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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Cattleman's Lament
by Beating Off Bob (beatingoffbob@yahoo.com)
***
Sarah, daughter of cattle rancher Jonas Collins, goes
missing under strange and disturbing circumstances.
Then his wife disappears too. It all seems to have
something to do with the unwelcome sheep rancher next
door, but Jonas doesn't seem to be able to solve the
mystery. Can a 15 year old boy succeed where a grown
man fails? (MFmf-teen, reluc, 1st, mast, oral, preg)
***
Author's comment: Both bestiality and rape are
mentioned in this story, and there is some violence to
move the plot forward. None of these elements are
significantly described, but the reader should be
prepared to be confronted with these concepts.
Bob
***
Sarah Jean Collins lay back and stared up at the dark
blue sky, filled with fluffy white clouds. She felt the
sun on her face and smiled. She wasn't out in the sun
quite as much as her father and brothers, and didn't
yet see it as a pain in the behind that one just had to
deal with during the work day. Her body rocked, as the
horse under her kept walking in the direction she had
last urged it to go, but her muscles automatically took
the horse's gait into account and shifted subtly to
keep her from sliding one way or the other. Her thighs,
draped around the horse's neck helped too.
She felt Daisy's haunch muscles bunch and move under
her back as the mare stepped gracefully over the scrub,
heading for home, and the pan of oats she knew Sarah
would provide her when they got there. Sarah loved
riding bareback, in direct connection with the
magnificent animal that carried her, and she rarely
used a saddle unless she was working on the trail, or
doing other work with cattle.
But today she was just enjoying being with her friend,
as the summer breeze swept across the plain. She had
ridden over to visit Mrs. Settleton, on the ranch "next
door", and the new dress Beatrice Settleton had made
for her was in the saddlebags connected by the wide
leather strap that currently made a hard pillow for
Sarah's head. It was a red and white checkered gingham
dress, and Sarah was going to wear it to the dance that
was scheduled in just two weeks. Travis Woods would ask
her to dance, and as they swirled to the tune of the
fiddle and washboard, he would fall madly in love with
her and beg her to become his bride. And then... she'd
find out what made her mamma moan so loud when she and
Pappa were alone in the dark of their bedroom at night.
Sarah had heard that moan clearly on a lot of nights
since she was a little girl. The first time she'd been
aware of it as a real sound was the first time it had
awakened her. Her parents' room was right next to hers
in the big house her pa had built in the shelter of a
geologic disruption in the mostly flat land they
ranched. Her brothers had shared that room with her,
but had recently been installed in their own newly
added room across the house.
She had only been eight or nine that time, when her
mother's agonized sounding moans had come through the
wall clearly, and she had awakened. Unused to being
alone in her room... it was her room now... and used to
the noises her brothers made while they slept, her
mother's voice had sounded like she was in pain. Sarah
had been instantly frightened, thinking of Indians, or
some other danger that had overtaken her mother. Those
piteous moans had broken into an agonized plea of
"Pleeease Jonas... don't tease meeee."
Jonas was her pappa and the noises that had followed
had made her get out of bed and pound on her parents'
door. She would never forget the sight of her pappa's
huge body, holding the lantern as he opened that door,
a pistol in his hand. He was stark naked, something
Sarah had never seen before, and his gaze was over her
head, searching for the cause of the pounding.
Then his eyes had fallen to see Sarah, somehow
huddling, even though she was standing alone in the
dark of the hallway.
"It's just Sarah," he said over his shoulder.
Her mother had appeared, concern on her face, closing a
robe around her, but Sarah could see that she too was
naked under that robe as it closed and was belted.
Then there had been the questions about what was wrong,
and Sarah's tear-filled complaint of the sounds she had
heard, as if her mother was being killed.
Her pappa had laughed, standing there like he was proud
to be buck naked, instead of ashamed, like all decent
people were if they had on no clothes. Even at eight
Sarah had been taught that.
"Send her back to bed, Molly," he said roughly. "We're
not finished yet."
Mamma had shot her husband a look that would have sent
Sarah running, had it been aimed her way, but Pappa had
just laughed louder and turned away, back toward the
bed.
Mamma had taken Sarah back to her bed, and sat there in
the dark, telling Sarah that what she had heard was
nothing bad, but what husbands and wives did sometimes
that was what they were made for during creation. She
tried to convince Sarah that those sounds were
pleasure, not pain, and that she must never interrupt
them again when she heard them.
And so, over the years, whenever Sarah heard those
noises again, her mind tried to come up with some scene
that would account for them. She tried to think of her
parents dancing, since that was fun, but who would
dance naked? And why? When she started to bleed between
her legs and her mother instructed her on what to do
about that, she asked again about the sounds for some
reason. Her mother simply said that, once she was
married, she would understand. That was all she had
ever been told.
Well, perhaps not all, though she didn't know it. At
various times she had been scolded for wrestling with a
boy... Junior Ridgemont, to be precise. She was
fourteen at the time and he had said something she
didn't like, so she took him down and sat on him. He
had cried, lying there in the dust under her, his eye
already swelling where she had punched him. They were
in town at the time, getting provisions, and her mother
had seen from not far away. Her mother's anger had been
vitriolic, and full of talk about how civilized people
didn't behave that way, which was purely puzzling,
since Sarah's brothers acted like that all the time, as
did most of the cowboys around, and nobody ever yelled
at them about it.
Her mother had made her wear dresses after that... all
the time. You couldn't fight or wrestle in a dress. You
couldn't move quickly in a dress. And your legs got
tangled up, so you couldn't kick. You could still
stomp, but the soft soled shoes her mother made her
wear weren't any good for stomping. Now, the only time
she could put on pants, was when she had to ride a
horse.
Which was one reason Sarah Jean Collins was riding
Daisy on this sunny summer day. Anybody could have
picked up her new dress from Mrs. Ridgemont, but the
excuse to be able to wear pants was too much to pass
up. So, Sara was dressed in pants, and one of her
brother's cast-off blue checkered shirts, lying on her
back, stretched out on the firm, swaying rump of her
best friend in the world, riding along without a care
in the world.
Then, her best friend stopped.
That was odd. Daisy wouldn't stop on her own. She was
too well trained for that. About that time Sarah heard
a deep voice... one that raised the hackles on the back
of her neck.
"Well, looky what we got here," growled the voice.
Sarah knew that voice. It belonged to one of the men
who should not be anywhere near where she was currently
located. It belonged to a man who would be beaten and
dragged through the scrub if he were caught on her
father's range. It belonged to Buford Smith.
And Buford Smith was one of the men who worked for Brad
Rocklin, who was, if not at war with her father, at
least most unwelcome in this part of Wyoming. Brad
Rocklin was a sheep man, and that made Sarah Jean
Collins shudder.
***
Sheep were domesticated 10,000 years ago in Central
Asia, but it wasn't until 3,500 B.C. that man learned
to spin wool. Sheep helped to make the spread of
civilization possible. Sheep production was well
established during biblical times. There are many
references to sheep in the Old Testament. Sheep farming
is man's oldest organized industry. Wool was the first
commodity of sufficient value to warrant international
trade.
In the 1400's, Queen Isabella of Spain used money
derived from the wool industry to finance Columbus and
other conquistadors' voyages. In 1493 on his second
voyage to the New World, Columbus took sheep with him
as a "walking food supply." He left some sheep in Cuba
and Santo Domingo. In 1519, Cortez began his
exploration of Mexico and the Western U.S. He took with
him sheep that were offspring of Columbus' sheep. These
sheep are believed to be the descendents of what are
now called "Churros." The Navajo Churro is the oldest
breed of sheep in the U.S. Despite efforts by the U.S.
government to replace them, the breed is still raised
by Navajo Indians.
As useful as sheep were, though, they were also the
cause of much contention during American history.
During the 16th and 17th centuries, England tried to
discourage the wool industry in the American colonies.
Nonetheless, colonists quickly smuggled sheep into the
states and developed a wool industry. By 1664, there
were 100,000 sheep in the colonies, and the General
Court of Massachusetts passed a law requiring youth to
learn to spin and weave.
By 1698, America was exporting wool goods. England
became outraged and outlawed wool trade, making it
punishable by cutting off the person's right hand. The
restrictions on sheep raising and wool manufacturing,
along with the Stamp Act, led to the American
Revolutionary War. Thus, spinning and weaving were
considered patriotic acts. Even after the war, England
enacted a law forbidding the export of any sheep.
George Washington raised sheep on his Mount Vernon
Estate. Thomas Jefferson kept sheep at Monticello.
Presidents Washington and Jefferson were both
inaugurated in suits made of American wool. James
Madison's inaugural jacket was woven from the wool of
sheep raised at his home in Virginia. President Woodrow
Wilson grazed sheep on the White House Lawn.
The sheep industry started in southern Wyoming in the
1870's along the Union Pacific rail line. The coming of
the railroad also led to large sheep drives from Oregon
to the Wyoming along the old Oregon Trail. On some
drives in the 1880's as many as 20,000 sheep would be
trailed to Rawlins. Even after the construction of the
Oregon Short Line, sheep would be trailed from Oregon
rather than be hauled on trains.
Even within the state trailing sheep remained the
general means of transport. In 1928, as an example, a
herd of 1500 sheep purchased from the Yellowstone Sheep
Company was trailed from Hudson to Douglas even though
the railroad was available. The reason was simple. One
sheepherder with a dog and a sheep wagon, could herd as
many as two thousand sheep. By 1910 there were over 5
1/2 million sheep in the state.
But in the late 1870's during what came to be called
the U.S. range wars, violent conflicts erupted between
cattle ranches and sheep herders as both competed for
land to graze their livestock.
Which brings us back to Sarah Jean Collins, who sat,
more or less, her horse, on a summer day in 1877.
Sarah was a cowman's daughter, and, at age sixteen, was
tougher than most men five years older than her
nowadays would even hope to be. Her five foot six inch
frame, which was undeniably as female as any man could
hope for, belied that toughness. Her hands would have
convinced anyone that she was a hard worker, but her
thrusting breasts, unfettered by undergarments that
women in later years would wear routinely, drew a man's
eyes away from her hands.
From there it was difficult to decide whether to look
at those obviously sweet soft humps under her shirt or
dress, or at the pretty feminine face that was
surrounded by a wild halo of bright yellow hair. That
hair constantly got in her face when she wasn't wearing
a hat, or had it tied up in ribbons like floppy dog
ears. Of course it would be normal to let your eyes
linger on her hips too, as they swelled out from a tiny
waist, and smoothed into legs that looked too long to
fit the rest of her body.
A man's eyes could get eyestrain, looking at this girl,
from his eyes jerking all over the place trying to find
a place to light.
"You're not supposed to be here," she said, sitting up.
Her voice held command. Among the men on her pappa's
ranch, she was untouchable, and her word held sway. Men
who looked too long at her, or spoke roughly towards
her didn't last on the Circle C ranch.
"Y'hear that Chaps? We ain't supposed to be here," said
Buford, sneering. "This here is open range girlie, and
you nor any of yore high fallutin' folks cain't say
otherwise."
It was then that Sarah saw the sheep. While they were
still in the distance, they were everywhere, heads
down, doing what she knew destroyed the range... her
father's range... HER range!
"This is Circle C land and you know it," she sneered
back. My pappa has ranched this land for years. You
turn those dirty beasts around and get them OFF OUR
LAND!" she yelled.
Buford smiled widely, unaffected by her outburst. Then,
in what was obviously supposed to be a lightning quick,
smooth, and impressive maneuver, he jerked the pistol
out of the holster he was wearing and pointed it in the
direction of Sarah.
The only problem was that, while it was quick, it was
by no means smooth, and as far from impressive as
drawing a weapon could get. In the first place, Buford
had been practicing that draw while shooting at tin
cans, so his muscles, which meant only to draw the
weapon to impress the girl, caused his thumb to cock
the hammer back. Buford's brain realized that something
was wrong, and he looked at the pistol, as his
forefinger held the trigger back and he took his thumb
off the hammer.
It might have been a comedic moment, as the Colt fired,
and flipped out of the startled man's hand, to spin,
now gracefully, backwards as it headed for the dirt.
But the bullet grazed Daisy's neck, where her mane
erupted from the skin.
Daisy was a well trained quarter horse, who would turn
on a dime, stop or start in an instant, and who would
go up against a longhorn with not a care in the world.
But Daisy had never been shot before, and she reared at
the burn of the bullet that removed a .44 caliber patch
of her mane.
Sarah Jean Collins slid helplessly off the back of her
horse and landed square on the top of her head as Daisy
scampered and bucked, and then ran for home at a full
gallop.
Sarah saw stars, and then everything went black.
Both Buford and his even less intelligent sidekick,
known only as "Chaps" stared at the girl on the ground.
"Yuh SHOT her Buford!" gasped Chaps. "What did yuh do
THAT fer?"
"I didn't shoot her you idiot," said a very pale faced
Buford. "The gun went off and skeered her horse."
"She looks pretty dead to me," said Chaps, taking his
hat off and scratching his head. I don't think yuh
ought to have done that Buford."
Buford sighed, once again, as he wondered why he had
been saddled with this man. True, Chaps was probably
the only human on earth who would call Buford his
friend, but putting up with him was like putting up
with sheep. It just rankled a man.
Buford thought hard, which meant it was quiet for
fifteen seconds, other than the distant bleating of the
sheep, and the occasional bark of Queen, the dog that
actually did all the work when the sheep were being
handled. Buford couldn't talk and think at the same
time.
"We got tuh get her to a line shack somewheres," he
finally announced. "You know, hide her away." His
cretinous brain ground on further and his excitement
grew. "We can hold her for ransom! And make that damn
pappy of hers pay for her, to get her back. And then
we'll have a stake and we can light out of here and
live like kings. Yeah! That's what we'll do!"
Chaps screwed up his brow and put his hat back on. "I
don't know Buford. That don't seem right to me somehow.
Won't her pa be all upset?"
Buford looked at his... friend... and scowled. "Whatta
you think her pa's gonna do if he comes along and finds
her here like this, and with us here too? You think
he'll ask any questions? He'll gun us both down Chaps,
fer sure. An she knows who we are now. If'n we just
leave her here they'll come lookin' fer us fer sure.
Takin' her fer ransom is the only way out of this. Now
get her up on behind me and let's get the hell out of
here before that horse of hers gets back to the barn
and they know somethin's up."
***
Sarah woke up confused and in pain. Everything hurt.
Her head ached abysmally, and her stomach and chest
hurt. She felt her wrists painfully too. Then the musty
odor of burlap filled her nostrils. Her eyes blinked
open to a dim light. She couldn't tell what she was
looking at until her nose reminded her that it had to
be burlap. There was a burlap bag over her head. It was
stifling, and she tried to move her hands to get it
away from her face. But her hands wouldn't move and the
pain in her wrists increased. Her shoulder joints were
on fire too. Clarity seeped into her head as she
realized she was bound. Then movement under her
resolved itself into the knowledge that she was tied
face down on a horse that was walking.
She opened her mouth to take in a breath to complain,
and the bag sucked into her open mouth. Spitting it
out, she moaned uncomfortably.
"I think she's awake," came the voice she suddenly
realized belonged to Chaps.
"Don't matter. Not much further now." came another
voice, that of Buford. Memory flooded back into her
mind and she wiggled again, subsiding with another moan
at the pain in her raw wrists and shoulders.
"Be still," barked Buford and she felt a hand slap her
upraised bottom. It was a hard slap, and she gave a
muffled squeak of outrage.
Despite what she'd heard, the ride seemed to go on
forever. She bit her lip as tears streamed from her
eyes. The pain was almost unbearable. The only thing
that pushed past that pain was the feel of a hand, on
her buttocks, rubbing and pinching.
That was when she began to get scared.
***
Frank Collins was oiling tack when Daisy cantered into
the yard, riderless and without a saddle. He knew
instantly that something was wrong, because he knew his
sister, Sarah, had taken off on Daisy that morning. He
whistled, and Daisy veered toward him, tossing her head
and snorting. She looked angry, or scared. When she
nuzzled him, he felt the dried blood matted in her mane
before he saw the thin dark stain that ran down her
chocolate brown neck.
***
Molly Collins was baking pies, and thinking about what
her husband had done to her last night. She still felt,
or imagined she felt, the warmth of the spend he'd left
in her womb after riding her for almost an hour. Their
lovemaking had always been a wild and torrid thing,
since the first night Jonas had brought her to the
ranch as his bride. She had been a frightened girl back
then, but he had transformed her that night, and the
next day people looked at her twice, trying to figure
out what it was about her that was so completely
different. What had transformed her was the gentle love
of a man who, while he didn't know a thing about women,
understood scared foals, and bawling calves better than
he understood himself.
He had taken his time, hard though that was, and had
coaxed his young bride along until she was the one who
was pushing and pulling at him, demanding more,
laughing and crying so much that he was almost
ashamedly glad that the men had stayed in town that
night.
Since then it had been like that almost every time they
coupled. And they coupled a lot. He knew every inch of
her body, and she was just as familiar with him. It
didn't embarrass her to inspect each dark and hidden
place about him.
One time she had sat on his back, while he pretended to
be the horse. She was facing his feet and laughing as
she spanked him gently, grinding her wet sex into his
back. When she leaned over and parted his buttocks,
curious to see what he looked like between them, he
became wild, cursing as her finger probed. That was the
night she had taken him into her mouth as he lay, agog,
unbelieving as his virginal wife did things to him he
hadn't even imagined before.
Since then she had made him her slave, demanding that
he do the same kinds of things to her. He had resisted
mightily, thinking that no normal man would stoop to
put his tongue where she wanted it. But, once she had
bullied him into it, he found her taste to be
intoxicating. After that, there was almost nothing he
wouldn't try if she was curious enough to ask for it.
He would die a thousand deaths before admitting some of
the things they did, but he looked forward to each and
every night with Molly.
She had become even more wild and demanding after he
impregnated her the first time, and sometimes she went
much longer than he could. Still, she had a way about
her that made it clear that what she needed most was...
him. She needed his soul, his essence, and she drank
that in through his body when they made love. She made
it impossible to feel less than a man who could compete
with the mythical gods.
He had given her two more babies before a long horned
steer snagged him in the crotch and threw him fifteen
feet like he was a rag doll.
After she was assured he'd live, and would recover to
walk and work, Molly had been almost as anxious about
his recovery as he was. It had almost killed him to lie
abed for a month, but the first time he got up and took
a few steps he couldn't wait to get back to the hated
bed again. Still, he was back on his feet a week later,
limping around and doing what he termed "wimmens work".
As to whether his sexual equipment would recover, Jonas
had wanted to know sooner than the doctor said was
wise, and it was Molly who pushed her delicate face
into his grizzled one and snarled that if he ruined
himself by trying too early, she'd cut it off and save
him the trouble.
Conversely, after making him wait an entire month past
when Doc Granger said it was OK to "test out the Bull",
her tenderness and patience had been exactly what he
needed to be soothed enough to let things happen
naturally. The upshot was that his penis still worked,
but the babies had stopped after that.
Molly rolled out another crust, thinking that it was
too bad. She'd wanted six or seven children to assure
the future of the Collins line. She was comforted by
the fact that both Peter and Frank were strong young
men. Sarah was the essence of motherhood too, though
she resisted taking up that mantle. Molly sighed as she
thought she'd have to have another talk with Sarah. At
least she'd been excited about the new dress, and about
going to the dance. That was an improvement, at least.
If only she wasn't so picky about the boys she could
have her pick of.
Frank's scream stopped Molly's movements as if she'd
been frozen instantly, and the cold ran straight to her
spine. That scream had the sound of panic, but not pain
to a mother's ears, and she turned, looking first to
the shotgun on the wall by the door. Frank yelled
again, and this time she could hear the drawn out and
panicked "Mawww" in it.
She grabbed the gun off the wall, broke it open to make
sure it was loaded and then snapped it closed again
while reaching for the door. Only the sound of Frank's
boot heels on the porch gave her enough warning to step
sideways as the door burst open and Frank rushed
through, heading immediately for the kitchen.
"FRANK!" she shouted.
He spun, overbalancing, and his shoulder hit the wall
hard enough to shake her collection of rare plates
displayed on a shelf that ran the entire length of the
wall up high. Molly's eyes darted toward the plates,
but then snapped back to her son. The plates weren't as
important as whatever had set him off. Frank was the
calm one.
"Sarah's horse," he burst out. "It came back. She's not
on it and it's bleeding."
Molly's existence as a rancher's wife had tempered her
in ways that made her tough as nails. Clamping down on
her own panic, she opened the door and pointed, not
needing to say anything. She took the shotgun with her,
even though it probably wasn't needed. It made her calm
to feel its weight in her hand.
Daisy was standing at the stock tank, head down,
drinking. Frank patted her withers and Molly saw the
blood at the same time he pointed it out. As she parted
the blood matted hair at the base of the mane, Daisy
snorted and stepped sideways until Molly cooed at her.
A quick look-over found no other injuries.
"You father is in Ford's gulch, rounding up strays.
Peter and Buckshot are with him. I'm going to start
backtracking Daisy. You ride Widowmaker and go get
them."
Frank was off at a dead run as Molly yelled after him.
"BE CAREFUL!"
Widowmaker was the fastest horse on the ranch. Jonas,
and sometimes one of the boys, rode him at local fairs
in the races the stockmen threw together and bet
astonishing amounts of money on. His name belied his
temperament. He was a sweet horse, who loved to run. He
worked cattle pretty happily too, but he purely loved
to run. Molly heard the clatter of hooves as she went
into the house, skinned out of her dress and pulled on
leather pants, and a bright red and white blouse. She
stomped on her boots and grabbed a hat before getting a
few things she hoped she wouldn't need when she found
Sarah and packing them into a set of saddlebags she had
tooled herself.
For her own mount Molly chose Vixen, a quarter horse
mare who stood almost fifteen hands high. She wanted
Vixen because she was voice broke, and would follow
spoken commands. She could also see farther from
Vixen's back, rather than her own horse, Tulip. She
took Tulip along too, but not to ride.
Jonas, like most stockmen who shoed their own horses,
made every set of shoes in recognizable patterns. With
a quick look at Daisy's left front hoof, Molly saw the
V shaped notch at the toe and knew that all four shoes
would exhibit the same sign. She cursed under her
breath for forgetting to ask Frank what direction Daisy
came in from, but started looking towards the North,
the direction Sarah had left in that morning. It only
took her five minutes to pick up Daisy's back trail.
She could see it easily even from up as high as she
was.
Molly Collins set Vixen a mild canter and let the horse
watch where they were going. Molly kept her eyes in the
ground, looking for more of those notched hoof prints.
They were there, dug in and far apart. Daisy had been
at a dead run when she approached the ranch. That was
odd. Horses usually only stayed scared for a short
while, and then stopped to nibble. They'd come home,
but they usually took their time about it. Whatever had
happened to Sarah had scared Daisy enough to make her
run for miles, unless, of course, Sarah wasn't far away
at all.
***
Frank, besides forgetting to tell his mother which
direction Daisy ran in from, also forgot, or maybe
didn't think to take Daisy with him when he went to get
his father. Had he been a little older, he'd have known
that the first thing his father would do was examine
the horse's hooves, to see what color of dust was on
the fetlocks. It wasn't a sure fire piece of
information, but Jonas Collins knew his range well, and
he knew what soil types belonged to what areas.
Had Jonas known that Daisy's hooves were stained with
red dust, he'd have known immediately that Sarah had
cut through Ute Canyon, and he would have ridden
straight there. But he didn't know that, and the only
way he could determine where to look was the same way
his wife was currently using.
Jonas was unhappy about all this, whatever it was. He
and his foreman and son had collected thirty-five
strays and had them bunched up and ready to move when
his younger son came flying toward them on Widowmaker.
The horse, after a mere five miles, didn't want to
stop, and danced under Frank as he tried to tell his
father what had happened.
Jonas hated to leave the small herd; because he knew
they'd fragment and have to be rounded up all over
again. He also believed, in that way that strong men
have of thinking, that there was probably nothing
wrong. Sarah had probably gotten off of Daisy to water
the flowers and something had spooked the horse. Daisy
could work cattle, but she was lazy about it, and that
colored Jonas' opinion of her worth.
So they had to return to the ranch first, to get more
information from Sarah's horse, and to find her back
trail.
His attitude changed instantly as he peeled apart the
mane hairs and examined the wound on Daisy's neck.
"Bullet!" he growled.
"Buckshot" Anderson, so-named because of the small
pieces of lead still residing in his buttocks, and
placed there when he was much younger, by the father of
a girl who'd objected to his attentions toward her,
crowded up and pushed his boss out of the way. He
peered at the crusty raw wound that was a perfect semi-
circle into the flesh of the horse, right where the
hair should be growing out of the neck.
He idly thought that that hair would never grow there
again, but then sobered as he realized Jonas was right.
Peter, Jonas' elder son, tried to see what the older
men were looking at. He knew not to speak. Questions
could come later, but when his father was busy, or
thinking, you didn't bother him.
The men examined the rest of the horse intently, at
which time Jonas saw the red dust on her fetlocks.
"She used Ute Canyon," said Jonas shortly. "Peter, get
your Winchester." he ordered without looking at the
boy. "And extra ammunition." he added. He glanced over
at Buckshot. "You think you can find that telescope you
got hidden away?"
Buckshot nodded and moved off. Jonas got another box of
bullets for his own rifle, which he carried with him
habitually, and stuffed them in his saddlebags with an
extra canteen as well. He saw that Buckshot also
brought extra water, along with a short brass tube that
he was wrapping in a piece of cloth. Jonas mounted his
horse as he saw Peter running toward him, excited, as
usual. At least he wasn't yammering... yet. Frank came
tearing out of the house belting on the double holster
and Colt pistols he had won riding Widowmaker at a
Rodeo a year ago. They were garish guns, with pearl
handles... sissy guns to Jonas' way of thinking.
"Frank, you stay here and keep an eye on the place," he
ordered tersely.
"Paaa!" complained the boy. "I want to go with you!"
"We don't know what's going on," said Jonas, as
patiently as he could. "There's a gunshot wound on your
sister's horse. Could be Indians... could be bandits...
could be those damn sheep farmers. Trouble's been
brewing ever since they invaded the range. I don't want
this place left unguarded. You do what I say, boy," he
finished.
"Yes, Sir," said the dejected teenager. He kicked the
dust with his boot toe.
"See to that wound on Daisy," said Jonas. "And rub down
Widowmaker. You rode him hard today." He nudged his
horse with one knee and the animal turned instantly
away from the nudge. Over his shoulder, as the horse
stepped out, Jonas yelled "AND DON'T SHOOT YOURSELF
WITH THOSE DAMNED TOY PISTOLS!"
The other two men mounted up and the group moved
directly toward the same path that Molly had taken. Now
they galloped, knowing where they were going, and eager
to get there.
Frank looked around, waited until his father was out of
sight, picked a knothole in a fence post in the corral
and, in a draw that would have left his father standing
slack-jawed, fired one shot. The knothole burst outward
as the hard wood was displaced by a .44 caliber bullet
that struck dead in the center of the target.
Frank stood and looked at what was left of that target,
while his fingers automatically opened the loading gate
of the pistol he had used, ejected the spent case, and
loaded a fresh round into the cylinder. Almost idly he
spun the pistol backwards around his trigger finger and
let it drop back in the holster. He had secretly been
practicing with his guns for a year, and, though he
didn't know it, he had become amazingly good with them.
Then, kicking the dirt with his toe again, he went to
take care of Daisy and Widowmaker.
CHAPTER TWO
Sarah knew she was in some kind of trouble. She didn't
know why she was in that trouble. Something had
happened that didn't match up with her experience. What
should have happened was that, when she found the
trespassers on her father's land, they should have
tucked their tails between their legs and hastened to
get their nasty little grass killers back where they
belonged. Wherever that was.
Sarah's attitude towards sheep, and the men who raised
them, was the product of her father's attitude towards
the same subjects. Jonas had been prepared to dislike
sheep from the beginning. Actually, he was prepared to
dislike any animal that ate what his cattle ate,
including cattle belonging to other ranchers. Wyoming
was a fine place to raise cattle, as long as you were
the only one doing it. When more and more people began
to filter into the land, the resources soon became
stressed, and that stressed Jonas.
All it had taken was coming upon a sheep trail just
once. He had smelled it first, and then came upon the
mass of tracks that went from side to side as far as he
could see from his horse. This flock of sheep had left
a broad bare swath, weed less, grassless, flowerless,
in their wake. Where sheep grazed they destroyed. That
was what Jonas had against them.
He didn't know that the flock he had seen the results
of were badly trailed, allowed to move much too slowly
and thus over feed. He didn't know that, if sheep were
moved properly, as nomadic people had done for
thousands of years that their passage would be almost
invisible in a few weeks time. He didn't know and he
didn't care to learn. The solution was simple to him.
He was there first. Take the damn sheep back to Oregon,
where they came from.
Some of the other ranchers had been talking of
proclaiming a "Dead Line" along the Green River. They
wanted to post signs that said in no uncertain terms
that any sheep that crossed the line was dead as soon
as a cattleman saw it. Some of the hotter heads
suggested that there wouldn't be much difference in
shooting sheep, or the men who herded them.
Jonas was, despite his rough exterior and almost surly
countenance, a thoughtful man. He was fully aware that
a herd of sheep could easily contain five thousand
animals. You could bankrupt yourself buying ammunition
if you actually planned on shooting sheep. Even if you
did, you were left with having to clean up the
carcasses. On the other hand, if there were dead sheep
lying around, maybe the wolves would leave the calves
alone. He didn't spend a lot of time thinking about it.
So far, the nearest sheep farmer, a man by the name of
Brad Rocklin, hadn't caused him any problems. There
were no sheep on his land, to his knowledge, and as
long as it stayed that way, things were fine.
The only problem was that, like a lot of cattlemen in
the late 1800s, Jonas Collins viewed a lot of land as
"his" that many other people, including the United
States Government, defined as public land, or open
range. And, to those people, Jonas didn't have any
right to keep anyone off of that land.
Brad Rocklin was one of those people.
***
Brad Rocklin was currently treating sheep that had been
brought in for one ailment or another by Charley Kemp
and Buster, the alpha male sheep dog of Brad's
operation. Every so often the whole flock was run back
to the ranch house and weak animals were culled out.
Sometimes they were treated and re-inserted into the
flock. Sometimes they became supper. It all depended on
what was wrong with them.
Buster had a sixth sense about which sheep were in less
than perfect condition and when Charley worked him to
find those sheep Buster went about it with single
minded concentration.
First he'd just range through the flock. It looked for
all the world like he was just running back and forth
as the sheep opened corridors for him. In that
situation the sheep seemed to know they weren't being
herded, and didn't shy away from the dog like they
usually did. That's how dogs herded sheep... by making
them shy away in the direction the dog wanted them to
go. The dog took his cues from the shepherd. A well
trained dog only had to see the shepherd walk off in
some direction, perhaps with a whistle or yell of a
command, but not always, and the sheep would appear to
follow as the dog went to work.
It was actually a combination of things that moved a
flock of sheep. There was a dominant ewe in the herd,
the matriarch, and most sheep followed wherever she
led. She too was trained to follow the shepherd, based
on cues and commands. What the dog did was take care of
the beasts that didn't follow the ewe.
But when Buster was "evaluating" the flock, it was
almost as if he was counting how many of the animals
would need to be culled out of the flock. Once he had
done that, then, with little nips and the clacking of
teeth, he picked out those animals he wanted and moved
them through the flock toward Charley. Once there, the
number two bitch, one of Buster's offspring named Lisa,
was being trained to keep the chosen sheep bunched up.
She did that by running in circles around them, which
she loved. She had taken to it naturally, watching her
mother work. Her two brothers weren't quite as smart.
At least not yet. They were penned up when the flock
was home, so that Charley could work on firming up
Lisa's training without having to pay attention to
their antics.
That had happened the day before, and Buster had culled
out thirty four animals. Brad and Charley were now
evaluating each one, having sent his two hands and best
dog, Queen, who was also Buster's mate, out to graze
the rest of the flock. Brad had told them exactly where
to take the flock, a piece of open range that had good
grass. As usual he told Buford not to leave them in any
one place too long, but to keep them moving so they
didn't overgraze the land.
There was plenty of land for the twenty-five hundred
sheep Brad ran in his flock, as long as they kept
moving. Soon it would be time to run the flock up into
the mountains, where the high meadows, lush with grass
watered by melting snows from above, would feed them
until late fall. While they were up there, he'd process
the wool that had been shorn off the sheep when winter
was over. That was still piled high in a barn.
Brad was cleaning an infected hoof when his son, Bobby,
wandered up and stood watching. Bobby was a good boy,
but he didn't have sheep in his blood. He did whatever
his father asked of him, but Brad knew Bobby would
never take over the business when his father was too
old to do the work. Brad himself had gotten into sheep
by accident, back in Oregon, when he needed a job and
that was the only one he could find. Well, there had
been the owner's daughter too. The first time he'd seen
Amanda she had taken his breath away.
A short girl, only fifteen at the time, with long
strawberry colored hair and a temper to go with it, she
had been upbraiding a cowboy who had ridden too close
to her and bumped her with his horse. Dressed in jeans
and a man's shirt, the girl had reached out and slapped
the horse on the butt, making it jump and sidestep. The
cowboy had almost fallen off, and two of his friends
had laughed at him. He'd wheeled the horse, aiming to
go back and teach the upstart girl some manners, but
had found Brad suddenly standing between him and the
girl.
When the cowboy persisted, riding toward Brad as if to
walk over him, Brad had taken the bridle of the horse
in hand and, in a trick taught to him by an Indian
friend, had caused the horse to dip his head and roll
onto his side, trapping the cowboy's leg underneath.
Luckily, the sheriff had seen the whole incident from
the porch of the jail, and arrived in time to stop
anyone from shooting Brad. Amanda had given him a kiss
as a reward and invited him to dinner at her house. He
got a good dinner, a job, and another kiss in the
process.
Amanda's father was the owner of almost thirty thousand
sheep in the Oregon territory, and he had a hundred men
working for him. He had no use for Brad, particularly
when he saw how his daughter looked at the man. But
Amanda was stronger than her father and when they got
married, Brad was suddenly the owner of five hundred
sheep. He had almost screwed that up, except Amanda
saved him there too.
It was Amanda who found the right dogs, and taught him
everything he hadn't yet learned about sheep, and urged
him to leave Oregon and establish a ranch in Wyoming,
where they would be closer to the markets for both meat
and wool. The United States Army had a voracious
appetite for both, and being so much closer to Army
points of delivery gave them an advantage over their
western brothers. For one thing they could just trail
the sheep to market, rather than having to pay rail
fees. For another, cartage for wool was less expensive
since there were no mountains involved.
"Dad," Brad's reminiscences were interrupted by Bobby.
"What?" asked Brad, wrapping up the hoof he'd just put
salve on.
"My chores are done," said Bobby.
"Well find something else to do," said Brad, looking at
a deep scratch on a lamb's hindquarters, trying to
figure out what had caused it.
"Everything's done," said Bobby.
Charley snorted. He was Brad's foreman, and had been
with him since he and Amanda had gotten married. Amanda
had marched up to him one day and informed him that he
now worked for her, instead of her father. Charley had
grinned, packed up the few things he owned, and
followed Amanda off the farm where she'd just stolen
him. He was just a lead hand then. Amanda had made him
"Foreman", but he took a cut in pay. He was Amanda's
uncle.
The only time Charley listened to her, or more
correctly deferred to her after that was when they were
in public, and non-family members were around. Their
relationship was tumultuous and loving at the same
time. Amanda would tell him what she wanted done and
he'd tell her what he was going to do. More often than
not, those two things differed, sometimes
significantly. Amanda stomped her foot and made dire
threats, all of which rolled off Charley's back like
water off a duck.
He just grinned insolently as she railed, and then went
off and did what he knew was best. The fact that
Amanda, who thought she knew everything about sheep
ranching, but was smart enough to know when she'd made
a mistake, kept things more or less peaceful. She was
smart enough to know when Charley called the shots
correctly, even though she had never once admitted she
had been wrong.
Charley snorted because he knew there was NEVER a time
on a ranch when "everything" had been done.
"Go see what your mamma needs done," said Brad, peering
at the lamb's injury.
"She sent me down here," said Bobby heavily. "Said I
was under foot."
Charley snorted again, but didn't say anything. He knew
Bobby's heart wasn't in sheep ranching too. He was the
only one, however, who knew that what Bobby really
wanted to do was be a mountain man, trapping furs and
hunting big game. Bobby had confided in him around a
campfire one night, while they were tending the flock.
He thought it was a ridiculous idea, but didn't try to
talk Bobby out of it, exactly. Charley had a wild
streak in him too though, and knew how the boy felt.
Instead, he set about teaching the boy what he'd have
to know to be a successful mountain man, thinking that,
when he found out how hard it was, and how much
knowledge would be required, and how dangerous it was,
the boy would change his mind.
That hadn't happened yet, to Charley's surprise. Every
task he'd set the boy had been attacked with vigor, and
completed successfully. Bobby was an ace shot with a
Sharps buffalo rifle, or Winchester. He could track
with the best of them, and he understood predators as
well or better than Charley did. More than once he'd
taken on bear or wolf and ended up the victor.
But Charley didn't mention any of this to his sister or
brother-in-law. He knew what Amanda would say if she
found out the kinds of things Charley had been teaching
her fair-haired boy, and he knew Brad couldn't keep a
secret from Amanda to save his soul. He didn't know
what he was going to do if the boy didn't tire of his
dream soon. In the meantime, he just didn't mention
Bobby's dream to either of Bobby's parents, and made
sure that Bobby knew not to as well.
"Clean the stalls," said Brad.
"Did that already," said Bobby.
"Fence around your mother's garden needs work," said
Brad.
"Did that too," said Bobby.
"How about the tack? Did you oil it?" asked Brad,
looking up at his son.
"Yep. Finished that yesterday," said Bobby smugly.
"All of it?" asked Brad.
"All of it," said Bobby firmly.
"Find a tool that's rusty and put some lanolin on it,"
suggested Brad.
"Dad, I did that last week," said Bobby, a whine
beginning to creep into his voice.
"Well find SOMETHING to do, dammit." Brad's voice began
to rise.
"Can't I go out with the flock or something?" asked
Bobby.
"You know I don't like you hanging around Buford," said
his father, slathering a medicine on the lamb's injury.
Amanda made the stuff from plants she knew about. Brad
had no idea what was in it, but it worked well.
"You know you can't trust him to move the flock like
he's supposed to either," said Bobby. "I can ride out
and make sure he's not overgrazing. Didn't you say
there's been some trouble with the cowmen about that?"
"Yes," said Brad firmly. "I DID say that, and you
should know that if there's trouble with some cowboys,
that's the last place you need to be."
"OK," said Bobby. "How about I take a wagon up to the
high pastures and restock the shack up there?"
Charley snorted again. Now he understood. Bobby was
trying to get up into the mountains, where he could
have all kinds of excuses to do all kinds of things
that had nothing whatsoever to do with pasturing sheep.
The high meadows were up above the heat of the plains,
with trees and wildlife and plenty of water from
snowmelt.
"You know I already stocked that camp," said his
father.
"I could check on it then... to make sure nobody's
messed with it," suggested Bobby.
"Who'd mess with it?" asked Brad. "Nobody even knows we
go up there. The cowboys won't take their steers up
there because they walk off too much weight getting up
the mountain."
"Maybe a drifter has set himself up in our camp," said
Bobby, reaching for any reason to go.
"And if he has?" asked Brad, looking at his son. "What
exactly would you do about that? Run him off? How? All
you'd do is get yourself hurt and then your mother
would make my life miserable."
"Come on Dad, there has to be something I can do,"
complained Bobby.
Brad didn't want to argue any more. He was getting hot
under the collar and he didn't like being that way
either. "OK, ride out to the flock and tell Buford to
start moving them up toward the high meadows. It's a
week early, so tell him to take his time, and weave
them back and forth between here and the foothills.
How's that?"
"That will only take me a few hours," complained Bobby.
"Well, you could always oil tools you've already oiled,
or clean stalls you've already cleaned. I bet you two
ewes and a good dog there are weeds in your mamma's
garden."
"OK, OK, I'll go out there and tell Buford and Chaps to
start them up toward the mountain," said Bobby, moving
off. Maybe he could stretch this trip out to four
hours. "I'll take a look around and see if there's any
wolf sign," he said over his shoulder.
Brad looked up and frowned. Then he looked at Charley.
"What would he know about wolf sign?" he asked.
Charley grinned. "Oh, you know. Turds is turds, but
maybe even he can tell the difference between dog turds
and wolf turds. He's just lookin' for something to do
anyway."
***
An hour later Bobby arrived at where, to his mind, the
flock should be.
But it wasn't there.
It had been there. That much was plain. There were
tracks everywhere, and the area had been grazed. There
was a wide swath of tracks that led off to the East,
but that was wrong. That was toward the Collins spread,
and his father kept a five mile buffer zone between his
sheep and the Collins cattle. He didn't want trouble,
and there was plenty of other land on which to graze
the flock.
Bobby followed the tracks, and grew even more unhappy
as they led straight toward what Bobby knew was where
there could be a thousand head of cattle grazing. He
had gone six more miles and it was late afternoon
before he spotted the flock.
What he didn't spot was two horses that should have
been easily visible standing above the sheep, or the
two men who should have been riding those horses.
As he neared the grazing flock, Queen bounded up to
meet him, barking and wagging her tail. Bobby got down
off his horse which pawed at the ground and whickered,
probably a greeting to the dog. After ruffling the fur
on Queen's head he asked her where Buford and Chaps
were, and then, knowing she couldn't tell him, got back
up on his horse and began circling the flock, looking
for sign.
The first thing he saw was that the flock had been on
this piece of ground too long, and had eaten the grass
down to the roots. That was the difference between
sheep and cattle or horses. Cattle and horses bit into
a tuft of grass and pulled, tearing it, and then
chewing. As they lowered their heads for another bite,
it was almost impossible to end up at the same place
the last grass had been pulled up, so there were tufts
of grass left to keep growing and spread.
Sheep's teeth were arranged so that they could bite
through the blades, and then reach for more, biting
through that too. They didn't raise and lower their
heads when they grazed, and would eat a tuft down to
the ground and then move their head to keep doing that.
Unless they kept moving, sheep would eat the grass to
death, so to speak.
Queen barked that special bark that meant "strangers"
and Bobby looked around. He saw a horse in the distance
and, as it got closer he saw a woman riding it. She was
wearing a hat like most westerners did, commonly called
a cowboy hat, with a wide brim that protected the eyes
from the sun, and the head from rain. Bobby didn't know
who she was, but it was unlikely she was just out for a
pleasure ride, and the flock was now close to the
Collins spread.
She was still some distance off, so Bobby kept looking
at the ground as me moved his horse along. He came to a
place where the ground was scuffed, and there were a
number of horseshoe prints in the dirt. He recognized
two of them as belonging to horses that Chaps and
Buford would be riding. There was a third set he didn't
recognize. He got down again, seeing something that was
the wrong color, and found a small patch of cloth stuck
in the thorns of a plant.
It wasn't so much a patch of cloth, as a large number
of threads torn from the edge of a piece of cloth. They
were blue. They were also faded, and could have been
here for a long time. He was puzzling out something
that looked like drag marks in the soil when he heard
the other horse approach.
"What are these sheep doing on our land?" came an
imperious female voice.
Bobby stood and turned to look up at the woman. He
recognized her, having seen her in town.
"You're Miz Collins," he said.
"And you're the Rocklin boy," she said back. "Now,
answer my question. What are these sheep doing on our
land?"
"Ma'am, in the first place they're not supposed to be
here. That's..."
