It had been four in the afternoon. A hot summer day in northern Alabama. She was riding back on her horse from town to her small farm when there, just off the dirt road to her left, she saw them. Half a dozen horseman each wearing the unmistakable white sheet and hood of the powerful Klan. Fearless in their quest, they boasted, to keep the United States of 1915 safe from evil. Well, their version of evil anyway, which they defined as any person who was non-white and breathing. And now they were about to lynch an innocent man who just happened to be the wrong color in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Well, if that was the case, then, for him at least, she was in the right place at the right time. She quickly dismounted, pulled out her rifle, and walked slowly toward the scene. The man was seated on a horse, his hands tied behind his back. The leader of the group had already placed a noose around the man's neck and flung the other end of the rope over the tall tree branch. Had she been a minute later, she would have been too late.

She fired once over their heads, immediately drawing their attention, then pointed her rifle at the leader's chest and shouted: "Not today, boys. Not him and not here."

The stunned leader looked at her, as the other men began to draw into a circle around her. "What are you going to do, miss? Shoot us all. I don't think so. You'll get one shot and then you'll be hanging right next to him."

"Maybe," she replied. "But that one shot is going to go right through your chest." She cocked the hammer.

The man continued to look at her, to decide if she really would carry out her threat. He finally realized that she would. After all, if his men charged her, she knew that she would wind up dead whether she shot him or not, so certainly she would shoot him. He signaled his men. "All right, boys. Maybe not today and maybe not him, as the lady says. But maybe tomorrow and maybe her." He rode off, with his men following.

She ran up to the man, removed the noose and untied his hands. "Ma'am, thank you," he said politely.

"You just ride back to where you were going. But don't go that way," she pointed in the direction where the others had ridden.

"Yes, ma'am. Again, thank you," and he rode off in the opposite direction. She watched until he was out of sight, then continued in the direction the others had gone until she turned off the road toward her farm.

But now a gnawing feeling ran through her as she realized that, since they wore hoods, she did not know who the men were that she had deprived of their prey. She didn't know if she might know any of them. Or, worse, if they might know her. But she had lived by herself on the farm that her parents had left her for the last six of her 26 years, and she had taken care of herself and survived those years. She would continue to take care of herself.

When she reached her property, she led her horse into the nearby barn, then walked back to the small two-room cabin. She quickly realized that, brief as it was, the encounter had exhausted her. She stripped off her riding pants, vest, shirt and boots, leaving on her undergarments -- a white half-bodice chemise and white pantaloons. Frillier and more feminine than most who knew her would have expected her to wear. This was her way to remember that, even though she spent most of her time dressed and working and being treated like a cowboy, she also had another side to her. She lay down on her small cot in the cabin's back room.

She wasn't sure if she had dozed, but, if she had, it hadn't been for long, when she was startled by noise outside that was growing louder. She got up and walked to the front room to look out the window. This time there were not just six, but nine horsemen dressed in the white robes and hoods of the Klan. It hadn't taken them long to find her. They had formed a circle around her cabin and begun to close in slowly. What really terrified her, though, was that, while there were nine men, there were ten horses.

She grabbed and reloaded her rifle, then moved out her front door. The same leader -- she could tell only because he was riding the same horse he had been riding no more than an hour earlier -- was directly in front of her, no more than 15 feet away. Again, she pointed the gun directly at him. "We've been through this routine before, haven't we? Now get yourself and your men gone or you'll be dead in 15 seconds."

"I'm sorry, Miss, to have interrupted your sleep," he nodded, his eyes moving up and down her only partially clothed body, "but we came to offer our apologies for earlier."

"I'm sure you did." She cocked the hammer of the rifle as she had before. "You've apologized. Now go."

"We are," the leader offered, "but first I want to know," he spoke slowly, "whether you might ... accept ..." She waited for him to finish. And did not realize that the two men who had been riding on the other side of the cabin had dismounted, quietly crept through the cabin's side window and moved into her front doorway so that they were now standing directly behind her.

