It had become a common occurrence around the drought ravaged farms of the valley.  Small time farmers without any other recourse were forced to sell their daughters to whoever would be willing to pay something close to the asking price.  Margaret Stephen’s father was such a man.  His youngest daughter was his little angel; unlike her older sisters he had been unable to ever bear taking his belt to her when she misbehaved.  Not that she was exactly a brat; she was just a bit willful at times.  Also unlike her sisters, Margaret wasn’t much good for working on the farm.  Not even five feet tall with her shoes on, five pounds shy of a hundred, with glasses, fair skin that burned easily, and a natural prissiness that she had always possessed meant that she wouldn’t be any help outside. 

Inside with her mother didn’t help either.  The tiny girl had no head for cooking, she’d managed to burn or ruin just about everything she touched in the kitchen.  Her older sisters were getting proposals of marriage, even in such a desperate time, which meant fewer mouths to feed for Margaret’s father.  At fourteen, Margaret was still a year or two off from being ready for marriage, and she was such a skinny little thing most men wouldn’t be interested in her because she wouldn’t get any good for work or child bearing. 

Worse still, Margaret was incredibly well-read.  She was the only one in her family that liked school so her father had allowed her to stay on after the fourth grade.  Though it was a small rural school, many of the teachers realized that if they’d had an honors program like the big schools in the city, Margaret would have been at the top.  This would only frighten away the local farmers’ sons, which suited Margaret just fine.  A late bloomer, she wasn’t really interested in boys yet and wasn’t afraid to say so.

It was with a heavy heart that Mr. Stephens began inquiring about possibly buyers for his favorite little girl.  He didn’t have to wait long.  Coincidently, there was a man at the local general store who was working his way across the region looking for girls about her age to work as house servants “up north.”  Mr. Stephens wanted to believe the man.  His little girl would be able to continue her studies, be provided for, and even send back any extra money she made.  Reluctantly, he agreed to meet the man at his farm to “discuss things further.”

Mr. Stephens watched the approaching cloud of dust coming down the road.  It was nearly time.  Was he doing the right thing?  The aging farmer looked at his ramshackle house and the fields dying crops crying out for even a brief rainstorm.  What choice did he have?    

“Margaret!  Come out here!”  He called toward the house.

Margaret looked up from her book.  What could her father want?  Her mother and her sisters all came into the parlor from different doors, all of them giving her a strange look.

After a few moments her mother cleared her throat, “You best not keep your Pa waiting.”

Margaret nodded, “Yes, ma’am,” and hopped out of the chair and trotted quickly outside her long, brown, braided pigtails bouncing.  The setting sun was bright making her squint.  She could see a shiny new red pickup truck in the driveway.  Her father and another man were shaking hands. 

“Yes, Pa?”  She asked from the doorway.

“Come on down here, sweetie,” her father smiled.

Margaret, a little shy around strangers descended the wooden steps off the porch warily. 

“I’d like you to meet, Mr. Harvey.” 

Margaret looked at the man for a moment, before dropping into a short curtsy, “How do you do, Mr. Harvey.”

Mr. Harvey just smiled and looked at her father.  “You weren’t kidding.  She’s just what my employers are looking for.  I’m prepared to pay you five hundred dollars right now on the spot.”

Margaret’s ears perked up in alarm.  “Wait, Pa!  What’s…?”

Her father grabbed her arm roughly, “Quiet, girl!  Don't you interrupt me while I’m discussing business!”

“That’s a hundred more than we agree on, I know, but I like you Stephens and I think that your daughter will be perfect for the job.”

His grip relaxed a bit as he looked at the ground, “All right…”  He mumbled. 

“But, Pa!  What’s happening?”  Margaret cried.

Still holding her, he replied firmly, “Sweetie, times is tough and I can’t afford to keep you around anymore.  Mr. Harvey is going to take you up north to work as a maid.”

Margaret fought against her father’s grip but to no avail, “But I don’t know how to be a maid!  Please, I’ll start helping around the farm more!  I’ll…”

“No, sweetie, I’m sorry.  If I don’t do this we’re all gonna lose the farm.  Now, do you want that?”

Margaret was stunned into silence.  Finally she shook her head and whispered, “No.”

Her father smiled, “That’s my good girl!  Now, get in the truck with Mr. Harvey.”  He led the tiny girl to the cab of the truck and opened the door.  Mr. Harvey was already in the driver’s seat.

“But…what about Mama and Julie and…”

“I’ll say goodbye for you.  Don’t worry, Mr. Harvey says you can write us all you want.  Right, Mr. Harvey?”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

Margaret sniffled, “What about my things?”

“Don’t worry, doll!”  Mr. Harvey laughed.  “You’re going to get all new things at the estate.”

“But…”

Her father put his hand to her mouth, “That’s enough, sweetie.  Now, give me a hug.”  They embraced and shared “I love you’s” and in another minute Margaret and Mr. Harvey were out of the drive way and off down the road.         
            They rode in silence for what could have been minutes, but felt like hours.  Margaret sobbed quietly as she looked out the window. 

“Aw, come on, none of that.”  Mr. Harvey said, chuckling.  “This could be the last time you ride up front in a truck.  You best enjoy it.”

Margaret was too busy trying to hold back her tears to question him.  Mr. Harvey shrugged, turned on the radio to the news and continued on down the road in silence for the rest of the drive.  They continued on into the night.  At some point Margaret fell asleep.  It felt like she’d just closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again the sun had just crested the horizon. 

“Good, you’re awake.”  Mr. Harvey smiled.  “We’re here.” 

Margaret looked out the window.  They were in a large dusty field with a large rusty cattle pin in the center.  On the opposite side of it there was a small cattle truck.  Mr. Harvey drove to the end of a line of pickup trucks and parked the car. 

“Okay, sweet heart” he grinned, “lets go.”  He climbed out of the truck and came over to her side and opened the door.  “Come on.”  He said.

Margaret reluctantly stepped out onto the parched soil.  Wasn’t she supposed to be a maid in a big house or something? 

“Where’s the house?”  She asked looking up at him. 

“Oh, this isn’t the final stop, but this is as far as I’m taking you.  Now come on.”  He took her by the arm, not especially gently. 

“Hey!  You’re hurting me!” 

Mr. Harvey chuckled, “Quiet down, we’re late already.”