"I already know that young man," interrupted the woman
impatiently. "I want to know why they ARE here."
"Ma'am, if you'll let me finish, I might be able to
answer your question," said Bobby. Adults didn't faze
him. He had been around a lot of adults who were
stupid, or vain, or just plain mean, so just being an
adult didn't get you much respect from Bobby Rocklin.
He was polite, or tried to be, but if you wanted his
respect you had to show you deserved it. He stood and
looked at the woman, who was still mounted. For the
first time he saw she had a Winchester cradled in her
arm, lying across her thighs. It was more or less
pointed in his direction.
Neither of them said anything for a few seconds.
"You're impertinent, young man," sniffed the woman.
"No, Ma'am, I am not," Bobby disagreed. "You asked me a
question, and I'll be happy to answer it if you'll just
let me." He waited to see if she'd respond.
Her horse moved toward his and the woman spoke a
command, backing her horse up a little. She was riding
a mare. Bobby hoped that mare wasn't in season, because
if she was, his mount might cause trouble. He looked at
his horse, which was a stallion, but it was standing
more or less placidly. Its ears were up, and it was
looking at the mare, but that was all for now.
"Well... get on with it then," said the woman in an
exasperated tone of voice.
"Thank you," said Bobby. "As I was saying, my pa has
told us not to graze the flock too close to your land.
This, I believe, is open range, but he's trying to be
neighborly." The woman's face screwed up and she opened
her mouth, but he went on, not giving her a chance to
complain, like he expected she would. Cow people all
seemed to think that all land was "theirs" for some
reason. "The two men who were supposed to be watching
the flock are missing, and the flock has strayed over
here. I was trying to figure out where they went when
you rode up. There's some strange horse tracks mixed in
with theirs, but I haven't figured that out yet."
"What tracks?" the woman said, sounding suddenly
interested.
Bobby turned and went to one of the strange prints,
which was clear in the dirt. He leaned over an pointed.
"Here's one," he said. "If you get down you can see it
better."
"I can see just fine from up here," said the woman.
"That track belongs to the horse my daughter was
riding. I'm looking for her."
"Well, I haven't seen anybody," said Bobby. "I just got
here a few minutes before you did. But something's
wrong. Those men should be here. Well, not here, but
they should be with the flock." He stood back up and
looked at Mrs. Collins. "There was some kind of scuffle
here too."
"What?!" she asked. Now she did step down from her
horse. She brought the rifle with her. "What are you
talking about?"
"See here?" he pointed. "These drag marks? They look
like they were made by the heels of a pair of boots."
He leaned down and pulled at the blue fibers. He held
them up. "I don't know how long these have been here,
but they didn't grow on that plant."
Molly peered at the fibers. She couldn't remember what
Sarah was wearing that morning. Wait. Yes, she was
dressed like a man. Now Molly remembered. She was
trying to get Sarah to act like a woman, and it was a
long haul. She had been wearing one of Frank's old
shirts. And it was blue! She reached out for the fibers
and took them, bringing them close to her face.
"I think this is from the shirt Sarah was wearing," she
said. She frowned. "What have you done with my
daughter?" The rifle came up and now it was pointed
directly at his stomach.
"I haven't done anything with your daughter, Ma'am," he
said, taking a step backward. He wasn't armed. There
was a rifle just like hers in a scabbard on the side of
his horse, but that was ten feet away. "I told you, I'm
looking for our men."
Molly stared at the boy. He had been nothing but
polite, but he was a sheep herder, and she had no use
for sheep or their herders. But he had pointed out
things that, if he were guilty of something, he would
have tried to keep secret.
Queen had been making her rounds, keeping the flock
bunched up, and she came around to nuzzle at Bobby's
knee, wanting to be noticed. Molly's horse didn't like
having the dog so close, and sidestepped away from
them. Molly reached for the hanging reins, but missed.
"She won't bother your horse, Ma'am," said Bobby.
"She's already bothered my horse," Molly barked. She
was worried now, and being worried made her
argumentative.
Bobby ignored her combative response. "Look, Ma'am, I
want to know just as much as you do what happened here.
Those men aren't much, but they wouldn't have gone off
and left the flock without a reason."
Molly wanted to be angry with this sheep herder boy,
but his attitude was so different than what she'd
expected that she was thrown off guard a little.
"Sarah's horse came back without her. It was injured."
"Injured? How?" asked Bobby.
"I don't know for sure," admitted Molly. It had
something wrong with its neck. It had been bleeding. It
looked like it had been cut or something. There was a
little piece of mane missing."
Bobby ranged around the area, looking at tracks. His
uncle had taught him better than anyone might have
known. Bobby saw where the strange horse had been
standing, and then had jumped sideways. There were two
hoof prints, walking backwards, and the bush the
strands of cloth had been caught in was crushed. He
located more prints heading off at a gallop in the
direction the woman had ridden in from.
He went back to where the horse had been standing and
found prints where the two Rocklin horses had been
standing. He could see where Buford and Chaps had
gotten down off their horses and walked toward the
crushed bush. Then he saw one set of boot prints that
straddled the drag marks on the ground. One of his men
had dragged a body out of the bush. He followed the
drag marks. The Rocklin horses had moved and the drag
marks ended up where one of them had been standing.
There were two sets of boot prints in the soil at that
point.
Bobby stood up. The woman had watched him, saying
nothing.
"Here's what I think happened," he said. He pointed to
the things he'd seen. "I think your daughter fell off
her horse when it reared. She must have been hurt,
because they dragged her to another horse and put her
up on it. She wasn't fighting, because the marks her
boots made as they dragged her don't show any movement.
"My daughter," said Molly grimly, "wouldn't just fall
off her horse." She looked at the marks on the ground.
"I'm just telling you what I think happened," said
Bobby. "Why don't we see where the horse tracks lead.
Maybe they were taking her to get help for her."
Bobby had a sinking feeling in his gut, though. Buford
was the kind of man who, if he found you lying on the
ground, was more likely to pick over your body than
help you. And Bobby had seen this woman's daughter in
town too. She was a looker, the kind of girl that made
a boy's pants get tight. If Buford picked her up off
the ground, it wasn't to help her. He didn't want to
voice his doubts to the girl's mother though. She still
had that rifle, even if it wasn't pointed at him any
more.
Instead of waiting for her to agree, Bobby just started
following the tracks. He soon found that one of the
horses was, indeed, carrying double, or at least
carrying a heavy load. Those tracks were deeper than
the other horse's prints. The trail made it obvious
that both Rocklin horses were in a canter too.
The problem was that they led in the wrong direction.
They led toward the mountains, and not toward any ranch
where someone might seek help for an injured person.
They had only followed the tracks for a quarter mile
when the woman spoke. "Obviously, your men were not
going back to your ranch."
"No, Ma'am, it appears you're right about that,"
admitted Bobby.
"So they took my daughter," she said. Her voice
sounded... ugly.
"I don't understand it, Ma'am, but it appears that's
correct," said Bobby.
"I should just shoot you where you stand," said the
woman harshly.
"Ma'am, I didn't take your daughter. But I can help you
find her. Well, I can help you find her if you don't
shoot me. It would be pretty hard for me to track them
if I'm lying dead."
He looked over at the woman. She still held the rifle,
but, despite her comment, it wasn't pointed at him.
Unknown to him, his coolness under her threat impressed
her. She recognized that emotion had made her run her
mouth... like a man... and she didn't like that.
"Why don't we work together on this?" said Bobby. "They
can't have gone far."
Technically, Bobby knew that wasn't true. The men had a
good five or six hour start, maybe more, based on how
long the sheep had been at this one place.
Bobby whistled at Queen and yelled at her to follow,
giving her the arm movement too, just to make sure. He
stepped up onto his horse and started following the
tracks of the two Rocklin horses.
"What are you doing?" asked Molly, as Queen darted into
the herd and barked at the lead ewe, moving her toward
Bobby.
"I can't leave the flock here," said Bobby. "They'll
ruin the grass. They need to move."
"You can't herd sheep now!" said Molly, getting angry.
"We need to find Sarah!"
"We'll find your daughter, Ma'am. I just told Queen to
follow us, that's all. She'll keep them moving along
our track, even if she can't see us."
"Why didn't your men do that?" asked Molly, confused.
"I'd say because they're hoping we won't be able to
track them," said Bobby, unsure whether or not the
truth was a good idea right now. "It would be easy to
follow the whole flock. If they're heading for the
mountains, there will be rocky areas, and they may hope
to lose themselves that way."
"Are you saying they plan to KEEP my daughter?!" gasped
Molly. Molly was a frontier wife, and the code of the
west was firmly engrained into her. The code of the
west said that women were to be respected...
cherished... held inviolate. If a man abused a woman he
often ended up dead as a result. It was unthinkable to
her that the missing men might hold her daughter
against her will... kidnap her, for all intents and
purposes.
"I don't know what's going on," said Bobby. "But I aim
to find out." He looked over at the woman riding beside
him. "Are you with me?"
Molly looked at this self possessed young man and her
eyebrow arched. "You, young man, are with ME! And if
anything has happened to my daughter, you will answer
to ME!"
"Let's just see what happened. Then we can decide
what's going to need doing." replied Bobby. He had a
bad feeling about this. There was just no good reason
why Buford and Chaps would take the girl toward the
mountains.
CHAPTER THREE
Jonas, Buckshot and Peter arrived in Ute Canyon and
located Sarah's trail. Had they followed Molly's
tracks, they'd have arrived at the scene of Sarah's
kidnapping much sooner, but Jonas had gone with his gut
instinct. As a result, they were four hours behind
Molly when they arrived at the place where she had met
Bobby Rocklin. Unfortunately, the signs that Bobby had
read were gone. Two or three hundred sheep had walked
over them.
"Been sheep here," said Buckshot needlessly.
"Do tell?" commented Jonas sarcastically.
By then it was getting dark, and the sheep following
Bobby and Molly had wiped out all trace of their
tracks. Buckshot rode wide, to the East, toward the
Collins ranch, and located Molly's tracks coming into
the disturbed area. Those tracks were lost where the
sheep had wiped them out. He rode back up to Jonas.
"Found Molly's tracks coming in. She's riding Vixen,
and leading Tulip," he said. "Nothing going back to the
ranch, though."
They ranged through the mess of tracks, finding prints
of three other horses, all strange to them. Two were
hard to read because the shoes were worn down and left
little detail. The third had the distinctive bumps on
it that indicated they were winter shoes, made to grip
ice better. Most stockmen took them off in the summer
because they were expensive and it was no use to wear
them down in routine conditions. That horse was also a
big, heavy animal too, with large hooves. All that told
them was that there had been strangers in this place,
along with Sarah and Molly.
Had there been a little more daylight, and had they
ranged wider, they might have picked up some of Molly's
tracks heading toward the mountains, or the small cairn
of stones with two large one piled on top of each
other, and a smaller one set to the side. Bobby had
left that sign for anyone who might be following them.
The smaller rock pointed in the direction he thought
he'd be headed for a while. But, while Charley would
have known instantly what that meant, the cattlemen
weren't used to following that kind of trail, and that
wouldn't have made sense to them. In any case, darkness
caught them, and they had no idea where to go next.
"What do you want to do, Boss?" asked Buckshot.
"Damned if I know," said Jonas. I thought to ride out
here, find her and then get home. We didn't bring
supplies to camp overnight."
"Maybe they went over to that sheep farmer's spread,"
suggested Peter.
"That sheep farmer doesn't have a spread," said Jonas
angrily. "He's a squatter."
"Now Jonas, the way I heard it, old man Johansen said
he sold his ranch to the man," said Buckshot. He
immediately wished he hadn't said anything.
"Johansen didn't know they were bringing sheep here,"
said Jonas. "If he'd a known that he wouldn't have
sold."
Buckshot didn't want to argue. His arthritis was acting
up. He idly thought that it must be going to rain soon.
"Boy could be right Jonas" he said, ignoring the
outburst. "Mebbe they did go over to... Johansen's old
place."
"Let's ride," barked Jonas. Jonas never apologized, but
if he recognized a proper course of action, he took it.
The three men headed for the ranch now owned by a man
named Rocklin. It would be the first formal meeting of
men who, as the world saw it, were neighbors. Jonas
Collins didn't think of it that way at all. He loosened
the rifle in it's scabbard by his right knee.
***
In the house now owned by Brad and Amanda Rocklin,
there was a serious conversation going on. It was
almost dark, and supper was on the table, though no one
seemed interested in eating it except Enid. She was
fourteen years old and had a healthy appetite to go
with the stocky body she'd inherited from her father,
much to her mother's dismay. The only thing Enid had
inherited from her mother were a pair of proud,
thrusting breasts that, according to her, were a bother
because they always got "in the way", whatever that
meant. Amanda often looked at Enid, and then her other
daughter, Elizabeth, and wondered how they had both
come out of the same womb.
Beth was tiny, like her mother, almost delicate, with
thin wrists, and a narrow waist to match. Like her
year-younger sister, she had the same large, lush
breasts that Amanda had, but Beth's figure was more
proportioned to that of a woman, with swelling hips to
match. Enid's hips were slim and boyish. Beth worked
hard too, but it didn't show on her like it did on
Enid. Beth's skin was milky white, while Enid had
freckles and darker skin that was darkly tanned by the
sun.
Enid was already taller than Amanda, and had the sturdy
look of a young pioneer woman, with callused hands and
short, usually dirty fingernails. Not that she didn't
appear to be a female. Her long strawberry blond hair,
not quite so red as Amanda's, was tied back with a
ribbon. Her young, but already large breasts pushed at
the soft buckskin shirt she was wearing, above pants
made of the same material. Beth had on a proper dress.
Amanda would rather have had both girls wearing
dresses, but the only ones Enid owned were two or three
years old and had been made for a much smaller girl.
Amanda hated sewing, and, come to think of it, Enid had
inherited that from her too. Beth, on the other hand,
had probed to find what sewing skills Amanda possessed,
and had pulled them from her on cold winter nights
beside the fire. Beth made her own clothes. Amanda
could spin wool into thread that made the finest cloth,
like most women of that day, and Beth was fast on her
way to becoming just as good with a spinning wheel.
But the weaving and cutting and sewing of that fine
wool cloth was something Amanda had no patience for.
She'd just as soon buy ready made dresses. That
happened infrequently, though. It was rare to get to
town, and even more rare to have the money to spend on
things like that. The only proper dresses Amanda still
owned were the one's she'd brought with her from
Oregon, and one that Beth had made for her.
On the other hand, the Rocklins had good relations with
the local wandering tribe of the Batcinena, or Red
Willow Men of the Arapaho Indian tribe. In the uneasy
peace between former enemies, enforced by the
infrequent appearance of soldiers, the tribe traded
with other tribes who wove wool into beautiful
blankets, and the Rocklins were able to trade good wool
thread for both good will, and fantastically well made
clothing of animal skins. Elk skin made the best
clothing, thick and almost indestructible, and as long
as you didn't wear the same outfit too long without
airing it, the leather maintained its sharp, pleasant
smell.
As a result, Amanda's children often dressed in clothes
that were more suited for a wild Indian than a
civilized sheep farmer. For that matter Amanda herself
owned two sets of sturdy Indian garb. Her husband
refused to wear leather clothing, preferring jeans and
cotton or wool shirts, depending on the weather. His
chaps, though, were Indian made. They were a gift to
him by an Indian woman who had showed up on foot at the
ranch, handing them over and saying her son's name.
Brad had found the boy with a broken leg and had
splinted it and carried him to where the tribe was
located at the time. At that time, that had been thirty
miles away, and the woman had made the chaps and walked
the whole distance... round trip... to thank him.
The other nice thing about leather, Amanda had to
admit, was that it stretched as the body grew into it.
She glanced at Enid's swollen breasts, pushing the
leather away from her chest, and sighed. Her worried
mind was drawn back to the issue at hand as her husband
spoke.
"I shouldn't have sent him out there," he said.
"Nonsense," said Amanda. "He's a grown man. Well,
almost. And he should be back by now. I'll tan his hide
good for making us worry like this!"
"He's probably dead," said Enid. She had argued with
her brother that morning about whose job it was to
clean the chicken coop. Being two years older he had
simply informed her that he had other things to do, and
it was her job, and if she didn't do it he'd tell their
father. She realized it had gotten very quiet at the
table, and looked up. Her mother and father, along with
Buckshot and Xian Bai, their other lead shepherd, were
all staring at her.
"Why would you say that?" asked her mother, her face
darkening. "Why in the WORLD would you say that, Enid
Rocklin?"
Enid knew that tone of voice, and knew she'd made a
tactical mistake. But the odor of chicken manure on her
hands... the odor she couldn't get off no matter how
much she washed them... made her compound the mistake.
"Well? He's just so STUPID!" she said forcefully.
Oddly enough, Amanda relaxed and sat back in her chair.
She recognized that tone of voice. Sibling rivalry. She
glanced at Beth, who had her eyes on her food, like she
was trying not to get involved in the conversation.
Charley tried to defuse a situation that really didn't
need to be diffused any more. Of course he didn't know
that. He was a man, and didn't recognize those tones of
voice.
"Your brother is not a stupid man," he said patiently.
"He should be back by now and your mother is worried."
Xian Bai spoke from the other side of the table. "Your
Brother is very smart, Missy," he said, grinning. Xian
Bai had somehow attached himself to the party as they
moved from Oregon to Wyoming, herding five hundred
sheep along the old Oregon Trail. He had been walking
alone, with only sack hanging from a six foot long pole
as he was surrounded by sheep. He had just kept walking
until the Rocklins caught up to him.
Queen, their lead dog, had ambled up to him, sniffed
him and then ambled off. That, in itself, was an
endorsement. Amanda had been exposed to Chinese
immigrants, and invited him to eat with them when they
camped. He'd been with them ever since. He picked up
sheep ranching as if born to it, and he had an almost
magical way with the dogs, as if he could speak to them
somehow. He took his pay, when they had money to give
him, but often Amanda found it back in the big clay jar
she kept loose cash in. He was also a wizard with the
weaving of rope, and made all the rope they used on the
ranch.
Enid, knowing that she had gotten off easily, started
eating again.
Buster, who had been lying in a corner of the room,
suddenly lifted his head, his ears up. A soft growl
issued from his throat. The three puppies who had been
sitting patiently under the table, hoping for scraps,
began yapping loudly. Brad kicked one and Amanda
shushed at them, picking two of them up and holding
their muzzles closed. Xian Bai grabbed the third and
did the same thing.
Buster was standing now, rigid and facing the door. His
growl continued, but he did not bark.
Brad and Charley stood. Charley went to the wall and
took down the double barreled Damascus twist black
powder shotgun. He knew it was loaded. Brad went to the
desk and opened a drawer, pulling out a Navy Colt .36
caliber pistol. Charley headed for the back door of the
house while Enid, all business now, turned the kerosene
lamp down until it gave off just a dull glow. Xian Bai
had disappeared without a sound.
"Halloooo the house," came a faint yell from outside.
Brad opened the door, but stood to one side.
"Who's there?" he yelled out into the almost dark. He
could see the dark forms of three men sitting horses,
out away from the house.
"It's Jonas Collins," came back the reply. "I'm lookin'
for my wife and daughter. They've gone missing!"
Brad frowned. He hadn't met the cattle rancher. That
had been on purpose. When he'd moved onto an old cattle
ranch with sheep he'd known that he would not be
welcome. Cattlemen he saw in town wouldn't even speak
to him, shooting him hostile looks instead. He'd
decided on his own to try to lie low and keep the flock
away from his closest neighbor's range, to avoid
conflict. While surveying his new ranch he'd found
grass that cattlemen wouldn't want to use, and had
capitalized on that.
He had four or five times as many sheep now as he had
when he'd first arrived, and the operation was just
beginning to make some money. He intentionally left a
broad piece of free range untouched between him and the
Circle C ranch. Brad was trying hard not to get caught
up in the general trouble between cattlemen and
sheepmen. The last thing he needed right now was
trouble with Collins. He was uneasy about this "visit",
but when kinfolk were missing, it was a serious thing.
"Come on in!" yelled Brad, and he stepped out onto the
porch. He put the pistol in his pocket, but did not let
go of the grip. He knew Charley was at one corner of
the house, covering the three riders.
The three horses stepped slowly toward the house. It
was too dark to see the men's hands, and that made Brad
more nervous. As the men got closer he spoke to them.
"We haven't seen any strangers," he said, suddenly
wishing he'd said "people" instead of "strangers".
Jonas sat his horse. He hadn't been invited to step
down. "Found sign of your sheep where her trail
disappeared," he said. "Over by that dry creek bed that
comes out of Ute Canyon."
"That's impossible," said Brad firmly. "We don't graze
the flock over there.
"Well, somebody does," said a gravelly voice of one of
the other men. The grass had been eaten to the roots,
and there's sheep tracks all over the place."
"I don't graze my sheep that way," insisted Brad.
"Where's your flock?" asked Jonas.
"They should be on their way to the high meadows," said
Brad. I sent my son out to tell the men to start them
that way this afternoon. He's not back yet. We were
just talking about that at supper."
Brad suddenly remembered his manners. "You men eaten
yet?"
"No SIR!" came a young man's voice from the three.
"Shut up Peter," growled Jonas, turning his head.
Brad had heard that tone of voice before. He'd never
talked to Jonas Collins, but others had shown their
contempt for him and his sheep.
"Well, we've got plenty. You may as well come on in and
have a bite. If nothing else tell me what you've found.
Maybe we can figure out what's going on. My son should
have been back by now and we're a little worried about
him too."
Jonas sat there silent, thinking. He didn't want to act
friendly in any way toward this man, but his daughter
and wife were missing. At least he should get a look
inside the house. He didn't think the man would just
lie outright, but he'd like to look around a little...
just in case. His saddle creaked as he put his weight
on his left leg and he swung down. The two other men
followed suit.
When his booted feet hit the boards of the porch, Jonas
smelled the food and his stomach growled. He hadn't had
anything except jerky since morning. He thought a curse
to himself, but kept quiet. He didn't want to take the
hospitality of a sheep farmer.
***
Sarah came to again, and through the fuzziness in her
head she realized she must have passed out again. The
terrible pain in her middle was gone and she realized
she was lying on the ground. Her wrists still hurt and
as she tried to flex shoulders in fiery pain, she
realized she was still bound. The first odor to get
past the burlap bag still covering her head was smoke.
She heard voices.
"Keep it small you idiot. We don't need no smoke and
flame giving us away."
"Damn it Buford, I want hot vittles!" complained Chaps'
voice.
"You won't get any vittles at all if'n they find us
before we're ready," snarled Buford's voice.
"'N that's another thing," went on Chaps' whiny voice.
"Why'd you take her like that? They's gonna be mad
Buford. Real mad."
"I already told you Chaps! That there pretty little
slice of pussy's gonna get us the stake we need to
light out to better parts you fool. They'll pay gold to
get her back," said Buford, trying to be patient. He
couldn't pull this off without Chaps' help. He couldn't
manage the girl by himself. She was too damn heavy.
"What if she's dead?" whined Chaps. "She ain't moved in
a long time Buford."
"She ain't dead," grunted Buford. "Least wise she'd
better not be. She ain't worth nuthin' dead. Plus I aim
to get me a piece of that pussy. I'm tired of fucking
sheep."
"That ain't right Buford," said Chaps, his dim mind
settling on sheep... and what Buford someimes did to
sheep... and forgetting the girl. "You shouldn't ought
to be doin' that anyways."
"You shut up. If you want to live with blue balls,
fine. But I'm a real man and I need some real pussy
once in a while. That there little filly's gonna feel
real fine wrapped around my dick."
"I don't like this Buford," insisted Chaps. He was
simple minded, but he was no fool. He knew the code of
the West just like every man in that part of the
country. He knew what was likely to happen just for
carrying the girl off, if they got caught. If she was
raped they'd swing from a tree for sure.
But Chaps was scared of Buford. He'd seen Buford do
terrible things to a sheep, things that hurt it...
sometimes even killed it. And the way he was unnatural
with them. It scared Chaps a lot. So Chaps subsided
into unhappy silence as he stirred the beans over the
tiny fire Buford had allowed him to build using only
squaw wood - small dead sticks pulled from the lower
trunks of trees, or found lying on the ground. While
Buford wasn't looking he added a few sticks to the
flames. Beans needed to be hot to choke down in his
opinion.
Sarah heard all this as though it came through cotton
stuffed in her ears. Her head hurt horribly, and her
face felt hot. She knew she should be frightened,
listening to Buford's plans to rape her, but she
couldn't concentrate. Her eyes closed as her bruised
brain cut off her consciousness once again.
***
Molly sat her horse in the dark, next to the boy. They
hadn't talked much. The boy's attention was all on
tracks and bent twigs and flattened tufts of grass, or
scrape marks on rock. Molly knew a little of tracking,
though she wasn't much good if the trail was faint. But
it was obvious this boy knew what he was doing.
Whenever he lost the trail, he found it again within
minutes. He seemed to have an instinct for it, or knew
his men well enough that he knew what they'd do.
The trail had not gone straight, like she thought it
would. It often turned, for no clear reason at all. She
realized that each time they came to rock that the
trail would turn and go in a different direction. She
wasn't stupid, and it didn't take her long to
understand that the people they were following didn't
want to be found. That made the pit of her stomach
lurch, and a sour taste come to her mouth. Her baby
girl was with men who didn't want to be found.
"It's too dark to go on," said the Rocklin boy softly.
"I didn't come prepared to camp out," she said
irritably.
"Neither did I," he said. "Still, that's what we're
going to have to do. We'll pick up the trail in the
morning."
"We can't camp out here!" said Molly firmly. "It gets
cold at night up this high."
They had left the plains after a three hour ride, and
had been climbing ever since.
"Yes, Ma'am it does." he agreed. "We'll just have to
build a fire and live through it, I guess."
"That's insane." complained Molly.
"You can't go back in the dark, ma'am," said the boy.
"And if you did you'd lose hours on the trail. I
thought you cow people were supposed to be tough," he
said mildly.
Molly bristled. "You watch your mouth boy," she
grumped. But there was no heat in her voice. She
realized she sounded soft and pampered to be
complaining about a single night out in the open. She'd
done that when she was younger lots of times. She'd
show him tough!
Three hours later she wasn't so sure she was tough at
all. He had some food in his saddlebags, which he
shared with her. Then, finding a rock face, he built a
fire right up against it. He dragged in two respectably
sized logs and lay them next to the rock face, forming
a V, and then built a fire filling the void between
them. He added wood until the blaze was uncomfortably
hot and she complained.
"The heat will soak into the rock and then reflect back
out when the fire dies down," he explained. "Whichever
one of us wakes up in the night will need to add wood
to keep it going all night, but the fire will eat down
into those logs, and it will be easy to get it going
again."
"Aren't you going to stand watch?" asked Molly. It had
been a long time since she'd slept out in the open.
She'd been a girl the last time she'd camped.
"What for?" he asked. "The only folks around here are
the Indians, and they won't be out in the dark. You can
stay awake if you want to, but then you'll be tired in
the morning."
"This is just ridiculous," moaned Molly. It was cold
already. Well, her front was warm from the huge fire,
but her back was freezing. She turned around to warm
her backside. "Won't they see this fire and know we're
after them?" She wanted to find something wrong with
the way the boy was doing things.
"I picked this face because it's downhill," he said.
They'll be up there somewhere. I think they might be
headed for the high meadows. We have a shack up there,
with provisions. That's where they were supposed to
take the sheep."
When he mentioned the sheep Molly suddenly heard them.
They were massed just below the ledge Molly and Bobby
were on. Queen sat in the night, head up, watching over
them.
"Doesn't that dog ever eat?" she asked. "Or sleep?"
"She'll sleep later, when the flock is quiet. She's
probably been eating all day. She's a good forager. She
probably caught her a rabbit or something along the
way."
He got up and walked off in the dark.
"Where are you going?" asked Molly, more anxiously than
she wanted to.
"I don't suspect you want to see what I'm going to do,
Ma'am," he said. "There aren't any outhouses around
here."
"Oh," said Molly, getting pink in the face. "Of
course." She suddenly felt the pressure of her own
bladder.
He was gone a long time, and when he came back it was
from a different direction than the one he left in.
"I climbed up on the rock," he said as he walked
silently into the light of the fire. "I can see their
fire. It's maybe four and a half or five miles...
straight line. They probably have eight or so miles on
us by the lay of the land."
"You saw their fire?" asked Molly amazed.
"Buford's not the smartest guy I ever met," said Bobby
wryly. "But he's all we could get to work sheep.
Cowboys won't touch them, and that's about all there
are around here... cowboys."
"That's because no decent man works with sheep," said
Molly without thinking. She realized her insult as soon
as it was out of her mouth.
"My father's a decent man, and I will be some day,"
said Bobby with dignity. He recognized the cowman's
mantra when he heard it. He also knew it was ingrained.
"I'm sorry," said Molly, not sounding very sorry. "But
sheep ruin the range."
"Sheep don't ruin the range if they're properly
herded," said Bobby. That was the shepherd's mantra,
and he knew it. But he also knew it was true.
"We haven't ruined the range on our land, and we've
been here three years," he said.
"If your range is so good," questioned Molly. "Then why
was your herd on our land?" She was a stubborn woman.
"First of all it's open range, and not your land. At
least according to the register of deeds and the land
office. My ma checked that before pappa bought our
place."
"Your mother! Why in the world would she get involved
in man's business?" asked Molly.
"Are you saying you don't herd cows? Or help birth
calves? Are you saying you don't have anything to do
with your husband's cattle, Mrs. Collins?" Bobby could
feel his face getting red. Why was this woman so hard
headed? He was glad it was dark.
"Of course not!" snapped Molly. "But that's different."
"How is that different?" he asked. "Around our place
it's a family business. We all take part," he said.
"Well... I mean..." Molly trailed off as she realized
she sounded silly. She was an integral part of the
ranch. Any woman was. Jonas barked at her whenever she
interfered in... She thought about that for a minute.
The last two times Jonas had argued with her had been
times when she knew she was right, but he was so
stubborn. HE was the one who kept saying she was
meddling in man's business. She realized she had just
accepted that... for years.
"Let's talk about something else," she said suddenly.
Bobby chuckled. "OK, but it's been a long day and I'll
admit I'm tired. I need some sleep if we're ever going
to find out what your daughter did with our men."
He had meant it to lighten the mood, but her face in
the firelight frowned. He could see how upset she was,
and she didn't even know Buford. He tried to reassure
her, even though he wasn't reassured himself.
"They won't hurt her, Ma'am," he said quickly. "They
know what would happen to them if they hurt her."
Molly slumped. She'd run off without thinking, chasing
off after her daughter. Jonas was probably tearing his
hair out looking for them both. Now she was freezing,
and all she had with her was a boy. Well, almost a man.
Well, she hated to admit, almost a man who was also
smart as a whip. She thought about what she'd seen him
do that afternoon. He'd gotten them ten times farther
than she'd have gotten by herself. And now he knew
where they were out there, only miles away. What was
happening to Sarah right now? Was she all right? Was
she alive? Tears welled up in her eyes and rolled down
her cheeks. She scrubbed at them furiously, ashamed to
cry in front of this boy.
Bobby reached out and touched her elbow with his
fingers. "Really, Ma'am, it will be all right. We'll
find them. We'll get her back to you."
Molly looked at his fingers where they touched her
elbow. She wanted a hug. But she couldn't hug this
boy... this shepherd.
"We'd better," she said softly. "I don't know what
Jonas would do if something happened to her. I don't
know what I'd do."
"We'll catch them tomorrow," said Bobby seriously.
"Now, get some sleep. We're going to have to ride hard
tomorrow."
***
It was tense in the Rocklin house, as the three
strangers sat down to eat. Beth was suddenly animated,
with the exuberance of youth seeing strangers for the
first time in months, and one of them a boy not much
older than she was, at least to her thinking. She
smiled at Peter and served him first. Amanda saw and
blushed at the insult to the older men.
"Beth, mind your manners," she said shortly.
Beth looked up, confused, and realized what she'd done.
"He was closest," she said. It sounded weak, even to
her. Enid giggled. She knew her sister well, and could
understand her sister's interest in the boy.
Peter had never seen either of these girls before, and
he was just as interested in them. Enid was strange
looking. He'd never seen a girl wearing buckskin, but
she looked like a girl for sure. While Beth looked more
like other girls he knew, she was different too. Most
of the girls he knew were simpering things, fawning on
the boys, pretending to drop their hankies so the boys
would pick them up. This was a girl who had a self
possession about her. That, and her beautiful loose
brown hair made him stare at her. When she looked back
with wide brown eyes, he felt his stomach lurch.
Jonas ignored the byplay and got right to facts. He
described what had happened, the bullet wound on the
horse, the tracks and obvious evidence that a lot of
sheep had been there and wiped out the tracks. He
mentioned that his wife had chased off before him, and
he didn't know where she was either.
"We found her tracks going into the mess, but lost them
where your herd of sheep wiped them out."
"Flock," corrected Brad.
Jonas frowned. "Only other tracks we saw were a few of
my daughter's and two sets of worn down shoes. There
was also a big horse there, with winter shoes still
on."
"That would be my son's horse," said Brad. "He rides a
stallion he caught and trained. It's a big horse. He
likes those shoes for when he has to go over rock. The
others probably were the horses my two men were on.
They weren't supposed to be that close to your place. I
sent Bobby up there to tell them to start the move to
the high meadows."
"Well, your son, and your men were where my daughter
and wife were, and now we don't know where any of them
are," said Jonas heavily.
Charley came in the front door with the shotgun.
"Chores done Brad," he announced, as if he were coming
in from work. He stood the shotgun in a corner near
where he pulled a low bench up to the table. "Xian Bai
should be coming in any minute."
Sure enough Xian Bai came in the back door. He had a
rifle in his hands.
Jonas looked at Xian Bai, and then Brad. There was
surprise on his face. Lots of people had seen Chinese
workers, but not on a ranch. And not armed with a rifle
either.
"Got wolf troubles?" he asked, surprise spilling over
into his voice.
"You never know," said Brad.
Both men knew what had just happened, of course, and
that the cowmen had been covered by weapons in the
dark, but neither felt inclined to admit it.
Charley and Xian Bai sat down as if nothing strange was
going on, and began to eat.
Brad held a piece of bread in his fingers, but didn't
eat. "Like I told you, the thing is my boy should be
back. All I told him to do is go find the flock and
tell the boys to move them toward the mountains."
"Well, the tracks of your herd... flock... went off in
the direction of the mountains. It got too dark to
follow them. But I can't think of any reason why my
wife and daughter would throw in with your men.
Something must have happened out there. You had any
Indian trouble since you've been here?" asked Jonas.
"None," said Brad firmly. "We do some trading with
them, but that's all. Hardly ever see them. They seem
to keep to the north of here for the most part."
Amanda spoke for the first time. "Is it possible, Mr.
Collins, that your wife found your daughter and took
her home?"
Jonas looked surprised, as if he hadn't thought of that
possibility.
Buckshot wiped his mouth and spoke. "Ma'am, that's a
right nice thought, except I didn't see no tracks going
back to the ranch. Only coming into that mess. If she'd
a done that I'd a seen some tracks, don't you s'pose?"
His voice had a hint of derision in it.
Amanda wasn't going to be looked down on. "You did
mention it was getting dark. And you, Sir, are
obviously aged. Perhaps your poor old eyes didn't quite
catch the sign."
Brad's head snapped toward his wife. "Amanda, that will
be enough of that. These men are guests."
Jonas laughed suddenly, his eyes on Amanda. "You'd get
along fine with my Molly, that's a fact." He elbowed
Buckshot, who was suddenly busy eating. He was smiling,
though.
Jonas stopped laughing. "I guess we might as well go
back to the ranch and see if maybe Molly DID find her.
Maybe she found her someplace else and they went back
from there. The sign doesn't support that, but we might
have missed something. We can't do anything until
daylight anyway."
"You sure you want to travel at night?" asked Brad. "We
could put you up here."
Jonas stared at the man. For a sheep herder he was
mighty neighborly.
"No, if Molly and Sarah are back there they'll be
wondering where we are. Thanks for the supper, Ma'am."
he nodded toward Amanda.
"You're quite welcome," she said sweetly. "It's nice to
finally meet our neighbors."
It was Buckshot who snorted that time.
"You say the trail led off toward the mountains?" asked
Brad. "In the morning we'll need to go up and find the
flock. If my men, or Bobby had to leave them for some
reason I don't want them wandering around up there with
just the dog."
"That's your business," said Jonas. "If you happen to
find my daughter or wife, hold on to them for me. If
she's not home, then I suspect we'll be trying to find
that flock of yours too."
The men stood to leave and got to the door when they
realized Peter wasn't with them. They turned to find
him and Beth staring in each other's eyes, oblivious to
the rest of the people in the room.
Enid giggled again.
"Oh Lord," said Buckshot.
"PETER!" said Jonas harshly.
Peter jumped and then blushed, standing up and knocking
his chair over backwards.
"Oh Lord," said Buckshot again, as Peter hastily picked
up the chair and, blushing put it back in place. He
scurried to stand by his father, looking at the floor.
"Bye!" said Beth, standing and waving. Her smile was
beatific.
"Oh Lord," said Amanda, putting her head in her hand as
the door closed behind the men.
"Bye mister big strong cowboy," mimicked Enid, her
voice in a high falsetto, obviously teasing her sister.
She got an elbow in her ribs from her older sister, and
a dark look from her mother.
***
It's interesting how something small can make such a
big difference in a person's life. Something so small,
say, as someone unexpected dropping by to visit.
Elizabeth Rocklin, at almost sixteen years of age, was
almost an adult in that day and age. She had the
knowledge of how to run a house, and the skills to cook
and clean. Her body was ready to bear children, and had
been for several years. On the other hand, her social
development was more or less stunted by the fact that
living on a ranch in the middle of Wyoming meant she
didn't get much time with people outside her immediate
family.
While the hormones flooding her bloodstream were
normal, her knowledge of men and what to do with those
hormones was more or less... deficient. Oh, she had
seen both her father and brother naked many times. The
family all used the horse trough to bathe in. Being
isolated like they were, there was little modesty.
Charley and Xian Bai generally bathed in streams or
ponds while they were out tending the flock, and on
bath night they took Chaps and Buford, if they were
even around, and disappeared into the dark to check on
the sheep so that the women could bathe comfortably
without non-relatives seeing their nakedness.
Beth was quite aware of the change in her father that
inevitably happened on bath night. The women went
first, standing in line and assisting each other with
back scrubbing or handing towels to each other. That
meant there were three grown women, for all intents and
purposes, standing around the horse trough naked.
Brad's reaction was to take his wife behind the curtain
that prohibited a view to their bed and make all kinds
of noises with her.
Brad and Amanda had told their children long ago that
those noises were natural, and that some day each of
them would understand what was happening behind that
blanket. The term "Making Love" was not unfamiliar in
the house, though the actions of what that meant were
somewhat misty and undefined to the three teens. Of
course all three teens had seen animals mating, but to
try to visualize their parents that way just didn't
seem real somehow.
Beth had looked curiously at both her father and
brother when it came their turn to bathe. Amanda had
bathed the children all together until they had set up
house on this ranch, and had meant to establish some
rules for privacy and modesty as the children entered
puberty. Somehow she just hadn't gotten around to it.
But for Beth it was mostly just curiosity. She didn't
feel anything in particular when she looked at what
hung between her father's and brother's legs.
Her father had lots of hair on his legs and stomach and
around that thing that hung down. She did notice that
it didn't look much like what sheep or dogs or horses
had. Her brother had much less hair everywhere, and his
penis was pinker somehow. All these things were
academic, for the most part, and she noticed them just
like she would have noticed that the wind had broken a
tree branch or something like that. It didn't "mean"
anything to her.
She was, therefore, completely unprepared to feel the
things she felt when Peter Collins walked into her
house that night, and sat down. She noticed literally
everything about him. She noticed his eyes, with their
long lashes, and his nose, and his chin and the way his
hair fell to almost his collar, but wasn't greasy or
stringy like that of the men who worked for her father.
She noticed his shoulders, and had blushed when her
eyes had been drawn to the rear of his tight pants as
he pulled out a chair to sit at the table. When she
served him, and he smiled at her, she felt her stomach
doing flip flops, and a strange, tight heat in her
chest. She was, on some level, aware that she was
staring at him, but she couldn't help it.
As supper progressed, and the men talked, Peter looked
at her too, with little darting glances that landed all
over the parts of her he could see. She noticed his
eyes landed on her chest frequently, and that made her
feel funny inside for some reason. Buford stared at her
too whenever he was around, but this was completely
different from that.
When Buford stared at her it made her feel dirty and
she wanted to take a bath. But Peter's looks made her
feel light enough to float away. Once, when his eyes
slid from her chest up to her face, and locked with
hers, he smiled shyly. Beth wanted to wiggle in her
chair at how that made her feel. She had never been in
love in her life, and she had no concept of love-at-
first-sight.
But the fact was, that Elizabeth Rocklin was probably
experiencing something very akin to that concept while
she sat... and occasionally put something in her
mouth... during dinner.
After it was over, and she tried to recall what had
been discussed, she had a hard time remembering much of
what was said. But Peter Collin's blue eyes were burned
into her memory lie they had been put there with a
branding iron.
***
Peter Collins, riding slowly in the dark, couldn't see
much beyond the ghostly shapes of bushes and the soft
shimmer of moonlight on the tips of the grass as the
wind moved it gently in the cool breeze. His eyes took
that in, along with the sound of the clopping of
horse's feet. He didn't pay any of that much attention.
It was chilly, but he didn't notice that either. While
his eyes saw, and his ears heard, they reported to a
part of his brain that was on standby.
What Peter saw and heard in most of his brain were the
smooth curves of a blue gingham dress, resting on the
frame of a girl he'd seen only once, and the voice of
that girl. He had only a few words to concentrate on,
remembering that voice, because she hadn't spoken much.
But he clearly remembered the timbre of her voice. He
remembered her lips, dark and soft and lush. He
remembered her hands, slim and white as they served him
food. He remembered her eyes, locking onto his...
something no girl had ever done before.
It had made him feel like shouting at the moon.
He STILL felt like shouting, but he knew his father
would yell at him if he did that. Not, perhaps because
he was making noise in the dark, but because of why he
made that noise. You couldn't just let loose with a
howl and then not be able to explain what it was all
about. Not only had her eyes stayed on his... they had
stayed on his after catching him looking where a boy
wasn't supposed to look at a woman.
He knew that because just a few months back his father
had caught him looking at his mother one night, while
she was in her nightgown. She had been standing in
front of the fire place, pulling his father up out of
his chair to take him to bed. The gown was thin, and
the fire bright, and Peter Collins had been given his
first view of what a woman's body looked like under all
that clothing women wore.
Somehow his father had known what he was looking at,
and had stood in front of his wife, staring down at his
son. "Don't be looking at a woman like that." he had
said gruffly. Then his mother had wanted to know what
was going on. Peter had been ashamed. He knew women
were supposed to be respected, but he couldn't tell his
eyes not to see.
It had been a very uncomfortable moment until his
mother realized what had happened and pushed her
husband toward the bedroom. Then she came back and,
standing with the fire to her back again, she leaned
down to kiss Peter on the top of his head.
"You're normal," she whispered to him. "And I'm the
only girl around, so don't let your father make you
feel bad." she added, smiling at him. "We need to solve
that little problem pretty soon I imagine. We'll just
have to find you a girl you CAN stare at."
She had gone off to bed then, and Peter had been
further ashamed to find that his penis was stiff.
Now, almost as if his mother was some kind of
prophetess, he had stumbled upon a girl. He wondered
what she'd look like standing in front of a fire in a
thin gown. Then he was glad it was dark, because he
would never have been able to either explain to his
father or live down what was happening in his pants.