"I want to know ..." the leader repeated, "whether ..."

With her attention still fully on the group's leader, the two men jumped her from behind, pulling her back. Her rifle, pointing up toward the sky, fired a harmless shot, as one of the men pulled it away from her. The other moved his arm around her neck and held her tight. She tried to kick back at him, but, by this time, the other men had all dismounted, and were grabbing at her feet and ankles and dragging her down to the ground on her stomach.

"... whether you accept what must now be done to you," the leader smiled triumphantly, watching his men rope her wrists and her ankles, and then carry her off, kicking feebly, to the extra horse. They flung her face down onto the horse's back, and then tied the ropes holding her limbs under the horse to secure her in place. With the leader now holding the horse's reins, the procession of Klan members slowly rode with their prized captive away from her cabin and out toward the road.

It was still daylight when they crossed the road and continued into the woods until they reached a clearing. In the distance was a large barn. And standing in front of it were four more garbed Klansmen holding open the barn door. As the procession passed these four and entered the barn, she could see that the barn was nearly empty, but, near its center, was a thick wooden x-frame, tilted back slightly from upright, with metal cuffs at each of the ends of its two wooden boards. The leader noticed her eyes grow wide as she saw it. "Yes, miss. This spot is reserved for you."

Two of the other men untied her from the horse, untied her wrists and ankles, and dragged her to the frame. She tried to struggle, but she had no strength, weakened after the constant bumping of the horse into her stomach during the ride, leaving her nearly breathless. But even had she her strength, she would have been no match for the large men who held her. She soon found her limbs secured, her body now matching the x-shape of the frame. And every eye in the barn was staring at her, clothed only in her frilly white undergarments. [Pic 1]

"The charge against this woman ..." the leader stood next to the chained woman and yelled toward the others, six of whom had remained mounted and formed a line at the far end of the barn, while the two men who had chained her to the frame, and the four who had been outside had moved to the barn walls to watch, "... is interference with justice, and, by her interference, she has endangered the safety of our wives, our children and all law-abiding people of our town." She looked around the portion of the barn that she could see, and suddenly realized that at least four of those standing against the wall had removed their hoods. Two she didn't know. One she thought she vaguely recognized. But two things especially now terrified her. Her realization that their removal of their hoods meant that they did not expect her to leave this barn alive. And her recognition that the fourth visible face was the town sheriff. She would not be rescued.

And she could see that each of the riders had picked up a weapon from a table pushed against the wall of the barn at which they waited. And, when the leader suddenly gave the signal, and, one by one, the riders started toward her, she could see that some held whips ... and others held swords.

As each approached her, he slashed his whip or sword at her, tearing at her garments and her flesh. The riders were expert with their chosen weapons, cutting her mercilessly, but not too deep. She felt the whips cut at her naked waist and arms and through the thin material of her bodice and pantaloons. The swords slashed at and finally severed the straps of her bodice, tearing and opening it to expose her breasts to their view ... and to their weapons.

After each approached and swung his weapon at her, he circled to the other side, and swung again as he completed his circle and started over again. With six riders circling her, the blows were continuous. She screamed her protests in vain, as her pantaloons were shredded from the cuts from the whips and the swords and deep gashes brought lines of blood from her chest. [Pic 2] Finally, her head fell back between the boards of the frame, but the riders continued slashing at her until the leader finally signaled them to stop.

Now the leader walked over to her chained and limp body hanging by its wrists from the frame, knees buckled and bent. He moved his hands over her wounds, and then down between her legs where her garment still remained intact. He tore it violently opened at the crotch, and pushed two fingers up into her, then removed them and held them high for all to see as he rubbed them together. "Soaked. Which means that she recognizes our power over her." The others all cheered. But he was right. A woman's recognition of danger instinctively causes her body to defend itself from its most innate fear, the fear of rape, by preparing herself for it. So, yes, in her terror, her body had done what it was expected to do to help it survive what it naturally anticipated.

