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 snatched a handful of shaggy 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?
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.
“Damn your bloody 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 a girl, after all. So those were breasts, 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?” 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 buttoned 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 breasts 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 bump 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 passel 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 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 tr
icks. On her feet, she tried to fasten her shirt. Its buttons 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 thorny 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.
I rather hoped she might do just that. Run off and hide. I didn’t know what to do with her, anyhow, if she stayed. She had already caused me a spot of trouble. The sooner I could get shut of her, the better.
So I took my time going after General. He’d wandered off a piece. I found him nibbling some leaves off a bush, and let him work on it for a while. Watching him, I had a mind to mount up and ride away. If I did that, I’d be clear of the girl whether or not she’d decided to vamoose. Only problem was, my hat had gotten knocked off when she clobbered me off my saddle and I didn’t aim to leave it behind.
Besides, I was curious.
Maybe I was more than that.
The hat was the excuse I gave myself, though.
After a while, I took the reins and walked General back through the rocks. Along the way, I found my hat and picked it up. Its crown was caved in some, but the dent popped right out when I gave it a poke. I knew better than to wear my hat, what with the sore lump on my head, so I hung it over my saddle horn.
A few more steps took me past the rocks. The girl was leaning back against a boulder, arms folded across her chest.
“You didn’t dodge off,” I called. Didn’t quite know how I felt about that.
“Where would I go?” she asked.
“You aren’t afraid of me, then?”
“Oh, that beats all.”
“Perhaps you ought to be, you know,” I said, and lifted down my water bag.
“You’re just a boy.”
“Used to be one.”
She watched me come toward her. Even though she didn’t smile or smirk, she had a sassy look about her face. “And how old are you?” she wanted to know.
“How old are you?”
“I asked you first.”
“Older than you, I suppose.”
“Ha.”
“I’m nineteen, going on twenty,” I told her.
“You’re a liar’s what you are.” She reached out and grabbed the water bag. “I bet you’re no more than thirteen.”
“Eighteen,” I said.
“More likely twelve.” She unplugged the pouch, tipped back her head and commenced to gulp down my water.
She had a tiny, pale scar under her chin. Her neck was smooth and shiny, same as the skin that showed between the edges of her shirt. Staring at those places, I all of a sudden lost my urge to squabble with her.
“Actually, I’m closing in on sixteen.”
She lowered the pouch and smiled. “That sounds more like the truth.”
“It is the truth.”
“Truth is, I’ve got you beat. I’ll be seventeen come October.”
“So you’re sixteen.”
“Older than you by a country mile. Go on and take your shirt off.”
She helped herself to another swig while I started to work on the buttons. “What’s your name?” I asked.
“What’s yours?”
“Trevor. Trevor Bentley.”
“Mighty hifalutin.”
I finished with the buttons and pulled my shirt off. “I told you mine,” I reminded her.
“Give.” She wiggled her fingers at my shirt.
I handed it to her. She bunched up the tail and soaked it with water.
“What sort of name should I have?” she asked. She pushed herself off the rock, stepped closer to me, and reached the wet cloth toward my wound. “Pick up your arm.”
I raised my arm, forgetting to take my Colt with it. By the time I caught the mistake, she was already patting the cloth against my raw gouge. She was gentle about it, too. With both her hands full, she’d have trouble going for either of my guns, so I tried not to worry about it.
“You want me to guess your name, then?” I asked.
“Bet you can’t.”
“Rumplestiltskin.”
She laughed softly. “Yep. You got it on the first try. That’s Rump for short.” She stopped swabbing my wound and gave the shirt to me.
As I put it on, she stepped back and slipped the strap of my water bag over her shoulder.
“Saw you cooking up a jackrabbit,” she said. “You give me some, I’ll tell you who I am.”
“You’ve already told me, Rump.”
“You don’t wanta see me shrivel up and die,” she said, and walked on around me.
Here we go again, I thought, figuring I might have to throw her down. But she didn’t try to mount General. Instead, she gave my horse a few pats, then opened the saddlebag and pulled out the remains of my hare. Turning around, she smiled and said, “Much obliged.”
“That’s my supper.”
“Not any more, I reckon.” She unwound the cloth I’d wrapped it in. “Or are you gonna shoot me?”
“Do you always do just as you please?”
“Pretty near.” She bared her teeth and ripped a chunk out of my hare. Her eyes closed. She chewed a few times and sighed. Then she tore off another chunk and worked on it. Some juice dribbled down her chin. She wiped it off with the back of her hand, then opened her eyes and said, “Mighty fine, Trevor.” Her words came out sounding thick and mushy. “It’s gonna be a pure pleasure riding with a feller that’s such a good cook.”
“You have a notion to ride with me, do you?”
“Name’s Jesse. Jesse Sue Longley.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Pardners
“Which direction are you traveling?” I asked, figuring this might let me off the hook.
“None in particular,” said Jesse Sue Longley.
“Why, you must be going to somewhere.”
“Ain’t going to anyplace. Just away from where I been.”
“Where’s that, then?”
“That’s my nevermind.”
“It’s my nevermind if you aim to ride with me. What is it you’re running away from? Have you got someone after
you?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Nobody’s after me. What about you? How’d you get yourself shot?”
“That’s my nevermind,” I said.
She smiled. “Looks like we’re even, huh?”
“Looks that way. Far as I know, though, I’m in the clear. Those who caused my troubles aren’t looking for me.”
“I can say the same,” she said.
Mine were all dead. From Jesse’s manner, I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe hers were dead, too. Instead of putting me off, the notion made me feel like we had more in common.
“Where is it that you don’t want to go?” I asked.
“Only just Texas.”
“Well, that’s not where I’m going.”
“I knew that. I saw you on the trail. You was heading the wrong way for a feller bound for Texas. Not as it would’ve mattered if I could’ve nabbed your horse.”
“How’d you get out here, at all, without a mount of your own? Did you walk the whole way, or…?”
“Do I look like an addle-head?”
“Not at all.”
“I should say I’m not. No, sir.” She dipped her head down and brought it up sharp as if agreeing with herself rather fiercely. Even though she had a frown on her face, something in her eyes stayed amused—like she was up to some brand of mischief. She’d pretty much had that same glint in her eyes all along. It seemed fitting the times I knew she was having me on, but times like now it didn’t rightly belong there and seemed peculiar—as if she carried a secret knowledge inside that maybe set her apart from whatever was actually going on.
“I had me a horse,” she said, “till yesterday when a dang rattler spooked him and he threw me. He run off, and I ain’t seen him since. Sorriest excuse for a flea-bitten nag I ever did see. Lost him, and everything I owned but the clothes on my back. Lost me a good Sharps rifle,” she added, as if that were an especially sore point.
“A spot of bad luck, that.”
“Worse luck for the rattler.” A grin came up, matching the usual gleam in her eyes, and she patted her tummy.
“You ate it?”
“Killed it first. Stove in its ugly head with a rock.”
“The same as you did to me?”