1889
5. Srikrishner Jivana O Dharma, Gaur Gavinda Ray. The life and religion of Krishna from the standpoint of the New Dispensation: Bengali prose. 1890
6. Srimadbhagavadgītā, Krishnananda Swami (i.e. Krishna Prasanna Sen). The text in the Bengali character with a Bengali commentary and translation. 1892
Krishnacharitra, Bunkim Ch. Chatterji, 2nd edition. This edition contains a great deal of new matter.
7. Amiya Nimai Charity, Shishir Kumar Ghose. First part. A life of Chaitanya in Bengali prose. 1893
Amiya Nimai Charit. Second part.
8. Kurukshetra, Nobin Ch. Sen. An epic poem in Bengali on Krishna at Kurukshetra. 1894
9. The Landmarks of Ethics according to the Gītā. Bulloram Mullick.
Amiya Nimai Charit. Third part.
1895
10. Kālā Chānd Gītā, Shishir Kumar Ghose. A sort of Krishnaite Song of Solomon in Bengali verse. It is said to have been composed in 1888.
1896
11. Srikrishna, his Life and Teachings, Dhirendra Nath Pal. 3 vols.
12. Srikrishner Kalanka Kena? Nava Kumar Devasarma. A Bengali prose defence of the character of Krishna.
13. The Bhagavad Gītā, Annie Besant. New and revised edition. An English prose translation with an introduction and a few notes.
14. Prabhās, Nobin Ch. Sen. An epic poem in Bengali on the later years of Krishna’s life.
1897
15. Lord Gaurānga, Shishir Kumar Ghose, 1st volume. A life of Chaitanya in English prose, with a discussion of the doctrine of Incarnations.
1898
16. Krishna and Krishnaism, Bulloram Mullick.
Lord Gaurānga, 2nd volume.
17. Hindu Theism, Sitanath Tattvabhushan.
18. An Elementary Treatise on Universal Religion. Kshetra Mohan Mukerji. The religion of the Gītā is here put forward as the universal religion.
1899
19. Incarnation, Nanda Krishna Bose. This treatise follows in most points the theory of Incarnation put forward in Lord Gaurānga. 1900
20. The Young Men’s Gītā, Jogindranath Mukharji. An English prose translation with introduction and notes.
21. Srimadbhagavadgītā, Prasanna Kumar Sastri, 2nd edition. The text in the Bengali character, with several commentaries, and a Bengali translation by Sasadhar Tarkachuramani.
1901
22. The Imitation of Sreekrishna, S. C. Mukhopadhaya. A daily text-book, containing extracts in English from the Gītā, the Mahābhārata, and the Bhāgavat Purāna.
23. Sree Krishna, Muralidhur Roy. An account, in English prose, of the life and character of Krishna.
24. Srimadbhagavadgītā, Bhudhur Chattopadhaya, 4th edition. The text in the Bengali character, with a Bengali commentary.
1903
25. A most elaborate edition of the Gītā, edited by Damudar Mukerji, is being published in parts.
26. A Bengali verse translation of the Gītā by Satyendra Nath Tagore is appearing in Bhārati
This revival of interest in Krishna and his worship is clearly part of the great national movement which has been so potent in Bengal, religiously, socially and politically, these last twenty years. This period has witnessed the appearance of the whole Neo-Hindu movement, with its literature, lectures, societies and missionary propaganda, the rise of the Indian National Congress and of the social reform movement, the advance of native journalism to its present extraordinary influence, and the establishment of the native unaided colleges, which have so seriously changed the balance of influence in Higher Education. Neo-Krishnaism, then, is one result of the operation of that potent spirit whereby India has become conscious of her unity, and her sons have been roused to a vigorous defence of all that they have inherited from the past. This rise of the national spirit, though it may be troublesome in small matters to the rulers of India, is undoubtedly the last and greatest justification of
English rule; and, while, with its exaggerations and insincerities and follies, it cannot fail to provoke criticism,[282] yet its power to awake self-reliance, self-respect and the passion for freedom ought to win for it the approval and the encouragement of all good men.
There can be no doubt that among the influences which have produced Neo-Hinduism, Christianity is one of the most potent, if not the chief. This is peculiarly evident in the case of the Neo-Krishna literature we are discussing. In 1899 the Bengal Librarian wrote, “There is no denying the fact that all this revolution in the religious belief of the educated Hindu has been brought about as much by the dissemination of Christian thought by Missionaries as by the study of Hindu scriptures; for Christian influence is plainly detectable in many of the Hindu publications of the year.” But beyond this general influence, which cannot fail to be noticed by anyone who will take the trouble to read the volumes, it is, we believe, perfectly plain that the very ideas which have given birth to the literature are the result of Christian influence. A distinct taste for such books as the Gospels has sprung up; and men have come to feel the need of a perfect character, such as Christ’s is, for daily contemplation and imitation. The Neo-Krishna movement endeavours to supply these needs from within Hinduism, offering the Gītā instead of the Gospels, and Krishna instead of Christ.[283]
Nobin Ch. Sen seems to have been the first to conceive the idea of a modern rendering of the character of Krishna; for he laid the project before some of his friends in 1882.[284] His famous epic trilogy, Raivatak, Kurukshetra and Prabhās, are the result of this pregnant thought. But, while he and Shishir Kumar Ghose have done a great deal to popularize the movement, there can be no doubt that Bunkim Ch. Chatterji’s Krishnacharitra has been by far the most influential volume in the whole of this literature. Gaur Gavinda Ray’s work, Srikrishner Jivana O Dharma, is a piece of excellent characterization, and has won the high regard of many thoughtful men.