He walked Margaret down the row of cars and trucks.  They were halfway down the row when Margaret first truly realized that something was wrong.  She first heard a girl’s scream, followed by sobbing and crying of others.  Then her eyes caught sight of the source of all the noise.  There was a group of men ahead most holding onto ropes and clubs.  They surrounded a group of young girls about her age, some perhaps a little younger, and others a little older.  Two men held a girl as another one stripped off her shoes, then socks, then blouse, then dress, then camisole and finally her underwear.  And none too gently either.  Once completely naked one of the men would cruelly twist her arm behind her back, grab hold of her hair and march her to the cattle pin and forcing her into the chute.  Then they’d take another girl from the group and repeat the process. 

Margaret began to fight against Mr. Harvey’s grip.  “What is this?  No!  You can’t do this!” 

Mr. Harvey’s smiled disappeared.  “Quiet!”  He growled as he shook her violently.  Margaret had never been spoken too or handled in this way before.  It scared her, and shocked her into silence.  As they approached the group a large, potbellied, balding man broke away and approached them.

“You’re late.”  The man said, spiting on the ground.  Even from a few feet away the man smelled excruciatingly bad.  Margaret wrinkled up her nose, likening his scent to rotting fish with a heavy undercoat of urine.        

“But I got your last calf right here.  And believe me, she’s a real pain in the ass!” 

“Calf?”  Margaret exclaimed, her fear rising. 

Mr. Harvey tightened his grip on her arm and shook her again even more violently, reducing her to silence again. 

The other man reached out with a grubby hand and held her chin between his thumb and fore finger.    

“Cute, huh?”  Mr. Harvey commented as Margaret pulled her chin free from his grasp, the scent from his filthy hands still clinging to her cheeks.            

“Not bad...”  the other man mumbled, stroking his stubbly chin thoughtfully.  “I'll give you six hundred for her.”

Margaret was momentarily distracted from her inevitable sale by the scream of another young girl being stripped and shoved into the chute. 

“Six hundred?  I had to pay five hundred for the little bitch!”  Mr. Harvey exclaimed, pulling Margaret up on her toes and brining her back to her own plight.  “Eight hundred and not a cent less!”

The other man spat on the ground again, “Seven sixty, and you're breaking me!”

Mr. Harvey hesitated a moment, his grip loosening slightly.

“Deal!”  He exclaimed and pushed little Margaret toward him.

Caught in his embrace, the stench of the other man was overpowering.  Margaret renewed her struggles, more frantically than before as she was lead toward the men standing in front of the chute.  Through her tears and hysterical screaming she could see that there were no girls left outside.  She was next.                      

 

            

   

                  

   

          

Several sets of hands grabbed at her.  Margaret batted helplessly at the men, but to no effect.   

“Hold her!”  One man grunted.

A man behind her caught hold of her wrists and wretched them painfully behind her back.  Margaret cried out as the sharp pain shot through her shoulders.  Her mind raced as the man in front of her reached for the collar of her dress.  This wasn't happening, certainly not.  Nothing like this could ever happen in real life.  Yet here is was going on right in front of her—to her.  A moment later her dress was torn down the front, sending white buttons in all directions.  In the midst of her continued wailing and cries for help, for some reason she pictured her mother sitting in front of the stove one evening sewing one of those buttons back on.  She would never see her mother again.  The thought only increased her misery. 

For a split second her hands were free, but it was a very short moment.  No sooner were her hands by her sides than the man behind her roughly pulled her dress off her shoulders.  It puddled around her skinny ankles and before she could do anything her hands were back behind her.  The man in front grabbed the front of her worn white camisole, the fabric bunched in his calloused hand, and in one swift motion he tore it off her, balled it up, and tossed it into the pile of discarded clothes. 

“No!”  Margaret cried as she felt the warm sun and the cool morning breeze brush across her tiny breasts. 

The men only laughed and set to finishing their job.  The man in front hooked his fingers into the waistband of her white cotton panties.  Margaret struggled more than ever, but that didn't stop him.  He yanked them down to her ankles as the other man changed holds, grabbing her around her narrow waist while penning her arms to her sides. 

Desperate to keep her legs together, Margaret stopped struggling.  Her heart was beating  like a drum, her lungs burned with exertion, and she was covered in a light sheen of sweat.  The man in front shook his head and went down on one knee in front of her. 

“Going to be a good girl now, huh?”  He grabbed one ankle, pulled her shoe off and then her sock and then repeated the process with the other foot.  The man stood up and turned toward the two others at the chute, “She's ready.”

Her arms still penned to her sides, the man holding her simply carried her to the chute as the other two opened the gate.  A moment later she was on her hands and knees in the dirt of the chute.  She scrambled to her feet, but the gate slammed shut behind her.  Though she could still clearly see out of the narrow bars that flanked her, Margaret suddenly felt very claustrophobic, like the walls were closing in on her. 

“Get a move on!”  She heard from outside of the chute.  She turned and saw a cattle prod sticking through the bars at her.  Before she could move she received a painful shock to her bottom.  Margaret shrieked as she grabbed her backside with both hands and did an embarrassing little dance  before scurrying down the path.

With her hands crossed over her chest she trotted to the end of the chute.  A moment after she'd reached the end a gate snapped shut behind her and she found herself so tightly penned in that she couldn't even turn around or move her hands.  A man reached through the outside openings on either side of her. 

“What are you...?”  She started to ask when the one to her right produced a large pill and popped it into her open mouth.  While the one with the pill clapped one of his rough hand over her mouth and the other behind her head, tilting her face skyward, the other rubbed her throat and spoke her in soothing tones.

“Come on, honey...” he cooed.  “Swallow.” 

       Tears sprang to Margaret's eyes, she couldn't swallow it!  She choked and choked, thrashing frantically against their firm grips.  She tasted her own bitter stomach acids and whimpered pathetically. 

       Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the pill went down.  They held her firmly for a few minutes and then turned her loose.  Margaret started bawling.  She hadn't cried like that for perhaps ten years, but it came back with remarkable ease. 

       The gate in front of her creaked open and she was roughly pushed out into the pen. There were perhaps twenty other girls standing around all looking the way she felt, embarrassed and abused.  No one said anything, each girl seemed wrapped up in her own despair.  Margaret found her own section of fence to lean against and finish out her crying.  Her tears struck the parched soil below.  If she kept it up there would be a puddle.  The air was filled with sobbing, whimpering and full on wailing. 

       But it didn't last long.

       Margaret felt her eyes start to drupe.  In only a few minutes she could no longer stand.  She sat down in the dust and continued to struggle with her eyes.  Another few moments and lying down sounded like a really good idea to her.   

