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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