The books on our list fall into two classes, Historical and Traditional. In the Historical class there are only two volumes, Tattvabhusan’s Hindu Theism, and the Young Men’s Gītā. These two frankly
acknowledge that the Gītā is a late book. In the Young Men’s Gītā[285] its date is said to be a century or two before, or a century or two after, the Christian era; while in Hindu Theism[286] the Gītā is regarded as the point of transition from the old Vedānta to the religion of the Purānas. The standpoint of these two books is thus thoroughly historical, but it necessarily implies the abandonment of the divinity of Krishna.
All the rest of the books on the list fall into the second class; for they hold the traditional position about Krishna. Most of them make no attempt at criticism of the sources, but treat the Mahābhārata, the Gītā, the Harivansa and the Purānas as all historical and all equally trustworthy. A few of the authors, however, state plainly their own critical conclusions, and two or three enter into some discussion of the main problems. These attempts at criticism are the most pitiable parts of the whole literature. The talented author of Srikrishner Jivana O Dharma, by far too sincere and candid to ignore the Puranic elements in the sources, frankly confesses their presence; yet, believing these books to be genuine representatives of the age of Kurukshetra, he is driven to the extraordinary conclusion that the Vedic, the Vedantic, and the Puranic ages were contemporaneous. [287] The late Bulloram Mullick, in discussing the eighteen Purānas, goes so far as to say, “Whatever may be the views of European savants, there is indubitable proof that some of these Purānas existed in the eleventh or twelfth century before Christ.”[288] Even Bunkim Chundra Chatterji himself not only unhesitatingly adopts Goldstücker’s rash guess, that Pānini’s grammar was written before the Brāhmanas and the Upanishads, but on the basis of that unwise conjecture, pushes back Pānini’s date to the tenth or eleventh century B. C.,[289] i.e., four or five centuries earlier than the preBuddhistic date which Goldstücker[290] wished to establish. Dhirendra Nath Pal, seeing that Bunkim Babu found it so easy to leap over a few centuries, goes a little further and suggests the twelfth or thirteenth.[291] But, indeed, without some such strange perversion of history, it is impossible to construct an argument for the authenticity of the Gītā and the historicity of the Mahābhārata that shall have even the semblance of reason.
We note next that of all the books of the second class, Bunkim Chundra’s Krishnacharitra is the only work that gives any independent criticism: all the rest, with the single exception of Srikrishner Jivana O Dharma, merely echo his arguments. Thus Bunkim Babu’s theory is the only one we need discuss.
Now the whole critical structure of the Krishnacharitra rests upon the passage on pages 41 and 42, where the date of Pānini is discussed. Pānini is pushed back to 1000 B. C.; and, the ‘original’ Mahābhārata being earlier than Pānini, we are asked to believe that it was produced within a century or two of Kurukshetra, and that it is in consequence trustworthy historically. The whole argument thus rests on the date of Pānini.
We translate this important passage:—
“Goldstücker has proved that, when Pānini’s Sūtra was composed, Buddha had not arisen. In that case Pānini must belong to the sixth century B. C. But not only that, in his time the Brāhmanas, the Aranyakas, the Upanishads and the other parts of the Vedas had not been composed. Apart from the Rig, the Yajur, and the Sāma Vedas, nothing else existed. Asvalāyana, Sānkhāyana and the rest had not appeared. Max Müller says that the age in which the Brāhmanas were composed began about 1000 B. C. Dr. Martin Haug says that that was the end of the age, and that it began in the fourteenth century B. C. Therefore, if we say that Pānini must belong to the tenth or eleventh century B. C., we do not say too much.”
