Savage. Part 40

After supper, I felt like having a smoke. Didn't have any makings, though. They were back at the old campsite with the rest of McSween's things.

I turned gloomy, remembering McSween.

So I pulled a whiskey bottle out of my saddle bag. It had belonged to Breakenridge. I'd taken it, along with the gang's ammunition and money and some other supplies, even though I hadn't the heart to take McSween's tobacco and paper.

I uncorked the bottle and worked on it. It didn't have the good, sweet taste of the Glory Elixir. But it had never been touched by Ely, either, so that was a clear advantage.

The whiskey didn't perk up my spirits much.

I quit while I still had my wits about me, and turned in.

The next day, I returned to the trail. I still had a hunger for fresh meat, so I kept my eyes open.

There were birds about, magpies and hawks mostly, but a gunshot was likely to blow such a thing to smithereens if I was lucky enough to hit one. McSween had told me once that rattlers made good eating, but not a one showed itself. I figured that was for the best, as I wasn't keen on the notion of chowing down a snake.

I did spot a few gophers or prairie dogs. They'd poke their little heads up out of holes, I'd dismount and have a crack at them with the Winchester, miss, and go on my way again.

It was starting to look like I'd be eating beans from here to the next town. But then, long about noon, I caught sight of a jackrabbit as it hopped away from behind a boulder about fifty yards off.

I lit out after it.

The critter led me a merry chase, but I closed in, slapped leather, and shot from the saddle. My first bullet knocked its brains out.

Feeling mighty pleased with myself, I dismounted and fetched my knife. It had been Snooker's knife, which he'd always worn on his belt. I carried it in one of my saddlebags as I hadn't figured out a good way to wear it, what with having holsters at both hips.

Anyhow, I unsheathed the knife and gutted the hare and cut off its head and skinned it. I couldn't see much advantage to waiting, so I built a fire and cooked it up on the spot. It smelled just splendid as it sizzled away. By and by, the outside turned a lovely golden brown. I took my meal off the fire, then had to wait for it to cool down.

I ate the hare right off the spit and it tasted simply delicious. When about half was gone, I judged it'd be a fine thing to save some for supper. So I wrapped the remainder in a cloth and put it into a saddlebag along with my knife.

Then I climbed onto General and we headed back for the trail.

We were almost there, pa.s.sing through a gap between some boulders, when my head got clobbered. Whatever it was thumped me solid through the crown of my hat and shook my brains. I couldn't see anything but red as I tumbled sideways and bounced off some rocks. After I hit the ground, my vision came around in time to let me watch General prance so as not to step on me.

I tried to sit up, wondering what had struck me. Just then, someone leaped off the top of a boulder and landed in my saddle.

General, spooked, reared up on his hind legs. The stranger yelped and pitched backward, boots kicking at the sky, and came crashing down on top of me. My air blew out. The wound in my side felt like it burst open.

The rascal sat up quick, so I s.n.a.t.c.hed a handful of s.h.a.ggy hair and tugged. Out popped a grunt that sounded like it came from a boy no more than seven or eight years old.

I'd been attacked by an urchin urchin?

It crossed my mind that he seemed mighty big for his age-more my own size. But I had no doubt he was a child. So I figured I shouldn't shoot him unless I had to.

Instead of going for my gun, I kept him held down atop me by the hair and used my right hand to punch him in the side. He grunted and flinched each time I struck a blow, but that didn't slow him down. He squirmed and twisted and finally sailed an elbow into my side. It found my wound.

The pain turned me weak so I lost my grip on his hair and he went to sit up. I grabbed for him, but only caught shirt. He wasn't ready to let that stop him. He strained against it, groaning. I heard a rip and the shirt came down off one shoulder. Then my arm got knocked away by an elbow and he scurried off me.

Without a glance back, he stumbled to his feet and made a dash for General, who was watching us from just beyond the gap.

I sprang up and gave chase.

"Stop or I'll shoot you!" I yelled.

He didn't stop.

I didn't shoot.

I just didn't have it in me to plug a kid. Besides, I was quicker on my feet and gaining on him, so it wasn't called for.

He was still a few strides short of General, yellow hair all abounce, shirt flapping behind like a cape, when I dived and caught him around the legs. He went down hard, breath whumping out. We both skidded through the dust. General scampered clear.

But the kid wasn't done yet. He squirmed and kicked, got his legs free, and smacked a boot heel into my head.

Well, that pretty much shredded my temper.

"d.a.m.n your b.l.o.o.d.y eyes!" I shouted and grabbed the boot that had kicked me. On my knees, I gave it a rough pull. It didn't come off, but dragged him closer. Then I twisted that boot. Crying out, the kid flipped over onto his back.

If you're a sharp reader, it won't come as any surprise to find out that the kid was no boy at all.

I wasn't reading about the situation, though. I was living it, and let me tell you, I couldn't have been any more surprised if he'd turned out to be a circus monkey.

For a while yet, I still thought I'd caught a boy.

He no sooner rolled onto his back than I dropped his boot and charged ahead on my knees, all set to pulverize this kid who'd attacked me and obviously aimed to steal my horse. But the way the shirt was sprawled open, I couldn't help but see he had what appeared to be a pair of smallish bosoms.

I'm not always a quick study.

What I thought, just for a bit, was that the lad had a deformity. Maybe he was some brand of freak or he had himself a disease that made him swell up in such a fashion. I'd once read in a book about the bubonic plague, which caused people to grow lumps on their bodies. Maybe what this kid had were buboes.

That notion gave me pause, for I didn't relish catching a dose of the plague.

My pause was all she needed.

She couldn't go anywhere, as her legs were trapped under me, but she bolted upright and swung a fist into my face.

It knocked me off to the side.