CHAPTER FOUR
Molly woke, shivering.
There was a horse blanket draped over her upper torso,
which helped, but her legs were cold and her feet
leaden. The fire had died down, and the two logs
smoked, above red embers. She levered herself up on one
elbow and looked around. The boy was right beside her,
covered with another horse blanket. She was between him
and the fire. "He must be freezing," she thought, but
his breath came softly and steadily from under his hat.
She reached out and threw several sticks of wood on the
embers, piling them up. They started smoking
immediately and burst into flames as she lay back down
and pulled the blanket up to her chin.
She lay there, uncomfortable. She should have emptied
her bladder, but she'd been too stubborn to go off in
the dark. Groaning she sat back up. When she got to her
feet she stumbled. She couldn't feel anything in them
as her boots scraped across the ground. The boy moved,
rolling toward the fire a little, but didn't seem to
wake.
She only went ten feet, and felt the cold air on her
pale buttocks as she dropped her jeans to squat,
leaning back on a rock. Her urine splashed and hissed
so loudly she was sure the boy would wake up, but he
didn't move. She sighed as the pressure vanished inside
her. She was so cold she didn't want to wait for things
to drip dry and she stood, quickly pulling her pants
back up. She wrapped her horse blanket around her
shoulders and walked around a little until she could
feel her feet again. Then she sat with her boots close
to the fire, until she saw the soles smoking. She put
more wood on the blaze and felt welcome heat bathe her.
What was she doing out here in the wilderness, alone
with this strange boy? Her thoughts went to Sarah. Was
she freezing too? She looked up at the stars. The moon
was setting. What time of the month was it? How long
was it until dawn? She looked at Bobby again. He could
have taken his sheep and just gone home. Why did he
care what had happened to her daughter? He obviously
did, though, and was going to some lengths to help her.
Would she have done that if his sister was missing? Did
he even have a sister?
Eventually Molly lay back down. This time she lay on
the outside, so the boy could get some heat. She lay
down close to him, and could feel his body heat. She
draped her blanket over their legs and feet and then
lifted his blanket, and snuggled in close to him,
pressing her breasts against his back. It felt odd to
be so close to a strange man, but it was warmer.
It was the least she could do for this strange boy who
cared about a girl he'd never met... and for that
girl's mother.
***
It was past midnight when Jonas and his men got back to
the ranch. The three of them made enough noise though
that Frank was up and awake when their weary feet hit
the planks of the back porch and they entered the
house. Frank expected to hear news. What he heard
instead was his father's terse question "Are your
mother and sister back?"
"I thought you went to get them," said Frank, getting
even more anxious.
Jonas was tired, and he knew they were at the end of
their strength for the day. He gave Frank only the
minimal information that it appeared that the
sheepherder's boy and Frank's mother had either found
Sarah, or had followed after her and two of the Rocklin
men.
"We've got to go find them!" cried Frank.
"We're worn out, boy," said his father heavily. "And we
don't even know where to look."
"But that man - the sheep herder - he has to know which
way they went." objected Frank.
"He says he doesn't know, and anyway, we don't need the
help of any sheep-lover to take care of our business."
retorted Jonas.
"But..." started Frank.
"Go back to bed!" ordered his father. "We'll decide
what to do in the morning. Do as I say, boy!"
The men began dragging off their clothing, getting
ready to get the sleep Jonas had just ordered. Frank
went back to his room, but he didn't go back to bed. He
couldn't stand the thought that his sister and mother
were out in the dark somewhere, maybe hurt, and that no
one cared enough to go after them.
It was a typical reaction in a fifteen year old boy who
felt like the adults around him didn't appreciate his
skills and talents. He had no idea what the men had
gone through already that day, or the details of what
they'd found. It was fixed in his mind that the
sheepherder knew where to find his missing relatives,
and he intended to get that information out of the man,
one way or the other. And if he could help, then it was
foolish not to accept that help.
He dressed quietly, and then waited until he was sure
the others were asleep. Knowing the floor boards would
squeak, he climbed out the window of his room. Then,
saddling his horse, and with his cherished pearl
handled revolvers strapped on, he walked the horse far
enough away from the house that he could mount and ride
without making noise that would wake anyone. He was
sure he could find the old Johansen place in the dark.
***
Sarah woke again. This time, while the pain in her
wrists and shoulders was just as bad, her head felt a
little clearer. She realized she didn't smell the
burlap bag any more, and opened her eyes.
It was dark, and cold. A small fire flickered ten or so
feet away. She was lying on her side, with her hands
bound in front of her. She tried to move and couldn't
stifle a groan of pain. Her whole body hurt.
"Oh, little miss cow girl is awake, is she?" came
Buford's voice.
Sarah turned her head to see Buford bent over, pulling
things out of her saddle bags.
She tried to speak, but her throat was so dry she
couldn't make words come out. She swallowed and got
some saliva in her mouth.
"Leave that alone," she said weakly, her voice
cracking. "Those are my things."
"You ain't the one giving orders here missy," said
Buford more or less pleasantly. "What's this here?"
He pulled the paper-wrapped package that contained her
new dress out of the leather pouch. Tearing it open he
shook out the dress.
"Now ain't that purty?" he said. "I bet you'd be a lot
better lookin' with this on." He held out the dress
toward her. "Course we're gonna have to get you all
nekkid to put it on you." he leered.
"You're a dead man," Sarah spat.
Buford let his hand fall, and the hem of the dress
puddled on the ground. He looked himself up and down.
"I ain't nowheres near dead." His eyes glinted in the
dim light as he looked at her. "And I'm gonna prove
that to you right soon now. But first I want to see you
in this purty little dress."
"You go to hell," said Sarah.
Buford unbuckled his gun belt and dropped it to the
ground. Then he walked over to her, dragging her new
dress in the dirt. He casually leaned over and slapped
her face hard enough that her head bounced off the
ground. His handprint would remain on her face for over
a week. Sarah cried out and rolled. His foot came down
on her stomach hard, pinning her on her back. He
reached out and grasped her brother's old shirt,
pulling, and the old, worn cloth ripped easily in his
hands. Sarah tried to fend him off with her hands, but
she had been tied over the rump of a horse, with her
wrists roped to her ankles. Her shoulders wouldn't work
right and she cried out at the pain.
Buford pulled a knife from a sheath on his belt and
pressed the tip right between her now-naked breasts.
"You fight me and I'll carve you up like a turkey on
Thanksgiving." he snarled. "You're gonna put this here
dress on." He dragged the tip of the knife down off her
ribcage, to her belly, until the blade went between her
wrists and came in contact with the rope still binding
them. He gave a savage flick and the rope parted. The
tip of the knife was too dull to penetrate her skin,
but the cutting edge was razor sharp.
Sarah's arms fell limply to her sides as her shoulders
refused to support them. She lay, her naked breasts
heaving, pale in the dim light of the small fire.
Chaps appeared in the dark. "What are you doin' Buford.
We're in enough trouble already. Don't you go hurting
that girl."
Buford didn't turn his head, but it was obvious his
words were for Chaps.
"You just shut your yap. I told you I'm gonna get me
some pussy. If you had a brain in your head you'd be
standing in line."
"It ain't right Buford," whined Chaps.
Now Buford did stand and turn to face Chaps. The knife
glinted in his hand.
"You get in my way Chaps and I'll gut you. You hear me?
If you got no stomach for prime pussy, you just go off
and jerk yourself off or something. But don't mess with
me Chaps, or I'll kill you dead."
Chaps held up his hands, trying to sooth the angry man,
and took a step back. He didn't feel like turning his
back on Buford just then, and stood quietly.
Buford turned back around to Sarah, who had been trying
to get her arms to work. Her vision was fuzzy. The pain
was still severe, but she could move her lower arms a
little. She'd managed to get her numb hands up to cover
her breasts. Buford leaned down and grabbed a tender
wrist, pulling her to a sitting position. Her shoulder
shrieked at her. Her head swam, and she almost fainted,
her upper body lolling back and twisting as it tried to
fall back to the ground.
With a muttered curse Buford let her go and knelt
beside her limp body. His knife made short work of the
jeans she was wearing as the cut them off in strips and
pulled them away from her body. He ripped at her shirt
again too, cutting off her what she wasn't lying on.
He stood back up and gazed at her youthful nakedness.
He kicked her ankles apart and stared at the fluff of
hair that stuck up into the dim light.
"I changed my mind," he growled, kicking her new dress
to one side. "I don't care about the dress any more."
He worked at his own jeans, pushing them down to reveal
his erect phallus. He stroked it a couple of times and
stepped between her legs without taking his pants off.
He got to all fours and, supporting himself with one
arm, reached to hold his stiff dick and nose it into
the dark area that he knew contained the opening he
sought.
Sarah moaned and raised her hands again, only to have
them slapped away by the hand that had been down by her
crotch. She felt pressure in a place she had never felt
pressure before.
"I'm gonna like this," leered Buford. "I can tell
already."
He was enjoying the feel of being at her portals, and
began to push. She was dry, and he couldn't force
himself in her. He rearranged his knees to try lunging.
Suddenly there was a soft hissing noise and a thump,
followed by a gasp from Chaps.
Buford paused to turn his head. Chaps was standing
there, eyes wide, an arrow magically sprouting from
dead in the middle of his chest. With a sigh, Chaps
collapsed in a boneless heap beside the fire.
Buford reacted instantly. Forgetting the girl, he
rolled sideways into the dark, pulling at his pants to
get them back up. He lost the knife in the process, but
didn't care. He'd taken off his gun belt so he cold get
his pants down, and so the girl couldn't try to grab
for a gun, and it was lying on the ground not far from
the fire. Seeing the girl's dress, he dashed into the
light, snatching up the dress and throwing it on top of
the fire to blank out the light. He kept running,
leaning over to grab at his gun belt. He pulled at the
pistol frantically while he ran toward the horses. He
saw the horses, and a figure standing between them, a
hand on each bridle. Part of his brain cursed the
animals for not having given them any warning about
strangers being about.
Buford brought his pistol up and pulled the trigger.
The pistol wasn't cocked and he swore as his thumb
scrabbled at it. The muzzle flash as he fired lit up
the Indian that was guarding the horses, and he saw the
man jerk and fall backward. The horses bolted, one to
each side, but Buford had expected that, and he veered
left. He didn't know which horse he was going for, but
he didn't care. Grabbing the reins, he pulled the
horse, running until he was away from where he had
shot.
The horses had been on the high side of the little
meadow they'd stopped in, and he ran upward. He'd left
the horses saddled on purpose, something that wasn't
good for them, but he was nervous about pursuit, even
though he didn't admit it to Chaps. Now he was glad he
hadn't pulled the saddles off of them. When he thought
it was safe, he vaulted up onto the horse. He could
tell by the saddle that it was Chaps' horse, but then
Chaps didn't need it any more... did he?
He rode hard into the dark, hoping the horse wouldn't
stumble.
***
Water Man, as he was called by his tribe, walked into
the light of the fire. Sees Long Distance followed, his
bow still in his hand. He had fired the arrow that had
killed one of the two men abusing the woman. Both had
heard the other man shoot, and the sounds of a horse
being taken from where Little Pine should have been
guarding them.
Water Man looked around. He paid no attention to the
naked white woman. She was no threat. He hoped, against
hope, that Little Pine would walk into the light. If
Little Pine had been killed, there would be trouble in
the tribe. The old ways were dying out, and when Water
Man wanted to take the two young men on a vision quest,
the elders had argued. But both young men had been
eager to prove themselves, and a vision quest was the
only way to do that any more. In the past there could
be honor gained in honest battle, but the white eyes
had ruined all that. Now if natural enemies fought, the
white man would come and kill indiscriminately. Often
they killed women, and the young. Most white men had no
honor.
Just as these two men had no honor.
No civilized person treated a woman like this. Water
Man and the two young braves, flitting through the
trees, had watched the men for a whole day. Little Pine
had been careless, and should have been seen, but the
two white men had been oblivious. The men treated this
woman badly, never feeding her, or giving her water.
They tied her to a horse like baggage, instead of
letting her sit. Why didn't they just make her walk?
Why must they cause her such pain? Then, when it became
clear that the men intended rape, Sees Long Distance
couldn't take it any more. He had not asked if he could
attack. He had simply pulled an arrow from his quiver,
knocked it and let fly in a moment of passion.
Water Man frowned. Had he known what Sees Long Distance
was going to do he would have been ready to take care
of the other one. Now, perhaps, Little Pine was dead,
and the elders would be very unhappy. He walked toward
where he was afraid he would find Little Pine's body.
Little pine's body was there, but it was not dead. He
sat, holding one hand to his head. His face was stained
dark, and Water Man knew that must be blood. Silently
he pulled Little Pine's hand away and saw a shallow
crease on the side of his head, where the bullet had
skimmed the skin. Water Man heaved a sigh of relief.
"He was just there!" complained Little Pine. "The horse
blocked my vision."
"Just as the horse blocked his shot?" chided Water Man.
He pulled the young man to his feet and back into the
light. Sees Long Distance was standing over the white
woman. No, she was only a girl. Water Man could see
that now. Still, he knew what was going through Sees
Long Distance's mind.
"I think our quest is over," said Water Man.
Sees Long Distance turned his head. "She is mine. I
claim her as my right of conquest."
"What do you want her for?" asked Water Man. "She is
skinny and white. She will only be trouble."
"I have no woman yet," said Sees Long Distance simply.
"It is tradition to keep women taken in battle."
"The white eyes do not let us do that any longer," said
Water Man, unhappy that he had to say so.
"She is mine," said Sees Long Distance stubbornly.
"Then you are responsible for her," said Water man with
a sigh. This would cause trouble too, but maybe, given
the chance to think about it, Sees Long Distance would
realize that and let the girl go.
Little Pine was unhappy. He had been shamed by the
white man, and now Sees Long Distance was able to claim
a woman. "The horse is mine then," he said. "I claim
the horse."
Water Man looked up at the dark sky, sighing. Young men
were so impetuous.
"The white men brand their horses," he said. "If you
are found with a branded horse, they will think you
stole it."
"Then I will eat the horse, and the brand will be no
more," said Little Pine, just as stubbornly as his
young friend.
"I need the horse for my woman," said Sees Long
Distance.
"What do you have to trade?" asked Little Pine.
Water Man groaned as the two young men argued. He stood
over the girl and examined her. She was indeed skinny,
in his opinion, but her milk bags were large and firm,
and would serve little ones well.
She looked dead to him, so pale was her skin, but he
saw she breathed. He felt his own loins tingle as he
looked at the impossibly light colored hair that rimmed
her sex. Feeling his own reaction to the naked white
girl Water Man sighed again. Yes, she would cause
trouble.
He listened as Little Pine demanded to be allowed to
lie with the woman in exchange for letting her use the
horse. Sees Long Distance finally had to agree. It
would tire his mount too quickly if he had to ride
double. Then they haggled over how many times Little
Pine would be allowed to mate with the girl. Sees Long
Distance insisted that he must be the first to get her
with child. Finally they came to an agreement that Sees
Long Distance would have her for one moon, and then
Little Pine could mate with her.
The girl had covered her milk bags again, and she
looked up at him from the ground through half closed
eyes that glittering in the firelight. He offered her
his hand, but she lay limply and licked her lips.
Little Pine went to get his new horse, while Sees Long
Distance came to them. The girl's eyes opened wider now
and she spoke the white man's language. Water man knew
a little of that talk, but ignored her. They needed to
be moving. Someone might have heard the shot the other
man fired.
Little Pine bent down and got the shivering and
obviously frightened girl to her feet. She was
babbling, about being taken home. Two of them couldn't
understand her. The other didn't want to talk. Water
Man went through the saddle bags on the Little Pine's
new horse but found nothing for her to wear. He cut the
strap holding the saddle onto the horse and tipped the
saddle to the ground. He took the blanket and threw it
at the girl, who wrapped it around her, still babbling.
She would just have to be tough as they rode to get
away from here. He was tired of young people making
trouble, and just wanted to get back home. Maybe the
old ways weren't so great after all.
When she was finally up on Little Pine's new horse,
which required entirely too much help in Water Man's
opinion, she lay forward, letting the blanket cover her
to her thighs. Water Man looked around and did one
other thing. He pulled Sees Long Distance's arrow out
of the dead man and, using the man's own pistol, shot
him right where the arrow wound was. The girl screamed.
Let the white eyes think one of their own had done
this.
***
Sarah didn't know what was going on. It was dark, and
she was naked and cold. The horse blanket the Indian
man had given her helped, but she was still cold. She
had to hold it on with one hand, and try to stay on the
horse with the other. They had cut the saddle off the
horse. Why had they done that? It didn't make any
sense. She couldn't run, because one of the Indian boys
had hold of the reins. She knew she didn't have the
strength to hold on even if she managed to get the
reins free and kick the horse into a run. Then they led
her to a place where there were more horses... Indian
ponies, and trying to get her horse free was moot.
She tried to think. They had saved her, but they
weren't acting all that friendly towards her. Where
were they taking her? What was going to happen next?
Where was Buford? She had seen him run toward the
horses, and heard gunfire. Had the wounded Indian boy
killed him? They hadn't dragged his body back to the
fire.
They didn't understand when she spoke. That much was
clear. But they hadn't hurt her either. And they'd
saved her from Buford. That caused her to think about
the last place Buford had touched her. There hadn't
been any pain to speak of. She'd heard there was always
pain the first time. She didn't know if he'd actually
raped her or not. She had nothing to gauge by. There
had been that pressure digging into her softness, but
that was all.
Sarah suddenly realized that the area of her body she
was thinking about was trying to talk to her. As the
horse walked under her, her bare sex pressed against
the rough hair on its neck. She rode bareback a lot,
and while she had felt twinges of delight down there as
she did so, they had never been more than that -
twinges.
She had never been on a horse naked, of course, and
that, in itself, was strange enough. But the feelings
coming from down there were distinctly more than just
twinges. She was amazed to find that it felt GOOD to
feel that coarse hair pushing against her. She shook
her head. She didn't WANT to feel good down there. Not
right now! She was cold and miserable and still
kidnapped, as far as she knew. She had no business
feeling good.
But she couldn't get away from that delicious feeling
as the horse moved under her. She tried sitting up and
leaning back, the way she usually rode, and that helped
a great deal, but the blanket wasn't big enough to wrap
around her and it was too cold. She had to lean back
down so that the blanket covered more of her.
The rubbing was causing something to happen, and she
felt like there was some kind of pressure building
inside if her that threatened to tear her apart. It was
all coming from right where her sex rubbed the hide of
the horse. She moaned, and the Indian man barked
something at her. It didn't take understanding their
talk to know he wanted her to be quiet.
She couldn't be quiet though. The pressure was building
more and more and she began to help the horse rub at
her. Then she was blinded as she saw spots of light
where there shouldn't be any, and a wave of sweet
pleasure shot through her. She realized that, where her
breasts were pushed against the horse's neck, her
nipples felt pain that wasn't pain and her whole body
seemed to vibrate as the sensations washed through her.
It was indescribable and she thought surely she must be
dying to feel this good while her whole body hurt as
much as it did.
Then it was gone, and she was left panting for air as
she realized she had been holding her breath. She
wasn't dying after all. A few minutes later, as her
breathing neared normal, it all started to happen
again. With horror she suddenly knew that it would keep
happening as long as the horse rubbed her sex.
Sarah tried to fight it. At one point she shoved her
hand between herself and the horse. That helped a
little, but then her hand made the sensations come
again. She sat upright as long as she could stand the
cold, but inevitably she had to lie back down on the
horse.
It happened to her six more times before they stopped.
She had to be helped off the horse, and collapsed onto
the ground, heedless of the rocks that bruised her soft
body.
Water Man looked at the girl on the ground, and then at
the back of the horse. The horse's hair was dark and
wet where she had been sitting. He rubbed the area with
his fingers and sniffed at them. His eyes opened wide
as he realized it was not urine he was smelling.
He laughed out loud. No wonder Little Rabbit, his
number one woman, loved to go riding so much. And no
wonder she yipped and yelled as she did so.
***
Molly woke and found that her arm had gone over the boy
in the night, and she was snuggled close to him. He was
warm, and she didn't want to get up. Still, it was
almost light, and she didn't want him to wake and find
her like this. It would be embarrassing.
She rolled away from him, and out from under the horse
blankets. She felt amazingly good once she got some
blood into her toes and could feel them again. She
hadn't slept on the ground in years and years and
though she felt the pains of doing so, she felt more
alive than she had in a long time.
The boy rolled and reached to lift his hat onto his
head as he sat up, blinking and looking around. He
looked up at her and his eyes swept down her body.
Molly couldn't help but feel the thrill of being looked
at and appreciated.
"Get up lazy bones," she said tartly. "I've been up for
hours."
"No you haven't," he grumbled. "Until about a minute
ago you were the only warm thing within a hundred
miles."
Molly flushed as she realized he knew she has been
pressed hard against him. Her... a married woman... old
enough to be his mother. She remembered the way he'd
looked at her. He didn't look at her like any boy that
age looked at his mother. She blushed harder and turned
away to pick up sticks to put on the fire. Then she
realized they didn't have anything to cook. Her stomach
growled at that thought and she threw the sticks on the
ground. When she turned around the boy was standing
with his back to her. He had gone more or less behind a
scraggly bush, but it was obvious what he was doing,
looking down, with both of his hands at his crotch. She
could hear the splash of his urine on the ground.
He tucked in and turned around. "Sorry, Ma'am," he
said. "Sometimes in the morning... I mean sometimes a
man..." he looked flustered.
"I'm married," she smiled. "I know exactly what happens
to a man in the morning. Thank you for not making it
obvious to me."
Bobby couldn't tell if she was kidding him or not. He
was still mostly hard, even though he'd emptied his
bladder. Having her soft warm body pressed against his
hadn't helped any. He realized she was staring at the
front of his pants and he hoped he had buttoned
completely up. He looked down and almost groaned as he
saw the large lump in the front of his pants that his
mostly hard penis was causing. He felt like he should
cover it up, but all that would do is bring more
attention to it. He turned away instead.
"Nothing to eat," he said. "May as well get on with it,
Ma'am."
"Would you do me a favor?" she asked him.
He turned and automatically said, "Sure."
"Would you stop calling me ma'am? It makes me feel like
I'm old... like a crone."
Bobby's eyebrows rose, lifting his unruly hair. "No
offense, Ma'am... uh... sorry..." Doing what she had
just asked him not to do flustered him and he spoke
again without thinking. "I don't know how old you are,
but there's no way in the world any man would think you
were a crone."
He stared at her, waiting for her to yell at him, or
throw something. What was he thinking? He WASN'T
thinking. That was the problem.
But she didn't yell. She looked startled and then a
ghost of a smile came over her face. "Why thank you,
Sir," she said.
Ten minutes later they were saddled up and on their
way. Bobby knew where he had seen the fire the night
before, and he abandoned tracking, hoping it had been
this woman's daughter and the Rocklin men. If it wasn't
he'd look like a fool, and they'd lose a lot of time
backtracking and picking up the trail again. But they
could move much faster and make up a lot of time if he
didn't have to watch the ground, so he took the chance.
It speeded them up so much that the sun was only two
hours high when they came upon Chaps' body. It was
lying on its back, as if the man had lain down, arms
spread and fallen asleep. But his face was pale and
stiff, waxy, and Bobby knew before he got off his horse
that the man was dead.
"Is that one of your men?" asked Molly.
"Yes, Ma'am," he said automatically. He turned to find
her looking at him, her eyes narrowed. "Sorry. What
should I call you? Mrs. Collins?"
Molly's eyes left his and swept the campsite. "No, that
makes me feel old too. Just call me Molly while we're
out here. What happened here?" she asked.
Bobby didn't jump to any conclusions. He stalked
around, noting moccasin tracks and running boot prints.
He found Sarah's half burned dress in the ashes of the
fire and held it up.
"Your daughter's?" he asked, with a sinking feeling in
the pit of his stomach.
"I've never seen that one," said Molly. "She was on a
ride to pick up a new dress when she didn't come back.
I expect that's the dress."
"Do you think she was wearing it?" asked Bobby. He bit
his lip as he realized how callous that sounded. "I
mean would she wear it home?" He didn't look at her.
"I don't think so," said Molly evenly. "It was for a
dance coming up. Knowing Sarah she'd have wanted to
wait. I have a hard enough time getting her to wear a
dress in the first place. I expect that was in her
saddle bags. Those, lying there are her saddle bags."
She pointed to the empty bags lying on the ground
nearby.
She was silent for a moment while Bobby looked around.
Then: "She was wearing that when she left."
Bobby turned to find Molly stepping down and going to a
pile of rags that, upon inspection, revealed themselves
to have been a shirt and jeans. It was obvious they had
been ripped and cut. Bobby's eyes went to an amazingly
clear print of two buttocks in the dirt, with equally
amazingly clear knee prints positioned where it was
obvious to him that the girl had been raped right there
on the ground. He felt the urge to throw up, but
coughed and swallowed the urge away. His eyes slid
sideways to look at Molly. She was staring at the same
thing, her face pale.
"Don't look," he said.
"Is there blood?" she asked.
He didn't understand at first and looked at her
questioningly.
"Is there blood... there?" She was pointing at the
imprint of her daughter's buttocks. "A woman bleeds...
the first time."
He stared. She thought he was still confused.
"My daughter was a virgin." She shook her head. "My
daughter IS a virgin," she insisted.
Bobby was amazed at how this woman's mind could work so
well under these circumstances. She was tougher than
he'd imagined. He bent over and ran his fingers through
the dust, blushing at their proximity to where the
girl's... sex... had been. But the dust was dry.
"No, Ma'am," he said. "I mean Molly." he corrected
himself.
He looked further afield and saw something glinting. He
went to it and found the knife that he knew Buford
carried.
"This belongs to Buford," he said, picking it up. "He
works for us. He and Chaps... that man..." he inclined
his head toward the body, "were with the flock."
"Maybe that man tried to stop him," suggested Molly,
also inclining her head toward the dead man, "and they
fought. Maybe he ran away."
"If that's so, where is your daughter?" asked Bobby.
"Wait... I forgot! There were Indians here."
"What?" asked Molly, staring at him.
He pointed at the moccasin tracks. "See there? Moccasin
tracks. At least two sets. A man and a boy I'd say." He
went to Chaps and bent over, pulling the man's shirt
apart. There were two holes, the edges touching. One,
the smaller, more of a puncture wound than a hole, had
blood all around it. The other was clean and round,
with dark edges.
"I'd say he was killed with an arrow, and then shot,"
he said.
"How in the world could you know that?" asked Molly.
"Come here," he said. "See there? The arrow pushed the
skin aside as it penetrated, and it bled out around the
arrow. When it was pulled out the skin almost closed
back up. This other one? That's a bullet wound. See the
dark edges? That's lead from the bullet. It punched the
skin into the body, so the hole is clean. And there's
no blood around it. He was already dead when that was
done."
"You're an amazing young man," said Molly, impressed at
his logic. She looked down on one of the men who had
taken her daughter. There was no pity in her eyes. Then
she looked at Bobby. "I don't even know your name," she
said.
"Bobby. Bobby Rocklin," he said.
"So, Bobby Rocklin, where is your other man... and
where is my daughter?"
Bobby's mind got caught for a few seconds on her
characterization as Buford being "his" man. The men who
worked for the Rocklins were his father's men... not
his. But this woman treated him like he was an adult...
like he could be the boss. It was an odd feeling...
being treated like an adult by a woman... that made his
chest tight.
He looked around, and then followed the running boot
prints to where two horses had stood. He saw blood on
the ground, and the imprint of an elbow and moccasin
prints. Either Buford had shot an Indian trying to
steal the horses, or the Indian had wounded Buford.
There was no body, and if they'd have killed Buford his
body should be there. If Buford killed the Indian, the
others might have taken his body. He saw boot prints
leading a horse away and that confirmed that Buford had
gotten loose somehow and gotten away with a horse. The
other horse had been walked back toward the camp. He
followed that trail and saw moccasin tracks deeper than
the weight of a man would cause, beside prints of a
standing horse.
"I think the Indians surprised them," he said. "Chaps
fell right there beside where maybe Buford was... "
Bobby didn't want to say what he thought Buford was
doing to the girl. "beside where her clothes are.
Buford got away and killed or injured one of the
Indians. But they got Chaps' horse... or one of the
horses anyway. They lifted something heavy up onto it
right here. The only thing I can think that would be
was either one of their men that Buford killed... or
your daughter."
"Indians have my daughter?" moaned Molly. "What does
that mean? Will they hurt her?"
Bobby thought back to one time when he had accompanied
his father on a trading trip, to trade wool thread and
sheep skins for elk hides and blankets. While he had
been standing around two teenaged Indians, a little
older than he, had run laughing past him. The boy had
caught the girl and tackled her, pulling her buckskin
dress up to reveal naked thighs. Then he had gotten
between those naked thighs and began having sex with
the girl. She had beaten at him, but had been laughing
too, and obviously wasn't upset at what he was doing.
Before long her arms were around him and she was
lifting her hips to meet his. An old woman had come
storming out of a wigwam with a switch and begun
beating the boy and the girl's legs. She had shouted at
them, and they jumped up to run off in another
direction, still laughing.
"I don't know," he said thoughtfully. "I don't think
so. But their ways are different than ours. Maybe she
was hurt and can't walk or something. Maybe they're
just trying to help her."
"What about that?" asked Molly pointing to where what
was clear were her daughter's buttocks prints in the
dirt.
"I don't think that was Indians," said Bobby. "If she
was healthy and they took her, they might make her
work, but I don't know about... the other." Bobby had
grown up hearing stories about Indians and how they
stole women and children in raids.
"We've got to catch up with them and get her back,"
said Molly fiercely. "Can you follow them?"
"They took a horse with shoes. That should make it
easier," he said. They went in ever widening circles
around the camp, expanding the search away from the
clearing. Bobby didn't think they'd have chased Buford,
who had gone uphill, toward the high meadows.
It was Molly who found where the Indian horses had been
kept. She had watched what Bobby did while tracking and
noticed that the grass had been grazed and flattened in
one area. She called Bobby over and he agreed. It
wasn't long before they found the tracks of the horse
Sarah must have been put on. There were tracks of
unshod horses too, though it was hard to tell how many
horses the Indians rode.
Bobby felt bad about leaving Chaps unburied, but they
were in a hurry. He stopped long enough to break two
tree branches, aiming them in the direction the
Indian's tracks went, but didn't take the time to leave
a better sign.
They followed, and the sun was sinking toward the
horizon, and Molly's stomach was grumbling constantly
when Bobby stopped and shielded his eyes from the
setting sun.
"Smoke," He pointed. Far in the distance they could see
the tops of conical wigwams in a clearing by the river.
The tracks led straight there.
CHAPTER FIVE
Frank rode into the old Johansen ranch yard when the
sun wasn't quite at the noon position. The place was
deserted. Based on what his father had said, he figured
they had gone to find their sheep. He knew roughly
where they had last been, also compliments of his
father's sparse comments from the night before, and
headed that way at a canter.
His horse was still in good shape. He hadn't rushed,
knowing he'd need a lot more out of the animal before
he was done. He was amazed at the width of the trail
once he found it. Cattle followed each other, mostly,
when they moved naturally, making relatively narrow
trails. But this was as wide as he could see. He
frowned at the grass, so short that the sun would burn
it if it didn't rain soon.
He set his horse in the direction the sheep had gone,
and found the flock three hours later. There were
dirty-white animals everywhere.
He was greeted by a dog, who ran around him in circles
barking. His horse didn't much care for that and
danced, almost unseating him. Running his horse didn't
help. The dog was able to keep up easily, though it
left off barking mostly. He saw people and horses up
ahead, and a wagon that looked something like a
Conestoga, but shorter and lower to the ground. He rode
up fast, and skidded the horse to a stop, raising dust.
"I'm Frank Collins," he announced. "I'm here to find my
sister and my mother. Do any of you know where I could
do that?"
A woman was standing on the front of the wagon, holding
the reins to a team of horses pulling the wagon. She
had on a bonnet, but her flaming red hair spilled out
of that onto her shoulders. The dog had set to barking
again. He realized now it was just an adolescent, just
grown out of its puppy stage.
The woman shouted at the dog. "Hush now, Zeke." The dog
continued to bark. "Enid!" she yelled. "Shut that dog
up!"
A girl came around the wagon and jumped over the traces
like they weren't even there. She was dressed in
buckskin, like an Indian. Her hair was red, though not
so red as the woman's, and it was done up in pigtails,
while the woman's was pulled back in a bonnet. She
tried to catch the dog, but it ran from her, thinking
they were playing a game. The girl suddenly wilted to
the ground, as if she were, without reason,
unconscious. The dog immediately ran to her, sniffing
at her face. She grabbed the dog in a lightning move
and closed her fingers over its muzzle as it wiggled.
"Gotcha!" she said triumphantly. "You're so stupid,"
she said to the dog, cuddling it, her actions giving
lie to the sound of her voice. She obviously loved this
dog, even though she called it stupid. It subsided and
went limp as she scratched its belly, splaying its legs
open and showing it was a male.
The woman spoke. "Do all the Collins men ride around
like chickens with their heads cut off?"
Frank had tried to impress these sheep farmers with his
riding skill and the control he had over his horse. But
the woman didn't seem all that impressed. He didn't
know what to say. He fell back on his original
statement. "I need to find my mother and sister." he
repeated.
"I had hoped she was already home by now," said the
woman.
"No, Ma'am," he said automatically. It rankled him to
show respect to sheep people, but respect for others
had been hammered into him, oddly enough, by his
father.
"Then I expect they're up ahead," said the woman. My
husband says there are horse tracks up the trail,
heading higher. He says there are five sets, one of
which belongs to our son's horse. It appears he is
following your sister too, and has someone with him."
She looked at Frank and he felt like he was being
inspected. Then she went on.
"That might be your mother with my son. If she was
looking for your sister they may have met up and are
traveling together."
Frank blinked. His mother, traveling with a sheep
herder's boy? That didn't make any sense at all.
"I'd like to see these tracks you speak of," he said,
for lack of anything else to say.
"I'll take him up to Papa," said the girl, dumping the
puppy on the ground and letting him scamper off.
The woman looked at the girl, and then at Frank. She
took a deep breath, which made her breasts push at her
shirt in the most distracting manner, at least to
Frank's way of thinking.
"All right, Enid," she said, though it looked like she
meant to say much more.
Frank looked at the girl, who now had a name. Enid.
What a strange name. She smiled at him.
"Come on, Mister Cowboy." She took off at a run, and
Frank was startled. Not only did she not ride a horse,
she ran like the wind. He had a sudden image of her as
an Indian girl, running across the plains. He kicked
his horse with his heels and the startled animal
jumped, almost unseating him again before he got his
seat firm again. He flushed, knowing that the woman had
seen that, and blamed it on being tired. He caught up
to the girl in only a few handfuls of seconds, but she
only ran harder, jumping over rocks and darting between
stands of brush that Frank had to ride around. He was
astonished at how much ground she covered with those
two puny legs.
Feeling slightly foolish, Frank let the horse drop to a
quick walk, not quite a canter. Now they were going
through what looked like a hallway between sheep on
both sides of them. The sheep bleated and scurried out
of the way. The puppy caught up to them and ran with
the girl, barking happily and darting this way and that
into the flock.
Enid looked over her shoulder at the puppy and stopped
just as her foot contacted a rock she hadn't seen
because she was looking over her shoulder. She pitched
forward and ducked her head, rolling onto one shoulder
into a somersault and bouncing up into the air,
laughing. Then, as if nothing at all had happened, she
dashed toward the puppy and scooped him up in her arms.
"Bad dog!" she growled at the wriggling dog, panting.
"You don't know a damn thing about what you're doing."
She looked up at Frank, who sat his horse with his
mouth open. "He's a pup and he doesn't know anything
yet," she said, as if that made any sense to him at
all. "Come on," she said. Then she turned and, carrying
the struggling hound, took off at a run again.
The sheep had closed in around them in the brief
interlude, and Frank didn't know what to do. He was
afraid his horse would step on one of the animals. But
as he nudged his mount forward, the sheep bleated and
jumped to the side, making a path that opened magically
for him. Cows sure didn't act like this. His horse
would have been shouldering cattle out of the way
unless he yipped and swung his hat, or a rolled up
lariat at them. The girl was almost a hundred yards
ahead of him, still running hard, and he urged his
horse faster.
Enid ran around a corner and saw her father up ahead.
He was mounted, and leading Betty, the senior ewe in
the flock. The rest of the sheep followed her. She saw
Queen off to one side, bunching the flock toward the
leader and preventing them from stopping to graze. She
hazarded a glance over her shoulder and saw the boy
coming around the corner.
She wanted to look at him longer, but didn't want to
fall again. That had embarrassed her, and she didn't
want to look foolish to this boy. That thought exploded
in her mind. She'd never cared about what some boy
thought of her in the past. Especially a cowboy! But
when she'd seen this boy her stomach had felt all
fluttery, and her mouth had gone dry. She'd felt like a
little girl standing in front of a man years older,
even though he was obviously about her own age. He had
sounded so stern... so serious... so... manly.
She saw her father look over at her and knew he'd be
wondering why she was running so hard. But she also
knew that he could see the mounted cowboy behind her.
It never occurred to her that he might suspect she was
being chased.
Brad did, indeed, suspect that something was wrong. He
saw Enid running like her life depended on it, holding
a struggling Zeke in her arms, and then a mounted
stranger burst into sight behind her. Brad's Winchester
was out of its scabbard and into his hands, one hand
working the lever automatically, and he started to
bring the rifle up to his shoulder. Just then his horse
decided to circle as Betty caught up to him and
stopped. The sheep following her wandered forward,
beginning to graze and surrounding his horse.
"Noooo!" He heard Enid's faint yell above the bleating
of the flock. By the time he got back around and could
draw a bead on the man chasing his daughter, she was
within shouting distance.
"Don't shoot, Daddy!" she yelled. "He's looking for
that woman."
Enid ran up to her father and dropped Zeke, who ran
full tilt toward his mother. Queen ignored everything
except her job of keeping the sheep bunched up and
moving.
"He's... one of... those... Collins... people," Enid
panted, holding onto her father's stirrup to steady
herself. She dragged in huge lungfuls of air, trying to
get her breath.
"What's he doing chasing you?" asked Brad.
"He's... not... chasing me," she gasped. "He's...
following... me. Mamma sent him... up here."
Brad looked at the boy on the horse, and lowered his
rifle, letting it rest across his lap. He had to admit
the boy had sand, as he rode up to Brad and Enid. He
hadn't slowed at all, even though the rifle had been
pointed in his direction. Brad decided to just sit and
see what happened.
Frank had indeed seen the rifle, and the electric
feeling of having a weapon pointed at him had surged
through his body. But as teenagers everywhere feel
invulnerable from harm, he couldn't believe that anyone
would want to hurt him, and he rode on anyway. His mind
ran over what the man had seen, and he understood
immediately what had happened. He'd have done the same
thing. He rode on, stopping a few yards away from the
girl and her father.
"I'm Frank Collins," he said. His prepared speech
jumped into his mouth without him thinking about it.
"I'm looking for my mother."
Brad was astonished to find that he immediately liked
this boy. He couldn't be a day over fifteen, but he
rode and acted like a man. He seemed serious beyond his
years.
"There appears to be a lot of people looking for your
mother," said Brad.
Frank was still hopped up from the adrenaline running
through his veins from realizing he was in danger.
"Your... wife... she said there were tracks," he said.
The man looked off to one side and whistled. Another
dog, a bigger one, and the same puppy that the woman
had called Zeke came running over.
Brad got down off his horse.
"Queen" he called. The larger dog ran up to him, tail
wagging. "Hold!" Brad commanded. The dog turned as if
she'd been shot and bounded off, the puppy trailing.
Frank could see that she started circling the part of
the flock that was all around them, as if there were
some race she had suddenly entered. She disappeared
behind a pile of boulders and Frank looked back at the
man, who was standing, looking at him.
"Up ahead," the man said, turning his back on Frank and
walking off to leave his horse standing. The girl
followed her father.
Frank, not knowing what to do exactly, decided to ride,
and he nudged his horse through the sheep that again
surrounded him, and followed the two sheep farmers. As
they left the flock behind, Frank looked over his
shoulder to see the big dog running back and forth,
between them and the flock, keeping the sheep from
following their shepherd. He was amazed that one dog
could control so many sheep.
The man stopped several yards away and looked down at
the ground. Frank stepped down off his horse and let
the reins drop. He knew the horse wouldn't move again
unless he called it or remounted.
Frank saw the tracks easily. He recognized Tulip's
tracks instantly and took a breath. Then he walked up
to the man and bent over to look at the others. They
were on a well defined path that wound its way through
small trees and rocks, some as big as a horse.
The man pointed. "Those are from Bobby's horse - my
son," he said, pointing. "And those over there," he
pointed a few feet to one side, "I believe are from
horses belonging to my men."
Frank could see it now. Now that he was closer he saw
the tracks of the horse named Vixen. Three sets of
tracks were together, to one side. The Circle C horses'
tracks, and those of another horse with winter shoes on
it - this man's son - were together to the left of the
first set.
Frank could see that some of his mother's tracks, and
the tracks of the winter shoes, were on top of the
others occasionally, meaning they had followed. But he
couldn't tell whether they had all been riding together
or not. He got down on his knees and looked at the
right hand set. They didn't look quite as clear as the
others, with grains of dust crumbling from the edges
into the deeper impressions. He saw that one of the
horses was more heavily loaded than the other, but that
might only mean a bigger man rode that horse.
Then he looked at his mother's tracks. They were
cleaner, with less dust in them. Vixen's tracks were
deeper than those of Tulip, which was his mother's
horse.
"My mother was following those two," he said, pointing
to the tracks Brad had identified as his men's tracks.
"Your son was either with her, or she was right behind
him. He based that on the fact that his mother's tracks
sometimes were on top of the winter shoed horse, which
were just as clean and clear.
"I was thinking the same," said Brad. "What I don't
know is why she'd think your sister was with my men."
"See how your son's tracks go mostly beside the
others?" Frank pointed. "And how my mother's seem to
follow his?" Frank pointed to one of Tulip's prints on
top of the one left by a winter shoe. "I think your son
was tracking those two, and she was following him. I
can't tell if she was riding Vixen or Tulip, though. I
think maybe she brought a horse along for my sister to
ride when they found her.
"Then Bobby must think your sister is with my men too,"
said Brad. "He left the flock alone with just the dog,
and he wouldn't have done that unless he thought your
sister was in some kind of danger."
"My sister's horse was shot," said Frank heavily.
Brad knew that already, but didn't say anything. "Well
they're up ahead somewhere," said Brad. "And so are my
men. They shouldn't have left the flock either. I don't
know what's going on here, but I don't like it one
bit." Brad looked at Frank. "Where's your father? You
aren't out here alone are you?"
What Frank wanted to say was that his father was
wasting time back at the ranch, but he didn't want to
air any dirty laundry in front of this sheep farmer. He
also felt the sting of another adult treating him like
a child, but he bit off the retort that sprang to his
mind. "He sent me on ahead to find the trail," he said,
trying to make it sound like he was important.
Brad heard the lie, but couldn't figure out why the boy
would tell it to him. "Well, there's the trail. We
can't follow it as fast as I'd like with the flock
along, but it doesn't look like rain. I figure we'll
catch up with them sooner or later and find out what in
tarnation is going on."
"I'm not waiting," said Frank. "I mean to find out
what's going on and I mean to find out soon," he said
defiantly.
"I'll go with him," said Enid suddenly.
Both men looked at her and she blushed.