Now the first remark we make on this extraordinary piece of criticism is this, that Goldstücker and Max Müller are most unfairly conjoined to support a date which both of them would have indignantly repudiated. For Müller’s date for Pānini is the fourth century B.C.,[292] and Goldstücker never proposed to push him further back than the sixth century; indeed all that he claims is that he has brought forward evidence which affords a strong probability that Pānini preceded the origin of the Buddhistic creed.[293] Our next remark is that, though more than forty years have passed since Goldstücker’s book
appeared,[294] he has convinced no one that the Brāhmanas and the Upanishads are posterior to Pānini’s grammar: opinions still differ as to Pānini’s precise date, but no scholar to-day puts him before the Brāhmanas.[295]
Can the grounds for this unanimity among modern scholars be vividly set forth? We believe they can. Here, as in our first chapter, we shall not attempt to fix a definite chronology, but shall simply aim at reaching the relative age of the great books we are dealing with; and we shall not deal with the meaning of disputed passages, but shall rest the case altogether on the clear and prominent features of history which every one can appreciate. There is, then, first of all the great broad fact that the Sūtras depend on the Brāhmanas, and are, in general, posterior to them, and that the language and style of Pānini’s Sūtras show that he belongs to about the middle of the Sūtra period. [296] All the detailed study of the last forty years has gone to strengthen this stable conclusion. But there is another and still more conclusive proof that Pānini comes long after the early Brāhmanas. These ancient books are written in Vedic Sanskrit.[297] The early Upanishads are more modern in character, but even they belong to a stage of the language a good deal earlier than the Sūtras: Professor Macdonell’s words are, “the oldest Upanishads occupying a position linguistically midway between the Brāhmanas and the Sūtras.”[298] Thus the Brāhmanas were composed while Vedic Sanskrit was still the language of the Indo-Aryans. Now Pānini’s grammar deals with classical Sanskrit, not the Vedic speech. He deals with many points of Vedic grammar, it is true, but he deals with them as exceptions; his subject is classical Sanskrit. He laid down the law, which has ruled Sanskrit throughout the centuries since his day. Thus he arose at a time, when the language of the Brāhmanas had become archaic, and modern Sanskrit had taken its place.[299] It is thus absolutely impossible to believe that Pānini lived and wrote before the Brāhmanas were composed: to propose to put him back before their composition is much the same as proposing to push Johnson’s Dictionary back before Chaucer.
Another line of proof may also be indicated. Careful study of the early Brāhmanas has made it plain that they were composed after the collection of the hymns of the Rigveda, but before[300] the formation of the Sanhitā text (i.e., the text in which the words are joined according to the rules of Sandhi) and the Pada[301] text (i.e. the word by word text). The author of the Pada text is Sākalya.[302] Now Yāska refers to Sākalya as a predecessor;[303] and Yāska himself is earlier than Pānini.[304] Thus the historical order is the early Brāhmanas, the Sanhitā text, Sākalya, Yāska, Pānini.
Bunkim Babu’s date for Pānini being thus altogether untenable, his whole argument for the historicity of the Pāndava Mahābhārata and Krishna’s character as therein pourtrayed tumbles in ruins, and brings down with it all the rest of this Krishna literature.
We would invite our readers to turn away from these vain attempts to turn a myth into sober history, and to listen to the teaching of those really scholarly Indians who study Hinduism from a scientific standpoint. We have already referred to Sitanath Tattvabhushan’s Hindu Theism, and we have frequently used Bose’s Hindu Civilization under British Rule and R. C. Dutt’s works as authorities. We would now call attention to a monograph by one of the greatest scholars in Bengal (Comparative Studies in Vaishnavism and Christianity, by Brajendra Nath Seal), where[305] the growth of the Krishna legend is frankly discussed;[306] also to a very remarkable essay on Buddhist and Vishnuite in a recent number of Sāhitya[307] by the late Umes Chundra Batabyal, in which grave historical reasons are given for concluding that the Gītā is in part at least a polemic against Buddhism; and to the late Mr. Justice Telang’s introduction to his translation of the Gītā (S. B. E., vol. VIII), with regard to which readers will note, that, although the date is put a little earlier than most scholars would put it, no attempt is made to defend the traditional theory of the origin of the Song.
Footnotes
1 The philosophic basis of the book is primarily the Sānkhya system which is essentially atheistic.
2. Dr. Lorinser’s attempt (Die Bhagavadgītā, übersetzt und erläutert von Dr. F. Lorinser, 1869) to prove that the author of the Gītā borrowed many ideas from the Bible must be pronounced a failure. Cf. Garbe, 19, 83-85; Max Müller, Natural Religion, 97-100; Hopkins, R. I., 429.
3. On the religion of the Rigveda see Kaegi, 27-74; Hopkins, R. I., Chaps. II-VI; Macdonell, 67-115; Bose, H.C., I, 6-9; Dutt, C.A.I., Vol. I, Chap. V; Monier-Williams, Chap. I.
4. Hopkins, R.I., 141; Macdonell, 385; Garbe, 1-2; Kaegi, 87.
5. E.g., X, 90.
6. X, 81; 82; 121.
7. X, 129.
8. Kaegi, 3; Macdonell, 171-174.
9. Kaegi, 4; Macdonell, 174-185.
10. Kaegi, 5; Macdonell, 202 ff.; Müller, A.S.L., Chap. II; Bose, H.C., I, 9-12.
11. Müller, A.S.L., 389.
12. Hopkins, R.I., 177.
13. Gough, Chap. I; Garbe, 2-7; Macdonell, 223; Hopkins, R.I., 204.
14. Müller, A.S.L., 313 ff.; Macdonell, 204; Kaegi, 5.
15. Müller, A.S.L., 316 ff.; Macdonell, 218 ff.; Kaegi, 5; Bose, H.C., I, 12-19.