       #

       Margaret's eyes fluttered open.  She swallowed and felt an immediate pain in her throat.  It was the worst sore throat she'd ever had.  So, much that swallowing again brought tears to her eyes.  She sat up, feeling really woozy.  She blinked, once, then twice, but her vision wouldn't clear.  Then she realized that her glasses were gone.  She pawed around looking for them, but found nothing.  She squinted her eyes until she could make out the vague shapes of other girls who looked like they were just waking up too.

       She tried to call out and ask if anyone could see her glasses, but was shocked by what came out of her mouth.  Not a single syllable of a word escaped, just a kind of mournful moan that reminded her of a cow.  She tried again, but had the same result.  Panic gripped her, she reached up to touch her throat, but found a thick rope around it.  Following it down her front she found that it came to a brass cowbell.  She picked it up off her upper chest and let it fall back .  It made a dull clunking sound. 

       Her fear rising, Margaret stood up and walked to one of the other girls.  Once she was close enough she could see that the other girl was examining her own bell.  Whatever these cruel men had done, they'd done it to all of them!  In her squinting, something caught her eye.  A brightly colored circle on the other girl's right ear.  Margaret reached up to her own ear and found an identical circle in her own ear.  They'd tagged her!  They'd tagged her like a piece of livestock!

       Again the air was filled with lamenting, but this time it sounded very different.  This time they sounded more like a herd of cows than a group of distraught girls.  Margaret tore at the rope around her neck, trying desperately to get it off, but with no success.  Finally giving up she buried her face in hands and started crying again.      

       About this time Margaret heard one of the gates creak open.  She looked up from her hands to see a blurry group of figures entered through the opening.  Margaret could only presume that they were the same men from before.  She turned and clamored against the wall.  She knew she couldn't escape, but something primitive in her made her want to try to run, to meld into the wall, anything!  The anguished cries of the other girls who were closer to the approaching men only amplified her fear.  She shut her eyes and shook her head, surely this wasn't happening.  She would wake up in her bed, a book draped over her chest from having dozed off the night before.  That's exactly what would happen any second...

       A hand roughly grabbed her by the hair, while another twisted her arm back painfully behind her.         

       “Come on Lil' Bit!  Time for breakfast!”  The man announced as he pushed her along on her tip toes.  As she was pushed she could hear the other men as they grabbed girls, “Come on Buttercup!  Come on Bessie!”  What was going on?

       The man brought her to the opposite side of the pen where Margaret could make out openings about the size of her head.  The man pushed her down to her knees and shoved her head through the hole.  Then he pulled a cold and metal bar down and braced it across the back of her neck before locking it in place.  When she tried to pull her head back out she found that she couldn't.  He'd locked her in there!

        Looking to her left and to her right Margaret could see other girls in her same predicament.  Directly in front of them there was a wide, long wood trough that ran, as far as she could tell, down the entire side of the pen.  Several more men came up with plastic buckets, one in each hand.  They dumped the contents of one into the trough.  When it was right in front of her, Margaret recognized it was some kind of feed.  Like the stuff her father would feed the cows at home.  The dust from it came up and tickled her face, making her wrinkle up her nose and sneeze. 

       She heard the man in front of her chuckle at her as he dumped the second bucket in, this one filled with water.  Then he reached in with his hand and stirred the contents around.  When he was finished Margaret looked down and saw an ugly, tan gruel in front of her, like cream of wheat, but not appetizing in the least. 

       “Eat up...ladies!”  She heard one man mockingly order.  Surely he wasn't serious!   

       None of the girls did.  Margaret pushed against the bar that was holding her head in place.  She had to get out!    

       “Come on, get to it!”  When still the girls refused he called out, “Okay Ralph, Joe, let 'em have it!”                

         Margaret strained to look behind her, but she couldn't.  Suddenly the third girl to her right jumped forward with a cry.  She immediately buried her face into the trough and started eating.  Then she heard a girl farther down to her left cry out.  Then another and another.  On either side of her girls were crying out and then promptly submitting to this humiliating task.  No doubt it was the cattle prods doing it.  But there was no way, now how that Margaret was going to eat feed out of trough!  There was no was on this earth...

       No sooner did she feel the shock on her exposed bottom then her face was in the trough gobbling the disgusting mixture just like everyone else.  It was so gritty and thankfully only had a slightly bitter taste.  It was kind of like she'd imagine eating sand would be.  Fear of the shock kept her eating and besides, she was hungry!                

       In the midst of her eating she felt her nose involuntarily twitch, almost causing her to inhale some of her breakfast.  Someone was eating bacon and eggs somewhere nearby.  She could smell it distinctly.  Right now her family was probably sitting down to breakfast.  She felt tears welling up again.  They fell freely as she continued to try to eat. 

       When there was no more within reach for her to eat she raised her face out of the trough.  Her cheeks and chin and even her forehead was covered in the slop.  She shook her head, desperately trying to get some of the particles off.     

       The same man who had filled her part of the trough came up, still chuckling at her, “You're a cute one, ain't you, Lil' Bit?”

       Margaret just stared up at him.

       “Okay, open up, sweetie!”  He raised a large, clear plastic bottle filled with what looked like milk, with a long brown nipple on the end.  Margaret recognized this too, it was just like the bottles her father would use to feed baby calves.

       Margaret clenched her teeth and turned away. 

       “Ralf!”  She heard the man in front of her call. 

       Margaret immediately turned back and opened her mouth. 

       The man laughed and called over the fence, “Never mind, she's learning!”  Then he popped the nipple into her mouth.  “Suck it down, honey!” he ordered pleasantly.  

       Margaret glared at him and started sucking.  As soon as the liquid hit her tongue she knew if wasn't milk.  It tasted terribly bitter and it was thinner than milk.  Undoubtedly some kind of formula, but God was it awful!  She drank and drank and drank until she could no more.  Finally, he pulled the nipple out.  He held the bottle up to her face and shook the remaining contents around.

       “Good, girl!”  he said ruffling her hair with his free hand.  Then he nodded to someone behind her. 

       The bar behind her head lifted and Margaret could finally pull her head out.  The first thing that she did was wipe her breakfast off her face.  But she didn't have time to do anymore than that, before she heard a call from the middle of the pen.         

       “All right, ladies, line up!”                       

