The Colonel's assistant, Major Bromley, was a portly man. Not much good for anything, but he could thump a bible with the best of them. I don't think he'd ever been in the war, but he was the Colonel's assistant, so I guess that's where he got the title. Agnes, his wife, was almost as big around as he was. At least she had been when we'd left St. Louis. But a month on the road was starting to slim her down already, and the hornier I got, the better she was starting to look. To be honest, she didn't really look that bad anyway, but losing another 20 or 30 pounds wouldn't hurt her. Like a lot of heavy women, she had a very pretty face and was really quite attractive, despite her girth. She was Angela's assistant and made damn sure the rest of the women stayed in line.

The rest of the Colonel's following consisted of Ned and Maggie Smith, Bob and Priscilla Parker, and three single women, Mabel, Lucille and Rachel. Oh, and Matt and me of course.

If it hadn't of been for the drab clothes they wore every one of the women, even fat Agnes, would have turned heads anywhere she went. I don't know if beauty was one of the Colonel's prerequisites to join the group or not, but it sure seemed that way. After Angela, Priscilla was my favorite. But Bob was a giant of a man and I was afraid he had a jealous streak to match his strength. At any rate, he was big enough that I didn't want to take the chance. All of them were lookers. It was just too bad they wore those ugly clothes.

It turned out that their ugly clothes were a requirement. The Colonel's brand of Christianity required the women to be excessively modest in everything they did. So they all wore plain black skirts that swept the ground. Their matching blouses had long sleeves and a high collar that fit high around the neck. And no makeup of course. On special days they'd decorate themselves with a bit of white lace.