Savage. Part 50

"Should I leave?"

"No call for that," she said, and jumped into the creek. She waded out till the water was waist deep, then turned and smiled. "It's right nice," she said, sinking down. After ducking her head, she cupped some water to her mouth and drank. "Don't take a notion to come in," she warned. "Just stay where you are and keep an eye out for strangers."

I checked about. n.o.body in sight. When I looked again at Jesse, she had her shirt off. She was crouched low so that the water covered her almost to the shoulders. It was fairly clear, though. Below the surface, everything looked shadowed and wavery.

She mopped herself with the shirt, then draped it over her back and flung the sleeves around her neck so she wouldn't lose it.

"Would you like me to hold that for you?" I asked.

Instead of answering, she sank down, filled her mouth, then came up and squirted at me. The spout fell short. It splashed the rock in front of my crossed legs.

"I say! Don't get me wet! I may have to come in and throttle you."

"You stay where you are, Trevor Bentley."

With that, she took off her dungarees. She held them off to the side. The current lifted them, stretched them out, filled their legs.

"Don't lose them, now."

"If I lose 'em, I'll have to take yours."

I laughed. But my laughter rather got caught in my throat as Jesse's free hand commenced to rub at her body. I thought it might be best to look away. But Jesse knew I was here, knew I was watching, and had glanced down often enough to know what could be seen through the water.

Obviously, she didn't object to my watching.

She watched me watch, her eyes all bright with their mischief.

A game of sorts. Perhaps a test. Or maybe nothing of the kind. Perhaps she'd simply grown to trust me, to care for me enough that she no longer felt it necessary to bathe in private.

Below the water, her body was blurred and shimmery. Still, I could see her hand gliding up and down her legs, then delving between them before she went about cleaning behind herself.

All the while, she watched me.

When she finished washing, she stayed crouched down, her chin just touching the water. "Am I as pretty as your Sarah?" she asked.

Right then, I couldn't pull a picture of Sarah into my head. Didn't need to, though. "Oh, yes, quite. You're far more beautiful."

"Figured," she said, and nodded.

"You're also considerably more conceited."

"That so." A grin came up that near-about split her face. "Too bad. It's me you're stuck with, pardner." Laughing some, she struggled back into her trousers. Once they were fastened, she stood up and waded toward me, her shirt still draping her back, its sleeves around her neck like arms ready to choke her.

She gleamed in the sunlight. Water dribbled down her skin. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s bounced and shook ever so slightly. They had goose b.u.mps, and the nipples stuck out proud. Drops of water fell off them as she climbed onto the rock in front of me.

Kneeling there, she smiled with just one side of her mouth. "Watch you don't wear out your eyes."

"What do you expect me to do with them?"

"It ain't polite to stare."

"And is it polite to parade about...shirtless?"

"Feels good. If I was a feller, I don't reckon I'd wear one much at all. It's all cause of the dang t.i.ts." She scowled down at them. "You're lucky you ain't got any."

This was some of the most peculiar talk I'd ever heard. Not that it surprised me much, as it came from Jesse.

"Gotta keep 'em covered all the time..."

"Not that you do so."

She shook her head and kept frowning at them. "They're only just me. me. Same as my face or hands. I don't all the time gotta wear a mask and gloves, do I?" Same as my face or hands. I don't all the time gotta wear a mask and gloves, do I?"

"It's different."

"That's for durn sure. It beats me why, though. Shouldn't oughta be, do you think?" Before I could come up with an answer, she plugged on. "They're a plain nuisance. Men always gawping at 'em. Grabbing if they get half a chance.

That d.a.m.n German went and sucked sucked on 'em. How come he didn't latch onto my shoulder instead? Or my forehead?" on 'em. How come he didn't latch onto my shoulder instead? Or my forehead?"

"I don't exactly know, Jesse. It's that there's something rather splendid about b.r.e.a.s.t.s."

Saying the word set me to blushing fierce.

"Well, it don't make a lick of sense." She pushed against her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, mashing them against her chest. "How's that?"

Lucky hands, I thought. But kept mum, judging she might not appreciate a remark of that caliber. Besides, I doubt that any comment at all could've squeezed through my throat at that moment. I was fl.u.s.tered and stirred up something awful.

She jerked her hands away and the b.r.e.a.s.t.s came springing out. They looked a bit red.

"Sometimes," she said, "I've got half a notion to cut 'em clean off."

Whittle's work slammed through my mind. "b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l!" I blurted. "Don't you ever say that!"

She gaped at me, startled. "Land sakes! What's the matter with you? I was only just joshing."

"There's nothing at all funny about it!"

"Settle down, settle down." She took hold of my shoulders, looked me in the eyes. "What is it? Trevor?"

I shook my head.

"Tell me. We're pardners, right?"

"It's Whittle. He...he didn't only cut their throats. The women I told you about. He carved them up terribly. And...and he cut off their b.r.e.a.s.t.s."

Jesse's hands tightened on my shoulders. She didn't say anything, but just knelt there in front of me, hanging on. By and by, she leaned closer until her forehead met mine. "I'm ever so sorry I said such a thing," she whispered.

"If he should ever get his hands on you..."

"He won't."

"He'd cut yours off. Then you'd get your wish."

"It ain't my wish. I was only just joshing."