"I mean he shouldn't go by himself, right?" she tried.
"You'll do no such thing," her father said, staring at
her.
"I don't need a girl following along," said Frank.
Enid almost cursed, mostly at herself for speaking in
the first place. She had no idea why she'd said that.
What they'd said made her mad, though and she opened
her mouth to yell at them both.
"I said no," her father said firmly. "You have no
business going off into trouble."
"Well, well... how do you know there's trouble anyway?"
said Enid, her face flushing red with anger.
Brad looked at her, amazed. She had always been more
boyish than Beth, and she carried her weight like a
man, but she was just a girl. It should be clear to her
that there might be serious trouble afoot.
"I said no," he said again. You get back and help your
mother. This flock is strung out and we need to keep
them together.
"But his mamma may need help!" insisted Enid, proving
that she did suspect there was trouble after all.
"Am I going to have to tan your hide girl?" asked her
father, getting mad now.
Enid was as stubborn as he was. "Well then... what if
he finds some kind of trouble that we need to know
about? What then Pappa? We could be walking right into
an ambush or something!"
Brad started to shout, but swallowed his words. He
realized suddenly that he had been foolish. He was so
centered on the flock, and getting them to their summer
pasture that he hadn't really thought much about
anything else. He was certainly following his son's
trail, but he had never really thought about anything
being bad wrong, or representing danger to the rest of
his family. While he was just as stubborn as Enid, and
just as unlikely to apologize for making a mistake as
Jonas Collins was, he was also smart enough to
recognize when he hadn't thought things out as well as
he should have too.
"Let's just suppose there is some kind of trouble up
there waiting for us," said Brad as patiently as he
could. "Wouldn't you just walk into it first?" He was
trying to show her that scouting trouble was no job for
a fourteen year old girl, despite her boyish ways.
"Not if we were careful," said Enid immediately. "I
know how to sneak around, and besides, he'd be going
first, and I could just watch him get ambushed and then
come back and tell you about it." Enid nodded towards
an astonished Frank.
"You'd let me get ambushed and do nothing to help?" he
squeaked. That bothered him. His voice hadn't cracked
in a long time. He cleared his throat.
"Well?" she stuck out her chin at him. "You're the one
who said you didn't need any girl along. So I won't BE
along. I'll just watch what happens from behind you.
Then you won't have to worry about a GIRL!"
"Enid, that's crazy," said her father. "I won't have
it."
"Well I think it's a good idea!" she said, now jutting
her chin at her father. "But if you want to let our
neighbor's son get himself shot or whatever, I guess
we'll hear it, so I suppose I don't REALLY need to be
there." She turned around, putting her back to the two
men.
Brad thought about that. Damn! If this boy DID get
hurt, and it turned out he was alone, when there was a
full grown man not far away, it wouldn't look good.
Damn! But he couldn't leave the flock. They were his
livelihood... his whole family's livelihood. It was
hard enough keeping the flock on track with his two
daughters and the dogs. Amanda couldn't do much because
she had to bring along the sheep wagon, which had some
of the lambs in it that were too small to put on the
trail, plus all their supplies for the trip.
Damn!
Brad looked at the boy. "She could just trail along
behind you," he said. "Just so that if somebody jumped
you she could come for help."
Frank scowled. "I told you. I don't need no girl to
protect me."
Brad wanted to smile. Instead he tried logic. "I'm not
worried about you," he said. "I'm worried about what
your Pa would think if he found out you DID get into
trouble, and had turned down a little help."
"My Pa knows I don't need any help from..." Frank's
mouth snapped closed. He had been about to insult a man
who was still holding a rifle.
Brad sighed. "I know how you people feel about sheep.
But that's not really the issue, now is it? You and I
both know that there's something funny going on, and
your mother and my son are involved in it. I can't just
abandon my sheep, but if Enid had you in sight and
something happened to you, she COULD come back and get
help. Now doesn't that make sense to you?"
Had Brad had time to think about it he might have been
amazed at how he had been maneuvered into arguing for
what Enid wanted to do, and which he had started out
discounting as utter nonsense.
Frank looked at the girl. She wasn't smiling. In fact
she wasn't even looking at him. She was bent over a
sheep, pulling a thorn or something out of the fluff
around it's ears.
"I'm gonna have to move fast to catch them," he said,
thinking that would stop this girl.
"I can keep up just fine thank you very much," said
Enid standing up, her hands on her hips.
Frank looked at her. His eyes slid to her chest and he
closed them, wishing he hadn't looked. He didn't want
to feel anything for this girl, but she was awfully
cute. He opened them. "Not on foot you can't," he said
with finality.
"Then I'll get my horse," she said simply.
"You have a horse?!" he asked, incredulous.
"Of COURSE I have a horse," she said, disgusted.
"But you... you.... you RAN to get up here!" he said.
The idea of running on your own two feet when you had a
perfectly good horse available was something he
couldn't get his mind wrapped around.
"I was only going a short ways," she said, her hands on
her hips again. That buckskin shirt showed an awful lot
of freckled chest and Frank looked away again.
"Well I have to be moving on. I can't wait for you to
go get your horse. I'm moving out. Thanks anyway."
He tipped his hat to the girl's father and kicked his
horse with his heels, ready this time as the cow pony
jumped like it had been burned with a branding iron. He
wanted to gallop, but he knew he had to keep his
mother's tracks in view. If he lost those he'd lose
even more time finding them again and the last thing he
wanted was for those sheep people to catch up with him
while he hunted fruitlessly for her trail.
He was therefore greatly surprised when, a very short
time later, he heard hoof beats behind him and looked
over his shoulder to see the girl riding toward him.
She WAS at a gallop, or close to it, and he wanted to
sneer that she was so inexperienced at riding that
she'd hazard her horse on rough ground like this.
Except that it was obvious to his already experienced
eye that she WASN'T an inexperienced rider. She sat her
horse solid as a rock, the animal moving under her as
she took the shocks in her knees. He couldn't help but
watch those fabulous breasts in that tanned leather,
bouncing up and down as she rode toward him. She
looked... good! He groaned. He couldn't feel like that
about a sheepherder.
His eyes stayed on her, though, watching her jiggle as
she trotted up to him.
Enid flushed as she realized where his eyes were. She
could feel her breasts bobbing and bouncing under her
shirt. She had never thought about it much, except that
if she rode too hard for too long sometimes her breasts
hurt from bouncing so much. But no man had ever looked
at them. Not right AT them.
"What are YOU looking at?" she shouted as she brought
her horse to a skidding stop. "You aren't supposed to
be looking at me THERE!" She was outraged.
Frank flushed, embarrassed that he had been caught
staring. "I thought you were supposed to stay behind
me. Back there." He pointed back the way she had come.
"Oh posh!" she said, forgetting she was mad at him.
"There's no danger up there," she said.
"Oh really?" asked Frank, confused now. "Then why did
you want to come?"
"I don't know. I'm tired of sheep I suppose," she said
airily.
Frank hadn't had enough experience with girls to hear
her interest in him as a boy in her voice. For that
matter, Enid probably wasn't aware of why she'd
actually wanted to follow him either.
"Well, you're supposed to be watching me so you can
report trouble to your pa," said Frank.
"So you really don't want to talk to me," said Enid,
anger growing in the pit of her stomach.
Frank DID hear that womanly tone of voice that spelled
trouble. He didn't understand it in this situation, but
he recognized it. "I didn't say that," he said
heatedly. "But that's what your pa said you were
supposed to do."
"You just let me worry about my pa," she said. Her chin
jutted toward him again. "Do you want to talk to me or
not?"
Frank felt nervous all of a sudden. He wasn't equipped
to have this argument, and he didn't like the way this
was going at all. "I want to find my mother," he said.
"That's what I want to do."
Enid felt rejected. She was quite sure nothing at all
was wrong up ahead. She couldn't conceive of anything
really bad happening to her brother, or to a grown
woman. This disturbing boy's sister had had some
accident, or gone off on some wild goose chase, and
there was nothing wrong at all. All Enid could think
about was that he wasn't interested in her at all. That
riled her for some reason.
"Well then, little boy," she said acidly. "You go off
and find your mommy, and I'll tail along and keep an
eye on you."
Frank would have retorted, but she turned her horse
like it was a cutting horse and ran it back down the
trail. Finding that his teeth were grinding against
each other, he decided to ignore this infuriating sheep
girl and do what he had come to do. He turned and began
following the trail again.
***
Bobby decided that they needed to ride into the Indian
camp plainly visible, with no weapons showing. His
family had traded with this tribe before, and had never
had any misunderstanding with them. He was sure he
could collect this woman's daughter and they could
start home, assuming the girl could travel. They had a
spare horse, and should be able to get at least halfway
back to the woman's ranch by nightfall.
The last time Molly had seen an Indian was when she was
eleven, and she had shot at the man. Everyone else had
been shooting at the Indians too, and many people on
both sides of the issue had died that day. The
soldiers, and the Government had brought peace to the
area since then, but that memory bothered Molly and she
wasn't at all sure that riding in like this was a good
idea.
She found herself deferring to this strange boy/man
whom she now realized she actually liked. They'd had
time to do a lot of talking, and her preconceived
notions of what he was going to be like had been eroded
until she realized he was just a nice young man, smart
as a whip, and perfectly capable of taking on the role
of an adult.
Her gut tightened as she saw there were several Indian
men coming to meet them. The men had spears, and one
had a rifle.
Bobby got down off his horse and walked toward them.
Molly didn't want to do the same. She felt fear and
itched to reach for her own rifle. Instead she just sat
and let her horse follow Bobby's. Bobby's horse was
showing all too much interest in Vixen. That big black
animal was magnificent, and Vixen acted like she was
coming in heat. Molly didn't pay any attention to those
things around the ranch. Those were things her husband
was concerned with.
She saw the men look at her. She swallowed. They looked
magnificent too with broad muscular chests and bulging
arms.
"Wah hah no shay," said one of the men to Bobby. Then
he spoke broken English. "You grow much since long time
ago."
Bobby spoke to the man. "Howdy, Man who runs like deer.
It is good to see you again."
The Indian looked at Bobby's horse, and then at Molly's
horse, and then at Molly. She saw approval in his eyes
of her as a woman and flushed.
"You no have wool string?" he addressed Bobby again.
"No, not this time," said Bobby. "We're looking for a
girl, a white girl. She may be hurt."
The Indian was silent for a long time. No one made a
sound.
"Why you think this white girl is with the people?" he
finally asked.
"There was trouble up in the hills," said Bobby. "Bad
men stole this girl and hurt her. It looked to me like
some of your people found her... helped her... brought
her here."
There was more silence.
"Bah-bee," said the man finally. "You have been friend
to the people. What means this woman to you? Is she
your woman?"
Bobby didn't know quite how to respond to that. For
some reason he had the suspicion that the "correct"
answer was "Yes, she is my woman", but he couldn't just
say that... could he? The Indians were waiting. He had
to say something.
"Yes," he said simply. Then he added. "Bad men stole
her from me."
He heard Molly's intake of breath and turned to shoot
her a warning look. She looked outraged, but subsided.
Her fingers were gripping her reins so hard her
knuckles were white.
Man Who Runs Like A Deer stared at Bobby. The two men
with him said nothing. Finally Man Who Runs Like A Deer
spoke. "I was told of these bad men... men who hurt
such a woman."
Molly couldn't control herself any longer. "Where is
she?" she gasped.
The Indian looked up at her, and then at Bobby. "Who is
this woman who has no manners? Did you bring her to
trade?"
Bobby wished he'd paid more attention to Indian customs
when he was here with his father in the past. He had
been agog at looking at strange sights, eating strange
food, smelling strange smells, but hadn't paid any
attention to negotiations much. He did know that, if
you wanted something from the Indians, they demanded
something in trade. Bobby suddenly realized the meaning
of what Man Who Runs Like A Deer had said. He was
suggesting that Bobby owned Molly, and might want to
trade her for something!
"No!" said Bobby forcefully. "She is my woman too. I do
not wish to trade her."
"Bobby!" gasped Molly. He turned around, his face
scowling. "Be quiet woman!" he growled. He winked at
her startled expression and then winked again, pleading
in his face. This wasn't working out at all like he had
planned.
Man Who Runs Like A Deer frowned. "Do you want me to
get you a stick to beat her with?" he offered. "She has
very bad manners."
Bobby felt his stomach sinking. "No... that's all
right, Man Who Runs Like A Deer," he said. He felt one
of his hands tremble. "I haven't had her very long and
I am trying to be patient with her."
The big Indian looked up at Molly, still frowning. Then
he grinned. "She looks to be a strong woman. Too pale
for me, but I can see why you like her. You'll have to
beat her though. I can tell," he said as if he and
Bobby were old friends, talking about this and that.
Molly gasped and her horse moved as it felt her
emotion. Bobby turned and, with his face completely
blank, snarled, "Quiet woman, or I WILL beat you!"
Molly's mouth snapped shut and she bit her cheek to
keep from screaming at him. She recognized, though,
that this was a different culture than what she was
used to, and that she needed to play along. She began
thinking about ways she could make this young man rue
the day he'd spoken to her like this.
Bobby turned back to the Indian. "I fear you are right,
Man Who Runs Like A Deer. I may have to beat her. But
what of my other woman?"
The Indian seemed to come to some decision. "This could
cause trouble," he said. Bobby waited, tensing up. "She
was captured in battle with these bad men you speak of.
The brave who took her claims her too."
Bobby felt his stomach clench. He had to try to get her
back. "This is not good" he said as firmly as he could.
"She is my best woman. As you can see I have come a
long way to get her."
The Indian turned and huddled with the other two men.
They spoke their own language, which neither Bobby nor
Molly understood. It was a long discussion, with some
voices raised at one point or another. Finally Man Who
Runs Like A Deer turned back to Bobby.
"This is something we must consult the elders about,"
he said. "I will have Morning Mist get you something to
eat. You may feed your woman too, if you wish. My woman
will prepare food for you."
"Thank you, Man Who Runs Like A Deer," said Bobby
formally. "Tell the elders I must have my woman back.
That is why I came here. Perhaps we can trade again
when this is finished."
"Perhaps," said the Indian, obviously saying an
unfamiliar word.
Bobby was led to a wigwam, where Man Who Runs Like A
Deer barked commands to two women who were tending a
fire that had strips of meat impaled on sticks
suspended over it. They looked at Bobby, and then at
Molly, still on her horse, and grinned their welcome.
One of them was missing several teeth. The other was
younger and pregnant. A third woman, perhaps nineteen,
came out of the wigwam with a clay bowl that had beans
in it, soaking in water. She was also pregnant, and
heavy with child.
Bobby turned to Molly and told her to get down, but not
to speak. Her only comment was, "We'll talk about this
later, young man, you can be sure of that."
"I'm sorry," he said softly. "But it was all I could
think of. I'm trying to get your daughter back. Please
help me do that."
The old toothless woman came and offered Bobby two
strips of steaming meat that were almost too hot to
hold in his fingers. Then she examined Molly, walking
around her, bending over to look at Molly's jeans and
boots, and fingering the colorful shirt Molly was
wearing. Molly stood and looked at the woman, unsure of
what to say or do.
Acting on impulse, Bobby ate both pieces of meat he had
been given, and then smacked his lips in appreciation.
He pointed at Molly and then at the meat smoking over
the fire. The older woman smiled her toothless grin and
got one piece, which she gave to Molly. She then
reached out and patted Molly's abdomen, rubbing her
hand over it in a remarkably sensual and familiar way.
Before Molly could react to the invasion of her space,
the woman backed up and turned away.
Bobby squatted beside the fire, and looked at it, like
he was bored. Molly shuffled around behind him.
"What are we doing?" she asked finally.
He turned his head to look up at her. "Waiting," he
said shortly.
All three women were watching them, as if listening to
their conversation. A boy and girl came out of the
wigwam. Both looked like they might be eleven or
twelve. They stared at the white people at their fire.
"I don't think I can do this," said Molly.
"You have to do this, Molly. We came here to get
your... to get Sarah, and I mean to do that. We just
have to play this by ear."
There was the sound of a crying child from inside the
teepee, and the girl darted back inside. She came out
with a toddler, who wanted down. The girl put the
toddler down and she immediately ran toward the
strangers. She almost fell, but caught herself in time
to come to a stop beside Bobby. She stared at him. He
turned his head and looked at her. He grinned and she
backed up. The older pregnant woman spoke and the
toddler looked at her, and then back at Bobby. Then
losing interest, she went to examine Molly, who
squatted and smiled too.
"Aren't you a cute little thing," cooed Molly to the
little girl. The toddler raised both hands in the air
and then swept them downward, almost falling over
backwards while making a sound. It didn't sound like
speech, just the kind of noises that children too young
to talk make. Molly held out her hand to the little
girl, who leaned forward to examine it. She reached out
and touched the back of Molly's hand, running one
stubby dirty finger along Molly's pale, soft skin.
Looking at Molly's eyes one last time with her own huge
ones, the toddler spun and tried to run to the woman
who had spoken to her. She tripped and fell right
towards the fire.
Bobby reacted instantly, rising and stepping one booted
foot into the fire, hitting one of the uprights that
held the sizzling meat and almost knocking it over.
Strips of meat sizzled as they fell around his boot.
His hand darted for the toddler's leather shirt and
grasped it just as the baby's outreaching hands were
about to hit the coals. He gave a jerk upwards and
strained as the baby's weight came onto his
outstretched arm. He pulled the child toward him and
scooped it up with his other arm as he felt the heat of
the fire penetrating his boot. The child squalled as he
stepped back. All three Indian women and both
youngsters were frozen.
Bobby found himself holding a squirming crying Indian
baby and, by instinct, held it out away from him,
towards the women. It's mother unfroze and rushed to
hold the baby, sitting it on her hip, since her round
belly was in the way of a direct hug. The child quieted
almost immediately, but turned hurt eyes on Bobby, who
stepped back and squatted again, not knowing what else
to do.
The old toothless woman stepped forward and reached
into the embers of the fire to pull blackening strips
of meat out. Her fingers seemed not to feel the heat at
all.
It seemed like it took forever, but finally Man Who
Runs Like A Deer came back. This time he had seven or
eight men with him, and two youths, about Bobby's age.
Bobby stood to face them, his hands empty. Man Who Runs
Like A Deer looked at the three women who stood across
the fire from Bobby. They weren't moving. He spoke to
them, his voice sounding an undecipherable question.
The older woman spoke, her voice quavering at first,
and then getting stronger as she talked longer. The
Indian barked harshly, and all three women scurried,
two going back in the wigwam, and the other pulling
more strips of meat away from the fire.
The two women who had gone inside appeared with hides,
the hair still on them, and spread them on the ground.
The toddler's mother came and pulled Bobby toward one
and seated him on it. She came back for Molly and
pulled her to sit behind him and to one side. The older
woman brought them more meat, this time lying on a
stick they could hold so their fingers wouldn't be
burned.
Man Who Runs Like A Deer sat down on the other skin,
and was served in a like manner. Bobby gave Molly two
strips of meat, and ate three more himself before
anyone spoke.
Man Who Runs Like A Deer threw his stick into the fire
and wiped his fingers on his leggings.
"My woman tells me you kept my daughter from the fire.
That is good," he said.
Bobby smiled. "It is good when children are not hurt,"
he responded.
"I have talked with the elders about this problem,"
said the Indian, as if nothing else had been said
before. "You must fight Sees Long Distance for the
woman."
Molly gasped and Bobby frowned. "Why must I fight? She
is my woman."
"Yes" said the big Indian. "But you lost her. Now, to
get her back you must fight. Will you do this?"
Bobby stood. Molly started to stand, but he put a hand
on her shoulder and pushed her back down. "I will
fight," he said.
CHAPTER SIX
Jonas was shaken awake by his elder son. Peter's face
looked anxious.
"Frank's gone, Pa," he said.
"What do you mean gone?" asked Jonas, trying to command
full wakefulness to come to him.
"His bed wasn't slept in and his horse is gone. His
trail leads toward the old Johansen place," explained
Peter.
"Shit!" roared Jonas. "Doesn't ANYBODY around here do
what I tell them to any more?" He rose and began
dressing immediately.
Less than thirty minutes later three men rode away from
the Circle C ranch house, headed toward the last place
they'd seen a flock of sheep.
***
Bobby was nervous. He had no idea what fighting for
Sarah meant. He had no idea what kind of weapons would
be involved, or what constituted winning the fight. But
he knew he couldn't go back and face anyone in his
family if he failed to try to get the girl back. Molly
weighed heavily on his mind too. If he lost the fight,
what did that mean for her? Would they try to claim her
too? He needed more information badly, but was afraid
to ask for it. He didn't want to appear stupid.
He was relieved beyond measure when Man Who Runs Like A
Deer smiled and said that, as the challenger, Bobby got
to choose the weapons for the combat. Bobby knew that
one of the two young men who was with Man Who Runs Like
A Deer must be the boy he'd have to fight. Both looked
strong and savage to him. He knew he couldn't fight
with a knife, or tomahawk or anything like that, and he
didn't want to suggest guns either.
Instead he took a chance and offered to wrestle for the
girl. He and his father wrestled every so often, and
Xian Bai had delighted in doing the same thing, winning
hands down by using things he had learned in China.
Over time Bobby had learned some of what Xian Bai did
during those wrestling matches, and he hoped that might
give him some advantage.
The young Indian smiled widely and accepted. When he
looked at Bobby he saw a thin, pale white boy. He was
sure he could break this boy in half.
Both boys took their shirts off as a crowd formed to
watch the entertainment. Soon there was a large circle
of Indians, primarily men, but with some women and
older children mixed in.
The crowd only grew as the battle started.
Bobby figured out almost immediately that his
definition of "wrestling" and that of Sees Long
Distance were very different. He tried to grapple with
the Indian boy and take him down. Sees Long Distance
tried to punch, kick and gouge.
His fingernail left a long stripe of bleeding skin from
the corner of Bobby's eye to just below his ear with
that first attempt, and Bobby barely avoided losing his
eye. As he backpedaled away, the boy's moccasin covered
foot came up and lashed between his legs. Bobby felt
like he was going to throw up as paralysis hit him and
he fell flat on his back. Sees long distance stood and
watched, smiling as Bobby lay there and rolled to one
side, drawing his legs up to ease the pain.
Man Who Runs Like A Deer came over to Bobby. "Is it
over so quickly?" he asked. "If you do not get up it is
done."
Bobby groaned and rolled to his hands and knees. The
pain was less now. He hadn't been kicked quite as hard
as he had thought. He started to stand and saw the boy
running at him, grinning widely.
Bobby let his left leg collapse and he fell sideways,
as if that leg was broken. Then he rolled quickly
toward the running brave. Sees Long Distance tripped
and went sprawling. He was up before Bobby, and wasn't
grinning any more. Several men in the circle were
laughing.
The two youths circled, and the Indian boy darted in to
lash out with his foot again. Bobby saw it coming and
turned sideways, putting his hand under the boy's ankle
as it streaked by Bobby's chest. He helped the ankle
keep going up long after the Indian boy would have
stopped it, and Sees Long Distance flopped hard onto
his back. There was an explosive burst of air from his
lungs and he lay stunned. Bobby stood and waited to see
what would happen.
The boy got to his feet, smiling again. This was a
feral grin, though, as the boy decided that this was a
worthy opponent after all, and that it would bring him
honor to beat this white boy into submission. He
decided to count coup on the boy by slapping him. He
jumped to his feet and circled warily, trying to find
an opening. He kept his arm at his side, not wanting to
telegraph what he was going to do.
There! The white boy's arms were too wide. He stepped
forward and his arm streaked forward, hand open and
cupped. If he hit the boy hard enough it might break
his eardrum and he could finish this quickly.
Instead he watched in amazement as his hand missed the
boy's face completely, and kept going, dragging his
body forward. He felt something hit his shins, and he
was falling face down into the dirt. He wasn't hurt,
but he heard more laughter and he saw red.
As he got up he saw Dove woman, the wife of Racing Boar
in front of him. She was smiling... laughing at him.
Her cooking knife was at her belt. In a rage he
snatched at it and pulled it free, turning back to the
white boy who had shamed him. With a scream he ran at
Bobby, the knife weaving low in his hand, aiming for
the soft belly of his opponent.
Bobby saw the knife and knew he could be in trouble. He
timed his movements with the Indian boy's rushing
stride and fell down backwards as the boy reached him.
Putting his feet in Sees Long Distance's stomach, Bobby
let the boy's weight carry him forward as Bobby
straightened his legs, pushing hard. Sees Long Distance
flew high into the air, toward the edge of the crowd,
which parted for him like magic. The crowd there was
only two people deep, because behind them... was Man
Who Runs Like A Deer's cooking fire.
The tumbling youth landed on top of the meat rack on
his back, and crushed it. His arms were outstretched
and he had no purchase. He screamed as red hot coals
burned into the flesh of his back and tried to roll to
one side. That put his shoulder and upper arm into the
coals and he screamed again. He could not believe the
agony of the pain that ate at his back and arm, or the
amazing coolness of the packed dirt that his chest
rolled onto.
Three women acted instantly. Two held clay jars of
water in their arms as they watched. They had been
getting ready to cook when the excitement drew them
away from their fires. Both of them threw their water
on the burned boy's back, where blisters were already
forming. Another ducked into a teepee and brought
water, also dumping it on the boy. He tried to get up,
but was seized by four men and carried to the stream,
where he was submerged in the water. He was yelling
that he wanted to go back and fight, and was told to be
quiet.
Bobby, of course, was not aware that the fight was
over. He was on his feet, horrified at what had
happened. He looked at the people in the circle, some
of whom were staring at him. One older man stalked
toward him, his face stern. Bobby didn't know what to
do, but this man's hair was white with age, and Bobby
knew he could not bring himself to strike a man so old.
He stood and waited, his fists balled up.
The old man approached as if he had nothing to fear
from this young white eyes. He stopped in front of
Bobby and stared into his eyes. He said something Bobby
couldn't understand, and then reached out to slam one
old hand down on top of Bobby's right shoulder.
"Ah yeh tah HA!!" he screeched. Bobby tensed.
The crowd roared, and the old man smiled, tapping Bobby
on his shoulder several more times, but much less
strongly. Bobby turned to see people smiling and
laughing. He looked at Man Who Runs Like A Deer, who
was also smiling. Bobby went to him.
"A good win," said the Indian. "You fought well, even
when Sees Long Distance disgraced himself."
"I won?" asked Bobby.
"When Sees Long Distance lost honor by taking a weapon,
he gave you the battle. You fought well and have much
honor with the people," said the man.
Bobby was suddenly tackled from behind and arms came
around him, slim white hands sliding across his sweaty
chest.
"I thought you'd be killed," came Molly's soft, almost
whining voice in his ear.
Bobby had tensed when he first felt her hit his body.
His brain had identified that there was no threat, but
now it was trying to deal with her hands sliding across
his nipples, gripping his flesh as her soft breasts
pressed into his back. The woman's hair tickled his
shoulder and he was amazed at how good it felt to be
hugged in this way.
Instinct told him to turn and tell the woman that he'd
won... that her daughter could be recovered now. He did
so, not realizing that she would not move back from
him. Her turned inside her arms, and saw wide, tear-
filled blue eyes staring into his from only inches
away.
"I won," he said, amazement in his voice.
"You were wonderful," said Molly, her voice husky. "I
was so worried. I didn't know what to do."
Bobby had the strongest urge to put his arms around
this woman. He felt his prick stiffen in his pants, and
felt instantly ashamed. He pushed at her waist, and
turned back to Man Who Runs Like A Deer.
"I want my woman now," he said.
The big Indian laughed. "You cannot satisfy two women
at once, and this woman looks like she needs to be
satisfied now." He chuckled. "But I will get your other
woman and bring her to you." He slapped Bobby on his
shoulder, like the old man had. "Yes, it was a good
fight."
Bobby and Molly stood nervously beside each other as
the crowd began to break up. Several members of the
tribe pulled Sees Long Distance out of the water and he
began limping back toward Bobby. There was a scowl on
his face as he approached, pushing at the hands that
held his arms. He teetered a little bit, and Bobby
could see that he was clenching his jaws at the pain,
but he limped up to Bobby and faced him.
The boy let out a string of words that Bobby couldn't
understand, and he looked at the boy blankly. A woman
stepped forward and in a soft hesitant voice said in
remarkably good English "He says he feels shame for his
dishonor and begs that you give him an honorable
death."
Bobby rocked back on his heels and thought furiously.
Then he said to the woman: "Tell him that battle brings
out many emotions, some not good, and which cause us to
do things we would not otherwise do. My people do not
kill brave men who do foolish things. My people try to
learn from their mistakes. Tell him it would dishonor
me to take his life."
The woman turned and spoke to the boy, who scowled
more, but then began to relax as the woman went on and
on. Finally he said something to the woman and, with a
look at Bobby, turned and limped off.
Bobby looked at the woman expectantly. Her skin
darkened and she couldn't meet his eyes.
"I told him what you said, and that white people are
strange and different, and don't know how to live
sometimes... that they have strange ideas. I did not
mean to dishonor you, but I want him for my man, and I
did not want him to die. He said you are welcome to the
white tiger woman. He says she is too much trouble
anyway. I am happy to see her leave his lodge."
Bobby stared at her. "Your English is very good," he
said, for lack of anything else to say.
"I went to the white man's school for a little while,"
she said, now able to look at him. "Your ways are too
strange for me though, and I came back here to be with
the people."
Molly gasped and Bobby looked to see a white girl being
led toward them. She was snarling and pulling at the
men who escorted her, one of which was Man Who Runs
Like A Deer, and he was laughing as she slapped at his
hands. She was dressed in a worn and faded buckskin
dress, and was barefoot. With a start Bobby realized it
was beginning to get dark.
When Sarah saw Bobby, and then her mother, she let out
a hysterical screech and pulled violently away from her
escort, running toward them. She slammed into Molly,
crying with great wracking sobs of relief.
Molly exulted in the feel of her live and apparently
well daughter in her arms. But her adult mind still
hummed in her skull. She knew they were not safe yet.
These people thought Sarah was one of Bobby's wives,
and that deception needed to be continued. She put her
lips next to her sobbing daughter's ear and whispered
urgently.
"This man is named Bobby. He fought for you and saved
you. You must greet him as if you love him. Now! Sarah,
you must hug him as if you love him now!"
Molly pushed her daughter away from her and towards
Bobby, who stood, eyes wide and mouth open. Sarah,
hearing her mother's commands, reacted in several ways.
She didn't want to leave her mother's protective arms,
but her brain processed what Molly told her. Part of
her brain rebelled at the notion of treating a
stranger... any stranger... as if she loved him. And
she wasn't enthralled with men at the moment either.
But her mother's urgent commands penetrated and,
without looking at the man, she turned and grasped him
tightly, burying her face in his neck. His strong arms
went around her and she felt his hands on her back as
he rocked backwards, compensating for her frenzied hug.
"It's OK," he said into her ear. "It's going to be OK."
His voice soothed her and she slumped, exhausted,
letting him hold her up to some degree. That pulled her
against him even more as he held her tightly to keep
her buckling knees from letting her fall to the ground.
Molly moved to put her arms around both of the teens.
She thought of it as a protective gesture in one sense,
but she wanted to touch them both too. Her relationship
with Bobby, in the space of a short thirty minutes, had
altered radically. It was almost too much to
contemplate. Over time, she would think about what had
happened, and would think about it rationally. But for
now she responded with pure emotion.
Bobby felt the girl stiffen her knees and somehow knew
it was time to let her go. He moved his hands from her
back to her waist and tried to look through the tangled
blond hair that wreathed her dirty face.
"You need to be strong just a little longer," he said,
his face inches from hers. "They think you're my wife
and we can leave in a while. Just be strong a little
longer, all right? Everything's going to be all right."
"OK," she sniffed. She turned back to her mother and
hugged her again.
Man Who Runs Like A Deer was still standing near them.
Bobby turned to him.
"We can leave now, yes?" he asked, butterflies in his
stomach.
"Father sun is fading from the sky," said the Indian.
"We will find a lodge for you and your women to sleep
in tonight. When Father sun returns then you can take
your women and go." It was more of a pronouncement than
suggestion, and Bobby didn't know whether to argue or
not.
Molly turned her head. "This is a good thing husband.
The night will be cold."
Bobby looked at her in astonishment, but she just
stared at him over her daughter's blond hair, her eyes
piercing his. He remembered the night before in a
jarring mixture of biting cold, and a warm female body
pressed to his back. It would be cold, and the girl was
probably in no condition to travel.
"All right then," said Bobby, nervously.
As things turned out, Swallow Tail, the Indian girl who
had spoken English to them, was chosen to host the
"visitors", since she slept in a lodge with only her
grandmother. Her grandmother turned out to be the
toothless woman who had examined Molly earlier, and
whose fingers seemed oblivious to heat. Swallow Tail
led them to a teepee and lifted the flap for them.
Inside was dark, but there was a small fire in the fire
pit in the center of the floor which gave off some
light. Swallow Tail's grandmother followed them into
the structure and there was some animated conversation
between her and her daughter as a bed was made for
Bobby and his wives.
It soon became clear to Molly, Bobby and Sarah, who had
stopped crying now, and was taking everything in with
wide eyes, that there was to be one bed for all three
of them to sleep in.
Swallow Tail turned from making up the bed and spoke.
"This is my Grandmother. She is called Birthing Woman
among the people. She says she will stay here with you
tonight. I am going to go tend Sees Long Distance's
wounds. You have done me a great service by giving me
this opportunity to soothe him. He has not paid
attention to me because I lived with the white man.
Perhaps tonight I can change that." She grinned.
She turned to leave and then paused. "My grandmother
says you are not performing your husbandly duties
well." Her face was completely straight as she looked
at Molly. "She says this woman's belly is empty of
life, and that it is your fault. She has offered our
best furs and will help you so you can remedy that
problem tonight."
Bobby's mouth fell open, but still Swallow Tail went
on.
"She says she remembers what my grandfather was like
after battle, and she will burn the herbs that increase
fertility so that you may have a son to remind you of
this victory."
Then, as if that had been the most normal thing in the
world to say, she ducked through the flap of the wigwam
and disappeared into the night.
***
Frank Collins was disgusted. He'd lost the trail. He
couldn't believe that he could lose the trail of five
horses, but he had. At first he thought he'd pick it up
in a few hundred yards, but when he hadn't, he had to
backtrack. From there he fanned out, but still couldn't
find any sign. He heard the measured clip-clop of a
walking horse and stood up from where he'd been bent
over, trying to find something in the dust. He put his
hand on one of his pearl handled revolvers and then
almost groaned as Enid rode around a rock on her
piebald mare. He groaned again as he realized how good
she looked on a horse.
"Hi there, Mister Cowboy," she said gaily, waving at
him.
"Can't you leave me alone?" he whined.
"I can't help it if you're on the trail I want to go
along," she said smugly. "Actually you're NOT on the
trail. I saw where you went wrong about a quarter mile
back. The trail you want is over there." She waved one
hand off to the north.
"You're just a girl. You don't know anything about
tracking," he said gruffly. She sat up in the saddle
and stretched. He saw two bumps on the front of her
smooth leather shirt and felt his prick lurch in his
pants. Damn, but she was pretty.
"Oh," she said airily. "I suppose you're right. But,
then again, I don't need to know how to trail anybody.
I already know where they're going."
Frank's jaw dropped. "What are you talking about?" he
asked.
"There's only one place they could be going, and that's
to our summer camp up in the high meadows. There isn't
anyplace else to go up here... is there?" Her words
posed a question, but her tone of voice indicated she
was disgusted with him for being so stupid.
"Why didn't you tell me that two hours ago?" he ranted.
"Why, mister big strong cowboy, because I'm just a
girl, and don't know nothing at all," she simpered.
Then she smiled. "Besides... you didn't ask me." She
kneed her horse and, just like a cow pony, it turned
without the reins being touched. She was obviously
leaving.
"HEY!" he called. "Wait a minute."
Her horse stopped and she looked back over her
shoulder.
It irked him to all get out to have to ask this, but if
he wanted to get back on the trail, it was needful.
"Um... do you suppose you could... um... show me where
the trail is?"
"Maybe," she said, smiling.
"What do you mean... maybe?" he asked, frustrated.
"What will you give me if I do?"
"I shouldn't have to give you anything?" he said,
incensed. "I'm looking for my mother and sister... and
YOUR brother. You should help me for nothing!"
"I don't know," mused Enid, having fun. "You've been
awfully rude to me."
Frank knew she was right about that. But he was worried
about his mother and sister, and this girl maddened him
with her sultry looks and smiles and thrusting breasts
with those bumps on the tips of them.
"Look... I'm sorry," he said. "I'm just worried about
my kin."
Enid looked startled, as if she'd just remembered that
he really did have an important job to be about doing.
She felt ashamed for teasing him.
"Come on," she called. She kicked her horse, but he
caught up to her within fifty yards, having vaulted
into the saddle. She stopped another twenty-five yards
on and pointed to a narrow opening between two
boulders.
"That's what we call the gate," she said. Pappa pushed
those boulders together so we could block it and keep
the sheep from straying down the mountain. But it
doesn't look like a trail any more. Once you get beyond
that, just follow the path. It will take you straight
on up.
"Thanks," he said. He couldn't keep his eyes off her
breasts.
"You owe me," she said firmly.
"What do I owe you?" he asked.
Before he could do anything she leaned in her saddle
and one hand captured the back of his head. She pulled
his face to hers and crushed her lips to his. He was so
startled that he opened his mouth a little, and his
tongue touched her lips. Then, as quickly as it had
started, it was over and she was sitting back up in her
saddle, her face red, her freckles dark and prominent
on her face and neck.
"Another kiss like that," she said, her eyes flashing.
Then she turned her horse and left back downhill at a
gallop.
Frank licked his lips. He could swear they tasted
different than they had only a few moments before. He
realized his cock was rock hard and sighed. Then he
stepped his horse between the two boulders and started
up the path.
He had only gone another mile when he smelled the faint
odor that he knew meant death. He grew wary now. There
were bear in these mountains, and they cached their
kills, letting them "cure" while they went about doing
whatever it was that bears did when they weren't
eating.
He drew a pistol and edged his horse forward.
He saw the clearing, and the body in the clearing and
stopped. Quietly he got down. He saw Tulip and Vixen's
tracks leading right to that clearing, and felt his gut
seize. But he couldn't just ride in there. Dropping the
reins of his nervous horse, which smelled the death
even better than Frank did, he left it and started to
circle the clearing. He heard a horse snuffle and
looked back to see Enid sitting on her horse, stock
still.
She was peering up at the clearing. Without a sign or
word from him, she whirled her horse and ran back the
other way. Feeling a puzzling relief that she was
gone... away from the danger... he circled the
clearing, taking his time and listening carefully. On
the other side he saw tracks of a running horse with
worn shoes. He went on. When he got back to his horse
he walked it forward, pulling the reluctant animal
toward the body.
He was still there, an hour later, trying to figure out
what the signs he saw meant, when he heard the distant
bleating of sheep. The Rocklins had caught up to him.
***
Bobby stood in the flickering light, inside the teepee,
and looked towards Molly, who was again hugging her
daughter. She looked back at him calmly.
"What do we do now?" he asked, totally out of his realm
of experience.
"Let me think," said the woman.
Molly's mind was awhirl. While she looked calm and
composed on the outside, in her mind everything was
turmoil. She was vastly relieved to have found Sarah
well, even though she hadn't had a chance to really
examine her daughter's mental and physical injuries.
She spoke to Sarah softly.
"Are you all right, baby?" she asked.
Sarah tensed in her arms, and then relaxed. "Is it
really over?" she asked.
Molly squeezed her. "Almost, sweetheart. Tomorrow we
can go back to the ranch."
Sarah's head turned toward Bobby. "What was that woman
talking about? She called you his woman."
Molly kissed Sarah's hair. "When we got here and asked
for you, they thought Bobby was your husband, come to
get you back. He had to pretend that this was so, and
that I was also his wife. Then he had to fight to win
you back. The man he fought cheated, but Bobby beat him
anyway. That's why she said those things. They think we
are Bobby's wives."
Sarah looked through her blond hair at her savior. "Who
ARE you?" she asked.
"Oh" said Bobby uncomfortably. "I'm Bobby Rocklin."
Sarah stiffened again. "Rocklin!? The sheep farmer? It
was YOUR men who took me! Hurt me!" There was anger in
her voice.
"I don't understand that," said Bobby. "I'm sorry, but
I don't know why they did that," he said helplessly.
"They wanted to ransom me," said Sarah. "And other
things." she added, her voice catching again as tears
welled up in her already full eyes.
Molly squeezed her daughter. "That's all over now. We
can talk about that later. Did they...?" She couldn't
make herself say the word at first, but when Sarah
looked up at her with questioning eyes she finished.
"Did they rape you darling?"
Sarah's face took on a tiny almost smile. "No. I don't
think so. Buford was about to when the Indians killed
that other man. Buford ran away I think. The man who
was with them - he spoke English - he said that I was
the boy's wife now... and that tonight I would sleep
with that boy. I was so scared Mommy" She began to cry
again and Molly folded her back into her arms.
Birthing Woman suddenly appeared beside them, with a
bowl in her hands that contained a thick, pungent
smelling paste. She put a hand between Molly and Sarah,
obviously wanting them to separate. When they did she
handed the bowl to Molly and then began pulling at
Sarah's buckskin dress, trying to pull it up and off
her body.
Sarah resisted and Bobby stood, agape, not knowing what
to do. The old woman spoke soothingly, but
unintelligibly and grasped one of Sarah's wrists,
pulling it toward her. Sarah groaned at the pain she
still felt in her raw wrists. Molly, seeing the torn
flesh for the first time sucked in air and moaned in
sympathy with her daughter.
Holding the wrist firmly, the old woman dipped a finger
into the paste and smoothed it onto the torn and
bruised flesh. Sarah's eyes opened widely and she
gasped as the pain almost disappeared where the salve
touched her skin. She stopped trying to fight and let
the woman tenderly smooth more of the paste all around
her wrist. Then the old woman treated Sarah's other
wrist. When that was done she again tried to get Sarah
to take her dress off. It was clear that she wanted to
examine the girl's body, and treat any other wounds.
"Mommy?" Sarah asked plaintively, when she understood
what was going on.
"It's all right baby," said Molly soothingly.
"But he's here," pointed out Sarah, looking at Bobby.
"She thinks he's your husband darling," said Molly,
surprising herself. "Bobby is a gentleman. He won't
hurt you."
Perhaps it was the fact that, for the first time in
days, the awful pain in her wrists was dulled. Maybe it
was because, like most girls, she wondered what a man
would think if he saw her naked - at least in
circumstances more nearly normal than the only other
time a man had seen her naked. It could have been her
mother's promise that nothing would happen to her...
that it was only play acting.
For whatever reason, Sarah Jean Collins allowed her
body to be revealed to a man for only the second time
in her life. She winced at the pain still present in
her stretched shoulder ligaments as she raised her arms
and let the woman take the dress off, and then blushed
as she saw Bobby stare at her nakedness. His eyes
darted away, and she felt relief. Then his eyes darted
back to her, and away again. He started to turn around,
and Molly chided him, reminding him that Sarah was his
"wife", and that he must behave normally.
Bobby couldn't believe what was happening. He wanted to
stare at the girl. Her body was the stuff of dreams.
She was so beautiful that it made his stomach hurt,
even though there were ugly dark circles around her
wrists, and other scrapes and bruises marring other
places on her pale white body. He couldn't help but
stare at her breasts, with their small pink capping
nipples. The hair between her legs was lighter even
than the blond tangles that surrounded her head.