       Margaret heard the call, but hesitated to answer it.  Her poor vision made her extra cautious in a situation where she already had no possible idea of what to expect.  The girls around her inched forward, which apparently wasn't fast enough.  The men with the cattle prods started encouraging the girls forward with a few well placed shocks.  Not wanting to get prodded, Margaret walked forward, not too fast, not too slow.  She didn't want to stand out from the crowd in anyway.  She joined the line and stood there, looking down at her dusty feet.  She was in desperate need of a bath!  He skin was covered in a thick coat of dust and grim and she was more than a little smelly.  Her only solace was that every other girl was in the exact same condition she was. 

       She heard the beeping of a truck backing up.  Turning to her left she could see a large truck  with a big trailer backing up to one of the pen's gates.  All at once it stopped with a loud thunk!  The pen's gate was pulled open and so were the trailer's metal double doors.  She watched as the men quickly pulled a ramp down.  The wheels were already turning in Margaret's mind.  They were going into the trailer and there wasn't a thing she or any of the other girls could do about it. 

       “Okay, get 'em moving!”  She heard one of the men call out.  The line started moving forward toward the trailer.  Sure enough, that's where they were going. 

       A girl a few places up in the line stepped out, fell to her knees before the man giving the order, and in a pitiful whine seemed to be begging not to go—her hand clasped together in front of her face as if in prayer.  She only got a few noises out before he laughed and pushed her over with his boot.  The girl gave out a cry and fell back onto the ground almost hitting Margaret. 

       Margaret felt like she should kneel down and help the girl, but as she stopped the same man grabbed her by the arm and forced her along. 

       “Get moving, cunt!”  He growled, grabbing the next few girls behind her and forcing them along too. 

       A moment later, Margaret, as she rubbed her arm, cringed as she heard the repeated crackling sounds that the prods made, followed by the squeal of the girl who'd stepped out of line.  She looked over her shoulder to see three of them men prodding her repeatedly.  The girl, was wrapped up in a little ball in the dirt, shaking and crying out.  But her protests fell on deaf ears.  All at once the dirt became wet under her.  Margaret blushed and looked forward, determined that such a thing wouldn't happen to her. 

       Surely, such a thing wasn't legal!  She would bide her time.  Wait until these men were off guard.  There had to be a moment when she could escape.  But then what?  She was naked, voiceless, and wearing a cowbell around her neck and plastic tag in her ear.  What's more her father had sold her.  She'd seen the money change hands.  Where could a fourteen year old girl go at a time like this?  She couldn't go home.  Even if she told him and her mother what had happened there was no guarantee that they weren't in on it.  She could be sent right back here, or sold to someone else. 

       She couldn't go and she certainly could stay.  What could she do? 

       The metal ramp was rough under her bare feet.  She stepped slowly into what she could now see was a small cattle trailer.  Her little nose wrinkled, from the smell of the trailer, it was one that had recently been used for cattle and afterwards not been cleaned out very well.  She stepped lightly, the ground was littered with cow manure and she didn't want to step in any, but it was unavoidable.  She made it five steps in before stepping in a full on pie.  She shuddered, and almost threw up her breakfast.  Only through extreme force of personal will did she keep her “milk” and feed down.   

       The girls were packed in tighter and tighter until there was standing room only.  She found herself sandwiched between the narrowly slatted wall of the trailer and two other girls who were both nearly a head taller than she was.  Suddenly she was not so comforted by the fact that everyone else smelled as bad as she did.  The tight confines of the trailer filled up with the body oder of over twenty teenage girls.  Margaret thought she might throw up again.  She turned toward the wall and stuck her nose between the slats and breathed desperately. 

       “Have a nice trip, ladies!”  She heard from the trailer's entrance and with that the doors closed with a terrible clang.  In the dim light of the trailer the girls milled about.  Many started crying, a terrible half human cry that set Margaret's teeth on edge.  It was the only thing that kept her from doing it herself.  She scrunched up next to the wall and held her ears as the truck started and the trailer lurched forward.

       The trailer sped on down the dirt road.  The air in the trailer became thick with dust.  All the girls coughed, choked and squinted their eyes.  Margaret was forced to turn from her only source of fresh air or be asphyxiated with dusts.  She turned and faced the other girls who were pressed up against her, her hand up over her mouth and nose as she coughed.  All three stood there awkwardly, their dust reddened eyes downcast.  Each one of them taking visible pains not to touch the other's breasts or anything else like that.  Without the powers of speech they could not communicate their embarrassment, but it was pretty clear what they were thinking. 

       Margaret wondered if any of the other girls were thinking about escape too.  Surely they all were.  If only she could talk to them.  Then she wouldn't feel so alone.  Still, the question returned to her, where could she go if she were to escape? 

       Why, to the police, of course!  But then she'd end up in an orphanage probably.  And she didn't want that.  What was she thinking?  Anything...Anything would be better than where she was.  The first chance she got, the first chance, she would run for it.  If she could just get some regular people to see her, voice or not, they would know something was wrong.  Margaret blushed at the thought, but told herself again, she'd do what was necessary to escape and make this sick, cruel men pay for what they'd done! 

       She imagined herself standing outside a bared  prison wall.  Them inside breaking rocks in the hot noon day sun.  And she'd laugh at them.  She'd laugh!  And throw rocks too!

       Just thinking about it made her smile.

       Their journey continued into the night.  Soon after the sun set, the cries began again.  Margaret couldn't help it this time, she joined in herself.  Her eerie cry mingling with the others.  She wanted to be home in her bed more than anything in her entire life.  She could have kicked herself for ever complaining about her life before.  She vowed, as tears muddied up her dusty face, that if she ever did get out of there, she would never complain again.

       She woke up to the morning light.   Her first conscious thought of the morning was her surprise at being able to sleep standing up.  They were still moving, but thankfully they weren't on a dirt road anymore.  Still, she coughed from the dust still in her lungs.  Her mouth more sticky than dry, like  fly paper.  Her tongue kept sticking to the roof of her mouth.  She tried to work up some saliva, but without much success.  Her throat hurt even more than it did yesterday and her legs were tired from standing all night.  She was desperate to get out and she was hungry too.  Her stomach gurgled and rumbled.  She told it, mentally, to shut up.  Even if they were going to feed her again, it would probably just be the same slop as before. 