"We will now should her our power," he screamed, "but not for her pleasure. We must drive the devil out of her. First out of her loins and into her throat, and then out of her throat and completely out of her and out of our town." He opened his robe, revealing a larger than average-sized penis, already erect. He moved his body close to hers, his hands grabbing hers, his feet spread, and moved his hips until he found his already moist target.

He drove himself into her, pulling his body up and hers down with his hands, and held himself inside her. Her head rose, her eyes opened and she gave a loud grunt. He pulled back and thrust himself in again as deeply as he could, as she realized what was happening. He held himself inside her as long as could before releasing his fluid into her and withdrawing. Entry and a single thrust. A shorter sexual encounter would be difficult to imagine.

But all the men cheered, as the leader closed his robe and spoke. "Yes, my sperm has driven the devil out of her loins and into her throat, and I have made sure to give her nothing extra that might bring her or her devil companion any pleasure from my encounter with them." Her head once again fell back between the two boards of the frame and she was breathing hard. "And now we must drive him from her throat and body and completely out of our town."

Two men immediately approached the frame, unchained her limbs, and, with no resistance, dragged her in the direction of the now empty table from which the men had previously selected their weapons. At the same time, two men carried the table away from the wall. Four men quickly stretched her onto the table, and tied her wrists together above her head, her ankles together at the foot of the table. They removed the remnants of her torn undergarments, leaving her completely naked, battered, slashed and sweating in fear. [Pic 3]

"Prepare to drive out the devil," the leader shouted, and two of the men took their places at the sides of the table. As she stared up at them, they each removed from under their robes a Bowie knife with a 6 inch blade. Short for a Bowie knife but not short for the purpose for which it was designed. These were of pre-Civil War vintage. A time cherished by these men. A time of slavery.

"Position," the leader ordered, and each man, holding his knife with both hands, raised it high above his head. She couldn't believe her eyes. She couldn't believe that this was happening. Sure, she had deprived them of their prize earlier in the day. But, otherwise, they would have considered her one of them. They would have defended her honor. And yet, they had stripped and slashed her mercilessly on the frame. And now ... The leader was watching her face, waiting, with the men's knives poised high over her body.

And finally she could stand it no longer. She screamed in fear at the top of her lungs. And, with her scream, without another signal, the two men plunged their knives deep into her, one into her stomach and one into her chest. Her scream turned into a loud groan, and, as the men twisted their knives inside her, it was reduced to a gurgle, and then, though her mouth remained open, into a silent scream. Her body shook. Her eyes stared up ... and then closed, as her trembling ceased.

Once more the men cheered wildly. "Yes," the leader yelled, "we have driven the devil out of her throat. Now seal it so that it cannot return."

With the two knives still jutting from her body, four men lifted her off the table, and carried her, face up, past the frame to the other side of the barn. There, hanging through a ring in the high ceiling was noose, its other end tied to the far wall. The men carrying her legs dropped them to the ground, and moved to the other end of the rope. The two men holding her arms stood her upright and looped the noose around her neck, dropping her arms to fall limply to her sides. Once the noose was in place, the two men by the wall pulled the rope hard, lifting her off the ground, the noose tightening around her neck. They re-tied the rope to the wall, and moved away to examine their work with the others. She was swinging by her neck, her feet high off the ground, the two knives still protruding from her body.

"Yes. We have now closed her throat so that the devil cannot re-enter her." Yet again the men cheered, their eyes all focused on the hanging naked body of the woman who had dared to interfere with their previous efforts to protect their town.

* * * * *

"You recognized her?" The woman looked up at him.

"Yes. I'm pretty sure. The woman who lives on the farm. You must have seen her on the street sometime. But I don't remember her name, if I ever knew it."

"This woman saved your life. We have to do something special for her."

"No. We can't. It won't help her to be seen with us. We just can't."

The woman shrugged. "I guess you're right. I just hope that she feels really good about what she did. It was a wonderful thing for her to do."

"I'm sure that she knows it," he responded, "and I'm sure that she'll sleep really well tonight knowing that she saved a life."