Sarah sighed as the woman rubbed the soothing ointment
into each bruise and scrape. When the woman prodded her
to raise her arms she moaned at the pain and rubbed one
shoulder. The woman massaged big globs of the ointment
into her shoulders and that helped immediately. When
the last injury had been treated, the old woman led her
to the bed that had been made for them and sat her on
the furs there.
The woman took the bowl from Molly, and went across the
teepee to put it down and pick up another. She reached
into a bag and pulled a handful of dried leaves from
it, crumbling them into the bowl. Then she added water
from a clay jug that was sitting in the fire. She made
another thick paste.
She turned to Molly, whose startled look showed plainly
that she hadn't planned on receiving any attention from
the old woman. The woman handed Molly the bowl and then
began unbuttoning Molly's shirt.
Molly took a step backwards, and Sarah's voice rose
from behind her.
"They think he's your husband, remember?" There was
almost humor in the teenager's voice.
"Oh," said Molly, her eyes wide, looking over at Bobby.
"Yes." He started to turn around again and she said
"Bobby, it's all right. Sarah is right."
Molly flushed red clear to her chest as the shirt was
removed, and her jeans undone and pulled downward. The
old woman's hands were gentle, but firm and soon Molly
stood, naked, feeling more vulnerable than even on her
wedding night, when Jonas had taken her for the first
time.
Bobby stared again as this older, more mature body was
slowly exposed to his gaze. Her breasts were much
larger, and heavy looking, with wide brown circles at
their tips, and smaller darker circles in the middle of
them. Nursing three children had left her nipples thick
and round where they perched on her breasts. Her waist
was surprisingly thin, despite being stretched three
times. Where those three babies had spread her hips as
they struggled to come into the world, her hips had
settled into a wide stance and then sloping inward into
long muscular legs.
If anything, she was even more beautiful than her
daughter... ripe... fully formed... the essence of
femininity.
"You don't have to stare quite THAT much," said Molly,
butterflies flurrying in her stomach.
"Sorry," said Bobby. "I don't think any man could
resist staring."
"That's the second compliment you've paid me," said
Molly, her feminine instinct to control a man kicking
in.
"You deserve them both," said Bobby quietly.
Behind her mother, Sarah was sitting, not in pain now,
relaxed for the first time since she could remember.
Hearing the byplay between this strange man who had
saved her, and her mother, now standing naked in front
of her, her first instinct was to ask "What about me?"
But while she felt an excitement that she couldn't
understand, she was more comfortable if the boy wasn't
looking directly at her.
The feeling of safeness was so palpable that it
overcame her resistance to being naked with strangers.
It also helped that she was in surroundings that were
so alien that what was going on seemed less strange.
She was both amazed and intrigued at the same time that
her mother could be so... normal... standing naked in
front of a strange man.
The old woman began streaking the thick paste she had
made on various places on Molly's body. She smoothed a
palm full of the stuff over each of Molly's breasts,
lifting each one in the process, as if to weigh it in
her wrinkled hands.
"What's she doing?" asked Molly, her voice tight.
"I have no idea," admitted Bobby.
Another handful of the stuff was spread across Molly's
taught abdomen. Molly flinched and danced a little as
the woman's hand dipped into the red fleece that grew
just above her sex. The old woman spoke soothingly. She
dipped one thumb into the paste and carefully smeared
it across Molly's lips. Molly felt the taste of the
stuff seep between her closed lips. It tasted minty,
and not at all unpleasant. When she licked her lips dry
the woman smeared more paste on them and she licked
them again automatically.
The old woman led Molly to the bed and, rather than
sitting her down beside Sarah, made her lie down on the
soft furs.
"I don't know about this," said Molly uncertainly.
"I've never seen you without clothes," said Sarah
suddenly. "You're beautiful, Mamma."
Molly stared at her daughter, who was seated beside
her.
"Will I look like that when I'm older?" asked the girl.
Molly's mouth opened and closed. She didn't have any
idea how to respond to that.
"You're just as beautiful as she is," blurted Bobby.
Sarah, with more self control and calm than she or
anyone else in the wigwam would have thought possible,
looked over at Bobby and said, "I bet you say that to
all your wives."
Molly and Sarah watched as Birthing Woman approached
Bobby, whose eyes widened as it became obvious that he
was the next person on her list. He started moving
backward and the old woman cackled. She reached out and
grasped his shirt firmly, pulling him toward her.
Then she handed him the bowl and stripped him just like
she had stripped Molly.
"I can't..." he moaned.
"Yes you can," said Molly. "You fought to save us both.
This is just some silly Indian ritual or something.
When she's done we can all go to sleep, and in the
morning we can leave, and this will all be over."
Bobby looked up into the darkness of the teepee as he
felt his pants being removed. Part of his shame was
because he knew he was rigid, and that when the two
women saw his stiff penis they would then know that he
harbored unwelcome emotions toward them. Up to now he
had been able to pretend that this whole situation
could be forgotten in a few days, or weeks or maybe
months. But he was convinced that these women would
always remember how, when it was his duty as a
gentleman to resist lust, he had failed to do that and
shamed both himself and them.
He was both right... and wrong in his assumptions.
He was right that both women would remember this night
for the rest of their lives. He was wrong that they
would hate him for being erect because of their
nakedness.
Molly watched, her eyes glittering, as this amazing
young man's sex was revealed to her. She heard herself
sigh as she saw that his penis was stiff. That stiff
penis, to her, validated that she was desirable... that
after birthing three children and getting, what to her
mind was old, that she could still produce desire in a
man's loins. That she completely forgot that Jonas
still found her attractive can be forgiven. Many times,
in a long marriage, partners take each other for
granted. That she also centered on herself, instead of
thinking that the boy might be that way because of her
nubile naked daughter, can also be forgiven. Women her
age are often anxious about how men perceive them.
Sarah's feelings were a little different. The only
erect penis she had ever seen was Buford's, as he
prepared to rip her virginity from her battered and
bruised body. There had been nothing interesting or
attractive about that. At the same time she couldn't
remember much about that incident. She remembered the
fear, which was distinctly lacking in this situation,
and the pain, which was also mostly gone now. She
remembered her hate for the man who had abused her...
but she didn't hate Bobby, and he had done anything but
abuse her.
And so she considered this to be her first sight of the
thing that men had... that her father had... that made
her mother squeal so loudly in the night. She had a
sudden dim memory of seeing her father's penis, long
and stiff, a long time ago, in the dark. She couldn't
remember what it looked like now. Instead she stared at
Bobby's.
She thought it was the most interesting thing she'd
ever seen.
Both women stared as the woman scooped up a handful of
the minty paste and then used it to cover Bobby's stiff
penis and full, heavy balls. He groaned, and the old
woman cackled again as she grasped his penis in her
slippery hand and stroked up and down its length
several times.
The old woman stood up. She reached up and caressed
Bobby's cheek with two fingers, and then wiped some of
the salve on his lips, like she had Molly's. He also
licked the stuff, tasting it automatically.
She took his hand and led him to the bed. Both naked
women looked up at him. He couldn't tell what lay
behind those eyes. It was obvious the woman was taking
him to the bed that held his "wives", and he had no
inkling of what he should do... or not do.
Standing above the two women... mother and daughter...
Bobby felt the old crone's hand stroke his rampant
manhood several more times. Both women's gaze was fixed
firmly on what she was doing.
"I don't know what to do," he moaned.
Birthing woman kneeled on creaking knees, hovering over
Molly, who looked up at her wide eyed. She pulled
Molly's knees up and then pushed them apart. Molly, too
stunned to resist, felt heat explode in her loins as
her sex was opened up in front of Bobby.
Birthing Woman leaned back on her heels and looked up
at Bobby, who stared open mouthed at the ripe, mature
woman lying open and exposed to his gaze. He felt his
penis jerk and looked at it.
Then he looked at Molly's face. Her eyes were half
closed, but through her lashes, they were fixed on his.
She did not close her legs.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Again, it was Enid who came toward the clearing first,
still riding the piebald mare. She went into a canter
and then had to pull hard on the reins as she saw that
Frank was not alone... that there was a body lying on
the ground.
"What did you DO?" she yelled, jumping down from her
horse and running to stand over the obviously dead man.
"I saw you with your pistol out!" she said excitedly.
"So I knew there was trouble. Did you SHOOT him?" she
asked, breathless.
Frank wanted to snort. The dead man at his feet was
beginning to bloat, and the wounds on his chest were
prominent and thick with flies. Surely she would knot
he'd been dead a long time. He decided not to push that
point though.
"I found him here," said Frank. "Do you know him?"
"That's Chaps!" she exclaimed. "He's... he was one of
our men. What happened?" she cried. She had never seen
a dead human being before, and she felt ill.
"He's been shot. A while back, maybe a day. There's
another wound too, but I don't know what caused that.
There are all kinds of tracks all over the place, but I
can't figure out what they mean." He frowned. "There's
a set of horse tracks going on up the mountain, too."
he added.
Together they examined the tracks he had found. He
could tell that Tulip and the horse with the winter
shoes had gone off to the north, rather than following
the running horse that went uphill, and that didn't
make any sense to either of them. They didn't have time
to talk about more before Brad Rocklin rode up, rifle
in hand. He was angry.
"Enid, I TOLD you not to come back up here without me!"
he said, looking down at the body of one of his men on
the ground. "This is EXACTLY why I told you that, girl.
Now, what happened here?"
Frank explained that everything was just as he'd found
it, and that he was trying to figure out what happened.
He pointed out the multiple wounds in Chaps' body, and
the tracks he'd found.
It was Brad who spotted a moccasin tracks and then
things began to make sense.
Half an hour later Frank was headed north, again on a
trail that was made by Tulip, Vixen and the Rocklin
boy's horse. He went against the advice of Brad, who
used Chaps' body as a clear reason why the boy should
not go on alone. But it was Chaps' body that made it
impossible for Frank to do anything else. His mother
had been there... where this man was killed. Her tracks
were mixed with those of unshod horses, going away from
here. He had to find her.
He went as long as he could, but darkness forced him to
stop.
Beside a small fire, wrapped in a poncho covered by his
horse blanket, Frank Collins fell into an exhausted
sleep.
***
Fifteen miles behind the sheep, Jonas, Peter and
Buckshot camped for the night. Jonas was beside himself
and wanted to go on in the dark, saying that a blind
man could follow the trail of the flock. Buckshot
insisted that they get some rest. The horses needed
rest too, and that was what finally won Jonas over.
***
"I don't know what to do," Bobby said again.
Molly took a breath. "I'll show you," she said, her
voice husky.
"You don't have to do this," Bobby said, his voice
cracking.
Molly looked up at him, her face serene. "You found my
baby girl. I'd never have found her without you
before... I'd never have found her. This woman thinks I
am your wife. She has gone to great lengths to prepare
me to receive my... husband. Once... just this once...
let me show you how grateful I am for what you have
done for us."
Her hand went to grasp that of her naked daughter, who
sat stunned next to her on the pile of furs. Molly felt
her body's moisture ooze our of her and begin to run
down between her legs. She realized she was as aroused
as she had ever been in her life.
Birthing Woman reached out and grasped Bobby's iron
hard prick and pulled him his knees, between Molly's
open thighs. The woman scooped up another two fingers
full of the sweet smelling paste from the bowl and
Molly gasped as those two fingers smeared the stuff on
her golden pubes and then probed between her legs,
wiping the stuff on the lips of her sex. Then the old
woman grasped Bobby's rigid penis one more time and
pulled it to Molly's entrance as he couldn't help but
fall to his hands to support his upper body. He looked
down, his face only inches from Molly's. Her lower lip
was captured gently between her teeth.
Bobby felt heat surround the tip of his prick. He had
never felt anything remotely like this, and he froze.
The old woman cackled again, and her hand left his
penis. He didn't see where she moved it, but felt it
seconds later as it came down on his naked ass in a
surprisingly painful slap.
His hips fell, and his rampant prick surged forward,
skewering Molly to her cervix.
"Ohhhhhhhhhh," moaned Molly as she was filled so
quickly and unexpectedly... and delightfully. Bobby was
longer than Jonas, and thinner, so she wasn't stretched
at all. Instead there was just the delicious feel of
his length and hardness caressing the walls of her
pussy. The tip nosed into the mouth of her womb
insistently, as if it yearned to go just a little
further, to gain entry to her womb itself.
Bobby's groan was just as loud and drawn out as, for
the first time in his life, hot, wet pussy sucked at
his prick and squeezed it all over it's surface.
"Mother!" squealed Sarah, whose eyes were so wide they
bugged out. It had all happened so quickly and so
smoothly that she hadn't had time to process what was
actually happening. When the old woman has spread her
mother's thighs and drawn her knees up Sarah was so
stunned that her mind froze. She stared at the pink
lips that she had never seen, below the fluff of
reddish blond hair. Those lips gaped open, and looked
oily-wet.
Her mother was acting so differently than she ever had
before that she couldn't wrap her mind around it. Then
the old woman's fingers had come into view to cover
those pink lips with the brownish paste, and a finger
had actually entered her mother's sex, pushing that
paste inside her. And THEN that long hard penis had
appeared and pushed into the mess of paste.
The sound of the slap on the boy's buttocks had come
like a pistol shot, and Sarah had blinked and leaned
backwards. When her eyes opened, every inch of that
long hard flesh was suddenly buried inside her mother.
It was then she had heard the sounds that sounded so
familiar, yet so foreign to her ears, as the two people
in front of her... having actual SEX... groaned.
"Hush, baby," moaned her mother's throaty voice. "I'm
thanking Bobby for saving you."
Bobby, for his part, was just as stunned as Sarah was.
The rush of feelings he had never felt before
threatened to overwhelm him. Unknown to him, or Molly,
for that matter, the paste that had been smeared on him
had similar qualities to what would eventually come to
be known as an aphrodisiac. But it also had the quality
of making his penis less sensitive than it would have
been otherwise, so while his lust was inflamed, he did
not suffer the premature ejaculation that would
probably have otherwise taken place when his foggy mind
came to grips with what was actually happening.
Molly's experience was similar to the many times Jonas
had entered her, but vastly different for several
reasons. For one thing she hadn't thought of Bobby as a
potential sexual partner for more than perhaps an hour
before he was fully buried inside her. Her first
glimmer of lust for him was triggered by his casual
acceptance of his role as her "husband".
His willingness to assume that role, and then to fight
for what it was plain to see was not only her daughter,
but her own future as well, had made her pussy gush
unexpectedly. His bare upper torso during the fight
extended her errant mind further along a track she
would never have thought to let it go. She was off
kilter enough that, when her daughter was stripped in
front of them, his reaction to Sarah's nakedness had
fed the fire in her own loins. Finally, the knowledge
that he would see her naked, and then his reaction to
that, had pushed her over the edge.
That the old woman insisted on seeing her bred, and
then HELPED that process along, had been so delicious
that it had almost taken the decision out of her hands.
She had wanted the decision taken out of her hands. She
had suddenly wanted this boy/man, with his long hard
penis, and she wanted an excuse to have him. The
combination of lust, gratitude, relieved fear and joy
that her daughter was unharmed, had let her do
something she would never have otherwise even
contemplated.
Now she was so deliciously filled, and his thrusting
body felt so good against hers, so much lighter than
Jonas, writhing, where Jonas pounded, his penis
reaching so much deeper than any she'd had before...
she suddenly felt the need to be bred... to receive
this boy's precious offering... to see her belly swell
again. She had loved being with child each time Jonas
had made her pregnant, and she hadn't realized how much
she missed knowing that, as she strained under a man,
she might be made pregnant in the process. With Jonas
she enjoyed the feel of what her lover was doing to
her. With Bobby there was the promise of so much more.
There was a low raspy murmur from the area of the fire
pit. Molly rolled her head to see Birthing Woman
singing softly, almost a chant, as she threw small
pinches of some herb that smelled sweet and strong into
the fire. It was obvious she was still involved in the
mating ritual she had supervised thus far. Molly felt
her heart lurch that this stranger, a woman from a
completely different culture, could care so much about
the fertility of another woman, from another culture.
Knowing she would feel differently the next morning,
Molly gave herself freely to the boy she would have
spit on forty-eight hours earlier, and thrust up
against him in anticipation of feeling his seed flowing
deep into her womb.
She was surprised by an orgasm that overcame her so
quickly, and was so strong that she froze under the
rutting boy, her whole body going rigid and stiff. Her
teeth clamped together and she hissed her breath out in
a long vocal release that magically unfroze her body
and let it relax. Then to her amazement and joy, she
felt another one coming almost immediately. She
welcomed it with a violent thrust of her hips, taking
him into her as deeply as possible, her nails leaving
beads of blood in long scrapes across his back.
Sarah saw her mother go rigid, and heard the groan of
release and recognized it immediately as the same thing
she had felt while riding the horse, when she was
unable to get away from the rubbing of her sex. She
felt hot all over as she realized that she had felt the
same thing her mother was feeling. Her stomach growled
and she jumped as she realized it wasn't her stomach,
but something else, as a flood of wet suffused her own
pussy lips. She looked down and spread her legs to see
drops of clear liquid dripping out of her body.
Tentatively she reached two fingers between her legs
and placed them on that dripping orifice. She realized
almost immediately that she could reproduce the feel of
that horse rubbing against her. In less than a minute
seconds she had her own orgasm. She almost fell over
backwards from the feeling of it and sound dimmed in
her ears.
The only thing she could hear was the sound of an old
woman's voice, rising to a verbal crescendo that
matched what the other women in the teepee were feeling
physically. Then, Birthing Woman's singing stopped, and
was replaced by cackling laughter.
***
Brad felt bad about having to go on to the high meadows
with the sheep, while the Collins boy went off to find
the Indians, or his mother, or his sister, or Bobby...
or perhaps all of them together. He looked thoughtfully
at Enid, who had sat her horse, watching the boy ride
off into the trees until he could be seen no more.
That night, when they had reached the line shack that
would house one or more of the Rocklin family for the
summer, he settled into the bed with his wife, who
snuggled up to him and astonished him by telling him
that Enid was WAY too interested in that Collins boy.
Then they talked about how worried they were about
Bobby, and where he could be. Amanda insisted that he
was fine... that she could feel it in her bones.
Brad wanted to play, but Amanda slapped at his
wandering hands.
"Beth and Enid are right over there!" she whispered in
his ear, tickling it with her tongue just to tease him.
She loved it when he was horny for her.
She woke him later in the night, when it was dark and
quiet, and the girls were asleep. She mounted him and
sat up, sinking down on his stiff manhood, trying to be
quiet. She didn't pay any attention to the moonlight
that came through the windows, or that, while the girls
were in the shadows, she and her husband were not. She
wasn't as quiet as she thought she was either, as she
reached her pinnacle and felt him spurt up into her.
She had no idea she had just given her first lesson in
sex to her younger daughter, who was not only awake,
but was up on one elbow watching wide eyed through the
whole process.
***
Molly was beside herself. She was experiencing her
fifth orgasm, and knew that, as long as Bobby continued
thrusting into her, she could have another. Then he
stiffened and groaned. She felt his penis swell and
thrust her tired hips up once again to receive what
she'd been craving for almost half an hour. It came in
strong, wet bursts that seemed to fill her whole body
as he spurted for the first time into a woman.
"Ohhhhh yeeessssss," she moaned, loving each and every
jolt of his hot fluid.
He collapsed on top of her and she started to protest
as he rolled to one side. Then she saw the old woman's
hands pushing at him, making him roll off, and saw her
toothless grin as she thrust a rolled up hide under
Molly's thighs. Instinctively Molly lifted her buttocks
off the furry bed and the roll of leather ended up
under her buttocks, tilting her pelvis down so that
none of the precious seed she had received could
escape.
The old woman's eyes bore into Molly's, and her
toothless mouth split in another grin, punctuated by a
wink.
Tentatively, Molly smiled herself, and then rolled her
head to look at her daughter. Bobby, limp, his eyes
closed, had rolled half onto Sarah's lap, his head
resting between her own open thighs.
Sarah was staring at his peaceful face.
***
It was dark. There was the smell of smoke. Molly's open
eyes could see nothing until she turned her head toward
the fire pit, which contained only glowing embers. Her
mind leapt to replay what she had done... how long ago?
The roll of leather was still under her buttocks, and
was uncomfortable. She lifted her buttocks and felt the
ache in her loins from overuse of the muscles there as
she removed the bundle.
She was covered with a fur, and felt skin next to hers.
She turned her head and smelled what she now recognized
was... Bobby.
It was very quiet, and Molly lay with her eyes open,
seeing nothing, as she thought about what she'd said.
One time. Just this one time. It had been amazing...
more than she would have dreamed any woman could
experience. She didn't try to puzzle that out... just
felt the memory of what had happened.
One time. Maybe that could mean one night. She tried to
concentrate on that part of her that, a short time
before, had felt warm and heavy as his pooled semen had
lain there. She couldn't feel that lovely warm heavy
feeling any more. She felt empty, like Birthing Woman
had characterized her. She was fairly young, healthy,
and her belly should contain life.
Birthing Wooman had said so.
She pulled at Bobby until he woke, reaching for him.
His limp penis swelled in her hand as she kissed him.
She pulled him on top of her. Yes, one night was what
she had meant.
When she had felt that wonderful feeling twice more,
and her womb was full of his spend again, she put the
leather bundle under her buttocks, and went back to
sleep.
***
The next morning there were, to Molly's intense
surprise, no feelings of remorse or recrimination.
Molly had rolled off the leather bundle in her sleep
and her arm was thrown over Bobby's warm body. She
realized her hand was resting on her daughter's
shoulder, and that Sarah too had rolled toward Bobby,
pressing her front to his side. He lay on his back, his
eyes wide open, staring up at the series of wooden
poles that supported the hides that made the wigwam in
which he had lost his virginity.
When Molly raised her head, his eyes slid sideways in
their sockets and he took a breath. Molly could see the
uncertainty in his eyes, and she kissed his shoulder
softly.
"Good morning husband," she said in a soft whisper.
He smiled weakly, then more strongly, his eyes
clearing.
"Thank you," he whispered back.
She kissed his shoulder again and then sat up, the furs
falling off her body. She had thought she would be
timid and ashamed, but after last night she knew she
could appear naked before this man any time in the
future and be proud. She'd have to watch that
inclination. In her mind one night was as far as she
would take this.
Sarah's eyes opened as Bobby moved, and she licked her
lips. Bobby rolled his head her way and she blushed,
but did not roll away from him. She looked over at her
mother, who stood. The inside if her thighs still
glistened with the wet she and Bobby had created.
Sarah's eyes opened wider as Molly bent to look at that
wet and sighed.
Then, as if nothing untoward had happened, Molly said
"I'd like to get back to the ranch today if it's at all
possible. Your father will be frantic with worry for
both of us."
Sarah blinked and then sat up convulsively. Her breasts
were only a foot from Bobby's eyes and he looked at
them, before sliding his eyes up to her lower lip,
which was bitten gently between her teeth. She let it
go and said "Yes, Mamma."
Both women got dressed and Molly threw Bobby his
clothes.
"Come on... husband... your women need to get back to
their lodge."
The old woman was already up and stirring something in
a clay pot in the fire. She grinned at them and pointed
to it, pantomiming eating. Bobby shook his head, but
went over to the woman and leaned over to kiss her
cheek. She beamed at him.
Their horses were already waiting for them outside.
There were also footprints of moccasins, many
footprints. They stood in pairs, or singly, facing the
teepee. It was obvious they had stood there...
listening... as Birthing Woman worked her medicine on
the white man and his women.
The sun wasn't quite up yet, but they didn't dally.
Instead they mounted silently and rode at a slow walk
through the camp. Only a few women were out and about,
and none paid them any attention.
They didn't talk for almost a mile. Then Molly got the
story of everything that had happened out of Sarah, and
answered her questions. They rode a ways behind Bobby,
who didn't try to overhear their conversation. Instead
he rode ahead, following the same trail they had ridden
in on. He planned to cross the river before striking
out directly toward the Circle C ranch, where he hoped
he would be received well.
***
Frank was also up before dawn, chilled to the bone, and
on his horse, with only jerky for breakfast. He had no
idea what he'd do when he reached the Indian
encampment, assuming he could even find it. The only
thing he knew was that, if his mother and sister were
in it, he would somehow get them and take them home.
He hadn't slept well, and was still tired. He had
nodded off, his head bobbing as the horse followed an
obvious trail, when his horse whickered. His head came
up instantly and a pistol was in his hand and cocked
before he realized he'd done that. He looked ahead and
saw three horses, with people on them. They were
crossing the river and coming toward him. He saw red
hair and kicked his horse hard in the ribs, leaning
forward to counter what he knew would be an explosive
leap.
It only took him three minutes to reach them and, for
some reason the pistol was still in his hand when he
skidded to a stop and his eyes took in the bedraggled
look of his mother. His sister was dressed like an
Indian, of all things. And then there was the sheep
boy, sitting his horse and looking at him. All that was
in his hands were the reins of his horse. Half of his
mind took in the appearance of that horse. It was a
stallion, solid black and huge - at least sixteen hands
high. It was a beautiful animal, and the boy sat him
well.
The other half of his mind concentrated on the women.
His mother smiled at him, and Sarah smiled too. Both
were tired smiles.
"You don't need that pistol," said Molly gently. "We're
fine. Where is your father?"
"What happened?" he asked, his voice cracking. "What
have you been doing?"
"Where is your father, Frank?" asked his mother
tersely.
"Oh!" said Frank, a sheepish look coming across his
face. "Well... um... they came back from looking for
you, and said they couldn't find you, and they went to
bed... and I didn't think they'd looked hard enough...
and..."
"You rode off by yourself?" Molly's voice didn't sound
like a victim now. There was steel in it... mother's
steel.
"Well I HAD to find you..," he said weakly.
"Frank, the men who took your sister would have killed
you with no compunction if you'd caught up with them,"
Molly said, her voice strained. "If it hadn't been for
Bobby they might have killed ME if I would have found
them!"
Frank looked at Bobby, sitting on his horse, saying
nothing.
"What happened? How did you hook up with him?" There
was anguish in Frank's voice, the anguish of a teenaged
boy, trying hard to act like a man, and not being
appreciated for it.
Molly rode close to him, their horses greeting each
other, and she began to speak in low tones. Sarah's
horse drifted closer to his too, the animals enjoying
being with other horses that were familiar. Bobby sat
and listened as they told the story. They didn't
embellish, as far as he could determine. The only thing
that was said that wasn't completely factual was when
he heard Sarah say that the Indians had let them stay
the night and fed them. That was all she said about
what had happened after the fight.
Frank turned his head toward Bobby and nodded.
"Much obliged," he said, parroting what he'd heard his
father say on occasion. He wanted to say more... much
more... but he didn't know how to say it.
Instead he then told them all what had happened from
his point of view, assuring Bobby that his family was
fine. No one seemed to know what had happened to
Buford, but it was a fair guess that he wouldn't be
seen in these parts ever again.
Then Frank thanked Bobby again and announced that he
would take his mother and sister back to the ranch.
"No," said Molly firmly. Both Frank and Sarah gaped at
her. She addressed Sarah.
"Bobby rescued you. It is his right to return you to
your family," she said calmly. Frank, you'll be in a
lot of trouble with your father for leaving like you
did. Now he's worried about all three of us. You will
ride back the way you came, where he is no doubt
following by now, and meet him. Tell him to return to
the ranch."
"But..." Frank moaned. He had been thinking that he
could return home triumphant, and that he would then be
forgiven for his rashness.
"No buts," said his mother. "And if your father allows
it, I want you to report to the Rocklins too. No...
TELL him I said you are to report to the Rocklins that
Bobby is well, and will be home soon."
"Yes, Mother," said the dejected boy.
Then Molly turned back to Bobby. "I'd like it if you'd
take us home now, Bobby. I'd like a bath," she said
simply.
***
Wyoming is a big place, and there are many ways to get
from one place to the other. The fact that Frank knew
where he was going, and took shortcuts, and the fact
that Jonas was following a particular trail, and the
fact that Bobby took the most direct line toward the
Circle C ranch, was what was responsible for the fact
that the Jonas and his men missed both Frank and his
rescued family, riding right between them, across the
river, and then into the Indian village.
Frank, when he reached the clearing where Chaps was now
buried, saw clearly the tracks of his father's horses,
and knew, with a sinking feeling, that he had missed
them. He wondered whether he should turn around and
follow them, or, since he was so close to the high
meadows, just go on up and let the Rocklins know that
Bobby was safe. It would be much easier to face them
than it would be to face his father.
He turned his horse up the mountain.
***
The three men rode into the Indian camp wary, their
hands on their weapons, not knowing what to expect.
Jonas knew of this tribe, and knew that there had not
been any trouble with them for a long time. Still, he
was nervous.
There was a delegation waiting for them. One man,
bigger than the rest, stepped forward and stood calmly,
unarmed.
"Yah tah ho," he said, raising his hand. "There are
many white people visiting us."
Jonas tensed. "Where? I'm looking for my wife and
daughter."
"I am Man Who Runs Like A Deer," said Man Who Runs Like
A Deer patiently, exasperated at how rude these white
people could be.
Jonas took an angry breath, but Buckshot spoke before
he could.
"We come from the Circle C ranch," he said. "This man's
women have been stolen from him."
Man Who Runs Like A Deer nodded sagely. "There are many
women being stolen recently. Another man was here one
sun ago, and claimed his two women in battle. They are
all who were here. We have no more."
Jonas looked at Buckshot, who shrugged his shoulders.
Then he looked at the Indian, and with obvious
patience, asked "What did this man and these women look
like?"
The Indian looked around and gestured to a young woman
standing a way from him. He spoke to her in his native
tongue and she came forward.
"Tell these men what they want to know." Man Who Runs
Like A Deer said to Swallow Tail in their language. "I
am tired of talking to white men." He turned and walked
off.
"Hey!" said Jonas angrily.
"Please," said Swallow Tail. "Step down. I will tell
you what happened."
"What about him?" asked Jonas plaintively.
Swallow tail looked to make sure the Indian was out of
earshot. "He is embarrassed by his poor knowing of your
language," she said, smiling. "He has asked me to help
you."
The men got down and were immediately approached by
other women who offered them food. Peter and Buckshot
accepted it gratefully, having eaten only cold food for
two days. Jonas was impatient.
"The older woman had hair like the yellow in a fire,"
said Swallow Tail, warming to her story. "And the
younger hair like the sun. I do not know their names.
Sun hair was taken from bad men in battle, by one of
our braves, who wanted to keep her for his wife."
Jonas' face darkened and he frowned mightily, but
Buckshot put a hand on his arm and squeezed.
The girl went on. "A man came, riding a wild stallion.
His other woman, Fire hair, was with him and they had
an extra horse. He demanded the return of his woman -
sun hair." Swallow tail loved to tell stories.
She embellished a little, to make the story better.
"Many men of our people wanted to take fire hair from
him. She was beautiful in their eyes. But the man...
called Bah-bee was strong, and demanded to fight. His
fighting was odd, but he bested Sees Long Distance, and
won his wife back. My Grandmother, Birthing Woman saw
that Fire Hair was empty and sad, and helped them. He
left with both his wives this morning."
"But that's MY wife!" Jonas exploded. "And the other
one, with the yellow hair... that's my daughter!"
Swallow Tail's eyes widened. This could mean a lot of
trouble. When Swallow Tail had come home to announce
that she had gotten Sees Long Distance's...
attention... her grandmother had proudly claimed that
surely the Great Spirit had smiled upon Bah-bee and his
older wife, as their coupling had been both
entertaining and industrious. Birthing Woman had given
the younger woman some of the herbs, the gift-that-
makes-babies, as a present to take with her and use
later. Swallow Tail had been surprised that a white man
would have two wives - she had never seen that before -
but she was more concerned with being presented with an
opportunity to get Sees Long Distance under a blanket
with her, and had ignored everything else.
She folded her arms and said gravely, "They are gone.
You must find them elsewhere."
Peter spoke for the first time. "And there are no white
women in this camp at all?"
"None," said Swallow Tail firmly.
The men huddled briefly. It was Peter who asked Swallow
Tail to show them the direction that this "man" and his
"wives" left in. She did them one better than that. She
showed them the tracks of the party.
To their chagrin they saw that they had ridden over
them as they approached the Indian encampment. All
their attention had been on the camp or they would have
seen the tracks themselves.
With disgust in his voice, Jonas ordered Buckshot to
follow the trail. Peter looked over his shoulder and
smiled at the Indian girl, thanking her. She smiled
back.
"Maybe your people might want to trade for some beef,"
he said.
Swallow Tail smiled wider. "We have many things to
trade," she said in a remarkably coquettish manner.
"Perhaps I will get to trade with you myself."
Jonas yelled at his son, who tipped his hat to the girl
and cantered off. He looked back over his shoulder
twice before he caught up to the men. Both times the
girl still stood there watching him leave. He compared
her in his mind to Beth. Looking back to the front he
realized he had been thinking of the Indian girl
dressed in Beth's dress. Now Beth's face took the
Indian girl's place. He frowned, wondering what was
making him think these thoughts. He pictured Beth in
the Indian girl's buckskin dress. He felt his penis
begin to stiffen yet again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Enid Rocklin sat on the porch and stared out at sheep.
She was bored. She was always bored up in the high
meadows. The flat space that grew such lush grass was
surrounded on most sides by mountains, some of which
still had patches of white clinging to them. Enid
wondered for maybe the hundredth time what it would be
like to look out at the world from way up there where
the snows still sat. But that would take time away from
tending sheep... too much time according to her father,
who had snorted when she asked to go up there one time.
He had laughed and said there were mountain lions up
there that would make a quick snack of her. Why was it
that men - her mother had applauded the idea - why was
it that men all thought that just because you were
female and had bumps on your chest that you couldn't do
anything?
She stared at the mountains. Maybe if she took someone
with her, her father would let her go some day. That
thought led to who she could get to go with her and,
suddenly, the image of Frank Collins was in her mind.
She blinked. She didn't know what to think about Frank
Collins. He was a boy, and usually that didn't get you
anywhere at all with Enid Rocklin. Boys were a pain in
the behind. But something about him wasn't so... so...
so whatever it was that made her want to kick boys in
the shins. She hadn't been around any boys since they'd
left Oregon. Well, there was Bobby, but he was a pain
in the behind, always lording it over her because she
was younger than him.
Frank was different somehow. She remembered seeing him
on that big horse that pranced and ran and bucked a
little. And Frank had sat there like he was glued to
the saddle. She knew what it took to ride like that.
Her father still sometimes almost fell off a horse when
it moved suddenly. Beth rode, but carefully, like she
was afraid of breaking the horse... or herself. Her
mamma had taught Enid to ride while the men were off
with the sheep. And her mamma could ride like a cowboy
too.
She closed her eyes and remembered looking up at Frank
while he sat on his horse talking to her mother. She
had rolled in the dirt in front of him, to capture that
stupid puppy. She hadn't thought a thing about it until
she stood up, dusty and with grass clinging to her
buckskins. He had been looking at her like she was
strange. Normally she'd have stuck out her tongue at
him, but for some reason she was unhappy that he'd seen
her like that.
She remembered running to lead him to pappa, and how
she had felt like a deer being chased by a hunter. When
she'd fallen she reacted automatically in a move that
Xian Bai had taught her while they wrestled. He had
taught her a lot of things that only Chinamen seemed to
know. He could use that six foot long staff of his to
keep a wolf at bay and even kill it, with whirling
lightning strikes that were so fast the eye couldn't
follow them. Seeing him do that one time had left her
feeling weak, with a funny feeling in the pit of her
stomach. She had thought it was just fear. Wolves
usually didn't come near people.
But seeing her father preparing to shoot Frank had made
her feel the same way, and the feeling had continued as
the boy rode up full tilt and demanded to be shown the
tracks that might lead him to his mother.
And he'd gone off to find her too! All alone, and so
young! Well, he was only a year older than her... but
would she do that?
She nodded to nobody. Buster ran up to her, trailed by
two puppies, to check in. Enid gave the dogs some
loving and sent them back out. The puppies were growing
up and learning their trade. She had called them
stupid, but they weren't. They were proving they were
just as smart as their parents. Sometimes she felt like
a puppy. Her mind drifted back to Frank. HE made her
feel like a puppy.
She remembered kissing him. She hadn't meant to, but
the urge had been overpowering for some reason. She
remembered riding way too fast away from him, the taste
of his lips on hers, slightly salty. She had been
astonished that she'd done that. Kissing a boy?
She couldn't believe she had told him she wanted
another kiss.
Yet right now she wished she could kiss him again. That
was silly. Her pappa kissed her mamma a lot... WAY more
than was necessary to tell her he loved her. He loved
Enid - she knew that deep in her bones - but he didn't
kiss her like she was thinking of kissing Frank
Collins. He kissed her mamma like she was thinking of
kissing Frank Collins. She felt suddenly hot. Her
nipples itched and she scratched at them. It felt good.
Her whole body felt hot and she thought about taking
off her clothes. She got up to go inside, out of the
sun.
***
Frank walked his horse up the trail. He was going to be
in so much trouble when he got back. He was going to be
in so much trouble he had no idea in the world what his
punishment would be.
Trying to find something more pleasant to think about
he thought about where he was going. They'd be happy to
hear that their son was all right. And maybe he'd get
to see that girl again. What was her name? Enid. Yes,
that was it. The strange girl with a strange name. He
hadn't met many girls, and for sure he'd never met one
like her. She ran like an antelope, easy and with long
ground eating strides. And her chest. He thought about
her chest and his eyes went out of focus. He knew just
a little bit about breasts. His mother hugged him
sometimes, and pressed hers against him. He noticed
that, when his mother was dressed and hugged him, it
felt completely different than when she was in her
nightgown and hugged him good night. Then her breasts
felt soft and warm and squishy.
And Sarah hugged him too, once in a while, pressing her
smaller ones against him. He'd seen Sarah's, when they
were younger and bathed together. He'd seen the bumps
begin to grow on her flat chest and about that time
they didn't take baths together any more. But one time
they had been taking lunch to the men, out at the herd,
and on the way back they'd stopped at the big pond to
swim. It had been years since he'd seen her naked, and
she only took off her clothes down to her shift, but
when it got wet he could see clear through it. Her
bumps had turned into huge lumps with things on the end
that must be just like his own, which stood out
whenever it was cool. She had splashed water at him for
looking, but hadn't gotten mad.
Enid's breasts were bigger than Sarah's, though not so
big as his mother's. And she had had those bumps on the
tips of her breasts too... sticking out through the
leather she had been wearing. He remembered her upper
chest, covered with freckles, and wondered if her
breasts were covered with them too. He liked the
freckles across her nose and under her eyes. They made
her look like she was smiling or something. The last
time he'd seen those freckles they had been inches from
his eyes as she had kissed him. Just like that her face
had come close and her lips had touched his,
astonishing him. It had been over so quickly, and then
she had turned and galloped off and his stomach had
hurt for some reason.
He saw the tree branch in front of his face with only
the instant's time it took to lean sideways and back in
the saddle to miss getting it in his face. He looked
around. Thinking about a girl could get you in trouble.
But there was no trouble on the trail. His horse was
completely comfortable, plodding along. His mind
drifted back to Enid. He couldn't stop thinking about
her.
Frank walked his horse around a pile of boulders and
saw good, tall grass spread out before him. He was
astonished at how vast the high meadows were. He saw
the line shack in the distance. There was smoke coming
from the chimney, and a horse grazing outside the
shack, but he didn't see the wagon. He was greeted
almost immediately by a barking trio of dogs. The
largest was the dog he knew was named Buster. The puppy
named Zeke and one other pup about the same age were
with him. Once Buster had sniffed at him, he bounded
off toward where Frank could barely see the backs of a
large number of sheep that grazed in small groups.
Buster seemed to just run around between these groups,
followed by the puppies.
He looked up and saw that someone had stepped out of
the shack. He felt a little jolt run through his body
as he realized it was Enid. She had a rifle in her
hands. He rode ahead and felt his heart thumping in his
chest. He smiled, admitting to himself that he was
excited to see the girl again.
This time he didn't have the safety of his mother and
sister to distract him, and as he rode up and saw her
smiling face, he felt his groin tighten. She was
dressed as before, in leather, and again he couldn't
seem to make his eyes leave her chest.
"Well if it isn't mister big strong cowboy," said Enid.
"I thought you were off chasing your mamma."
Frank flushed at her implied statement that he was just
a little boy. In any other situation he probably would
have responded with anger. But there wasn't derision in
her voice. Rather there was a familiar teasing tone
that suggested she didn't actually think he was a
little boy at all.
"I found them," he said simply. "Your brother is fine."
Enid was shocked. Part of her - the girl part - DID
think of this young man as just a boy, out on a lark,
trying to show the world what a man he was. Another
part of her - the woman part - saw him as that man
already, strong and skilled, and able to take care of
himself and those he loved. Standing over Chaps' body
he had been strong and calm, while she wanted to throw
up. The fact that he was successful in his pursuits
tipped the scales toward that part of her who saw him
as a man.
She stared at him, strange feelings going through her
body. She realized that her breasts felt tingly, where
the leather caressed them. It was a nice feeling, like
when she was riding hard and her breasts moved around
under that leather. She realized he was staring at the
very part of her she was thinking about. In most
situations that would have made her mad. She realized
she liked it when he looked at her though. Still, she
was glad she hadn't gotten naked.
"Aren't you going to get down?" she asked.
"I just came to tell your parents that your brother is
fine, and that I found my sister and mother," he said.
"That was nice. Where are they?" Enid asked, making
exaggerated movements to look around him at someone.
"Your brother is taking them back to our ranch," said
Frank, feeling uncomfortable for some reason.
Enid's mouth fell open. "What? Why would he do that?"
She looked at him. "Why didn't YOU do that?"
Frank looked up at the sky, which was dark blue and
full of fluffy white clouds. "Well... my mamma... my
mother... said that he had saved them, and that it was
his right to return them."
Enid, thought of Bobby as most sisters think of their
brothers - as a pain in the behind. She was shocked at
the idea that her brother could save anybody from
anything. "You need to get down off that horse and tell
me what happened."
"Go get your parents," said Frank somewhat crossly. "I
don't want to have to tell this story more than once."
"They're not here. They went back to get the rest of
the flock and drive them up here," said Enid.
Frank blinked. "They left you here alone?" he asked,
astonishment in his voice.
Enid bristled. "I'm NOT alone. I have Buster and Zeke
and Paps with me. I also have this!" she held up the
Winchester in her hands. "I can take care of myself
just fine mister big strong cowboy!"
Frank felt unhappy that that tone was back in her
voice. His reflections on her as he rode up here hadn't
included that tone of voice. He remembered it now. He
liked it a lot more when she was less acid. "I'm sorry.
It's just that you're..."
"A girl?" she finished for him. There was the hint of
danger in her voice.
"No!" he said hurriedly. "You're just young... that's
all."
"I'm fourteen," she said proudly, sticking her chest
out. Frank almost groaned as she did that. "You can't
be much older yourself, mister big strong cowboy," she
said.
"Would you please stop calling me that?" he asked
plaintively. "My name is Frank, and yes, I'm fifteen."
He was having a hard time thinking about what he wanted
to say... and how to say it.
"Well, if you want to live to be sixteen, you get down
off that horse and tell me about my brother. You can't
be talking about Bobby. He's so stupid he couldn't save
a lamb from falling in a hole."
Enid's obviously juvenile reaction to the idea that her
brother... who appeared to be about the same age as he
was... caused Frank to want to smile. He felt the urge
to needle this disturbing girl a little.