       In her sleepy state, Margaret suddenly became aware of the painfully full condition of her bladder.  Her Uncle would have asked, “Are your teeth swimming?”  It was a gross saying, she'd gag every time he said it, but at that moment she fully understood it for the first time.  As other girls awoke, doubtlessly in a similar condition to her, she crossed her legs and bit into her lower lip.  She tried to think of other things, but found that all she could imagine was a picture of Niagara Falls that she was in her Geography textbook.  Her tired legs trembled with effort and she found herself bouncing up and down  involuntarily.  Still, despite her best efforts, she felt like someone had an air pump attached to her insides and was mercilessly pumping her up.  She reached down, once again being careful not to touch any of the other girls and desperately held her crotch as her bouncing intensified.

       It seemed an eternity, but it had probably only been a few minutes.  She felt something warm on her dirty foot.  For a moment she though she'd lost control, but then she realized that even if that would have been extremely embarrassing, she was not feeling the relief from having an accident.  She looked at the girl closest to her.  The poor blond, probably about the same age as Margaret, was crying into her palms, her body wracked with sobs.  Margaret's gaze traveled downward to the other girl's nether regions and gave a start.  There was a yellow stream coming from the girl and dribbling all over Margaret's foot.  The small girl let out a squeal and tried to jerk away, but bumped against the trailer wall.  It felt like a balloon  had popped inside of her.  Less than a moment later she was dribbling on the floor too, and sobbing just like the other girl.  She had to get out of there!                                                  

       The ride continued into the early afternoon until finally the trailer started to slow down.  Margaret looked frantically out of the slats to try to see where she was.  At first, all she saw was dust and some kind of large, white, cinder block building.  There were a lot of pickup trucks parked around, but she couldn't see much else before the trailer was backed into the building.  All at once, the trailer stopped.  It was a strange sensation to be still after moving for so long nonstop.   

       Margaret looked through the slats.  It was a big building, with a dirt floor.  Far to her right she could see metal bleachers, but not much else from her limited angle and limited eye sight.  The girls were all restless, herself included.  They shifted from side to side and made little moaning noises as they awaited their fate. 

       The big steel doors opened with a ear splitting creak.  Electric light flooded into the compartment.  As her eyes were adjusting to the light, a man's voice boomed from somewhere in front of them, “Okay, cunts, out you go!  Come on!  Come on! ”                                                                                                                         

                              

       At first, no one moved.  Each girl seemed to be glued to where she stood. 

       “Dumb, fucking cunts!  Move it!”  The same voice boomed.  After a few more moments, Margaret could hear the simple order, “Okay, get 'em out!” 

       Several strong men appeared in the doorway.  Their boots clunking solidly against the metal ramp.  Without a moment's hesitation they each grabbed the girls closest to them and hauled them out of the trailer and pushed them down the ramp.  Margret backed into the wall.  She realized, though not at that moment exactly, that her reaction to the situation, wanting to meld into whatever was closest to her, was far from logical and totally unreasonable, but she couldn't help wishing it.  It was like playing make believe as a child when life was boring or just plain bad.    

       The girl in front of her let out a squeak as she was grabbed and practically thrown down the ramp.  Margaret started trembling and her knees felt suddenly very weak.  The man approaching her towered over her tiny frame.  Despite her poor eye sight, she could see his wide grin.  It would have been one thing if these cruel men were doing it because they had to, but they were enjoying it!  All of them were.  She'd never in her short life seen men enjoy doing any kind of job so much!

       The man grabbed her by her shoulder and forced her away from the wall. 

       “Come on!”  He ordered harshly. 

       Her dirty skin prickled at his touch.  Suddenly, something broke inside of her.  What right did any of them have to touch her?  Much less any of the other things they had done to her since yesterday?For a brief moment, little Margaret saw nothing but red.  She gritted her teeth and clawed at his face, but it was like someone else was doing it and she was just along for the ride.   For all she knew these deranged bastards had intentions of using all of them like real cows...for meat.  No!  She wasn't going to be just hauled away like an animal.      

       The man must not have been expecting the smallest one of the group to give him any trouble, because she apparently caught him completely off guard.  Her much bitten nails connected with his cheek, tearing the flesh just enough to make it bleed. 

       The man drew back snarling like a bobcat—his hand clutching his bleeding cheek.  Suddenly in control of her functions again, Margaret dashed toward the exit.  This was her moment!  Up until then she feared she might not be able to move when the time came, but she was going.  Her mind raced with what she would have to do first once she was clear of them.  First she'd have to find out where she was exactly and then...

       Her lungs felt like they'd been turned inside out and her belly felt like it had imploded.  She was on her knees before she knew what had happened, coughing and trying not to throw up.  As she gasped for breath she could see a pair of boots in front of her. 

       “A little spitfire ain't ya?” She heard the man she'd scratched in front of her gloat.  “Get on your feet bitch!” 

       Margaret couldn't catch her breath, much less stand up, she just kept coughing and coughing. 

       “You want some more, cunt?”  He said, reaching down for her.   

       She recoiled and tried to crawl backwards.  He caught hold of her hair and dragged her a foot back to where she'd started.  Margaret took hold of his hand, trying desperately to keep the front of her hair attached to her head. 

       “That's enough, Smith!”  Another man called, walking up and stopping him.  Margaret sighed with relief as the first man let go of her hair.  “You can't be so rough with 'em.  What if one of the buyers was looking for a breeder?  You might have just ruined this poor little thing!”

       “Did you see what she did?”  The man pointed at his bloody cheek.

       “It's a scratch, Smith, be more careful, Christ.”  The newcomer said, shaking his head.  “I'll get her myself.  Come on, little one.”  He said in a soft voice that was almost sweet, like he was talking to his granddaughter or something.  The older man picked her up carried her down the ramp. 

       Still coughing and sputtering, Margaret tried to get a good look of her surroundings.  She realized immediately that she had been stupid.  There were a dozen or so men standing around who could have grabbed her at a moment's notice.  She would have to wait for dark, then maybe there would  not be so many of them and they wouldn't be as on guard.  Beyond the men, she couldn't make out much.  She could see in the distance, more bleachers arranged in a half circle in front of a large fenced-in area.  The whole place had the unmistakable smell of a manure and animal sweat.  They were in a  rodeo stadium, there was no doubt about it.  She remembered going to one to watch a rodeo when she was very young.  It must have been before the drought because she remembered everything being so very green.   

       The man carried her to a pen about thirty or so yards behind the bleachers and the main arena.  He set her down roughly on the ground and patted her on the head, ruffling her hair. 

       “You be good now.”  He said with a smile before walking away. 