We tussled in the dust, me too stunned to put up much fight, and next thing you know, she was on top of me. She sat across my hips, unleashing a flurry of blows that battered my face considerable.

She had a savage look on her face. It was a pretty face, though, and I decided she likely was was a girl, after all. So those were b.r.e.a.s.t.s, after all. Not deformities or buboes. They were sweaty and bouncing about as she lit into me, but I couldn't work up much interest in them. a girl, after all. So those were b.r.e.a.s.t.s, after all. Not deformities or buboes. They were sweaty and bouncing about as she lit into me, but I couldn't work up much interest in them.

Girl or not, she had to be stopped.

I tried to go for my guns, but her legs were in the way.

Finally, I managed to catch her wrists. They were slippery, but I held on. She jerked her arms in a frenzy, huffing and grunting. "Quit it!" I shouted. "Stop! I'll...have to...hurt you."

"Hurt me me?" She rather sneered it out, then pulled her wrist up and bit my knuckles.

I yelped and let go. Before she could take another swing at me, though, I threw my fist at her chin and got lucky. As her head snapped sideways, I bucked and shoved her. She tumbled off me. I scrambled to my knees and pulled a Colt and pointed it at her face.

"Don't you move!" I gasped.

She was propped up on her elbows, ready to have another go at me. But when she saw the gun, she sank back down onto the ground and lay there, panting for breath. Blood trickled from a corner of her mouth.

Her shirt hung wide open. Her tawny skin glistened in the sunlight. I could see reddish smudges on her side where my punches had landed.

Her blue dungarees had gotten pulled clear down past her hips during the fight. Some gold hair curled out over where they b.u.t.toned shut.

I reckon she saw how I was studying her, for she hiked the trousers up to her waist and shut her shirt. "You think you're gonna meddle with me...you better think again. You'd have to shoot me first."

"I've every right to shoot you," I said. "You tried to nick my horse."

"Well, he's all yours." She propped herself back up again with her elbows. Her shirt slipped open some. She checked to see how much. It left a bare strip down the middle of her chest and hung off the sides of her belly, but it kept her b.r.e.a.s.t.s covered so she didn't fool with it. She was still breathing hard. She blinked sweat out of her eyes, and stared at me.

"You don't need to go on lying there," I told her.

"It gives me less room to fall if you kill me."

I couldn't help but let out a laugh when she said that. The laugh made my head hurt worse. I felt around up there and found quite a b.u.mp above my right ear.

My whole face felt tight and sore from the drubbing she'd given me. I checked my right hand. It had a pa.s.sel of dents from her teeth, but she hadn't broken the skin.

"You sure did me some damage," I said. "But I don't suppose I'll kill you." I holstered my weapon, then added, "Just leave my horse be."

"You aim to let me go?" she asked.

I didn't rightly know what what to do with her. to do with her.

While I gave it some thought, she sat up. Didn't get off the ground, though. She crossed her legs and watched me.

"Can't let you go," I said. "You're no better than a horse thief." I couldn't help but recollect that I was the same. "Besides, you bashed me about quite a bit."

"No more than what you bashed me." With that, the back of her hand rubbed a dribble of blood off her chin. She frowned at it, then showed it to me. "You see?"

"I took quite the worst of it, actually."

"You sure do talk peculiar. Anybody ever tell you that?"

Well, that set me to blushing. "There's nothing at all peculiar about how I talk, thank you."

"Oh yes there is. What are you, a Yankee?"

"I come from London, England."

Her eyebrows went up. "I'll be danged," she said. "An Englishman. If that don't beat all." Her eyebrows came back down, and she was suddenly frowning. "I didn't do that to you, did I?"

"What?"

"Your side there."

I raised my arm and looked down at where the posse bullet had ripped my shirt. The cloth was bright with fresh blood. "It was healing up quite nicely before you ambushed me."

"Someone go at you with a knife?"

"It's a gunshot wound."

"Let me see," she said, and got up. I watched her close, wary of tricks. On her feet, she tried to fasten her shirt. Its b.u.t.tons were gone, though, so she pulled it shut and tucked it into her trousers. Then she came on over to me.

"You'd best behave," I warned her.

"I just wanta see."

Well, I wasn't fool enough to pull up my shirt and give her a chance at my Colts. So I took them both in my hands, then raised my arms.

She stopped straight in front of me. Her eyes were level with my own, and green as emeralds. I hadn't seen them up close like this. They were so sharp and clear they gave me a squirmy feeling inside.

"You sure are a caution," she said.

"I don't intend to get myself ventilated by a girl."

That brought a smile to her face. I saw her lips were dry and cracked. There was a cut at one corner, which I judged must've been caused by my fist. The cut had a drop of blood on it. Her teeth were straight, and shiny white.

"I ain't ventilated a soul all day," she said.

Then she took hold of my shirt with both hands. It was pretty much untucked from the fight. She hauled out the remainder and hoisted it up. Bending over some, she peered at my wound.

"Why, it's only a scratch, mostly. I bet you just walked too close to a th.o.r.n.y bush."

"They must have rather big thorns where you come from."

"Don't they just," she said. Then she leaned in closer and blew on my wound, which I knew to be more of a furrow than a scratch. Her breath felt pretty good. She did it again.

"What are you doing there?" I asked.

"You picked up some grit and it don't wanta blow off. You got some water, I'll clean it for you. Otherwise, you might just fester up and die."

"I shouldn't like that to happen."

"Well, go get your water."

She let my shirt fall and stepped back. She had a look of mischief in her eyes, so I judged she was up to one trick or another. "Wait here," I said. Then I holstered my guns and hurried off to fetch General.

I gave some thought to making the girl come with me. More than likely, she had no intention at all of cleaning off my wound, but aimed to light out.