He got down and, like many in the West, couldn't resist
making the story just a little bit better than the mere
truth of things. He began to spin a tale of heroics,
and fighting Indians, and battling storms. He thought
about throwing some outlaws in there for good measure,
but decided that was going too far. By the end of his
tale Bobby had fought and killed five or six grown men
and Frank's sister Sarah was pining over him. He told
that part without thinking much about it and it was
only after that that he realized he had suggested there
was a romance between a sheep herder's son, and a cow
rancher's daughter. It was that thought that cut his
voice off as if with a knife.
Enid had been mesmerized by the story. And, being young
and inexperienced, she had taken the bait, hook, line
and sinker. It fired her imagination, and when he
stopped talking she was almost panting. Frank saw those
bumps on the front of her shirt again, and stared at
them.
"I can't believe Bobby could do all that!" she said
breathlessly. "KILLED Indians?! MY brother? My stupid
old... " She looked startled as her glazed eyes
cleared. "I guess maybe he's not as stupid as I
thought."
Enid's now clear eyes saw where Frank's now glazed eyes
were fixed. Again she felt the rush of heat in her
belly that went along with the knowledge that she had
something to offer that a man was interested in.
"You sure stare at my chest a lot," she blurted. She
clapped a hand over her mouth and flushed bright red.
She hadn't meant to say that.
Frank's eyes cleared instantly and he blushed too. "I'm
sorry, Ma'am," he said in a formal instinctive way.
"It's just that..." he floundered, not knowing what to
say.
Enid tried to get control and also reverted to social
training. "Well you're very impertinent."
Frank looked miserable. He stood up. "I'll just leave,"
he said.
"No!" blurted Enid, again not meaning to. "I mean... I
haven't even offered you anything to eat! I mean I
haven't been very neighborly."
Frank was confused, as most men are when they are
around a woman for more than ten minutes. "But I
offended you."
Enid thought furiously. Part of her brain was asking
"What in the world are you thinking of girl?" That was
directed at the other part of her brain, which was
yelling "I don't want him to go!" All of this, of
course, was the result of the fact that most girls are
confused by their own emotions whenever they're around
a cute boy for more than ten minutes. In truth, neither
of them knew what to do about the feelings each had for
the other. It was too new.
"I forgive you!" she blurted.
Frank looked at her, astonished. He felt his eyes
sliding back to her breasts, and jerked them upward to
find her eyes staring at his. She giggled.
"Really," he pled. "I'm sorry. I can't help it."
Enid felt the power a woman has over a man sometimes.
That was another new feeling, and one she liked a lot.
As if it were a narcotic, she was instantly addicted to
that feeling.
"I suppose that since you're just a man, I can
understand that," she said sweetly. "Do you think I'm
pretty?" she asked. She frowned. She hadn't meant for
that to come out either.
Frank felt a lump in his throat. "Yes, Ma'am, I surely
do," he said, on auto pilot.
Enid felt a rush of relief and that heat in her belly
again at his compliment. "You don't have to call me
ma'am," she said. "I'm just a girl mostly."
Frank, for once, didn't say anything. He just looked at
her, and the message in his eyes said much more
successfully than his voice ever could have that he saw
her as a woman.
"May I offer you something to eat or drink?" she asked,
her voice suddenly lower than it had been only moments
before.
"I'd like that very much," he said.
***
As they rode, Bobby, Molly and Sarah fell into a
comfortable silence. Once in a while one of them would
mention a particularly scenic view, or notice aloud one
of the many spectacular wind-carved rocks they passed,
but for the most part they just moved along. At one
point Molly stepped her horse up beside Bobby's.
"We're not going to make it back before dark," she said
casually.
"Doesn't look like it, does it," replied Bobby.
"We should have begged a few furs from them," suggested
Molly. "You know how cold it gets at night."
"All I wanted to do was get out of there," said Bobby.
"Was it that onerous?" asked Molly. She knew, the way
lovers know, that he had enjoyed what had happened
between them. She was teasing her one-time lover.
Bobby looked at her. "That was the finest night of my
life," he said seriously.
Molly blushed. "Thank you. A woman can't hear that kind
of compliment enough." She looked a little sad. "But
you know it can't happen again."
Bobby's eyes didn't waver. "I know," he said.
"What are we going to do about tonight?" she asked.
Bobby shrugged. "Build a fire. Huddle under the horse
blankets like last time."
Molly looked forward. "Last time was different," she
said.
Bobby looked at her. "I don't understand."
Molly smiled. "I enjoyed last night too, Bobby."
He looked confused. "But I thought you said..."
"I know what I said," she replied. "But I know what I'm
going to want to do again tonight if you sleep next to
me too."
"Oh!" said Bobby, even more confused.
"It's not that easy to control, young man," said Molly,
trying to bring some distance between them.
"Maybe I should sleep alone," said Bobby, trying to be
helpful.
"It would be too cold," said Molly.
Bobby's confusion turned to frustration. "What do you
want me to do?" he asked.
"I don't have the faintest idea," said the completely
grown woman beside him.
Sarah rode up on the other side of Bobby. "What are you
two talking about?" she asked.
The relationship between mother and daughter had
changed immensely the night before, and they had talked
about that together for a long time as they had ridden
this day. Molly didn't try to keep anything from Sarah
now.
"We're going to have to spend another night out in the
open." she told her daughter. "We were just talking
about how we were going to do that without... without
me doing anything more wrong than I already have."
"Oh" said Sarah. Seeing them the night before had been
an education for Sarah that had changed her view on
life completely. That and her mother's explanations on
the trail this day helped her understand, as well as
any virgin can, why her mother had done what she'd
done, to include her mother's unconcern... if that's
what it could really be called... as to whether Bobby
had made her pregnant during the night. She knew her
mother loved her father, and that what had happened was
only because of a unique set of circumstances that
would never be repeated. Still, because she had never
felt what her mother had felt, it was much more black
and white to her.
"So just don't do anything," she said simply.
"We have to sleep huddled up together... for warmth,"
said Molly.
"But we'll be dressed, right?" said Sarah.
"Clothes don't always keep things from happening," said
Molly wisely.
"So I'll sleep between you and Bobby," said Sarah.
"That might be best." agreed Molly.
"What about me?" asked Bobby. "Doesn't anybody care how
that's going to affect me?" He was trying to joke... to
lighten the mood.
Molly looked over at him. "When I was pregnant, and
Jonas couldn't... you know... he taught me ways to help
a man deal with... problems. Perhaps you already know
of these ways?"
Bobby looked at her uncomprehendingly. He'd had plenty
of boners in his young life, but had never stumbled
across learning to masturbate. His family's sleeping
accommodations prevented it in one way, and he had just
never found out that he could do with his hand, what
Molly's pussy had done the night before.
Molly didn't think it was that strange, though. She'd
never heard of such a thing until Jonas had begged her
to help him. She had found that she loved to feel a
hard penis in her hand, and watch it spurt fountains of
thick white stuff into the air. She'd also found, by
accident, that that thick white stuff tasted pretty
good too. The next time she'd tasted it hadn't been by
accident. Jonas had almost had a heart attack, but that
passed and he admitted that what she was doing was just
fine with him.
"I think I can help you get to sleep," she said.
She forgot completely how doing that to Jonas had made
her feel.
***
Enid's offer of something to eat and drink had, as
sometimes happens when a young man and young woman are
attracted to each other, turned into conversation,
which went on and on. He accompanied her on her rounds
with the sheep, and they talked more. In short, he was
smitten with her, and she longed for him in ways she
had never experienced before.
It was while they were in the tall grass that she
remembered something.
"You owe me another kiss," she said.
Frank stopped, and when she turned around to see where
he was he looked at her lips. He remembered again the
feel of her lips on his.
"A man always pays his debts," he said through dry
lips.
That kiss turned into another one, which somehow led to
more, until the two of them were clasped in each
other's arms, their lips glued together. It was by
accident that they both opened their mouths to try to
take a breath while still kissing, and their tongues
touched ever so briefly. The electric shock of that led
to more tentative touches between their tongues, and
soon it was as if each was trying to suck the other's
tongue into their mouth.
Frank was achingly hard, something of which he was
acutely aware, but the times she had pressed against
that hard column she had not reacted negatively to it.
In fact, as their tongues dueled for oral supremacy,
she began to press her lower body to his most firmly.
They were evenly matched in height, and that lump fit
squarely into the small triangle where her legs met her
hips. Enid found that, when he pressed into that area,
she felt the most delicious tingles all over her body.
In short, Enid came to be in heat for the first time in
her life. Everything felt so wonderful that she wanted
it to go on forever. This boy was making her feel so
wonderful that she was almost beside herself. It was,
in fact, that feeling of gratitude that caused her to
take things to the next level. They had taken great
pleasure in becoming completely breathless while
kissing, and occasionally they had to stop to breathe.
Whenever they did so, his eyes raked over her body,
stopping quite often on the front of her shirt, where
the two little bumps he had seen before were now MUCH
larger bumps.
She saw him staring again, and felt the tingles in her
nipples as he looked.
"Would you like to see them?" she asked, a little
shyly.
"What?" asked Frank, astonished.
"Well, you stare at them so much I thought you might
like to actually see them."
"You'd let me see them?" his voice was high, almost
squeaky.
In answer Enid pulled at the hem of her buckskin shirt,
exposing her flat belly first, then the lower part of
her breasts, then her breasts in all their glory to the
boy. As her hands pulled it up and over her face her
breasts lifted, the nipples looking skyward and
slightly to the sides. Frank felt his penis get even
harder. She dropped the shirt on the ground beside them
and stood, uncertainly, her arms at her sides.
"Well?" she asked.
Frank stared, his mouth open. Enid felt better and
better as he continued to stare. He licked his lips.
Finally his eyes slid up to hers.
"You're beautiful," he said breathlessly.
Thrills shot through Enid. "Kiss me some more," she
said.
Now, his hands slid all over her bare back, and the
thrills got stronger and stronger. She wanted to feel
his back too, and fumbled to remove his shirt, their
lips still pressed together, tongues lashing.
It was the feel of his skin against her breasts that
pushed Enid to the next level. Her hands slid all over
his back and then down to hit his jeans. Something in
her wanted those jeans to be gone, so she could feel
only skin. The next time they broke to breathe, Enid
knelt and began undoing his pants. Frank stood,
paralyzed, unable to do anything as the bared his
straining, stiff prick. She made a sound in her throat
as it came into view, almost a purring sound. She
didn't touch it, but stood back and skinned out of her
buckskin pants until she, like him, was naked.
"Kiss me some more," she said huskily.
CHAPTER 9
As the men from the Collins ranch left the Indian
encampment behind there was a lot of frustration. Jonas
and Buckshot didn't know for sure where the tracks were
leading because they headed back in the direction they
had come. That suggested that they should have seen the
party as they approached the Indian village. Because
they HADN'T seen anyone, Jonas insisted that some man
had stolen his wife and daughter, and had some kind of
control over them, hiding them from the men while they
rode by toward the Indian camp. Buckshot wondered aloud
if it might be that sheepherder's boy, but Jonas denied
that hotly.
"My wife would never stay with that boy once she had
Sarah back," he said insistently. "It has to be
somebody else. One of those men that works for Rocklin.
He's got some kind of control on them or something.".
They had found the grave in the clearing. The sign was
so mixed up that it had taken them hours to find where
Vixen and Tulip's track led off to the North. Peter had
wanted to dig up the grave, but Jonas, ice in his gut,
didn't want to see whose body was there. When Vixen's
tracks were found heading North, he convinced himself
that Molly was alive. Her tracks were still with those
made by the winter shoes, and had left that way too,
but Jonas couldn't abide the thought that a sheep
herder's boy could somehow be in control of his wife
and daughter. He had created a fantasy in his mind that
a cowboy, drifting and looking for work, had somehow
gotten hold of the Rocklin horse, and was protecting
the Collins women.
There were holes in his theory big enough to drive
cattle through, but Jonas didn't think about that. He
had never felt so helpless in his life.
When they crossed the river, it was clear that the
party of three horses had turned East.
"Well, the trail turned and looks like it's going back
toward the Circle C," commented Buckshot. The inference
was that he thought they should move at all speed back
to the ranch.
"We have to stay on the trail," insisted Jonas. "He may
turn off and take them someplace else."
"Going to be dark soon," said Buckshot.
"Well then, we'll just have to spend another night
camping, won't we?" growled Jonas.
***
Brad rolled off of Amanda, who lay sated after a nice,
long, intense orgasm. He landed heavily beside her. He
was always an extra attentive lover when they had been
on the trail and then returned to the ranch.
"I sure do love you, darlin'," he panted.
"You just love what we just did," she teased.
"Give me a minute," he breathed. "and I'll show you how
much I love it.
"I'm surprised that Beth isn't in here with a rifle,
wanting to know where the Indians are." she teased some
more, referencing the noises they had made as each
reached a pinnacle of passion.
"Our daughters know what we do in here," he said.
"Really?" she asked, her eyebrows raised. "I'm so glad
you educated them on that, because I never have." she
continued teasing. Then more seriously: "We need to be
thinking about finding them husbands soon." Feeling her
husband's semen beginning to seep out of her, she
reached between her legs to press her pussy lips
closed.
"We've got to get the rest of the flock up to the high
meadows first," he said, not wanting to think of men
doing to his daughters what he'd just done to his wife.
When they located the flock it had been decided that
only half would be driven up to the high meadows. Xian
Bai and Charley kept the other half behind, moving them
to new grass on the flats near the ranch. Brad had been
concerned that there might be trouble on the way and
didn't want to hazard the whole flock. When there had
been no trouble, other than the dead man they'd buried,
they had left Enid and Buster to watch over the flock,
and returned to the ranch to get the other half of
their livelihood.
"All you think about is sheep," complained Amanda. "I'm
leaking. I need something to plug a leak, husband. Get
me something to plug a leak."
"I have something to plug your leak with woman," he
said, rolling back on top of her.
***
Back in the high meadows, nature reigned supreme. The
grass grew tall, and the runnel of snowmelt from higher
up ran clear and steady. Sheep did what nature had
equipped them for, grazing peacefully.
Not far away, two young humans did what nature had
intended for them as well.
Neither of them could have described how they had
somehow ended up lying in the grass together, clasping
and kissing. Frank could not have described what made
him want to taste the pink tips of the breasts Enid had
so casually exposed to him. All he thought of was, that
when he did that, her reaction was immensely favorable.
They would have said that they just kissed, rubbing
against each other in their soft bed of grass, until
somehow, unbeknownst to them, his strong young penis
changed from rubbing up against her sex, into prodding
into her sex. The moment when Enid rolled with him,
like a young colt rolls in the grass in joyful abandon,
and his penis somehow ended up inside her body, was
unexpected really. Neither of them knew the mechanics
of sexual intercourse in any defined way. What they had
seen animals doing was completely different than what
they were doing. They knew it existed, of course, but
would have made a mess of things if they'd have
actually tried to perform that mysterious act.
Nature, however, is a good teacher. When it happened,
and Enid felt the sharp pain, she was in such a
heightened emotional state that she felt it not as
pain, exactly, but as simply another sensation piled on
top of all those other new sensations she had so
recently been feeling. Besides, that pain was fleeting,
and was replaced almost instantly by a sensation deep
inside her of completion... fulfillment... rightness.
For Frank, the sensation was slightly different, but
just as emotional. Heat around every inch of his
straining prick, triggered in him the instinct to probe
deep... stay deep... while his completely unexpected
orgasm almost instantly flushed through his prick and
packed the young girl's womb full to the brim with warm
spend. His passion acted on him by keeping him hard,
and they continued to rub and kiss until nature taught
them that moving inside her was delightful too.
They were innocent in many ways, though in an
insubstantial way they were both aware on some level of
what they were doing. They reveled in all these new
feelings, and made love for hours. It was the chilling
air that led them to stand, still naked, their clothes
in their hands, and walk, hand in hand back to the
shack... where there was a bed.
That night the shack served as what would someday be
called a newlywed penthouse. They explored every inch
of each other's bodies, and even talked about many
things. But always... always they went back to him
prodding deep within her, seeding her garden again and
again as she welcomed each burst of heat deep into her
body.
In the morning she tried to hold him there, staying
naked, standing naked on the porch as he tightened the
girth on his saddle.
But he knew he had to return to the ranch.
"I'll see you again," he said solemnly to her, kissing
her one last time before he mounted. "Somehow I'll make
you my wife."
Enid rubbed her hands over her smooth, sperm-packed
tight belly and looked up at him. "You'd better," she
said. She was plenty old enough to know that what
they'd done might cause that belly to be anything but
flat.
"I love you, Enid Rocklin," said Frank firmly from his
saddle.
"And I love you, Frank Collins," she said proudly.
In a mere fifteen hours, hours that matched, very
nearly, the number of years they had been alive, they
left much of their childhood behind them.
***
Sarah got the dried meat they had been given by the old
Indian woman out of her saddlebags. She passed it
around while Bobby built a fire. There was no rock face
to reflect the heat back at them this time. They had
picked a place by a small stream to stop for the night.
Bobby had decided that a lean-to might help them keep
warm, so he put one together, piling it high with pine
branches. Then, on impulse, he built another one
against the first, making a tent-like structure that
was buried under pine boughs. There was a pile of
driftwood nearby, left by some ancient flash flood, so
there would be plenty of wood. It was Molly's idea to
make a hole in the roof and put the fire inside. That
let them use the horse blankets as a mattress, to lie
on.
Once they were settled in, and ready to go to sleep,
Molly told Bobby to lie down on his back and pull his
pants down.
"Mother!" exclaimed Sarah.
"I told you I know how to help a man when he can't have
sex," said Molly, as if they were talking about how to
bake a pie. "With what you've seen already it surely
won't hurt you to learn this little trick."
Bobby blushed a little as, when he lowered his jeans,
his already stiff prick bounced up and slapped hard on
his abdomen.
"Oh my goodness," said Sarah. "It's already... hard."
"In some situations that's the best compliment a man
can pay a woman," said Molly, staring at the object
that had brought her so much pleasure the night before.
"He finds us attractive dear." she murmured.
Molly got down and sat, leaning on one arm, while, with
the other, she reached out and grasped his penis. She
pointed out to Sarah, who leaned over him from the
other side, how his foreskin slid back and forth,
revealing the prominent knob underneath it. She then
stroked her hand up and down several times, while the
two women stared at the exposing of, and hiding of,
that shiny dark knob. Molly felt her pussy spurt as she
did this, and realized she was going to want more.
"You do it dear," she said to Sarah. "It makes me want
to do things that we have agreed not to do."
"Should I?" asked Sarah, looking down at Bobby.
"Please?" he moaned. He had already learned that a hand
sliding up and down his boner felt fabulous. It wasn't
quite as nice as what he had felt the night before, but
it was still fabulous.
Sarah tentatively reached out to grasp him and
exclaimed about how hard and soft it felt at the same
time. She gave a few tentative jerks, and Molly told
her to go slower, and more gently. She saw Bobby close
his eyes and his butt lifted off the ground a little.
"Now, it's going to make a mess," she said. "There's
something I used to do for your father." She leaned
over and kissed the tip of bobby's prick while Sarah
stroked it.
"Mother!" gasped Sarah.
"Hush," said Molly. She opened her mouth and slid it
over the head, just in time to receive four strong
healthy spurts. She loved Jonas' taste, and found that
Bobby's, while different in some way she couldn't
describe, was just as delicious. She swirled it around
with her tongue, sucking on the knob to make sure he
had stopped. Then she pulled her lips back over the
knob and sat back up, to taste and swallow. Her swallow
was loud in the quiet confines of their enclosure. She
licked her lips and smiled.
"See? No mess."
Sarah and bobby were both slack jawed at what they'd
seen.
"It tastes delicious," said Molly, defensively. "Now
you can go to sleep," she said, looking at Bobby.
He pulled his pants back up and, for lack of anything
else to do, lay there. He didn't think he could go to
sleep. He was still excited.
Sarah lay down beside him, and Molly settled down
beside Sarah. The light of the fire made the green
boughs over them bright. Both women wanted to stroke
themselves, but both resisted the urge. They all lay
there for a long time before sleep finally claimed
them.
***
Molly woke from strange, erotic dreams. The fire was
bright enough that she knew instinctively that someone
had added wood to it recently. It flickered, and was
smoky, but not too bad. She heard Bobby moan and turned
her head. Sarah was lying half on top of his legs, his
pants down again. She heard a slurp as Sarah's mouth
pulled up off of Bobby's stiff penis. One of Sarah's
hands was under her buckskin dress, rapidly digging
between her legs.
Molly watched in awe as Sarah licked the head, and then
sucked at it, stroking Bobby as he lay staring up. He
moaned again and went rigid. Sarah made a little sound
and Molly heard several convulsive gulps as she sucked
at the knob, that hand still now. Sarah went rigid too,
her other hand making several almost violent pulls at
her pussy. Sarah pulled her mouth off of him and
swallowed again, then sucking the knob again as white
oozed out of the little hole in the tip. He was still
hard as a rock.
Molly rolled up onto one elbow, and they both looked at
her.
"You were right Mamma," said Sarah softly. It does
taste good."
Molly felt a moan work it's way out of her throat.
"Maybe just one more night," she croaked, and began
pulling her clothes off.
She showed Sarah how to ride a man, getting her pussy
packed with his sperm in the process. When he was STILL
hard, she showed Sarah how, when a woman was pregnant,
a man could take her from behind. Sarah already knew
how a woman could take care of herself without a man,
so her mother didn't have to teach her that.
When Molly lay exhausted again, she had nothing to prop
under her buttocks. She just went to sleep instead.
***
It was about noon when Frank heard the sheep and was
met by Queen and her puppy Lisa. He saw the sheep
wagon, again with Amanda at the reins, Brad riding
beside her. He saw two other men back behind the flock,
who were joined by Queen and her puppy as soon as they
had sniffed at him.
He rode slowly through the sheep to the wagon and
tipped his hat.
"Found your son," he said when the wagon had stopped.
"Seems he saved my sister. He's taking her and my
mother back to the ranch."
Amanda raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.
"Thanks," said Brad. "We appreciate the news."
Frank didn't mean to say it, but somehow it just
bubbled out of his mouth before he could think.
"I'm in love with your daughter," he said.
Both adults stared at him, their mouths open.
He wanted to put his heels to his horse and run for his
life, but something deep inside him stopped him.
"I'd like to call on her," he said, his throat tight.
"Enid?" gasped Amanda. Beth was in the back, in the
wagon. He had to be talking about Enid.
"Yes ma'am," said Frank.
"What in the world are you talking about?" asked an
incredulous Amanda. "How could you possibly be in love
with Enid?"
Frank blushed. "I went up there to find you... to tell
you about Bobby. She was there and we spent some time
together. I don't understand it myself, really." he
admitted. "But I can't stop thinking about her. Please?
It's awful important to me."
"But you're a cow man," said Brad, frowning.
"That doesn't matter to me," said Frank.
"Do your parents know about this?" asked Brad.
"No sir, I haven't seen them. Well, I saw my mother
when I found them coming back from the Indian
encampment. But I didn't have much chance to talk to
her. She was kind of mad at me. Besides, I didn't know
it then." Frank babbled. "That I love her, I mean."
Amanda looked at her husband. Beth stuck her head out
of the flap of the wagon behind her mother.
"Indians?" she squeaked. "You're in love with my
SISTER?!"
Amanda turned her head.
"Hush Beth." She looked at her husband. "Time for a
rest break, don't you think?"
"Definitely," said Brad. He looked at Frank. "Get down
son, you have a lot of talking to do."
Frank just nodded, and got off his horse. He had no
idea how he was going to explain all this. He hoped he
didn't get shot in the process.
***
Molly rode slumped in the saddle. She had really meant
to resist her urges the night before. Her mistake, she
decided, was in seeing Bobby's prick in the first
place. Then, when she had awakened and seen her
daughter making love to that stiff thing, she had been
unable to control herself. In the morning she had had
to have him again. She blamed that on them sleeping
naked after they made love. When she woke to see Bobby
lying there, his prick stiff yet again, she had felt
the hunger in her loins and lay spread beneath him one
more time, letting him release in her another
astonishing orgasm, getting even more of his spunk deep
inside her.
She was now sure she was pregnant. She had nothing on
which to base that, other than the fact that the boy
was a fountain of sperm, and all but a very few spurts
of that sperm had gone directly into her womb. She
couldn't understand how she could be so ravenous for
Bobby, when she knew she loved her husband more than
life itself. Had she had to choose, she'd have chosen
Jonas instantly, with no regrets at all. Now she didn't
know how... or even if she could face Jonas again.
It didn't help that, when they came out of the little
house Bobby had made for them, that his horse... that
big black stallion... was in the process of thoroughly
breeding Vixen. She should have known. The big stud had
been too interested in the mare for days now. Still,
seeing that long thick horse cock being shoved into her
mare had only wanted her to get the stud who rode that
horse back in her own saddle.
Her funk had caused her to fall behind. She
straightened up in the saddle and looked at Bobby,
riding easily beside Sarah. They had been talking
together for hours, sometimes laughing. Molly felt her
heart warm at that. Sarah had been through horrible
things, but her attitude was still gay and positive.
She was a strong girl - no, woman - stronger than Molly
had dreamed. She seemed more serious than she had in
the past, but that was to be expected.
She had seen some of the worst that adults had to
offer. She had seen a man killed, and had almost been
raped. She had been captured by Indians, and almost
made husband to one against her will. She had seen her
own mother acting the whore... had even been taught how
to pleasure a man with her mouth by her mother. Yet she
sat her horse normally, young, healthy, as if she
hadn't a care in the world.
Bobby, too, amazed her. She wouldn't have believed a
boy - no, a man, albeit a young man - she wouldn't have
believed a man could have behaved as honorably as he
had. That thought jarred as she realized he had made
love to a married woman and been pleasured by a young
virgin, neither of which would be called "honorable" in
town. But she also knew that the same things went on in
that town, hidden away and done in the dark of night.
She shook her head. The two of them up there made a
handsome couple. Her mind drifted off into a fantasy
where Sarah fell in love with Bobby, and they got
married, and Molly got to be around him often...
sometimes even...
She shook her head and kicked her horse to catch up.
She wanted to talk to Sarah. They were only hours away
from the ranch now, and Sarah needed to be clear on
what she could... and could not talk about when they
got there.
***
Buckshot reined up, looking at the ground. "It's
obvious they're headed for the Circle C," he said
firmly.
Jonas scowled. "All right. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe
somebody really is taking them back home. I still don't
understand all that husband and wife business back
there though," he said unhappily.
"Mebbe he did that just to get hold of them," said
Buckshot. You heard that Indian girl say that a bunch
of them heathens wanted Molly. Mebbe he had to act like
she was his wife just to get her out of there. Sarah
too, for that matter."
"Maybe," admitted Jonas heavily. He much preferred to
think about it that way than any other way he could
think of.
"Something up ahead," called Peter. He had been riding
further up the trail, as if he were eager to get home.
The men walked their horses up to a strange looking
structure made of pine boughs. The same tracks they had
been following led to the structure and it was obvious
the horses had been standing around it too. All three
men had cocked weapons in their hands as they stepped
down to see what was inside the little Hogan.
"Pretty snug little nest," commented Buckshot as he
crawled back out. There hadn't been room inside for all
of them. Jonas had followed Buckshot in and they had
seen that, with the fire at one end, there would have
been room for only a couple of people inside.
When they got out Peter was standing by a tree, looking
at the ground. "Looks like a horse blanket was spread
out here," he said.
They looked and saw the pattern of the weave of the
coarse cloth in the dirt. What they couldn't know was,
that as Bobby mounted her mother in the morning, before
they left, Sarah's feelings were so strong that she
wished it was her he was mounting. She had crawled out
of the lean to, naked herself, and had sat in the
morning sun, using her mother's comb to comb the
tangles out of her long blond hair. She had taken the
blanket with her so she wouldn't have to sit on the
dirt while she listened to her mother's orgasmic moans.
She had also lain back and fingered herself to yet
another ecstatic orgasm while the sun warmed her skin.
"Looks like the man might have some manners after all,"
commented Buckshot. "Built a place for the women to
stay warm and slept out here."
"I'll be damned," said Jonas thoughtfully. He wanted to
believe that theory too.
"They've only been gone three or four hours," said
Peter, trying to sound like he knew what he was talking
about. In fairness, he had picked up some tracking from
his father and Buckshot. He wasn't as good at it as his
little brother, but he'd never thought he'd need to
know all that stuff until lately.
"All right," said Jonas firmly. "Let's get back to the
ranch. I know for damned sure that the cattle have
spread out. We should be seeing some of them soon.
Maybe we can head them back toward the ranch on the
way. I hate to delay to do that, but it looks like
Molly's in good hands, and we'll just have to ride back
this direction to gather them later.
His decision is why Molly and Sarah were back home, at
the ranch, for half a day before the men folk got back.
***
Bobby and the women saw some of those strayed cattle as
they got closer and closer to the Circle C. Molly
mentioned that they'd have to be rounded up, but said
her husband could do that, since he didn't seem to care
where she'd been. She was trying to be angry with him,
so she wouldn't feel so badly for her cheating ways.
She worked herself into a fine funk when they finally
got to the ranch to find it deserted.
"I'm sure he's out looking for you," said Bobby. Now
that he had them back, he wanted to return to his own
home, where he knew his parents would be anxious about
him.
"Well he should have found me by now," grumped Molly.
"Maybe he's out herding the cows," suggested Sarah.
"He'd better damn NOT be herding cattle while we're
missing," said Molly, getting even more emotional. She
got right back on her horse. "I'd better damn NOT find
him out there moving cows around while his daughter and
wife are fighting for their lives against wild
Indians!"
"I'm going to go on back home now," said Bobby,
standing there awkwardly.
Molly surprised them both when she hopped BACK down off
Tulip, who she had decided to ride that morning, and
came to Bobby, crushing him in her arms and kissing him
soundly on the lips. She couldn't keep her body from
rubbing up against his and pushed him away roughly.
"Thank you for your help," she said evenly. "Thank you
for EVERYTHING," she said. Then she kissed him one more
time, a lingering kiss, and vaulted back up onto Tulip,
who jumped and took off like she had been shot.
Bobby looked at Sarah, who was staring at him. He had
decided he really liked how she looked in her worn
Indian dress. It clung to her body all over.
"Would you please haul me some water before you go?"
she asked. "I'd just about kill for a bath."
Bobby, knowing he should leave, nodded. "Happy to," he
said.
She showed him the well, and the bucket, and told him
where to go once he got into the house. They had a
copper tub in a room built just for bathing in the big
house.
"You gonna heat it first?" he asked.
She shook her head. "No, I'm hot and dirty and the cool
water will feel good," she said.
He hauled two buckets to the house, finding the room
easily. He heard Sarah's voice in another part of the
house. She was humming. It sounded nice. When he
returned with the third bucket, she was in the room,
naked, bent over splashing her hand in the water. With
her back to him, and her legs slightly spread, all
Bobby could think about was what Molly's behind had
looked like as she posed for him, urging him to mount
her from behind like a horse.
Sarah stood up and smiled. He held the bucket in front
of the lump in his pants caused by his stiff penis.
"Two more and I'll be fine," she said.
"Um... I didn't think you'd be..."
"Naked?" she smiled. "You've seen me naked plenty
lately."
"Well, yes," he admitted. "It just feels different now
I guess. I mean here, in your house... with your mother
gone and all." He still hadn't dumped the bucket. He
knew the lump in his pants would be plain to see.
Sarah took the bucket from him and did, indeed, see the
lump. She poured the bucket in the tub and handed it
back to him.
"Two more please?" she asked sweetly.
When he came back she was sitting in the tub, or more
correctly lying down in the water as much as she could.
Her ankles were up on the sides of the tub, which
opened up her legs like she had seen her mother do. The
water level was just about even with her pussy, which
she was idly stroking with two fingers.
"Pour it on me Bobby," she ordered.
He didn't know where to let the water hit her, and she
cupped one breast.
"Right here," she said.
The water splashed up into her face and she spluttered,
blinking, and then laughed.
"Maybe that wasn't the best idea," she giggled. "One
more? Please."
Like Bobby's sister, Sarah knew instinctively how to
get a man to do things for her. When he came back again
she looked and the lump was still there.
"Let's try it here." she laid her hand on her abdomen
and then slid it down into the fluffy hair on her mons.
He poured more slowly this time, and the water made a
cold stream that made her suck her stomach in. Then he
moved it and it splashed into her open pussy and she
sighed.
"Ohhh that's nice Bobby." She looked up at him. "You
know... you need a bath too."
Bobby would have liked nothing more than to get naked
and get in that tub, crowded thought it would be.
"I really should get home," he said.
"Just think how much better you would feel on the trip
if you weren't so sweaty and dirty," said Sarah, her
eyes lustrous.
"I really shouldn't," he said.
"Yes... you should." She stood and leaned to pull him
toward her. She had never kissed him, but she had seen
her mother kiss him many times, and it was clear that
she liked kissing him a lot. Not to mention other
things. Though she didn't mention them, Sarah thought
about them, and it made fire blossom in her pussy.
She managed to get his shirt off and then kissed him,
finding that the touch of his lips only made the fire
burn higher.
No man could have resisted, and Bobby was much more of
a man than he had been a few days earlier.
Before he realized it he was in the tub and her hands
were all over him, splashing and rubbing at him. It did
feel good. It felt better than good.
Then she was urging him out, onto the plank floor,
where the water dripped off of them making puddles
around their feet as she kissed him again, this time
pressing her naked body against his.
She felt his prod slide between her legs and touch her
where it felt so good to touch herself.
She felt the heat and wet that came out of her and
coated that stiff column. Holding him, she let her
weight onto him, urging him to the floor until he was
on his back and she was astride him, kissing him and
rubbing her sex on his stomach like she had rubbed it
against that horse.
He pushed at her.
"We can't," he said helplessly.
"I haven't thanked you for saving me," she said
throatily.
"Yes you have," he insisted. "Last night."
"All I did was taste you... not thank you," she said,
moving her hips lower. "Not like I want to thank you."
She knew from watching her mother that the thing she
wanted inside her so badly had to be aimed. She raised
her hips and squatted, reaching for his hardness, and
nosed it between slick lips.
"Sarah," he warned.
Before he could say anything else she sat down on it
like she had seen her mother sit... all at once...
feeling the incredible pressure of something too large
forcing it's way up inside her.
Though she didn't know it, her hymen was already gone,
lost to a saddle when she was still too young to
understand that pain. Now, all she felt was the
fullness of completion. She was astonished at how empty
she had been, not knowing that that emptiness could be
filled like this.
Her first orgasm caused her to clench his chest skin
painfully and he winced. It also robbed her of
strength, and she leaned forward. Her breasts grazed
his face and she felt a thrill shoot through her as his
mouth captured a nipple and sucked at it. Her mother
had loved that part of their lovemaking, asking him to
suck hard on her large fat nubs. Now Sarah knew why and
she pressed the breast against his face as she felt
another orgasm coming. She realized that having an
orgasm while full was different than what she did to
herself, and even what the horse had done to her. She
ground down, liking the feeling of being prodded deep
up inside her.
Bobby grunted and bucked under her, and Sarah felt
something hot and wet flowing into her deep... up in
there where she liked that prodding. This was what she
had swallowed the night before... what had tasted so
good, like her mother had said. It felt even better
pooling in her no longer virgin womb.
CHAPTER 10
Frank had finally answered all their questions, and
told them everything he knew of what had happened to
his mother, sister and Bobby.
Brad thought for a few minutes. He called to Beth, who
had grown bored with hearing how brave her brother was.
She came to the wagon.
"I want you to go back to the house," he said.
She started to protest. Brad ignored her and turned to
Frank.
"And you need to go to town and let the Sheriff know
about Buford and Chaps... that Chaps is dead... and
where Chaps is buried. Somebody needs to get after
Buford before he leaves these parts forever. I know he
went up to the high meadows, because I could tell he'd
been in the shack. But I didn't find any evidence that
he was still there. There's another trail that leads
down the south face of the mountain. It's wrong for
herding sheep, but a man on a horse could use it. I
think he went that way."
"I need to get home," said Frank weakly.
"Your pa is probably back there by now," said Brad.
"Just tell the Sheriff to meet Beth at the house and
she'll bring him up to the camp. She can show him where
Chaps is buried, and then he can come on up and follow
Buford's trail from there."
"Yes sir," said Frank. "I'll do that."
"And see my daughter safe back to the house on the
way," said Brad. "Try not to fall in love with her
too." he added, half smiling. He was impressed with the
boy, all things considered. He had a lot of grit to
take out after his mother alone, like he had. Maybe his
interest in Enid wasn't so bad after all.
Beth screeched at her father's last comment. "You don't
need to even think on that pappa," she said angrily.
"And I can see my own way home."
"You'll let him take you there, and you'll wait there
until the Sheriff comes," said Brad steadily. "Now,
git!"
He watched the two young people ride off, and turned to
Amanda.
"What do you think?" he asked.
Amanda was thoughtful. "He seems to have a good head.
Enid! I never thought Enid would be spoken for before
Beth."
She looked up again at the two teens, now far away.
"It's a good thing it was Frank and not his brother who
showed up. The way they were making moon eyes at each
other I don't think I'd want to send her off with him
alone." She was thoughtful and quiet for a moment. "You
know Frank was up there with Enid alone. And he's
awfully insistent about seeing her again. I wonder what
happened up there?"
Brad wasn't comfortable thinking about what might have
happened up in the high meadows. "What are we gonna do
if both of those boys want to spark both of our girls?"
asked Brad.
"The question is, what is Jonas Collins going to do?"
replied his wife.
***
Molly rode to the North, which was the last place she
knew the men to be working. She found the herd
scattered, as she had thought, and it became clear the
men were nowhere around here. She had settled down on
the ride, but was still filled with nervous energy.
She set about grouping cows and starting them to the
East and South, where she knew the pasturage was that
Jonas wanted to use next. She thought about the dogs
Bobby had described to her, and how they helped with
the sheep. She wished she had a good cow dog now.
***
Bobby was gone... had been gone for over an hour, and
Sarah was dressed, this time in a real dress, when she
heard hoof beats. She picked up a shotgun and checked
the loads and stepped out on the porch. When she saw it
was her father and brother... and Buckshot, of course,
she stood waiting for them, and leaned the shotgun
against the wall.
Jonas, in an unexpected and rare display of affection,
ran his horse all the way to the house when he saw
Sarah standing there and vaulted to the ground running.
That carried him up onto the porch and he scooped up
his only daughter and swung her in a circle, almost
crying.
Sarah giggled and hugged her father back until he set
her down.
"Where's your mamma?" he asked anxiously.
"She's fine Pappa," said Sarah, beaming. "We got saved
by Bobby Rocklin... well I did anyway. She's out
looking for you up North. She's mighty upset that
somebody else got me back instead of you, I think."
"Out looking for me?" asked her father, incredulously.
"That's the kind of thing that got her in trouble in
the FIRST place! I swear that woman has no brain! Which
way did she go?" he asked.
Sarah pointed to the North. Her father turned and was
obviously going to go find his wife when Sarah stopped
him.
"Pappa, I'm going to marry Bobby Rocklin," she
announced.
There was pure, dead silence for what seemed like
forever. Buckshot broke the silence by softly saying,
"Oh Lordy."
Jonas didn't go to his horse. His face got darker and
darker until it looked almost purple.
"You'll do no such damned thing!" he finally shouted.
In the past Sarah would have reacted completely
differently. She would have ducked her head and
submissively said "Yes Pappa."
But this was a completely different Sarah, and her
reaction was to raise her head proudly and say "I most
certainly am!" When no one said anything she went on.
"I was captured by Indians, and Bobby fought to get me
free. I'd still BE there, husband to some Indian if he
hadn't come to get me. I love him and I'll have him for
my husband if it's the last thing I ever do!" she said
forcefully.
Jonas took a step toward his daughter, his face
thunderous.
"Now Jonas, hang on a minute," said Buckshot, holding
his hand out and letting Jonas walk into it. "Think
about things before you do something rash."
"I don't HAVE to think about things," said Jonas
angrily. "My daughter is NOT going to go off and marry
some sheep farmer!" He turned to the girl in question.
"You don't know diddly about being in love! I met those
Indians. We'd have got there and took you back
ourselves if that boy hadn't meddled in our business.
And he took your own mother into danger doing it! We
were told that some of those Indian men wanted to take
her away from him too!"
Sarah didn't flinch. "By the time you got there, I'd
have had an Indian baby in my belly," she said harshly.
"The boy that captured me planned to make me his wife
that very night, and there wasn't anything I could do
about it! And you'd have killed people, and gotten
yourself killed too! Bobby managed to get me back safe
and sound without killing anybody. He fought for me
bare handed. He has great honor with the tribe now!"
She almost blurted out that they had stayed the night
and been served by an old Indian woman, but bit her
lip. That could stray into areas neither she nor her
mother wanted discussed.
"I FORBID IT!" shouted Jonas, things final in his mind.
He turned to Buckshot. "I'm going to go find Molly and
bring her back here. Don't let this... this... this
SHEEP LOVER out of your sight, do you hear me
Buckshot?" He turned to Peter. "And you get your butt
into town and find the Sheriff and tell him I want that
damned sheep farmer arrested for kidnapping my WIFE!"
"Jonas..." Buckshot started to plead.
"I'LL NOT HEAR ANOTHER DAMNED WORD!" Jonas thundered.
"I run this cursed spread, and you'll ALL do as I
damned SAY! Is that CLEAR?" he screamed. Without
waiting for an answer he climbed up on his horse and
kicked if viciously, jerking the reins just as
viciously and galloping off to the North.
Buckshot sighed. "Well, that didn't go all that well,"
he said.
Sarah stuck her chin out. "I'm gonna marry him
Buckshot. I love him." She was obviously talking about
Bobby. "I don't care what he says." switching to
talking about her father. Her stubborn streak,
identical to Jonas', shone from her face.
"Not today, little missy," said Buckshot. "You leave
here today and I'll be out of a job. And I LIKE my
job." He frowned. "Well I did until lately."
Peter, knowing that he too had to do what his father
had ordered, got back on his own horse.
"Be back in the morning," he said.
"Be careful," said Buckshot. "The last thing this
family needs is another missing member." He grinned and
turned to Sarah. "And you, little missy, go inside."
"Don't call me that!" said Sarah, her voice surly.
"That's what that awful Buford called me when he tried
to rape me."
Buckshot's eyebrows rose into his hat. "Now THAT is a
story I have to hear. Let's go inside, Sarah, and you
can tell me what happened."
Sarah deflated. She loved Buckshot. He was like an
uncle to her and she couldn't be mad at him for doing
what her father ordered.
"All right, since you asked me nicely," she said. "But
I'm going to marry Bobby. I just want you to understand
that."
"Yes ma'am, I certainly do understand that," said
Buckshot grinning. "You may have to wait until your Pa
dies and goes to Heaven, but I believe you'll marry the
boy."
***
After what he done with her sister, Frank felt
distinctly uncomfortable being with Beth. At first she
was angry and sullenly quiet, but, as happens with
girls sometimes, she forgot all about her anger and
plied him with questions. She didn't want to know about
what had happened to his mother and sister. She was
interested in how he and Enid got so close that he
thought he loved her. She asked very pointed questions
too, that made Frank pointedly nervous.
It didn't take her long to figure out there was
something that had gone on that he didn't want to talk
about. And it didn't take long for her mind to stray
towards things most people did only when they were
married. But she couldn't believe that Enid would have
done any of those things with this boy. She rode
silently for a while, thinking about Peter, and the
feelings he caused in her, both mentally and
physically. She had stared at his lips at the supper
table, and wondered what they might feel like against
her own.
"You kissed her, didn't you?" she probed.
"I love her," he said for what seemed like the
hundredth time.
"How do you KNOW you love her if you didn't kiss her?"
asked Beth triumphantly.