       Margaret stood up slowly.  It felt good to be allowed to sit down for a moment, but for some reason she found that surprisingly she wasn't tired and she wasn't all that hungry, but she was thirsty.  As the last of the girls were herded into the pen, she looked around for water.  When she saw none inside the pen she walked around the edge of it.  She touched her sore throat tenderly.  If only she could still speak! 

       Soon she came to the same kind of holes that she'd been forced to eat through at the first pen.    Crouching down she looked through the opening and saw a gray metal stock tank on the other side.  She stuck her hands through, made a bowl out of her hands, and dipped them into the water.  She was just withdrawing them with the cool, hopefully clean water contained within her hand bowl when she, without warning, felt a sharp stick on her hands.  With a red stripe already welling up on her wrists she looked up with tears in her eyes to see the man she'd scratched standing in front of her with a switch in his hand. 

       “Calfs don't drink with their hands!  Get your pretty little face down in there!”  He reached through the hole and grabbed her by the hair again.  Yanking her head through the hole, the man forced her face into the water with one swift movement. 

       Margaret panicked.  Water shot painfully up her nose as she deeply inhaled involuntarily.  She thrashed wildly, but to no avail.  His hand held her firmly in the water.    Margaret could hear her watery screams as they echoed about the tank.  Maybe it was a year ago and she was being baptized in the pond out behind the church.  Maybe she'd fallen asleep in Father Murphy's arms and this was all a horrible dream. 

       Then her face broke the surface.  Her lungs inflated with much needed air.  Margaret leaned over the side, gasping and coughing. 

       “I don't want to see you trying to use your hands again, spitfire!”  She heard the man say above her and then walked away.

       Having had all the water she needed for the moment, Margaret withdrew her head and sat on the dirt ground.  Happy at least to have a clean face she sat in the dust and contemplated escape again.  She shouldn't beat herself up too much for not getting away.  After all, Edmond Dantes had to carefully plan his escape to get out of his prison and he was a much bigger and stronger person than she.  Other girls kneeled down next to her and stuck their heads through the holes.  She could hear them slurping up the water and men laughing, presumably at them.  She guessed that the other girls learned their lesson from watching her. 

       Margaret kept her eyes open for any weaknesses and in the short time she was allowed, she found none.  But that didn't mean that there weren't any she just had to give herself some time that was all.  She noticed that people, near as she could tell all men, were coming into the building, some alone, some in pairs, and some in groups as large as five or six. 

       “Line up, cunts!”  She heard the man who'd greeted them yell from the gate. 

       Margaret hastened to get in line.  She was ashamed of herself for responding so quickly to the word “cunt” even if she wasn't sure what it meant.  She'd heard Hank the mechanic use it when referring to his ex-wife, but her father would always give him an evil glare anytime he used the word around Margaret, so she never figured out it's exact meaning.  Regardless, it was something very, very bad she guessed.  And in any case, she told herself, she responded quickly because she was being smart.  There was no sense in just disobeying if it didn't get her closer to her freedom. 

       Margaret soon stood in line waiting for whatever strange or horrible thing that would come next.  She noticed that a lot of the newly arrived men were gathering around the pen.  Some of them held notepads and looked ready to write.  The gate opened and Margaret glanced down the line.  She could see several men coming in, one with a cattle prod, one with what looked like a paint bucked and a third one holding a narrow paint brush. 

       Starting with the girl nearest to them, the man with the brush dipped it into the bucket and proceeded to paint something on the girl's back.  Then they proceeded down the line.  Margaret couldn't see what they were painting until they got to the girl next to her.  They painted a sloppy six on her back in black paint.  She had just processed this when she felt a hand on her shoulder and suddenly cold paint on her back.  No doubt she was number seven.  No girls fought being numbered, but there was a definite air of confusion amongst them.  Even without hearing them, Margaret could some how sense it. 

       Once each girl was painted, the man with the brush and the man with the bucket exited the pen, leaving the one with the prod behind.  The men with the notepads started pointing to different girls, speaking to the men near them, and then writing on their notepads.  Margaret began to feel very self-conscious again.  She looked down at her feet and her hands came up to cover her tiny chest.  Her hands weren't even all the way up when she felt them being tugged back down. 

       “Don't cover yourself, cunt!  Let these boys get a good look.”

       Margaret obeyed, feeling tears of shame spring to her eyes.  Other girls were already opening crying around her, but she tried her best to hold her own back.  There was no reason to give these horrible men the satisfaction, because she doubted that they would feel any pity.  It was more likely that they would enjoy it. 

       She heard a semi-familiar voice raise from the crowd, “Is that...no it couldn't be!  Is that the youngest Stephens girl?” 

       Margaret squinted and tried to see where the voice was coming from.  It was too hard to place with all the other voices becoming louder and louder all around her. 

       “Handler!”  She heard the familiar voice call.  “Bring number seven up here, we want a closer look!” 

       A hand grabbed her by the arm and she was roughly pulled up to the fence, her cheeks reddening as she could now clearly see the stares and down right leers of the men now lining the edge of the pen.  The man holding her stopped in front of two men.

       Margaret's heart sank to her feet and then half-way to China.  The man who'd called for the handler was Mayor Rufus, the mayor of her home town.  He stood there, leering at her just like all the rest, twirling his black, upturned mustache between his thumb and forefinger.  The man next to him was Sheriff Adams, the sheriff of her home town.  He stood there, smirking as he chewed his tobacco.                           

                                                 

             

       

       Margaret made a pitiful noise, sounding more like a scared calf more than she thought possible.  Mayor Rufus laughed and turned to Sheriff Adams, “I wonder what Stevens would say if he he could see his little princess now!”

       Sheriff Adams laughed and reached out and grabbed her chin.  “Who knows, maybe he got tired of her smart mouth and did this on purpose!” 

       Margaret pulled away from his grip and spit it the Sheriff's face.  Mayor Rufus laughed, “I guess she didn't like that...” 

       The handler grabbed her by the hair and twisted one of her arms roughly behind her back.  The Sheriff wiped her spit off his face, chuckling and nodding as he did.  The handler pushed her up against the fence so that her face was only inches from the Sheriff's.  Then, without warning, the Sheriff spit a huge glob of tobacco on her chest.  The ugly glob splattered up on her cheeks and down on her belly.  She recoiled, gasping, at least she could still gasp like a girl.  She reached up and tried to wipe the sticky stuff off her, but only succeeded in spreading the mess over her already filthy flesh. 