I lifted my hands to Jesse's b.r.e.a.s.t.s. I held them gently, feeling their chilly wetness, their slickness and weight, the press of their nipples. She didn't stop me. Instead, she eased herself lower against my hands. Then she kissed my lips.

"We ain't never gonna kill Whittle," she finally said, "'less we hit the trail."

Then she kissed me again, leaned back and unwrapped the shirt sleeves from around her neck. Reaching high up behind her, she pushed her arms into the sleeves.

As she fastened the b.u.t.tons, I realized what she'd just said. "We aren't going to kill Whittle," I told her. "It's aren't going to kill Whittle," I told her. "It's my my duty, and I won't have you involved in such an enterprise." duty, and I won't have you involved in such an enterprise."

"That so."

"Quite."

We got to our feet, climbed down from the rock, and Jesse watched while I strapped on my gunbelt.

"You ain't going nowhere without me," she said.

"Eager to get yourself butchered, are you?"

"You might just need me, you know."

"I don't need you dead."

"Same goes both ways. How you think I'd like it, you went off and got yourself killed? I'll tell tell you how I'd like it-not much. So I'm sticking with you. Better get used to the notion." you how I'd like it-not much. So I'm sticking with you. Better get used to the notion."

Well, I could see no advantage to arguing. With most women, you might as well try and argue with a stump. And Jesse was worse than most that way.

"Whatever you say," I told her.

She gave me a look so I knew she wasn't fooled. But there was more to her look than that. It seemed to say, "Just you go ahead and try try going after Whittle without me." going after Whittle without me."

Back at our campsite, we gathered up the strips of jerky. We each chewed on a piece while we wrapped the rest in a rag and tucked it into one of the saddlebags. It didn't taste near as ornery as I figured it might, but chewing so hard made my jaw sore. We washed it down with water from the whiskey bottle.

After that, Jesse cut the traces off the buckboard. She mucked about for quite a long spell, and managed to fashion a bridle for General.

We slipped it over his head, then harnessed the swollen tubes of water onto his back with more straps from the traces. When those were in place, there wasn't room for more than one rider. But we didn't have much choice in the matter, as we needed the water.

We strung the two rifles together with a rope tied around the stock of each, and hung them across General's back.

Finally, I put on my hat and Jesse wrapped the German's trouser leg around her head like before.

She mounted up.

We started off northward alongside the creek, me walking.

I felt rather sorry to leave our camp behind. Never mind we'd killed the German there. It was the place where I'd found Jesse alive, against all odds, where we'd worked together and solved a pa.s.sel of problems, where we'd quarreled and settled differences, where we'd laughed and kissed and held each other, where we'd become somewhat more than "pardners."

It was our place by the creek. Its upside-down buckboard was still in sight when I already took to missing it.

But we couldn't stay there forever.

Whittle was waiting for me.

He would always be waiting for me, giving me no peace, until I'd found him and put him down.

We knew the flood had washed away the trail, so I sat by the creek while Jesse rode in search of it. I felt mighty lonesome and jittery after she was gone. I worried and worried.

By and by, I noticed a tree off beyond the other sh.o.r.e. Its stump was jammed into a familiar nest of rocks. It was the very same tree where I'd found the German's wife and boy, though the water'd gone away and left it on dry land.

The sight of it turned my insides cold. I wished I hadn't recognized it. But there it was.

I turned my eyes away quick before they could search out the bodies that I'd left on the bank downstream. I knew they were there somewhere. Sure didn't want a look at them.

At last, Jesse came riding back.

I was mighty glad to see her.

"Found it!" she called. "Still a ways off."

We followed the creek for a while longer.

By and by, we crossed to the other side and caught up to the trail about a hundred yards farther west. That much of it had gotten itself swept out by the flood.

We followed it, taking turns riding General, sometimes both of us walking to give him a rest. When we got hungry, we ate jerky. We satisfied our thirst, and General's, with water from one of the gut tubes. Neither the food nor the drink was much to brag about, but it took care of our needs.

The first day, we didn't meet up with any other travelers. To keep it that way, we made our camp a good distance from the trail. The next day, we met a man from Bisbee who'd come up by way of Tombstone. He caused us no trouble, but told us how to get to Tombstone, and we were glad to hear that our destination was only sixty or seventy miles off.

For the next three days, we made our way in the direction he'd told us. We managed to shoot some game so we had a few meals other than mule jerky, we found enough fresh water to keep our gut bags full, and we encountered more travelers but no trouble.

Jesse didn't shuck off her shirt again, the whole trip. Not in front of me, leastwise. I reckon she kept it on so I wouldn't be reminded of Whittle.

I thought about him plenty, anyhow. The nearer we got to Tombstone, the more he crept into my head. If Jesse'd skinned off her shirt a few times, I likely would've spent a heap less time worrying about him and more time feeling good. But she didn't, and I stayed clear of the topic.

We never did get us a blanket. We managed to keep warm at night, anyhow, snuggling together on the ground. Even though Jesse didn't allow me to take liberties with her, not even to touch her as I'd done by the creek, the nights were quite wonderful.

I got to wishing we wouldn't find Tombstone, at all.

But long about sundown of our third traveling day after meeting the Bisbee man, we looked down from a rise and found a town sprawled in the distance, maybe no more than five miles off.

"I reckon it's Tombstone," Jesse said. Then she slid off General's back, stretched, and rubbed the seat of her dungarees.