"So what if I DID kiss her?" asked Frank.
"What was it like?" Beth asked immediately.
"Surely you've kissed a boy before," said Frank
dubiously.
"I have not!" she replied heatedly. "I don't even know
any boys I might want to kiss," she said. "Except maybe
your brother Peter."
Now Frank was astonished. "How do you know Peter?" he
asked.
"They came to our house and had supper with us when
they were looking for your mother," said Beth.
"Oh, yeah... I knew that," said Frank. "But that was
the only time you ever saw him wasn't it?"
"Yes" she said, "But his eyes are so beautiful, and his
lips look so soft..."
Frank looked over at her. She had on a shirt and pants,
like a man. The wind blew the shirt against her
breasts. They didn't look as big as Enid's, but there
were two very sharp points poking through the fabric.
Beth saw him looking and looked down. Her hands came up
to cover the bumps.
"You're a horrible boy!" she accused. "Looking at me
like that!" He looked back forward and she took her
hands away. "If you did that to Enid she'd hit you with
something."
Frank was tired of her arguing. "No she wouldn't" he
lashed out. "She liked it when I looked!" He clapped
his mouth closed and stared stonily ahead.
"And what else did you do?" asked Beth. She'd heard
something in his voice that made the hair on the back
of her neck tingle. "You may as well tell me. She tells
me everything, you know. She can't keep a single secret
from me."
Frank looked over. "She won't tell you everything about
us," he said firmly.
Beth thought about that for a minute. Her suspicions
grew. "So you love her."
"Yes."
"Do you want to marry her?"
"Yes."
Just like that... he'd said "Yes." Beth was stunned.
Her little sister?
Beth instinctively went for the throat. "I bet you HAVE
to marry her, don't you?" He looked straight ahead and
didn't say anything.
"That's IT!" she squealed. "You HAVE to marry Enid
because you..."
Frank looked at her as the words died on her lips. "I
love her. I want to marry her. I don't HAVE to do
anything. But I WANT to marry her."
"But did you... ?" Beth just couldn't see Enid in her
mind, doing things with this boy that it sounded like
they might have done.
"If Enid tells you what we did then fine," he said
evenly. "But I'm not going to say another word. Despite
his pronouncement he went on. "I'm going to marry her,
and I don't care if we farm sheep, or cattle, or go off
and do something else."
Beth knew now that something had happened up in the
high meadows. No cow man would agree to raise sheep. It
was unheard of.
"I can't believe little Enid got do to that before me,"
she said, mostly to herself. Her voice carried though
and his head jerked.
"You'd do that?" he asked incredulously.
"With the right boy" she said, her nose high. "If I
loved him, and he was going to marry me."
"Women aren't at ALL the way I thought they'd be," said
Frank, staring at her.
"So you DID THAT?" she asked excitedly. "Really?!"
"I told you I'm not saying." he growled.
"What was it like?" she gasped. "Did she cry?"
"Of COURSE she didn't cry," he said, defending himself.
"She laughed and she yelled, but she sure didn't cry."
He thought he'd said too much, and couldn't believe
he'd said it at all.
"She laughed?" sighed Beth. "Really? It didn't hurt?
I've heard that it hurts the first time."
Frank was caught off guard. He hadn't talked to many
girls at all in his life, and he sure hadn't had this
kind of discussion with one.
"Maybe it wasn't her first time," he said, not liking
that idea one bit.
"Oh, believe me," laughed Beth. "She's never so much as
even LOOKED at a boy before. And if Buford or Chaps or
anybody had done anything to her she'd have scratched
their eyes out. You don't know Enid."
"I know her well enough to know I want to marry her and
be with her forever," said Frank sullenly.
"So what was it like for you?" asked Beth.
"You ask the most strange questions I've ever heard
from a girl." he groused.
"Oh, come on." she chided. "If you're going to marry my
sister and she's going to have your babies we're going
to be family. We don't keep secrets in our family." Her
logic was a bit flawed, but she ignored that. "Was it
fun?"
Frank looked at her like she was crazy. "Of COURSE it
was fun!" he said. "It was the most wonderful,
glorious, amazing thing that ever happened to me!" He
stared at his proposed sister-in-law. "Why do you think
I want to marry her?" he asked.
"You're supposed to marry her because you love her, not
because you want to do that all the time," said Beth
primly.
"Well, you try it some time and you'll understand," he
said.
"Maybe I'll try it with Peter," she teased.
"I don't think that's a good idea. My Pa is just going
to have a shit fit when he finds out about me and
Enid."
"Don't curse," said Beth. "It's vulgar." She grinned to
show she wasn't really offended. "What's Peter like?"
she asked.
For another five miles she plied him with questions
about Peter, and what Peter liked, and didn't like, and
if he had any girlfriends, and anything else she could
think of to ask. When they finally arrived at the
Rocklin ranch Frank was more than glad to be rid of
her. He couldn't wait to see Enid again, but if he
didn't have to talk to Beth for a while it was just
fine with him. He worried about what he'd told her all
the way into town.
***
Jonas topped a low hill and saw the group of cows his
wife had gathered, with her in the back, waving her
lariat and hooting at them to move them along. He
watched as she cut away from the small herd to go chase
two more cows into the group. She sat a fine horse, and
her movements were fluid and practiced. He didn't know
many women who could wrangle steers.
His heart ached with pride at seeing her working and he
forgot completely that he was angry with her. Her
actions fit with his image of her. Chase after her
daughter, get her back, come back to the ranch, and
life goes on. He realized he was skidding over some
details, but that's how he wanted to think of his
daughter's return. He found it easier to accept that
his wife had retrieved her, and that that damned sheep
boy had just been there, watching. He waved to her and
kicked his horse forward.
Molly saw him coming. His wide wave suggested that
perhaps he wasn't as angry with her as she expected him
to be. Molly knew Jonas, and knew that he'd tell her
how foolish it was for a mere woman to go traipsing off
into the wild like that. He had no clue as to now
strong the mother/child bond was. She'd have gone
looking for either of the boys too, if she'd have been
worried about them. He was grinning when he rode up,
and that made her feel better. she remembered she was
supposed to be angry with him, but her heart wasn't in
it. Then she remembered what she'd done with Bobby, and
that made her feel worse.
"Well," he said, reining in beside her. "Nice to see
you decided to come home to me."
Molly looked at him. There was something in his
voice... something that sounded uncharacteristic...
like worry.
"You're a rough old bull I suppose," she said, "but
I've sort of gotten used to you."
"You all right?" he asked.
"Thanks to Bobby Rocklin I am," she said without
thinking it through.
Jonas reacted instantly.
"Why is it everybody's talking about that damn sheep
boy?" he snarled. "Your daughter" - he always called
Sarah Molly's daughter when he was upset with her - "is
back there claiming she's going to marry that piece of
filth!"
Molly was at once stunned, and then almost immediately
completely at ease with the idea that Sarah might find
Bobby Rocklin suitable as a man. Of course she was a
little biased, but then she knew Bobby better than
anyone in her family did.
Her husband's last words registered in her mind.
"He's not filth Jonas. He's anything BUT filth. He's a
strong young man, who is brave beyond his years. He
helped us Jonas. If it weren't for him I might not be
here right now."
"And that's ANOTHER thing!" groused Jonas, remembering
to be mad. "What in the world were you thinking? Going
off like that. You could have been killed! We found
where you were at that place where somebody had been
killed. I don't even know WHO that was, but you were
there, and YOU could have been killed too!"
"I went to try and help my little girl when I knew she
was in trouble," said Molly sternly. "And I'll do it
again if I have to. I was just lucky beyond measure
that Bobby was there to help. If it hadn't been for him
you wouldn't have a daughter to marry off you dolt!"
she shouted.
"What are you yelling at me for?" Jonas knew that tone
of voice. When she got good and mad she could stay that
way for a week, and make his life miserable in the
process. "I tried to find you. I tried to find Sarah
too. That boy just got there first, that's all."
"That BOY almost got KILLED getting Sarah away from
those Indians!" yelled Molly. "He didn't HAVE to do
that Jonas. He did the honorable thing and helped those
in need. And all YOU can do is curse him!"
Jonas knew he had to calm her down. Something that had
been niggling at him bubbled up though, and he had to
ask. "What was all that husband and wives stuff the
Indians were talking about?"
The effect of that question on Molly was astonishing.
She calmed immediately, as if she'd never raised her
voice at all. She looked pale too, and took a deep
breath. Jonas' eyes strayed to her breasts. He'd always
loved her breasts.
"He had to do that Jonas." she began. "When we got
there and asked for Sarah, they said she was claimed in
battle. The man who was killed up there was killed by
the Indians. He was one of the men who had taken Sarah
and were trying to rape her."
"RAPE?!" shouted Jonas stunned. "Nobody said anything
about rape!"
"Well, if I know you, nobody had much chance to say
anything about anything," said Molly. "She said she
wanted to marry him before she told you what happened,
didn't she?"
"Well..." Jonas paused, thinking back. "I guess she did
at that. I don't reckon I know exactly what happened
out there."
"Get down Jonas, we need to talk," said his wife.
"They raped my little girl?" Jonas' voice trembled.
"No," said Molly firmly. "It was a close thing, but
she's fine. Get down Jonas. Let me tell you what
happened. Then you can decide who to be mad at."
Jonas missed the tone in her voice that, had he been
listening closer, might have suggested that he might
end up being mad at her. His bedroll was still tied
behind the saddle, and Molly's fingers flicked at the
ties holding it. she spread the blankets out on the
grass as they both ignored the little herd of cattle
she'd gathered. They were content to graze where they
stood.
It took an hour, during which, with each part of the
story, Molly watched her husband's face closely,
gauging what parts to go into more detail on, and what
she might be able to leave out. When she described what
happened in the Indian village, she told the truth, or
part of the truth, but emphasized the danger to Bobby,
and the injuries to Sarah. Jonas had loved to fight in
his youth, and she could tell from his reaction to her
description of the fight with Sees Long Distance that
he was impressed.
"And then he brought us back here." she finally said.
"Yes," said Jonas, his mind still on the story. "We
found where somebody made up a little hut for you and
Sarah. We saw where he had slept on a saddle blanket
outside."
Molly remembered coming outside that hut, Bobby's semen
still dripping from her pussy, to see Sarah sitting on
a horse blanket, stark naked, calmly combing her hair.
She let Jonas think what he wanted to think.
"So you see?" she probed. "He did things for her that
would make any woman fall in love with him. She'll
probably think differently on it later, when she's had
some time to get over all this."
Molly was quite sure in her own mind that Sarah would
NOT think differently in the future... not if she'd
announced to her father that she wanted to marry the
boy. She shook her head. She would have to stop
thinking of him as a boy. She almost laughed as she
realized that in at least one way she thought of him
only as a man. But she sobered as she saw Jonas
thinking.
"You remember when you got in that fight with Danny
Trimble over me at the dance?" she asked.
Jonas smiled. "Yes, that was a good fight."
"It was that fight that made me notice you Jonas...
made me want to do things with you..." She bit that
off. That was too close to what had happened with
Bobby.
"I could see it in your eyes," he said looking at her.
"And you were so beautiful. I couldn't get you out of
my head."
"I missed you Jonas," said Molly. "I thought about you
a lot."
"Really?" he grinned. "And just what did you think
about?"
Molly unbuttoned her shirt. The last person she had
unbuttoned it for was Bobby, and she felt guilty about
that. But she knew she loved her husband. She pulled it
apart. "I missed the way you look at me," she said as
he stared at her heavy breasts, their nipples erect.
"It was cold at night, and I needed you to keep me
warm," she said, working at her pants to slide them
down off her hips. "But you weren't there Jonas. They
thought he was my husband, but he wasn't. You weren't
there Jonas and I needed you."
Jonas Collins was a simple man. He could have heard all
kinds of things in his wife's voice, including shame,
and guilt and confession.
But what he heard was his woman saying she wanted him.
And he wanted her too. She was back, safe, and he
wanted her. He got undressed much more quickly than she
had, and claimed his woman there on the blanket, under
the clouds, with cattle all around them.
They were both avid to have each other. With relief she
couldn't describe she welcomed her husband into her and
loved every touch he gave her.
"Ohhhh I needed this." she moaned as he thrust into
her.
"I missed you baby," he crooned into her ear.
"I missed you too," she moaned. "Nobody makes me feel
like you do."
Once again, had Jonas been listening more closely, he
might have wondered at her phrasing. But his attentions
were elsewhere.
And Molly was being truthful, in a way. What Bobby had
done to her was wonderful and amazing in its own way,
but making love with her husband was also wonderful and
amazing in his way. They were not the same feelings.
She loved her husband, even though he couldn't give her
what she now knew she had wanted... more children. And
the fantasy of having Bobby impregnate her had fed that
desire... sated it... relaxed her in ways that having
Jonas in her couldn't. She knew it was a fantasy. Even
as much as Bobby had given her it was unlikely that, in
those few short days, he could actually have made her
with child. But the fantasy of trying had been enough.
She was glad to be back with her life mate... glad to
feel him inside her... glad to feel his offering,
sterile though she knew it was, as he emptied himself
inside her.
They lay peacefully in the sun afterward, holding
hands.
"That boy wants to do this to my daughter." growled
Jonas.
Molly rolled onto her side, gripping the skin on Jonas'
chest and digging her nails in.
"She's a woman Jonas. She's made to have grandbabies
for us. What you just did for me is the most wonderful
thing a man can do for a woman in love. And I LOVE you
Jonas. Do you want to take that away from your only
daughter? She DESERVES to have done to her what you
just did to me."
He sighed. "I know, I know. It's just that no man
believes anybody is good enough for his little girl.
And he's a sheep farmer for pity's sake."
"He's a good man," said Molly firmly. "She'll probably
forget all about him in a week, but if she doesn't...
he's a good man Jonas."
Jonas looked over at her. "How did I get so lucky as to
win that fight?" he asked.
"Want to know something?" she asked.
"Sure," he said.
"I wanted you to touch me long before you won that
fight. I kissed my pillow and pretended it was you. I
just never told you that before."
"Was that why you were such a good kisser?" he grinned.
"I always figured you learned to kiss with Danny."
"Before I met you I never kissed another man," said
Molly. That much was true. She didn't say anything
about the only other man she'd kissed AFTER she'd met
her husband.
"Want to go again?" he asked.
Molly looked and saw him standing tall and proud
between his legs. That was unusual for Jonas.
"I'm feeling particularly potent today." he grinned.
This time, when Molly Collins rode back to her house,
it was with two helpings of her husband's spend that
soaked into her womb.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Frank hurried towards Silver City. It had been so named
because someone thought he had discovered silver there.
That hadn't panned out, but the name had stuck. It had
never grown more than the one central street, with a
few dozen houses at one end, rather haphazardly built
wherever somebody happened to unload their lumber, and
a few merchants holding on up the street. It boasted a
population of three hundred, but it was a rare day when
more than two hundred were actually in town.
Frank was surprised, therefore, to see a crowd of
people in front of the Sheriff's office. There were
horses there too, perhaps a dozen, as Frank rode up. He
saw the Sheriff on the porch in front of his office.
"What's going on?" he asked of a man wearing a green
eyeshade on a strap around his head. He was Mister
Conklin, the banker.
"Getting a posse up," said the man. "Been Indian
trouble." He turned toward the porch to shout.
"Hey Sheriff, got another one for your posse here
maybe. He's a little young, but he's wearin' guns."
Frank looked up to see the Sheriff looking his way.
"You're one of the Collins boys, right?" asked the
lawman.
"Yessir," answered Frank, slurring the two words
together. "What's going on?"
"Had a man killed by Indians. One of those sheep
herders that works for Rocklin."
"That's what I'm here about." announced Frank.
"You know something about that, boy?" asked the
Sheriff.
"Yessir. He was one of two men trying to rape my sister
when the Indians stopped them," said Frank. There were
gasps from the crowd.
A strident voice rang out. "That's a damn LIE."
Frank's eyes widened as Buford stepped from behind two
taller men. He got down off his horse.
Buford spluttered. "I was THERE, boy! he shouted.
"There wasn't nobody but me and poor old Chaps, and
them savages kilt him dead!" He yelled at the crowd.
"Now let's go FIND them damn heathens and rid the world
of murderin' savages!"
Frank stalked toward Buford, and the crowd opened up
like magic. They had seen men wearing guns walking like
that, with that look in their eye. People began edging
even further back, some stepping up on the porch with
the sheriff.
"You're a liar," he said as he walked. "You tried to
rape my sister... had her down in the dirt. I found the
sign, and I talked to her when she was rescued from
those Indians. You're a rapist!"
Again there were gasps from the crowd and they moved
back. Things like this had happened before in this
town... maybe not about rape... but about other things
that resulted in gunplay.
"Now hold on here," said the Sheriff
Frank watched Buford, who was standing in an aggressive
posture now, his hand hovering close to his pistol
grip.
"I'll take you there," said Frank, never looking away
from Buford's hand. "I'll show you the sign. You can
come out to the ranch and talk to my sister. She knows
who tried to rape her."
Buford panicked and went for his pistol.
Those who were fortunate enough to be watching Buford
and Frank, rather than looking at the Sheriff, would
tell the tale for years to come... decades in fact.
Buford went for his gun first, and he drew in what was
described as an impressively fast draw. His pistol
cleared the holster and, for once in his life, Buford
pulled the hammer back flawlessly. He even had a grin
on his face as he began to pull the weapon up. He was
deciding whether or not to pull the trigger, or just
hold everyone at gunpoint and try to get away, when he
was stunned by a blow to his stomach like the kick of a
mule. His finger tightened on the trigger spasmodically
and his pistol went off. The bullet hit right between
Frank Collins spread feet.
People looked to see Frank holding a smoking, pearl
handled revolver in his right hand, a stunned look on
his face. Only two men had seen him draw and they
described it as greased lightning, the fastest, most
beautiful thing they'd ever seen... at least involving
gunplay.
Buford hit his knees and tried not to fall down.
Something was terribly wrong with him, and he felt
weak. The boy was still standing there, and Buford re-
cocked his pistol with every ounce of strength that was
left in him. He tried to lift the pistol.
Frank couldn't believe he'd actually shot a man. His
draw had been instinctive, the product of all the
secret practice he'd done since winning the guns. He'd
killed countless tin cans, and knotholes. He'd even
killed a snake.
But he'd never shot a man.
He felt paralyzed and the pistol in his hand that he
was so proud of seemed to suddenly weigh forty pounds.
He couldn't keep it pointed at the man he'd just shot.
It began to fall as Buford's pistol began to come back
up.
Sheriff Matt Couffman calmly lifted his pistol and shot
Buford right between his eyes. The man toppled over
backwards, folding up on his lower legs and giving the
impression he was suddenly a double amputee. The pistol
he'd been about to shoot Frank with flopped in the dirt
by his limp hand.
There was a split second of silence before everything
that had happened started women screaming and men
yelling. People darted this way and that, milling like
spooked cattle. Just as amazingly, things calmed down
within only a few minutes.
Sheriff Couffman stepped down from the porch and walked
over to Buford's body. The crowd got quiet. He turned
to Frank, who still held his pistol, hanging from his
hand.
"You shouldn't have shot him, son," he said.
Almost immediately four men began to argue with the
Sheriff, who put his gun back in his holster while
Frank pulled his up to look at it, still unbelieving.
With a look of astonishment, his muscles did what he'd
trained them to do. He opened the loading gate and
pushed out the empty casing. Pulling another round from
his gun belt he reloaded his weapon and put it back in
the holster.
A man came up to him and stuck his hand out.
"Son, I don't care what the Sheriff said. That was the
most amazing thing I have ever seen. He had you dead to
rights and you got him clean."
Frank didn't know what to say as he was suddenly
surrounded by people who had already made up their
minds that he had told the truth.
The Sheriff wasn't quite so willing to give Frank the
benefit of the doubt. He shoved his way to the boy and
stood in front of him.
"I'm going to need to talk to your sister, son."
"I'll take you there," said Frank, his voice cracking.
"I'd better have those guns," said the Sheriff.
Men complained, but Frank unbuckled his belt without a
word and handed it to the man. He wasn't so sure he
wanted those guns any more. He felt sick at his
stomach.
"Let's go on over to the saloon before we leave, son.
Looks like you could use something to revive you.
Thus it was that Frank Collins, fifteen years old, had
his first shot of whiskey. When he was done coughing,
and could speak again, he WAS much revived, though, and
was then eager to get the Sheriff back to the ranch and
be done with this sorry business.
***
When Molly and Jonas got back to the ranch house, and
Jonas actually looked at his daughter, and the injuries
that still showed plainly, he sat down and listened as
she told what had happened to her. He cried during
parts of it, which astonished everyone present. Then he
apologized to her and stood up.
It was all that Molly could do to keep him from going
to find Buford.
"Let the Sheriff to his job." she urged. "We need you
here. I need you here."
She took him to the bedroom to show him how much she
needed him. For once, Jonas Collins was so distracted
by his anger that he couldn't concentrate on what his
wife wanted from him. It wasn't until she took him in
her mouth and squeezed his balls tightly that she got
his undivided attention.
***
The Sheriff and Frank met Peter about ten miles out of
town. When he heard he had been sent for, the Sheriff
felt a little better about what had happened. When
Peter heard what happened he looked at his little
brother with an open mouth.
Frank suddenly gasped and faced the Sheriff. "You're
supposed to meet Beth Rocklin at their ranch, so she
can take you to that man's body and to trail Buford."
"That doesn't need doing any more, now does it?"
commented the Sheriff.
"Well no... I guess not. But she's waiting there for
you. I need to go tell her it's all over. She needs to
know so she can go back to her family up in the
mountains."
"I can't let you go off and do that," said the Sheriff
patiently. "I still need to talk to your sister. Your
folks need to know what happened too," he said.
Frank looked at Peter. "You have to do it," he said.
Peter thought about that for a few seconds and smiled.
"All right. You tell Pa where I went. NO! Wait! DON'T
tell him where I went. He's not all that hot on them
sheep people right about now." He looked confused.
"You go tell the girl what happened," said the Sheriff.
I'll tell your Pa I sent you there."
Peter smiled again. "I kind of wanted to see her again
anyway." he admitted.
"Be careful." cautioned Frank. "I think she's wanting
to see you again too." He couldn't tell Peter anything
else under the circumstances.
"Good" said Peter cheerfully. He looked at the sky.
"Might not be able to get back before dark," he said.
"You stay the night and you'll have more trouble than
you can imagine," said Frank. But he smiled. Let the
girl talk Peter's ears off. That would cool him down.
***
When Peter rode into the Rocklin yard, everything
looked deserted. He was riding past the barn when he
heard a voice above him.
"Up here," came a feminine voice.
He craned his neck and was staring down the barrel of a
rifle. He knew it was a rifle, based on the appearance
of the barrel, which was octagonal, but all he could
think of was that it looked like the barrel was six
inches across. Then his eyes went up the barrel to a
smiling face with a brown pony tail hanging over the
neck. Blue eyes stared into his.
"Gotcha," said Beth sweetly. "You're not the Sheriff.
Where's your brother? What are you doing here?"
Peter stared at the face he had been unable to get out
of his mind for two days. All the time he was on the
trail with his father, all he could think about were
those eyes, and that neck and the breasts he knew were
under her dress, even though, in her position, he
couldn't see them.
"He's not coming," said Peter, breathless for some
reason. "The sheriff, I mean." He blinked. "Neither is
Frank. He's under arrest. I mean the sheriff has him...
he's taking him to our folks. He said I had to come
here."
She frowned, and even THAT looked beautiful on her
face. "Stay there," she ordered. "I'm coming down."
The doors to the barn were open, both front and back,
and the sun gleamed through motes of dust. Peter looked
and saw feet begin to descend the ladder built onto one
side of a post. As the feet went downward, the dress
covering her legs lifted, exposing firm calves. She was
barefoot. Then her body came into view, and he could
see the thrust of her breasts with her arms raised
above her. He sighed, seeing again what he had
remembered so often these last couple of days. She
managed the rifle with no trouble, holding it in one
hand while she gripped the side of the ladder. She
dropped the last two feet, landing softly. He couldn't
see it because now the sun was behind her, but he knew
those breasts bobbed when she landed.
When she walked casually out of the barn the rifle was
held hanging from her right hand, no longer pointed at
him. She didn't find him dangerous and that made him
feel good.
"What do you mean the sheriff's not coming?" She still
frowned, looking up at him. The neck of her dress was
open, and he could see a dark crease between her
breasts - cleavage was a word he wasn't familiar with -
that made him want to wiggle.
"My brother found the man who took my sister and killed
him," he said. His mind was on that dark crease, and
what was on each side of it.
"KILLED HIM?" the girl gasped. "Your brother? FRANK?"
That made her breasts thrust out even more as she took
a deep breath.
"I have to go," said Peter, feeling dizzy.
"What? You can't just ride in here and tell me
something like that and then turn around and ride out
again. I want to hear about it!" she said excitedly.
Peter knew that if he got down she would know what he
was thinking. He was wearing cotton pants this day, one
of his father's old pair, and they were loose. He could
see the bulge of his stiff penis even as he sat in the
saddle. He knew that if he stood it would stick out
four or five inches.
"I can't stay," he said miserably. Right then he wanted
nothing more than to stay and look at this vision of
loveliness.
The rifle came up suddenly, without warning, and again
he stared into the muzzle.
"You get down off that horse Peter, and I mean RIGHT
NOW!"
"You know my name?" he asked wonderingly. It didn't
occur to him that she might remember his name from the
single time they'd met, even though her name was burned
in his brain.
Her hands worked the action on the rifle smoothly, and
he realized it hadn't even had a round in the chamber
when she'd "threatened" him with it. Her frown had
deepened.
"OK, I'll get down, but I have to tell you something
first," he whined.
"What?" she said, her voice low.
"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," he
said. "And a man can't help what happens when he sees a
beautiful woman. Please don't shoot me."
She blinked, and the rifle muzzle wavered. Her mouth
opened, and then closed, and then opened again.
"And if I get down," he went on, "you're going to see
something that's going to really make you mad, and
you're going to want to shoot me, and it's not my fault
- honest - and please don't shoot me." He babbled,
unable to control his voice.
"What in the WORLD are you talking about?" she said.
"You just get down or I'll shoot you out of the saddle.
I want to hear about what happened," she said
stubbornly.
Peter eased his foot over the rump of his horse, and
tried to step down holding on with only one hand, so he
could adjust his... problem... with the other hand. His
weight swung him toward the head of the horse and he
lost his balance. His foot got caught up in the stirrup
and he flailed his loose arm. His weight was too much
for his other arm and it slipped off the saddle horn.
He landed with a thump in the dust, flat on his back,
and the air rushed from his lungs as if sucked out by
some overwhelming force.
Beth ducked under the neck of his horse and stood
staring at the boy on the ground. His mouth opened and
closed like a fish and his chest quivered as he tried
to get a breath. Her eyes went down his body and she
immediately saw the lump, which did indeed protrude
four or five inches from his groin, making the front of
his pants look like he had stuffed a rolled up cloth in
his pants. His reference to her beauty, which had taken
her completely by surprise, flashed through her mind
and she felt almost giddy with joy. She giggled.
"Oh" she said, giggling some more. "I see now. I won't
shoot you for that you silly man," she said, staring at
the offending lump... which apparently wasn't nearly as
offending as Peter had thought it would be.
Peter finally got a breath of air in and rolled over
onto his side, lying there and just breathing for a
minute.
"You're kind of clumsy, aren't you?" said the girl
maddeningly. He had never felt so embarrassed in his
whole life. He didn't know what to say, so he just lay
there and concentrated on breathing.
"Does it hurt?" she asked.
He looked up at her. "Of course it hurts. You don't
fall off a horse and not hurt," he said, his voice
wounded.
"I don't mean that." she giggled again. "I mean THAT."
She pointed the rifle at his privates.
He flinched and covered his groin with both hands.
"Oops" she giggled again and moved the rifle. "Sorry.
I'm not going to shoot you, honest. So... does it hurt
when it's... like that?"
He looked at her again, not knowing if she was making
fun of him or not. She didn't sound like it. She was so
strange, though, asking questions like that, that he
didn't know what to think.
"No," he said, hoping that would be the end of it.
"I don't see how it could be like that and not hurt,"
she said conversationally. "Course I don't have one.
Did you know your brother made love to my sister?"
Peter's mind whirled. This was all so strange he didn't
have the faintest idea how to act.
"What are you talking about?" he croaked.
"I don't want to stand in the sun while we talk," she
said. "And I don't want to talk to you while you're
lying in the dirt. Why don't you get up? Let's go
inside and talk there. We can get something to drink
and have a nice chat."
Peter moaned. She was acting so normal, blathering on
like he had just come for a neighborly visit. She
obviously knew that he was stiff, but didn't seem the
least bit concerned or upset about it. And now she was
raving about and her sister.
"You promise not to shoot me?" he asked, his voice
high.
She laughed. "You're not very brave for a cowboy," she
said. But somehow it didn't sound like she was
insulting him. "Do you need help?"
That stung Peter's masculine pride. "No, I don't need
some girl's help to get up off the ground," he said
darkly. He levered himself up, feeling much better now,
and realized his stiffness was fading. That was good.
He surreptitiously re-arranged his dick so it went to
one side and down into his pants leg as he stood. He
dusted himself off and picked up his hat, which had
fallen off when he hit the ground. He planted it firmly
on his head and faced the girl. She was looking at him
like he was a newborn calf, like she was evaluating
whether or not he was worth keeping alive.
"It's gone," she said suddenly.
He couldn't help looking at the front of his pants.
"What's the matter?" she asked. "Am I suddenly not so
beautiful?"
"You are the strangest girl I've ever met," he said,
unable to keep it inside.
"First I'm beautiful, and then I'm strange," she said,
tilting her head sideways, her green eyes looking right
inside him. "I'm not so sure you have all your brain.
Come on," she said, and with that she turned and walked
toward the house, leaving him standing there wondering
what was happening to him. Every time he tried to deal
with something she said, she said two or three more
things and he couldn't keep up. His head hurt a little
and he couldn't tell if it was because he fell off his
horse, or because of her.
He followed her into the house, where she set the rifle
in a corner and went to the dry sink. She worked the
pump handle and held a glass under the spout as water
poured out. As her elbow and arm worked, her hips
swayed and the dress moved on them. She was even
beautiful from the back. She turned and handed him the
glass of water. Her movements were graceful, the dress
hugging the curves of her body. She looked so normal,
doing such a normal thing. He noticed how her hair
flipped around behind her head as she moved. He saw her
eyes drop and she smiled.
"Oh, it's back!" Her eyes stayed there. "So now I'm
beautiful again?" she teased.
"You're not like other women," he said. "Most women
would be riled up by... that."
"I don't know if I'm like other women or not," she said
as he took the glass gingerly. "I'm just me, and I'm
like me, because that's the only way I know how to be."
He was amazed how good that water felt going down his
throat.
"So, what happened?" she asked, eager again to hear
news. "Did Frank actually kill somebody? I can't
believe he'd do that. Why I was just talking to him
earlier today and he didn't even seem to be able to
carry on a simple conversation. I know he made love to
"Enid, but he wouldn't admit that either. And then, you
say, he just rode into town and killed somebody?"
Peter wanted to sit down, despite the fact that she
didn't seem to be offended by his arousal. He told her
what he knew. He couldn't remember the man's name, but
he knew it was one of the men who worked for the
Rocklins. She frowned at that part, but, for once,
didn't say anything as he told the rest of it, going
backwards in time. He found himself telling her about
the Indians, and the sign they had seen. She knew about
the body in the clearing. A half hour had gone by when
Peter realized she had said only a word or two during
the whole story.
Then she told him how she had met Frank, and how he had
brought her home "Even though I was perfectly capable
of getting myself home" she said disgustedly. She
described how he had said he wanted to court Enid, and
how she almost got him to admit that they had made
love.
"You're not serious," he responded.
"I am too," she said leaning towards him. "Besides,
what's so strange about that? Except for the fact that
my sister is still just a girl... not a woman like
me... and I don't understand how any boy could want to
do that with her."
"She can't be more than a year younger than you," said
Peter, no longer afraid of this strange girl who talked
a mile a minute one time and then sat mute for half an
hour.
"I'm a woman," said Beth proudly. "Enid is still just a
girl." she insisted. She frowned. "Except that she's
done things like a woman, and she did them before me
and I'm very angry with her about that." she pouted.
Peter had no experience with pouting women and, not
knowing what to do... did nothing.
She looked at Peter. "Do you really think I'm
beautiful?"
Peter's breath caught in his chest. He nodded, not
trusting his voice.
"Is that really why your... why you were like that?"
She leaned sideways, looking into his lap. While he had
told her the story he had softened. Her talk about his
little brother and her little sister, though, had
brought images to his mind that had made him stiff
again.
"Stand up," she said.
"I can't just stand up," he objected.
"Why not?" she asked. "If I'm responsible for that,"
she pointed to his lap, "why can't I see it?
"It's just not proper," he said miserably.
"I don't care about proper," she said firmly. "My
sister got to see one... and do a lot more. Why can't I
at least look?"
"You want to LOOK at it?" he asked incredulously.
Beth looked stricken. "Well, that's not what I meant...
but now that you mention it, it's a good idea. Will you
show it to me?"
"You have GOT to be making fun of me," he said.
"Have you ever seen a girl?" she asked.
"What?"
"Naked. Have you ever seen a girl naked?"
"No," he gulped.
"If you show me yours... I'll let you see me naked,"
she said. Her eyes were quite serious. He couldn't
believe what he was hearing.
"We can't do that," he croaked.
"Why not?" she asked simply. "Am I so ugly now? You
don't want to see me?" Her voice sounded uncertain now.
"No!" he blurted. "I mean of course I'd like to see
you." His mouth snapped shut. "I mean ANY man would
want to see you." He put his head in his hand. "I don't
know what I mean," he said miserably.
He felt her hand on his, and looked up. He felt tears
beginning to form in his eyes and blinked rapidly. He'd
just die if he cried in front of this girl.
"So you think I'm pretty?" she asked softly.
"Uh huh," he nodded, still blinking furiously.
"Please," she said. "I just want to see. And I don't
care about what's proper. I think you're handsome," she
said.
"You do?" he asked, feeling a thrill shoot to his
groin.
"Yes," she said. "I thought you were handsome the first
time I saw you. You're a little strange, but I like you
a lot."
"Me... strange? ME? I'M the strange one?" he asked,
agog.
"What? Are you saying I'm strange?" asked Beth.
"You're willing to let me see you naked? You want to
see what you do to me... down there? THAT'S not
strange?" he gaped.
"I'm just curious, that's all," she said primly.
"What's so strange about being curious?"
Peter stared. It was too much for him. He had been
excited for days, and now the reason for his excitement
was completely unashamed to let him see what he'd
dreamed of constantly.
He stood up.
His bulge was back, though now his penis went sideways,
making the bulge off center. Beth stood up too, staring
at the front of his pants. She looked up at him.
"Well? Take your pants off," she said.
He blinked. "I can't," he said. "I don't think I can
move."
Her hands went to his belt. "If I take them off will
that make you feel better?" she asked. He had sucked in
air as she touched him, and all he could do was nod.
She fumbled with the unfamiliar fastenings, and then
got his pants open enough to begin drawing them
downward. Peter wanted to grab the waist and pull them
back up, but he didn't.
When his thick penis came into view, Beth took in a
deep breath and sighed. It didn't stick straight out
like she thought it would. It bent to one side, like it
was a bone that had been broken, and set wrong. It
moved slightly, up and down as she stared at it. She
didn't know about circumcision. The only hard male
members she had ever seen were on horses, or sheep or
dogs, and his looked completely different. It didn't
come out of a sheath. It just stuck out from a nest of
hair, underneath which hung his balls. Those looked a
little more normal, like a dog's balls, only much
larger. Without permission she reached out to cup those
balls and heft them. He hissed at her touch, and her
eyes darted up to his.
"I won't hurt you," she said.
He blinked, but didn't respond.
She put her fingers under his prick and lifted it too.
It jumped and she jumped with it.
"It really doesn't hurt?" she asked curiously.
Her fingers on his penis, just lifting it, made Peter
tense up. "No," he gasped.
"I don't see how that could fit in a girl," she said
conversationally. "Do you think your brother was lying?
About what he and Enid did, I mean?" she asked. Her
fingers went around his penis and held it gently. "It's
warm," she said, peering closely at what was in her
hand. "It feels nice, but I just don't think that would
fit in a girl. Maybe Frank was lying."
Peter didn't want to think about his brother, but her
words brought the visions back to his head, of his
brother and the other girl... naked... lying down
together. He felt something soothing run through his
penis and looked down to see a single clear drop of
fluid seeping out of the little hole that was almost
covered by his foreskin. "No." he gasped. He wasn't
cognizant of what he was actually saying.
"What's that?" asked Beth, looking closely at the
little filmy bubble. Her hand squeezed and the bubble
got bigger.
"I don't... know," he panted.
"You sure are breathing hard," she said.
"I know," he gasped.
She gave his penis another tentative squeeze. The
bubble got bigger and collected wetly in the collar
made by his foreskin.
"There's more of it," she said, leaning closer.
He could feel her breath on the tip of his cock. It
made him want to lean towards her.
"You feel good," she breathed, squeezing his penis
harder. Her hand moved a little and the hood began to
peel back.
"Oh look!" she said excitedly. "It moves!"
"Yeah," said Peter breathlessly. He suddenly wanted to
do anything it took to keep this girl from taking her
hand away.
She experimented, pushing harder and then adjusting her
grip. "Oooo it looks so different that way," she
sighed.
More precum drooled out of the tip and made a long
drip, stretching downward.
"Ooooo," said Beth. She watched as it dangled and
wiggled while her hand moved on his cock.
"Stop!" gasped Peter. He had never ejaculated before,
but he felt something happening inside him and knew,
somehow, that he didn't want it to happen... that it
would somehow make things wrong.
"Why?" she asked.
"I don't know," he groaned. "I feel all strange inside.
Her hand kept moving, playing as she covered and
uncovered the tip. When she brought her hand all the
way forward the drip broke off and fell to the floor.
"I don't want to stop," she said. "I like doing this."
"Ohhhhh," groaned Peter as the feeling got more and
more intense. "Ahhhhhh," he moaned. He felt something
that was extremely painful and amazingly pleasurable at
the same time. He looked down to see her hand push
toward his balls and the little hole widened. Suddenly,
with agonizing sweetness, something rushed through his
cock. A thick stream of white liquid shot out the tip
and splatted against Beth's upper lip.
Her reaction was natural. Her mouth opened in protest,
and another long stream of stuff shot directly into it,
going to the back of her tongue. She choked, closed her
mouth and instinctively swallowed to clear her
breathing passage. Another spurt hit her chin as she
leaned backwards, and still another hit her neck under
her chin and immediately started sliding down into her
cleavage.
Beth's mind whirled with all the new sensations. There
was startlement, and taste, and the feeling of the hot
fluid on her skin, and the feeling of the thing in her
hand pulsing, and all of those sensations hit her all
at once. Her mind rattled as it tried to process
everything. Taste came to the forefront, an acrid,
almost bitter taste that had an overtone of sweet and
musk in it. It was all over her mouth and she knew it
was that white fluid that had come out of him.
Her mind told her to be revolted, but her mouth argued
that, whatever this was, it was delicious, and she
liked it. Her fingers came up to her face, finding
globs of the stuff and she scooped it into her mouth,
to confirm that it was the same taste. She felt it
running down between her breasts and reached there to
scoop it onto her fingers. All that did was spread it
around, but she stuck her fingers in her mouth and
sucked on them, finding that taste there too. There was
a drool of it on the tip of his cock, and she leaned
forward to lick at that. That turned into a kiss as she
closed her lips around the tip and sucked to get the
stuff into her mouth. Her body suddenly felt hot, her
clothes restrictive.
She heard him moan again, a tortured sound to her ears,
and looked up through her lashes to find him staring,
wide eyed and open mouthed down at her. She stood,
letting him go.
"I don't know what that was... but I liked it," she
said, her breathing deep and rapid.
"Me too," gasped Peter.
"I told you I'd let you see me too," she said. Her
voice sounded strange to her. She worked the buttons on
the dress, eager to get if off her body. she let it
drop and had to push it down off her hips. She couldn't
believe how completely unashamed she felt doing this in
front of a boy. She wanted to giggle, thinking of what
she'd just done, which was much stranger and crazier
than just being naked.
Peter stared as her lush body came into view. His balls
felt suddenly tight, like they had just before all that
stuff had shot out of him. He knew it wasn't urine. His
knowledge of sex was limited, like hers, to seeing
animals mating, but he had never seen anything like
what had shot out of him so deliciously.
He sighed. Her breasts were just as he'd imagined them,
large and round, with little brown nipples spiked on
the tips. Her hips were smooth and round too. He stared
at the brown hair that lay flat on her mons. Her hands
couldn't seem to settle, waving this way and that and
finally hanging straight down.
Beth saw in his eyes what every woman wants to see when
she stands naked before a man. His look made her feel
beautiful, desirable... wanted. Her foot took a step
toward him, involuntarily.
"Take your shirt off," she whispered.
Peter obeyed without thinking, also leaning over to
push his boots off and pull the pants down and off of
his feet. He still had on socks and he was still
wearing his hat. Feeling foolish, he took his hat off.
Like their younger brother and sister, these two teens
were filled to overflowing with hormones and urges that
somehow told their bodies what to do, even though
neither of them could have described what it was they
were doing. Her urge to press her body against his was
met, and his hands automatically went to her back. She
loved the feeling of his smooth chest and rough hands
at the same time. His penis, still hard, poked into her
nest, and she loved that feeling too.
Whether she kissed him, or he kissed her, neither of
them would be able to say later, but their lips ended
up pressed against each other. That kiss made Beth want
to lie down with this man, and she pulled him not to
her own room, but to the closer bed that was her
parents'.
His kisses got more urgent and she felt helpless. He
suddenly stopped and lifted his head.
"I shouldn't be doing this," he said softly.
"You stop and I'll get that rifle again," she said
back.
"We shouldn't be doing this," he said.
"I want what my sister got," she said.
"I thought you said it wouldn't fit," he reminded her.
"Maybe I was wrong," she breathed.
Then there were more kisses and, just like it had been
between Enid and Frank, his penis was suddenly at her
sexual portal. Her legs spread under him at that touch
and her hands pulled at his buttocks. She felt pain and
moaned into his mouth. He tried to stop at the sound of
pain, but she pulled insistently.
It wasn't easy. Her hymen was thick and tough, and it
screamed at her each time he tried to batter it aside.
But the feeling deeper inside her, demanding to be
filled, overrode the pain. She felt it, but she could
also tell that, once that thick thing got deeper into
her it would fill that empty place. He gave another
convulsive lunge and she felt a sharp stab as his penis
slid into her. His abdominal skin slapped against hers
with a smacking sound, so hard had his push been.
Beth felt agony at first, and her mind had doubt. His
instinct caused him to move, though, and that knobby
hard thing stroked that place deep inside her and she
knew that the agony would go away. She hurried it,
spreading her legs and wiggling, trying to get
comfortable.
Peter stopped kissing her and raised his head. Her face
was twisted and he didn't like that look.
"Are you all right?" he asked. "Am I hurting you?"
"Just don't stop," she moaned.
His lust abated a little. The feel of her tight warmth
all around him was something like looking at fine art,
or hearing beautiful music. He could submerge himself
in that feeling. But he watched her as he moved first
this way, and then that, trying to figure out which way
hurt her, and which way didn't.