       The handler and the other two men laughed and laughed as she started to cry.  “What's the matter, bitch!”  The Sheriff asked mockingly, “Don't you like your new makeup?” 

       “That's it,” the Mayor said firmly, “I'm betting on this one!  She'll make it a minute I'm sure!”         

       “This scrawny little thing?”  The Sheriff shook his head, grinning.  “God, I knew she was small but look at her little titties dance...”  He reached ouch and squeezed her left breast a few times like her was honking a bike horn.  “Aw...not even a handful!  See?” 

       The Mayor reached over the fence and grabbed her other breast, first pinching her nipple and then grabbing the whole thing.  “Goddamn, you're right!  I don't matter though.  I'm still betting on this little bitch though!” 

       Margaret stood there and bawled as she tried to free herself from their cruel grips.  She'd never been touched like that before and she was completely mortified to hear them discussing her bust. 

       “Suit yourself!”  The Sheriff said, finally letting go of her and walking down the line.  “I'm gonna bet on a winner!”

       The Mayor laughed and let her go.  “I'll say hello to your Daddy for you...” He hesitated, reached out and pulled on her ear tag and then wrote something on his pad.  “Lil' Bit!”

       The handler brought her back to the line, where she stood sobbing and struggling not to cover herself for fear of the handler hurting her.  Several more times she was grabbed and trotted over to the fence.  Men ranging from farmers and ranches dressed in sweat darkened straw hats and soiled overalls to those who looked like bankers in well-tailored suits, fine derby's, and shinny wingtips all wanted to get a better look it seemed.  Margaret struggled in her handler's grasp, but to no avail.  One man, an old wrinkled farmer, jammed a gnarled finger into her mouth and felt around.

       “She still got all her teeth?”  She asked the handler.

       The handler turned Margaret around and forced her mouth open quiet easily, “Yeah, buddy, she does, see?”  He turned her back around, his hand still holding her small mouth open. 

       “Look at those teeth!”  He remarked to his friends, who were all bent and old like him.  Through tear filled eyes, she could see that there might have been ten teeth between all of them. 

       All in all, the men seemed very interested in her chest and her “womanhood” as her mother had taught her to call it.  For ever man who asked, the handler kicked her legs apart, and pushed her up against the fence.  Then the men would crouch down and give her a real good look.  Margaret was thankful that she could not look down and see their faces as they examined her.  Thankfully, unlike her breasts, which were, by then, tender and starting to bruise, they didn't feel the need to tug on or even to touch period.  Though one did get very uncomfortably close, his hot breath brushing her sensitive skin and making her writhe in the handlers hands. 

       Finally, after what seemed like all day, but in fact must have only been an hour or two, the men left and the girls were left to their own devices for short awhile.  In the midst of her own heavy crying she could see that all of them were crying.  Again, the collective sound of so many girls producing their strange half-human, half-animal whine set Margaret's teeth on edge, but she joined in herself, adding to the din.  What could she do now if the law and the government where in on this twisted enterprise?  She still had to try to escape, but now, she really had no idea where to go.  She was all alone in the world, but surly someone out there help her.  Margaret kept tying to stop crying, but couldn't.  She had to keep a clear head or they'd already won. 

       A short time later they were fed again.  Margaret, suddenly feeling very hungry ate her feed and drank her milk reluctantly.  She tried to think of Christmas dinner, but without much success, and buried her face in the trough and then sucked on the rubber nipple like a hungry baby.  It still tasted awful, but she needed her strength if she was going to escape.

       While wiping her face clean after she'd been release from the “feeding hole” as she came to think of it, she looked over at the arena and saw that the stands were full of people.  Somewhere in that direction she could hear the crackle of a P.A. system and then a powerful voice.

       “Welcome, gentlemen, to the fifth bi-annual Exclusive Rodeo!” 

       The assembled crowd cheered, hooted and hollered for several moments before the announcer continued. 

       “Before we'd begin I'd like to take this opportunity to thank all of our investors, most notably, Mayor Wayne Rufus for giving funds and giving us a place to hold this great event!” 

       Cheers erupted from the crowd again. 

       “Now, the rules are unchanged since our last event, so riders are expected to follow them to the letter.  Failure to follow the rules will result in disqualification and total forfeiture of the entry fee.  So, please, gentlemen, win within the rules, and go home smiling!” 

       There were more cheers, peppered with rambunctious laughter. 

       “Gentlemen....let the games begin!” 

       The final set of cheers were deafening even from a distance.  Margaret clutched her ears and turned around.  The handlers had come into the pin while she and the other girls had their backs turned and were too distracted to notice their entry because they had been listening to the announcer.  They grabbed the girl with number one painted on her back and hauled her out.  Margaret watched as the girl was dragged across the open ground toward the arena. 

       A few moments later she heard the announcer's voice again, “Up first we have Bessy, a lovely, big-titted calf!”  There was a pause.  “Gentlemen...are you ready?”  There was another pause.  “Go!” 

       The air was suddenly full of sounds.  There were several loud clanks, followed by the roar of the crowd and the sound of hoof beats against the dirt floor.  For about a little over, thirty seconds Margaret guessed, there were ripples of cheers through the crowd, and then suddenly all the men in the stands roared louder than they ever had before. 

       The announcer's voice came on again.  “Forty-three seconds!  The prize goes to Mr. Mike Murphy!”  Cheers and boos intermingled into a generally discordant noise, like a pack of coyotes.

       Even before the announcer had finished speaking, they were dragging the next girl, Margaret could only assume the girl with the number two on her back.  The same series of noises commenced minutes after she disappeared, with the one exception being the time (forty-one seconds) and her name, which was simply, Daisy.   If they were just going down the line, she would be next.  But next for what?  They were in a rodeo arena and all the girls were being referred to as and treated as cattle.  Margaret had visions of the rodeo she'd watched....Surely they weren't actually doing this.  It didn't make any sense to her young mind at all.  

       One by one girls were marched out of the pen and toward the arena.  The announcer would introduce the girl, there would be a commotion, followed by cheers and boos and then a short period of relative quiet.  They'd gone through six girls.  The girl before her, Buttercup, had lasted a whole fifty seconds, the apparent record for the day.  Margaret started shaking even before she head the handlers coming.  She was next.  Whatever had happened to all the others before her was going to happen to her. 