It was like taming a growling dog. Her face screwed up,
and there were tears at first. She bared her teeth and
groaned as she wiggled under him. But gradually her
face relaxed, and the motions she made with her hips
became less erratic, and more measured. Her legs fell
open, limp, and then bounded up to slap against his
ribs. Her back arched, and her breasts wobbled. Her
moans had less sound of pain in them, and gradually
began to sound like moans of joy.
The first time she smiled and opened her eyes, and he
could see that the pain was gone; he felt a wild aching
thrill inside that made him drive into her more
forcefully. Her breasts jiggled again and he looked at
them. He had dreamed about them. He'd seen a woman in
town suckling a baby, and he'd wanted to be that baby
back then. He dipped his head to suckle at Beth's tiny
brown nipple.
When he sucked, her hips went crazy and she squealed.
She began panting and moaning, taking a breath and then
immediately pushing it back out, making noises with it.
They weren't words, exactly, as much as rhythmic
grunts. The softness wrapped around him suddenly went
tight, so tight that he felt like he was being locked
inside her... like he couldn't withdraw even if he
wanted to.
Her eyes fluttered and rolled up in her head as she
gave a long almost frightening groan of ecstasy. She
froze for a few seconds, and then went limp as a rag.
Her pussy went limp too, for the most part, letting him
move again, though it still tightened and loosened
spasmodically for a few more seconds.
He didn't know what had happened to her, but she was
smiling, and that made the feeling come back that had
happened just before he had covered her face with
fluid. He speeded up, reaching for that feeling this
time, and when it came wanted to stop moving while it
happened. Instinct caused him to push hard and hold
there as the soothing stuff shot through his prick
again, this time entering her body, instead of her
mouth. It was indescribably delicious to feel that and
he wished it would go on forever.
Both lay, just breathing. He felt like he was heavy on
her, and rolled off to one side. Neither said anything
for at least five minutes. They were suddenly shy with
each other for some reason, and neither could think of
anything to say.
Finally Peter spoke.
"Was that what you wanted?"
Amazingly, his question made it clear that he cared
about how she felt, and the warmth of his stuff in her
belly seemed to spread back out throughout her whole
lower body. Beth rolled over, half on top of him, her
lips right in front of his.
"Yes," she said softly. She kissed his lips, a short,
quick kiss. "But not enough."
His eyes widened. "I have to marry you now," he said,
his voice tight.
"No you don't," she said, just as softly. "But I hope
you do."
He stayed the night. She wouldn't let him put anything
on, and stayed naked herself. They got almost nothing
done, always ending up back in bed. He seeded her six
more times before the sun rose again and she finally
admitted that he needed to go.
"I have to see you again," she said, dressed now, and
feeling somehow strange to be dressed in front of him.
"I'll come to the edge of our land every day in the
evening," he said. "Can you meet me there? By the big
Cottonwood that grows all by itself?"
"I know the place," she said. "There's a little seep of
water that comes up out of the ground."
"Yes," he said.
"I can't," she said miserably. "I'll be in the high
meadows."
"All summer?" he asked, agony in his voice.
"No, someone has to be at the ranch. Only a few stay up
there at a time."
"So you can come to the Cottonwood sometimes?" he
begged.
"Yes, but I won't know when," she said.
"I'll be there every day." he vowed.
"You have to go," she said. She wanted to rip her dress
off again.
"I know." he admitted. "One more kiss?"
"Yes." she agreed immediately.
Somehow that kiss made their clothing fall off again.
Their lips never broke apart as she maneuvered them to
the bed. He held her tightly as they fell and rolled,
their lips still crushed together. He didn't pull his
lips from hers until he was deep inside her again. Then
it was only to suckle at her. He had learned that when
he did that she writhed, and her pussy sucked at his
stiff prod until that soothing stuff flowed again.
Peter Collins hadn't gotten much sleep the night
before, and had gotten more exercise than he did when
he was rounding up cattle. He dozed in the saddle as
his horse picked its way toward home. As he dozed, he
dreamed, and his dreams were of a pale skinned beauty,
her arms and legs open to him, her green eyes inviting.
CHAPTER TWELVE
When Beth rode into the high meadows and approached the
shack, she felt completely normal. Everything was right
with the world. She would tell her parents about
Buford, and then offer to go back to the ranch to mind
things there.
Her mother came out of the shack, her hands white with
flour. She looked at her daughter, sitting on the
horse.
"What happened to you?" asked Amanda.
"What do you mean?" asked Beth. "The Sheriff didn't
come. It's a long story, but Buford is dead."
"You look different," said Amanda. She realized that
Beth somehow didn't look girlish any more. She looked
closely at her daughter. Everything was the same, but
something was different. She realized suddenly that
Enid looked the same way. She was still Enid, but older
somehow, less juvenile.
Beth felt herself begin to blush. "I don't know what
you're talking about," she said, getting off her horse
and trying to make the blush stop.
Amanda tilted her head sideways, as if that would let
her see what was different. She couldn't tell.
"Come inside and tell me the news," she said.
"Yes, Mamma," said Beth.
***
Life was back to normal for both families, at least as
far as the adults could tell. Once the Sheriff had
heard Sarah's story, he patted Frank on the back and
handed him his gun belt. There would be paperwork to
file. The Government was interested in problems between
sheep ranchers and cattlemen. There had been problems
elsewhere, but this situation was clear-cut, with
witnesses. The Sheriff himself had seen Buford draw
first, which is why his own gun was in his hand when
Frank froze as Buford was about to try and shoot him.
The Sheriff planned on filing a report that simply said
he had shot the man while he was trying to gun down an
area youth. If anybody ever came asking questions about
Chaps, which was doubtful, the Sheriff would answer
them then.
Beth had convinced her parents to let her mind the
ranch for two weeks, after which she would be replaced
by Enid. Brad and Amanda wanted Charley and Xian Bai to
stay in the high meadows to deal with predators. There
was a bear that had been sniffing around the edges of
the flock. She had two cubs with her and though Brad
did not want to kill her, there needed to be someone
out with the flock to discourage her.
Beth met Peter almost every day. There were times when
he could not make it. What they did when he was able to
be there made up for it in Beth's mind. She had learned
that she could stroke herself when he wasn't there.
That was almost as much fun. When he was late one day
he found her there, her skirt up around her waist while
her fingers dug into her sex.
She had heard him coming and, after she rose up and saw
it was him, she laid back down so that he'd see her
when he rode up. He sat and watched, alternating
between looking between her legs and her eyes, which
were pinned on him. He had been wild that time, and she
had loved his urgency. Neither of them gave any real
thought to what the rivers of sperm he injected into
her might be doing deep inside her body.
Before Beth went back to the ranch, she tried to get
Enid to admit she had made love with Frank, but Enid
knew that if her parents found out what they'd done
they would either make him marry her immediately, or
forbid her from ever seeing him again. The marrying him
immediately part didn't bother her. Being forbidden to
see him would have killed her; she was sure, so she
kept her mouth shut. When Beth claimed to have lain
with Peter, Enid thought it was just a trick to get her
to confess. She glared at her older sister, turned and
stalked off.
That changed when Enid rode back to the ranch to
relieve Beth. Beth met her, ready to go.
"You know that old Cottonwood tree over that-a-way?"
she pointed. "The one by that little seep of water?
"Yes," said Enid.
"Frank will be there every evening, two hours before
sunset. Take a blanket with you when you go."
"What are you talking about?" Enid asked sullenly.
"I've been meeting Peter there most days," said Beth.
She thought of herself like a woman now... FELT like a
woman. When she went back up the mountain she was going
to tell her parents she wanted to marry Peter. She was
still sure that Enid had lain with Frank. Peter told
her Frank was surly, going off by himself a lot, asking
Peter to have Beth pass messages to Enid. The two of
them had decided that, when Enid replaced Beth, Frank
would be told about their meeting place.
"You're lying," said Enid, still sullen.
"You can go or not," said Beth. "I don't care. If you
don't want to go, then go on back up to the high
meadows. I'll be most happy to stay here and keep
meeting my love."
That, more than anything else was what convinced Enid
to go to the tree. Beth had traditionally hated staying
at the ranch. When the girls were younger, one of the
men would stay with them or their mother or father
would. Beth got bored easily though, and had always
wanted to stay up at the summer camp, where there were
people to chatter to.
When, a day later, she went to the tree, and no one was
there Enid felt foolish. Then she saw the scrap of
paper nailed to the tree. It was from Frank, or at
least bore his name. It said he had been there the day
before, and would return. She waited and then cried
when she saw him coming across the plain.
He thought she had been hurt, seeing her standing there
bawling, but soon found he was wrong. She tore at his
clothes and cried continuously until he slid his aching
prick deep inside her. Then her tears dried and she
laughed instead, urging him on. He flushed her full of
his pent up passion three times and had to push her
away so he could mount and get back home before
suspicions were raised.
***
Jonas' attitude toward his daughter had changed
dramatically. Knowing that she had almost been raped
had made him solicitous. When, on a Sunday afternoon
she announced that she was going to see Bobby, her
father objected.
"That's foolishness," he announced.
"Well I'm going," she responded firmly.
"I told you I won't allow it," he said, his voice
rising.
"Pappa, I love you, and I don't want to hurt you, but
I'm going," she said, her voice surprisingly level.
Perhaps it was her lack of anger that penetrated his
brain, and convinced him she was as serious about this
as anything she had ever been. He felt the sinking
sensation in his gut that all fathers feel when their
little girl begins to act truly independently of his...
advice. He suddenly didn't want to argue with her in
front of the family, sensing somehow that he might
lose. He took another tack.
"You don't even know where he is for sure," he
complained.
"He's up in the high meadows," said Peter, who had been
watching the exchange almost eagerly. He spoke without
thinking.
Molly looked over at him, her eyebrow raised. "And how
would you know that?" she asked.
Peter paled. "Aren't they all up there?" he tried. "I'm
sure Be... that girl... you know his sister? I'm sure
when I went over there to tell her the Sheriff wasn't
coming that she said they were all going up there for
the summer."
Molly looked at him steadily. He had been disappearing
in the evenings. He said he was out making sure coyotes
and wolves weren't hanging around, but he was always in
a good mood when he returned. He never brought a pelt
with him to explain that good mood.
Sarah took her mind off of that. "I'm going to the
house first, and if he's not there, then I'll go up to
the high meadows," she said firmly.
Jonas groaned. "That will be an overnight ride, baby."
"I'm not a baby, Pappa," she said with dignity. "What
happened before won't happen again. Both of those men
are dead now and the Indians know who I am. Bobby has
much honor with them and they won't bother me. I'm
going."
In the end Jonas simply saddled up his horse and
accompanied her. Both Frank and Peter offered to go,
which made Molly look at them in wonder, her brow
creasing. Neither boy had worked up the courage to tell
their father that they, too, were interested in one of
the Rocklins.
Sarah was not pleased. No teenaged girl wants her
father to be along when she goes to see the man she
loves. But she swallowed her impulse to argue. She
wanted to see Bobby badly enough that she'd take what
she could get. She expected to be grumpy, and for her
father to keep harping against her wishes.
Oddly enough, their long ride gave them an opportunity
to talk that otherwise probably would not have
happened.
That time, and that talk, convinced Jonas that Sarah's
feelings were not just a crush, or transitory. Of
course he didn't know that Bobby's baby grew happily in
her womb. She didn't either at that particular time,
but when she found out later she was thrilled, rather
than forlorn. The fact is that Jonas, rough as he was,
recognized that Sarah's feelings for this boy he'd
never met were not only real, but deeply founded as
well. He had the same conflicting feelings about that
that any father feels when he realizes his daughter is
in love with... some man. He was also smart enough to
know to keep his misgivings to himself, because he was
smart enough to know that it wouldn't do one bit of
good to voice them.
They talked about a lot of things... things other than
Bobby and what had happened to her. The hours brought
them closer together in ways that would otherwise have
been unlikely, if not impossible. Jonas found that he
was enjoying himself immensely. He didn't have to worry
about the ranch. The boys and Buckshot, to say nothing
of Molly had things well in hand. They wouldn't drive a
herd to the rail head until fall, so all that needed
doing was keeping the herd more or less bunched so that
the roundup later would go more quickly and easily.
Eventually the talk came back to Sarah and Bobby and he
asked her what her plans were.
"I don't care," she said simply. "I just want to be
with him. I'd like to run a few head of steers, but
there's cash money in wool too. When I was in the
Indian village I saw sheep skins that the Rocklins had
traded for the most beautiful blankets. We could ship
those blankets back East and make a lot of money Pappa.
I'm sure they don't have anything like that back that
far."
Jonas thought for a while as they rode companionably in
silence.
"If I gave you some land, would you build on it?" he
asked.
"I'd have to talk to Bobby, but I'm sure he'd love to
have his own place. I want to have lots and lots of
babies."
Jonas felt a twist in his gut and a hint of panic at
the idea of a man making his baby girl pregnant. He
looked over at her and was stunned when he realized she
was, for all intents and purposes, a woman. Where had
his little giggling toddler gone? Where was the girl
he'd bounced on his knee and who rode Buckshot like a
horse around the kitchen?
"When might you want to get married?" he asked
carefully.
"I'd get married right this minute if I had my way,"
she said. He heard something in her voice that he'd
heard in Molly's so long ago, when she pleaded with him
not to wait until he had a stake. He'd wanted a place,
with cattle on it before he brought her home. Instead
she had used her wiles on him and they'd come west with
nothing. He'd made his ranch out of rounding up strays.
In some cases he collected a fee for returning them to
their owners, signing contracts before hand and then
going out to find them. But strays produced calves that
weren't branded, and that's where the real money was.
That's how he had built his herd. By the time others
caught on to the idea, he had his herd, and his spread
and his family well established.
"You know you can homestead free range," he said. He
was amazed that he'd said it. Most stockmen knew a man
could claim land he sat on long enough, but they didn't
want others to know about that.
"I've been thinking about that," she said.
Jonas wasn't even upset when that whippersnapper girl
who dressed like a wild Indian met them with rifle in
hand when they rode in. Her attitude toward him was
easy, and she lit up at learning who Sarah was.
"I've heard so much about you!" she said excitedly.
"You'll be a sight for sore eyes for my brother," she
said, inviting them to come in. "He can't talk about
anything without bringing it around to you."
"Is he here?" asked Sarah excitedly.
"Just rode in at noon," said Enid. "He's taking a
bath."
Sarah jumped down and dashed into the house while Jonas
shouted after that she couldn't go in there while he
was doing that. Enid laughed and, when he frowned at
her, held up her hands.
"They've got it bad for each other," she said smiling.
"I doubt anybody could stop them from seeing each
other." She opened the door for Jonas and he didn't
know whether to go find his daughter and drag her away
from the boy or not.
"Would you please sit down?" asked Enid. "They'll be
fine."
In the distance, within the house Jonas heard a male
voice. It yelled "You can't just come in here while I'm
taking a bath."
His daughter's voice floated out. "Why not?"
Jonas couldn't help but grin as he realized Sarah was
just as stubborn and forward as Molly had been. The
voices went on, lower now, and Jonas couldn't
understand them.
"Would you like a piece of pie?" asked Enid. "Stuck
down here I've been practicing baking."
Jonas wasn't sure he wanted to try eating some girl's
"practice", but she plunked a plate down in front of
him that had a quarter of what looked suspiciously like
gooseberry pie on it.
"Where did you find Gooseberries?" he asked, sticking
his finger into the gelled juice at the edge of the
pie.
"We collect them up on the mountain," she said, handing
him a fork.
The pie was delicious. He hadn't had gooseberry pie in
ages. Molly didn't bake pies. She was hell on wheels
with bread, but didn't do either cakes or pies. He was
stuffing pie in his mouth and feeling slightly foolish
for being a pig about it when he saw movement out of
the corner of one eye. He turned to find the boy he'd
never seen, but knew an awful lot about standing wide
eyed. He was still dripping wet, though he had on both
shirt and pants. They were wet too, and it was obvious
he had dressed without drying off. Sarah was right
behind the barefoot boy, pushing him.
"Ask him." she whispered loud enough for a man outside
to hear.
Bobby half turned. "Sarah, I can't..."
"Ask him!" she ordered, her voice louder.
Bobby opened his mouth and then closed it. His eyes
darted all around. Jonas took another bite of pie while
he waited for the boy to find his voice.
"Sir," said Bobby finally. There was silence.
"Ask him!" came Sarah's urgent command from behind him.
Jonas almost smiled, but kept his face straight.
"Sir," he started again. "I'm in love with your
daughter and I'd like to make her my wife." It came out
in a rush, like if he didn't get it said within a
certain very short amount of time something would
happen to stop him.
Sarah sighed behind him. "Bobby Rocklin, you're
supposed to ASK for my hand, not tell him what you want
to do!"
Bobby blanched and Jonas actually felt sorry for the
boy.
"Sir, I'll just die if I can't marry your daughter." He
looked up at the ceiling. "I guess I'm asking for her
hand in marriage. Can I do that?" He looked confused.
Jonas put down his fork and pushed the plate away. It
still had pie on it. He looked at the boy, who squared
his shoulders finally and got some color back in his
face.
"According to some Indians I talked to..," said Jonas.
"She already IS your wife."
Bobby blinked. Then he swallowed. "Well, you see sir,
there was this problem, and I sort of thought it might
be solved if I acted like..."
Jonas held up his hand. "I know what happened. How do I
know you'll take good care of my daughter?" he asked.
He found he was actually enjoying himself.
"Sir, I'll work hard, and build her a house and
everything. My pa will give me some sheep and..." he
stopped. He looked carefully at the cowman sitting at
the table. He took a breath and went on. "I know you
don't like sheep sir, but they're what I know, and I
can make a living herding sheep. There's plenty of
range out here. I know that cowmen and sheepmen don't
agree on that, but if sheep are run correctly, they
don't destroy the grass. I know how to run sheep
correctly." he finished.
Jonas couldn't resist teasing his daughter. "I don't
know, son, if I can allow this."
Sarah moved from behind Bobby. Her eyebrows were raised
and her mouth was open. "Pappa, I'm going to marry this
man, and you'd just better get used to the idea!" she
started. She was stepping closer with each word, almost
stalking.
Jonas laughed and held up his hands. "All right. I
don't know what your mother will say, but I know when
I'm licked." He turned to Bobby. "I never thought I'd
ever say this to a sheepman, but yes, you may have my
daughter's hand in marriage," he said formally. Again
he couldn't resist the urge to tease. "If she'll have
you."
Sarah had already started to turn back towards Bobby,
but she stopped long enough to send a murderous glare
at her father. He winked at her, and she suddenly
smiled the most dazzling smile, that made Jonas hurt
inside.
"Thank you, Pappa," she said. Then she turned and threw
herself on the bedraggled looking boy, kissing him
soundly.
"Now just hold on there," said Jonas, uncomfortable.
"You just save that for after the wedding."
Sarah ignored him, holding the kiss for a long time.
Then she turned around. "Pappa, you can go on home now.
Bobby will bring me back tomorrow."
Jonas stood up. "If you think I'm going to leave you
here with that man after what I just saw, you've got
another think coming! I know what a man and woman do
when they're going to get married." He looked startled.
Sarah smiled at him. "Really Pappa? What did you and
Mamma do before YOU were married?"
Jonas was flustered. He hadn't meant to say what he'd
said quite like he'd said it. In fact he had claimed
his bride's virginity almost a month before they tied
the knot. "Never you mind what we did or didn't do!" he
said belligerently. "Your Mamma would skin me alive if
I came back without you and told her I left you with
the man you're gong to marry."
"I thought, according to the Indians, we already WERE
married." she threw his statement back at him.
"Don't you argue with me on this, Sarah Jean." Jonas
was getting upset now.
"Oh... all right. But can we at least take a walk? We
have a lot to talk about."
"Talking is fine," said Jonas, relieved. He didn't
actually know if he could force her to go back with him
or not.
"I have three more pies." piped Enid. "How's about I
get you one while the lovebirds go for their walk." she
offered.
Jonas smiled. "Why thank you, Miss... I'm sorry, I
plumb forgot your name."
"Enid," she said sweetly. "Let me just get you that
pie.
Jonas was just distracted enough that he didn't notice
that Sarah dragged Bobby out of the house before he
could even put on his boots.
***
While Jonas ate an entire gooseberry pie, Sarah stopped
at her horse long enough to remove a small packet from
it, and then dragged Bobby to the barn. She handed
Bobby the packet, which he looked at curiously. It was
leather, and was cunningly made to tuck together. He
looked up to see Sarah taking her dress off. He darted
a glance at the door to the barn, but his voice caught
as she was suddenly naked and laying her dress down on
the straw.
With no sign whatsoever that she was uncomfortable
being naked in front of him she took the packet back
and unfolded it to reveal the paste Birthing Woman had
given her... the same paste that had been smeared on
her mother when she and Bobby had shown Sarah what
making love could look like. She had moistened it
before she came, though it was stiffer than when it was
freshly made. Still, she smeared it across her nipples,
and lips, and then ran her fingers between her legs.
she alternated at looking at where she was applying the
paste, and looking at her lover's wide spread eyes.
"Oh hurry." she moaned, pulling at Bobby's shirt with
her other hand. Beside himself, Bobby did what she
wanted and soon was as naked as she was. She put her
two paste-smeared fingers on his lips, and then reached
for his prick, which was already fully erect. She
gripped it hard, working the paste along its length.
"Your woman needs you," she whispered, lying back on
her dress and exposing herself to him in mimicry of her
mother's actions.
Bobby gave her exactly what she needed, her naked legs
wrapped firmly around his waist, and her hands and lips
urging him on.
"I want to do this every single night," she moaned into
his ear. "We have to get married real soon."
"I'll talk to my ma and pa tomorrow," he promised. Then
he groaned and she felt the luscious heat of his spurts
up inside her.
"Real soon," she moaned as her own orgasm washed over
her.
***
When they returned to the house, Enid stepped up behind
Sarah and carefully picked straw out of her hair while
Jonas washed his sticky hands in the sink. Sarah
blushed, and then shot Enid a grin.
"Tell Frank I said hi" whispered Enid.
Sarah's eyes widened, but she nodded. She had noticed
Frank wandering off every afternoon for a week at a
time, to be replaced by Peter doing the same thing the
next week. She'd noticed it, but not thought much about
it. The look on Enid's face, though, put her mind off
on a track she hadn't thought of.
Jonas and Sarah mounted up for the return trip. Bobby
had put on boots, and came outside to see them off.
"Real soon," said Sarah, blowing him a kiss.
"Yes, Ma'am," said Bobby.
Jonas sighed.
Bobby went back inside, where Enid was cleaning up the
mess Jonas had made eating a pie and three quarters.
She looked at her brother. "I knew you were sweet on
her, but I didn't know you were going to ask to get
married," she said.
Bobby looked at her, his eyes slightly unfocused. "I
didn't either," he said.
***
Despite Sarah's pestering of her parents, it was
insisted that the wedding should take place in the
fall, after the cattle drive. Molly, when Jonas had
appeared in front of her, hat in hand, to tell her he'd
given away their daughter, reacted in a manner that
stunned her husband. He was prepared for her to yell at
him. He was prepared for her to tell him to undo the
tragic mistake he had made. He was prepared for her to
argue.
He was not prepared for her to drag him to the bedroom
in the early evening, before supper even, and fuck him
almost senseless.
Her ardor fed his, and he managed to go twice again. It
was when he had given her everything he had to give,
and was lying spent with her half on top of him playing
with the hair on his chest, that she asked him if he
remembered that day, out in the North pasture, when he
had been able to mount her twice within a short time.
He nodded and smiled. He had been inordinately proud
that he had been able to do that, and he was just as
proud that he had repeated the feat this evening.
"I'm pregnant," she said softly.
He looked at her stunned. He knew how often they had
tried after Frank had been born, with never a hint of
success.
"I've been pregnant ever since that day," she said.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"I should have bled the next week," she said. "And I
didn't. Now I've missed again. Yes, I'm pretty sure,"
she said.
Molly was also pretty sure that, when the baby came
out, it would have Bobby's eyes, or nose, or hair, but
she didn't care. She would have a baby to love and
nurture and cuddle again. Jonas would love it too. That
was all that mattered.
***
It was when Molly announced, at a late supper that
night, that she was pregnant again that plans for
Sarah's wedding took a different direction. Everybody
was happy about Molly's news, including Sarah, but she
stayed after all the others had left.
"Mamma?" she said.
"Yes, dear?" said Molly, glad that everything had gone
so well.
"I might be pregnant too," said Sarah fearfully.
Molly turned to her daughter. "I suspected as much,"
she said, astonishing Sarah. "When I came back with
Jonas that night... just after we got back... you
looked... you looked like a woman who had been loved.
Was that when it happened?"
Sarah nodded. "I couldn't resist. After I saw what it
looked like, and how much you loved it, and what with
how I felt about him..."
"I know, baby" said Molly hugging her daughter. "So we
need to get you married before the roundup. Is that
what you're saying? Are you sure you're pregnant?"
"I missed my monthly last week," said Sarah. "I didn't
think anything about it until you said you were
pregnant. I guess I don't know."
"Was it just that one time?" asked her mother.
"Yes, until today," said Sarah.
Molly's head rocked back. "You did it again today?" she
asked.
Sarah nodded. "Pappa thought we were out for a walk,
talking about getting married."
Molly was amazed. "Are you daft girl? What if he'd have
caught you? What were you thinking?"
Sarah looked at her mother. "I was thinking the same
thing you think when you do it," she said.
Molly opened her mouth, and then closed it and then
laughed, hugging her daughter again.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Molly thought about various arguments she could make to
Jonas as to why Sarah should get married much sooner
than he had decreed. She even thought about telling him
the truth, at one point, but went back to other threads
of thought when she imagined what he'd say and do.
In the end, it was something else entirely that
rearranged Jonas' plans.
It was an evening, cool for once, and almost dark when
Buckshot stood up from where he was reading by lamp
light and said "Horse coming." Molly was in the kitchen
trying to get a dutch oven clean that had been soaking
all day, and the children were in their rooms. Jonas
was dozing in his favorite chair, but bounded up,
alert, reaching for the rifle on the wall.
"Hello the house." came a male voice from outside.
Jonas cocked his ear. "That sounds like Rocklin," he
said. He went to the door and opened it. The sun wasn't
down yet, though it was dark enough in the house that
the lamps had been lit, and Jonas could see that it was
indeed Brad Rocklin.
"Take a light," said Jonas, using the traditional
western invitation to get off a horse and be welcome.
"Mighty late to be out riding. Thought I'd see you some
time."
Brad took off his hat and limped up on the porch. "Long
ride," he said shortly.
"I saw your boy a week or two back," said Jonas. "He
asked for my daughter's hand." He expected that was why
Brad was there, though it did seem odd he'd come so
late in the day.
"Yes," said Brad. He looked uncomfortable. "That's part
of why I'm here."
"Hello Mr. Rocklin" said Molly brightly as she came out
of the kitchen wiping her hands on a towel. She still
had on her apron. "Won't you come in? Can I get you a
cool drink? Did you eat on the trail?"
"Thank you, Ma'am," said Brad. "But I 'spect I'd better
just get on with what I came here for."
"You against the wedding?" asked Jonas, his voice
tense.
"No," said Brad. "Bobby pretty much said he was going
to do it, and it didn't matter what Amanda and I
thought."
Jonas smiled. He felt better about being railroaded
into giving away his daughter.
"What then?" asked Molly. "Is something wrong?"
"I believe so," said Brad. He looked even more
uncomfortable.
"Do you want to sit down?" asked Molly, trying to make
the man more comfortable."
"I don't know," he said.
Jonas was impatient. "What's on your mind then Rocklin?
Spit it out."
Brad took a breath. "It appears..." he said slowly,
"that both of my daughters are... with child."
It was so silent that a stranger might have thought
he'd gone deaf.
"Oh Lord," said Buckshot from his chair.
Jonas didn't like where he thought this was going.
"Well, that's a shame," he said. "But what does that
have to do with us?"
Brad sighed. "The girls wouldn't say anything at first.
Amanda noticed that they hadn't..." he looked at Molly
and flushed. "They hadn't... um..."
"I know what you mean, Mr. Rocklin," said Molly gently.
"Thank you," said Brad, obviously relieved. "Anyway,
once Amanda suspected, she told me, and I... asked them
some questions."
"I bet you did," said Molly.
"Well... after we got past them denying it, I got a
little insistent I guess, and... well... it seems that
they think it was your boys who got them that way." He
looked very tense.
Jonas' face got dark. "That's preposterous!" he said
"My boys don't even know your daughters!"
"Jonas?" came his wife's voice.
He waved a hand at her. "I don't know what you think
you're trying to pull here Rocklin, but I'm not buying
one bit of it. No sir. You can't hang this on my sons!"
"JONAS!" said Molly loudly.
"WHAT!" he turned his face to her.
"I think we need to talk to the boys about this," said
Molly.
"Why!" snarled Jonas.
"Jonas?" Buckshot spoke.
"What do YOU want?" asked Jonas unhappily.
"You remember the first time we met mister Rocklin
here? 'Member when we went there looking for Sarah?"
"Yes, but what does that..." started Jonas hotly.
"You remember the way Pete looked at that girl?"
Jonas closed his mouth and looked stunned. Then he
frowned.
"Yes I remember that, but they haven't been around
those girls."
Molly spoke up. "I've been wondering where they go in
the afternoons. They said they were out looking for
coyotes, but they haven't brought a single pelt back."
Brad spoke. " A while back Frank caught up with us on
the trail, after your daughter was back. He asked me if
he could court Enid. I didn't think much of it, what
with them separated and all. But we keep somebody at
the ranch... to keep an eye on things while the flock
is up in the high meadows. The girls volunteered to
take week shifts. I wondered about that too. I didn't
put two and two together, though. I should have."
Jonas went to his chair and sat down hard. Then he
stood up.
"BOYS!" he yelled harshly.
There was the sound of doors opening and closing, and
Frank and Peter walked into the room. Each one was
wearing only pants. They found four adults staring at
them.
"What, Pa?" asked Peter. He looked curiously at Brad.
"Hi, Mister Rocklin," said Frank.
"Sit down boys," said Molly.
Frank looked pale. "What's wrong? Has something
happened to Enid?"
Buckshot turned away. Under his voice he said "Oh
Lordy."
Molly took over. "Yes, in a manner of speaking,
something HAS happened to Enid. When was the last time
you saw Enid, Frank?"
Frank looked like he might fall down, and sat quickly.
"Well... um... I don't rightly recollect," he said
weakly.
"Well you better START recollecting young man." growled
his father.
"Jonas, please let me handle this," said Molly.
Jonas looked at her and blinked. She went on before he
could object.
"Enid is pregnant, Frank," she said bluntly.
Frank's mouth opened and then closed. It opened again.
"Oh," he said.
"And so is... Elizabeth?" she looked at Brad. He
nodded.
Peter sat down too.
"I don't suppose you boys know anything about that...
do you?" asked their mother, in the same tone of voice
she might use to ask them if they'd cleaned their
rooms.
Frank was breathing fast, almost panting. Peter just
sat, looking stunned.
"SPEAK UP!" yelled Jonas.
Frank looked at him, and then at his mother, and then
at Brad. Gripping the arms of the chair he stood up. He
still looked pale, but his knees were stiff and his
fists were tight.
"I love her," he said.
Peter stood up.
"Me too. I love her too." He looked around. "Beth I
mean. I love Beth."
Jonas looked like he'd been kicked in the crotch.
Molly sighed. Based on what she thought about Bobby,
and the kind of family she knew it would take to
produce such a fine young man, she wasn't concerned
with the fact that her boys were interested in their
girls. But this wasn't quite the way in which she might
have wished things would proceed. "How long has this
been going on?" she asked.
Neither boy was prepared to answer that question. They
hadn't thought about that, or the consequences of what
they'd been doing. Like a lot of young men, they'd just
done what felt good and more or less hoped for the
best.
"A long time, I guess," said Frank.
It was touch and go for a while longer, but eventually
the story came out. Frank told them about his visit to
the high meadows to give them news, and how Enid was
there alone, and how... somehow... it had just
happened. He looked so helpless that his mother reached
out and touched his hand with hers.
Peter explained how he had gone to the Rocklin ranch to
tell Beth that the Sheriff wasn't coming, and how he
had reacted, and how she had reacted, and how he wasn't
sure either how it happened, but it had.
They admitted they'd been sneaking off to see the girls
for weeks, which was actually determined to be months,
but they hadn't thought anything like this would
happen. That caused all the adults to roll their eyes
and look at each other.
"What do we do now?" asked Peter finally.
Jonas started to say something, but didn't.
Molly rose to the challenge. "Jonas, didn't you say
something about how Bobby and Sarah are thinking about
homesteading some land between our two spreads?"
Jonas nodded miserably.
"Well, then, why couldn't there be three homesteads?"
she asked.
Brad looked at her and nodded. She smiled at him.
Jonas wasn't quite ready to agree. "Those girls snared
my boys," he said sullenly.
Molly's face got tight. "Jonas Collins, you know good
and well it
takes two. They've got to do the right thing and you
know it."
He slumped. "I know... I know. But I don't have to like
it."
Molly spoke patiently. "Think about it, Jonas. All that
open range between our ranch and his? Anybody could
come along and homestead it. But if our sons... and
Bobby... if THEY claim that land, our ranches... our
family... will stretch for over sixty miles."
Molly knew her husband. She knew the right buttons to
push. He frowned, and then brightened. "There is that."
he admitted. He thought some more and his shoulders
straightened. He faced the two boys, who were still
standing, still nervous, but able to hear their
mother's idea just as well.
"You will marry those girls." pronounced Jonas in a
voice that brooked no argument. "You will marry them
and make a good home for them. Is that clear?"
Both boys nodded so hard that Buckshot wondered if
their heads would fall off. He let out the breath he
had been holding for what seemed like forever.
"I'm going to bed," said Jonas. "My head hurts
something awful."
Molly stepped forward. "I'll be along in a little while
dear," she said soothingly. "Mister Rocklin will be
staying the night with us." She looked at Brad and he
smiled and nodded once. "While I get him a room ready,
I expect he'll be wanting to have a talk with his...
sons-ion-law."
Both boys looked at Brad. They didn't look very happy.
"I'd like that very much," said Brad. "There are plans
to make."
***
Later, in the bedroom, Molly combed her hair while
Jonas lay on the bed grousing.
"I knew sheep would ruin this country." he growled.
"Those girls are getting good husbands," said Molly,
trying to get him out of his funk.
"Those girls are stealing my sons," moaned Jonas.
"Your sons have stolen something from those girls,"
countered Molly.
"You sound awfully happy about this," complained Jonas.
Molly stood up and dropped her nightgown on the floor.
She stood proud before her husband, her breasts,
breasts that would soon be feeding a baby, thrust out
at him. She walked over to the bed, her hips moving up
and down like those of a mountain lion.
"Why wouldn't I be happy?" she asked. She leaned over
to rub her breasts in his face, and he turned it
sideways, trying not to respond. He couldn't help
himself though, and she felt a thrill as his mouth
captured a nipple. Her hand went to the front of his
drawers, and slipped inside.
"Can't you think about anything else woman?" he tried
to complain.
She took his drawers down, revealing how he really felt
about what she was doing, and she climbed up on top of
him, holding him down with her hands on his chest. He
looked up at her, eyes wide.
"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice low.
"I'm going to break this unruly bronco if it's the last
thing I do," she said huskily. "I'm going to ride him
until he drops."
She reached down and found his hardness, putting it
where she wanted it. They'd never made love like this
before, and it inflamed Jonas to see her up there on
top of him as she filled herself and began to rock.
"Giddy up horsy," she cooed.
***
Once things had been decided, the only drawback was
that the nearest preacher was sixty miles away in what,
in those days, was the thriving metropolis of Squaw
Creek. The simplest solution was to have the parson
handle all three weddings the same day. Bobby went to
get the young man, who had only been out of seminary
for three months and was thrilled at not only the
number of weddings he was requested to perform, but at
the aspect of traveling to new and wild country on a
horse.
He had arrived in town on the train from back East and
had only had one opportunity to mount one of the large
animals, which he had ridden twenty feet and then back
again. His visions of carefree riding across huge
scenic vistas, and camping out in wild nature were
somewhat tempered by experiencing the real thing. It
was so much less the adventure he had thought it would
be that when he arrived, and had to be helped into the
Collins ranch house because he could barely walk, a day
had to be added to the schedule to allow him to
recuperate.
The original plan was to have one wedding at the Circle
C and the other two at the Rocklin house, but when
Molly saw what kind of shape the stick thin young
parson was in after a ride of only three days and two
nights spent out in the open, she sent Frank to ask the
Rocklins to come to the Circle C. Xian Bai stayed in
the high meadows, with the flock and everybody else
rode to the ranch for the festivities.
That led to a conundrum as to where people would sleep,
since there were only three bedrooms in the Circle C
ranch house. The solution to that, suggested by Molly,
horrified the young parson, but met everyone else's
needs with not so much as a ripple of concern.
There was a triple wedding the day the Rocklins
arrived. That night, Frank and Enid slept in Frank's
bed, while across the room Peter and Beth used Peter's
bed. Neither girl had any problem with the fact that,
ten feet away, wild and somewhat loud sex was going on.
That was because each girl was making some of that
noise.
Bobby and Sarah used Sarah's room, of course, and
Molly, still feeling pity for the limping minister,
said he could have Jonas' and her bed. The two older
married couples would simply bed down in the bunkhouse
with Buckshot and Charley.
No one thought about the fact that the parson would be
subjected to the sounds of three newlywed couples
engaging in... what newlyweds do. He was an unmarried
young man and, being a virgin himself, had no concept
of what he would be hearing.
It was too much for his tender sensibilities.
The young man wondered at the fact that there appeared
to be two men, wrapped in blankets on the ground
outside the bunkhouse, already sawing logs loudly in
sleep. He had been given a tour of the ranch and knew
the bunkhouse contained eight beds, put into use during
the annual cattle drive when extra hands were hired.
It never occurred to him that the men might be sleeping
outside because there were two married couples in the
bunkhouse, as he stumbled toward what he assumed would
be a quiet bed where he could get away from the
disturbing noises he had been hearing for over an hour.
He was completely unprepared, therefore, when he opened
the door of the bunkhouse and limped in, his eyes fully
adjusted to the dark, and with moonlight coming through
the windows of the place.
There, as if in a dream, were the ghostly white forms
of two naked women, sitting upright on top of long
lumps under them. They were in beds right next to each
other, and those forms writhed and moved, hips sliding
back and forth, as if they were riding some spectral
horses through the dark. Pale white breasts with dark
centers bobbed and jiggled as the poor parson stood
frozen.
And those forms were making the SAME noises as he had
just escaped.
***
Fifteen years later, at the height of the sheep wars
that raged across the upper west of the Republic,
Senator Tom Harris heard about a group of ranches that
seemed to be immune from the violence and dissent that
characterized the relationship between men who ran
cattle, and men who kept sheep. He was so interested by
the stories he heard of how well people were getting
along in that part of Wyoming that he wrote a letter
announcing that he was going to schedule a trip to go
see for himself whether cowboys and shepherds could
actually live together in peace.
His tour covered over a hundred miles of some of the
most beautiful land he'd ever laid eyes on. He started
at the Circle C cattle ranch, which appeared to be
about as standard a cattle ranch as he'd ever seen.
Molly, the woman of the place, turned him over to her
fifteen year old son, Brett, who showed him the
operation. Brett said he had a twin brother, but he was
married and lived on another ranch. His thirteen year
old sister Roberta, tagged along, wearing buckskin
clothing that made her look more or less like a boy.
They were accompanied by a dog that looked like a wolf.
Ten year old twins Ruth and Phillip wanted to go, but
were retained by their mother to do chores.
Brett and Roberta turned him over to a new set of teens
at the Bar S ranch, named for their mother Sarah. The
new guides were two boys, ages fifteen and fourteen,
named Bob Junior and Billy, respectively. They led the
Senator through fields that had both cattle and sheep
grazing together. At the Bar S ranch house, the Senator
got to meet the namesake of the ranch and her other
four children, one of whom was in diapers. She was
obviously pregnant again.
After lunch, Senator Harris was turned over to yet
another set of teenagers, two girls this time, who led
him onto land they called the Lazy B ranch, which also
grazed both sheep and cattle together. He stayed the
night with Beth and Peter, who ran that ranch, along
with their other four children. Beth Collins was also
pregnant.
The next morning, during breakfast, there was the
clatter of hoof beats in the yard and the most striking
woman Senator Harris had ever seen stomped through the
door and sat down like she lived there.
"Howdy," she nodded to the important man. "I'm Enid
Collins. Heard you wanted to see our place." She was
dressed in buckskin, and wore a gun, like Annie Oakley
or something. Her hair was done up in pigtails. She ate
like a horse, but Senator Harris didn't think the
slight swell pushing the front of her buckskin shirt
out was caused by overeating. He was purely amazed at
how many pregnant women there were out in this land.
"We figured you'd send Thomas to fetch him," said Beth.
Enid stopped shoveling food in her mouth long enough to
say "Needed all the kids to run the flock up to the
high meadows."
Senator Harris' first impressions of this raw woman
changed remarkably as she showed him a classic sheep
ranch on the ride to her home. Her ranch was called the
F Hanging E, using the initials of her husband's and
her names, the E fastened to the bottom of the F and
offset just a tad. She talked of politics, and
economics and literature as they rode along, and Tom
Harris realized she was one of the smartest women he'd
ever met.
"I have to ask you a question," he said at one point.
"Shoot," said Enid.
"Almost every woman I see out here is pregnant," he
said, the question in his mind obvious.
"Sex is fun," she said with a slight smile.
Tom Harris blushed, not quite ready for something so
plain and obvious to answer his question.
"Besides, it takes hands to run cattle and sheep, and
if you hire them, then that takes most of your profit."
she added. "I've got a six year old who, with a good
dog, can herd five hundred head of sheep just about
anywhere I want her to.
"You let a six year old GIRL heard a flock of sheep?"
he asked incredulously.
"Well, her two older brothers like to go with her, but
they mostly play. She understands sheep."
"But isn't it dangerous?" he asked.
"Not around here. We have good relations with the
Indians... what's left of them anyway. We had a little
trouble with drifters a while back... a little rustling
problem... but that got solved with a rope and we
haven't had any trouble since."
"You HANGED a rustler?" asked the Senator, amazed at
how calmly she'd suggested that.
"Four of them actually," she said. "Course I didn't
hang them myself." She grinned at the startled man.
"Posse did that. Caught 'em red handed with a running
iron, changing brands. They had over fifty head of
cattle they were trying to sneak down south."
"But I thought you ranched sheep," he said.
"We do, but my sister's and Brother-in-law's cattle
roam free all over the place. Frank and I own fifty or
so head ourselves, but that's mostly for trading with
the Indians, and for eating ourselves."
The Senator met Frank when they got to the ranch house.
He and several children were shearing sheep. There was
a pile of wool as high as he was when he was mounted.
After a light lunch, Senator Harris was hustled off to
the Rocklin Ranch and introduced to Enid's mother. At
last he met a woman who wasn't pregnant. Amanda laughed
as he expressed his joking amazement.
"Well then, let me introduce you to my granddaughter,
Constance. She's six months pregnant with her first.
She's one of Enid's brood. She's married to one of
Molly's boys from over at the Circle C. I believe
you've met most of those folks already.
***
End Note:
Senator Harris was impressed by what he saw, so much so
that he wrote legislation intended to cool down the
sheep war that seemed to be so entrenched outside this
little group of ranches that proved cattle and sheep
could be grazed on the same land successfully.
The Forest Reserve Bill, passed in 1902, allotted
public grazing land for both cattle and sheep to
terminate this unpleasant piece of history. It took
until 1906, however, for men to actually agree to halt
the hostilities.
END
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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 48