       When she felt the handlers' hands on her shoulders her stomach immediately seized up.  She felt light headed and suddenly had the strange salty taste in the back of her mouth like she always got when she was about to throw up.  She went without fighting.  She was too distracted trying to keep her breakfast down to struggle and what was the point?   

       They led her to a short chute with a solid gate she couldn't see through. 

       “Our next calf is a darling little number, named Lil' Bit!”  She heard the announcer's voice boom. 

       She was suddenly aware of how hard she was breathing.  Her body prickled with goosebumps.  Maybe they'd do her a favor and just shoot her the moment she came the gate and put her out of her misery.  No...she had to think positive.  She had to face whatever came, she couldn't let them win.  Margaret felt something light fall on her bare shoulder.  Looking down she saw that it was a peanut shell.  She looked up and saw a man smirking at her from the top back row of the stadium.  In fact there were a lot of men sitting up there staring at her.  The man kept tossing shells on her and smirking and smirking. 

       This distracted her from fully hearing the announcer say, “Riders ready?”  Several things happened at once after that.  The gate slammed open causing her heart to jump into her throat.  The announcer yelled “Go!” startling her further.  Finally, the handler behind her shoved a cattle prod through the fence behind her and delivered a shock at least twice as bad as any she'd received before to her pert rear end.  All of this in conjunction caused her to cry out in, well, there was no other way for her to think of it except like a scared calf, and run straight ahead without thinking. 

       Suddenly she was awash in the cheers and jeers of the large crowd of men.  She'd thought they were too loud before.  Now in the middle of them and the object of their scorn and amusement she felt like a tiny bug under a microscope.  All she wanted to do was fall down and burrow into the ground like a mole, but that thought had barely crossed her mind when she saw six gates on the far end of the arena open and six men on horseback come riding out straight for her.

       Squealing, Margaret turned and tried to get back in the chute, but found the gate closed behind her.  With no alternative she bolted to her left along the edge of the arena, her tiny breasts bouncing as she ran as fast and as hard as she could, barely aware of the whistling and the lewd comments coming from the audience.  She'd never been an athletic girl, but for some reason she found that she had more energy and more speed than ever before.  It was probably just adrenaline, but somehow, this felt different. 

       Still running, the small girl chanced a look over her should at the horse that was fast approaching her.  The man on it's back had a lasso out and was twirling the rope over his head.  Yes, dear Lord, she was in a calf tying competition.  Why did she deserve this?  When she'd gone to the rodeo she'd felt sorry for the calves who were forced to take part.  She may not of been much of a help around the farm, but she tried to be a good daughter.  So, what had she done to deserve this cruel treatment?

       Margaret put on more speed and turned her gaze forward only to see another man on horseback waiting for her.  She squeaked again and turned to run through the middle of the arena.  Only to realize, too late, that there was yet another rider waiting in that direction too.  The rope was around her waist before she had time for another thought.  The man yanked on the rope hard, forcing her forward.  She landed face first in the loose dirt, getting a mouthful in the process.

       She came up coughing and tried to get to her hands and knees to crawl away, but the man was already on top of her.  He slammed her back down making her take another mouthful of dirt in the process.  He held her quite firmly, even more so than the handlers.  Margaret felt rough, prickly rope against her wrists and ankles.  He must have had tied them together, because suddenly she felt all of her limbs suddenly being brought painfully together.  Her joints cramped and cried out, but still he tightened.  Before she realized fully what had happened her wrists and ankles were tied securely together behind her back.  She'd been hogtied!

       “Roger, you lucky bastard!”  Margaret heard one of the other riders say as he approached them.  “I sure would have liked to have gotten this one!”

       The man who'd just roped her, Roger, just laughed.  “Got lucky I guess!”

       Margaret started crying, the humiliation and the pain had finally gotten to her.  Nothing could be worse than this, she thought.  She'd hit rock bottom.  She was crying so hard that she didn't even hear her mediocre time called out.

       After the announcer had finished, she felt Roger's hands on her ropes.  He picked her up and carried her through a side gate and a short distance away from the arena.  The pain was unbearable as all her weight settled on her wrists and ankles.  She cried out pitifully.  Luckily she only had to endure her pain for a short while.  Roger stopped and untied her.  Margaret thankfully moved her arms and legs into a more comfortable position.

       “Get on your hands and knees, Lil' Bit.”  He said. 

       She wanted to yell, “My name is Margaret you bastard!”  But knew it would only come out as a whine.  She instead got up on her hands and knees like Roger ordered as he tied a rope to the thicker one around her neck. 

       “Come on...” He said, yanking her forward.     

        Margaret hung her head and as they passed by several men, the bell around her neck announcing her presence with every step.   

       “Nice, catch Roger!”  One said.

       “That's a first rate piece of ass!”  Another said.

       When they reached a beat up old farm truck that might have been red once, Roger stopped. 

       “Leaving already, Roger?  I can't blame you really.  See you around!”  Still another man said as he passed by. 

       In one fluid movement, Margaret felt herself being lifted from the ground.  Roger set her in the  truck rusty bed and smiled at her.  It was the first time she got a good look at him.  He was a tanned, leathery man, in his mid to late forties, about six feet tall, with a thick bristly mustache that turned down, giving her the impression that he was frowning even while he was smiling at her and showing the large gold mounted in the front of his mouth.  He was about her father's age, and looked like he'd also seen the same amount of hard work too.   

       He retied her wrists and ankles together, but this time in front of her so that she was more comfortable.  Her mind told her to resist, but her body was too tired.  Margaret just accepted the fact that things couldn't possibly get any worse.  Once he was done tying her, he took the rope he'd led her to the truck with and tied it to a bar behind the truck's cab. 

       “Wouldn't want you bouncing out, now would we?”  He mumbled to no one in particular.  Then he took a scratchy burlap cover, which looked like it was made up of feed sacks that had been haphazardly stitched together, and covered her with it. 

       “Keep the sun off ya...and the questions off me, eh?” 

       She felt him stack a few heavy things around the edges of cover and then heard him get into the cab.  The engine croaked to life.  Margaret tested her bonds once.  There was no way should could free herself.  Struggling just seemed to make the ropes tighter so she gave up.    

       It was stifling under the burlap!  Sweat poured down her body as her mind raced with questions.  Where was she going?  What was this Roger going to do to her?  How long did he mean to keep her like this?  As the truck started down the dusty road, Margaret cried and whined, the air under the cover becoming warmer with each panicked breath. 

       Someone would find her before they got to where they were going!  They had to.  Someone would find her.  Wouldn't they?