Chapter 2

The next morning Little Flower pulled him up when she got up. She pointed at his horse, which was some yards away, nibbling at grass. Then she picked up her buckskin dress and dropped it over her head. He was sure he couldn’t climb up into the saddle yet, but he went to the horse, which welcomed him with a nuzzle. He went to the other side of it to void his bladder, and then examined the animal, telling himself he should have done that the day before. If the horse had taken a bullet too, he might be in deep, deep trouble.

He found no injury and led the horse by the halter back to the fire. He realized the girl had removed the bridle, which was good, because the horse could eat much better without the bit in his mouth. He was hit in the face as the horse blanket was thrown over from the other side. He stepped to the horse’s head and watched as the girl used every bit of strength she had to muscle the saddle up and over the horse’s back. He had to show her how to thread the cinch, but the horse cooperated, and he was able to get it tight with her help. Getting the bridle on was easier. He picked up his lariat, recoiled it, and fastened it to his saddle. Stretching his arm up pained him, but it was a pain he could live with.

He was still convinced he couldn’t get up into the saddle, because it was his right side that was shot, and it would be his bad arm that had to pull him up. But she had a surprise for him. She led him to where a tree had fallen in some long ago storm, and leaned against another one. She walked up onto the trunk, holding her hands out as if to say “see me?” Then she got back down and went to bring the horse next to the tree. He didn’t like the idea of trying to walk on that wood with his boots, which were a bit down at the heel, but it was a good idea. She had the horse with its right side to the tree, though, and he had to motion for her to turn it the other way, so he could mount from the left. She didn’t understand. First she moved the horse forward a bit.

“No,” he said and motioned in a circle. She turned herself in a circle and stared at him.

“No,” he said again. He pointed at the horse, and then motioned a circle. To his amusement, she turned the horse in a complete circle.

“No,” he laughed. He got down off the log and arranged the horse himself, such that he could climb up on the trunk and sit, with his left foot level with the stirrup. Once he got his foot in the stirrup, it was easy to pull himself into the saddle. It felt good to be mounted again.

He pointed at her, and then in front of him. She shook her head.

“No,” she said, clearly. It was a word he had said under conditions where she understood its meaning.

He nodded, and motioned for her to come up onto the log and then get on in front of him. He stood in the stirrups and moved his ass back onto the cantle, making room for her. She shook her head again and took up the reins, walking away and leading the horse.

“You can’t lead me,” he groaned. “It ain’t manly, girl!”

She looked over her shoulder at him and then turned to her left. He realized she was going towards the dead man’s gear. He watched as she picked up the man’s gun belt and slung it over her shoulder, bandoleer style, with the pistol between her breasts. He saw the saddle then, but she left it for the weather to slowly eat. He sighed. That saddle was worth twenty dollars, and the other horse would have let them move a lot quicker. Then again, he was on the mend because he’d helped eat that horse.

She picked up a bag she had made of the shirt she’d originally tried to water him with. She picked up another bag which looked suspiciously like a horse’s stomach. Leading him to the water, she submerged the bag in the water and then lifted it, full of water, to sling to the saddle horn. She had tied off one end with rawhide, leaving the other end open. The cords that were attached to both her bag and the water bag were made from the dead man’s jeans, which had been cut into strips and then woven into rope.

While she’d been otherwise occupied, he’d gotten the reins up where they needed to be, and sat, holding them with his left hand. She looked up at him, and he grinned. He nodded off toward where she’d pointed, and said “Let’s go.”

Seeming to understand, she took off at a lope, leaving him behind.

By the time he got the horse out of the little group of trees, Little Flower was nowhere to be seen.

She wasn’t hard to follow, but he realized that was only because she was making it that way. She could have taken a path that left little or no evidence of her passage, but she just pushed through the prairie grass, leaving it bent so he could see where she had gone. Even high up on the horse, he couldn’t see any movement, but he occasionally heard her singing.

They made good time. Like most cowboys, he couldn’t understand why anybody would walk when they could ride, but she was going faster than he could comfortably make his horse go. A canter was not a good idea with his side only partially healed.

The first time she counted coup on him he almost fell off the horse. She ran from the side, and a bit behind, and slapped his thigh, before yodeling and running off, laughing. An hour later she did it from the other side. Not fifteen minutes later, she rose up from right in front of the horse and grabbed the reins. The horse seemed to know she was there, but didn’t mind when she jumped up. Again, she laughed and stuck her tongue out at him, before bounding away. What amazed him most wasn’t her ability to vanish into the prairie. It was that she was barefoot, and seemed impervious to what he was sure would have torn his feet bloody.

She served him a cold lunch - jerky, and tore at her own piece with startlingly white and even teeth, while they rested in the shade of a lone tree. Using the cup, she had him lift the water bag, which had slowly dripped all day, until water trickled out of the top into the cup. She drank freely. He pinched his own nose and swallowed what she gave him while she watched curiously. Then she was off at a ground eating lope again.

When he caught up with her again, the light was fading, and he thought they might have made ten or twelve miles. She had a fire going, and looked just like she always had. She wasn’t breathing hard, and didn’t look tired. He felt better, but wondered what it would be like with no tree to help him back up onto the horse. He couldn’t stay up there all night, though, so, using his left hand on the horn, he supported his weight as he swung his right leg over and stepped down. It wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be, though he overbalanced and swung too far, hitting the horse’s shoulder with his back.

She helped him strip off the saddle and rub down the horse. There was plenty of prairie grass, but it was tough and he didn’t know if the horse would favor it, so he hobbled the animal again, to ensure it didn’t wander too far during the night.

The dry meat was a bit easier to chew, heated up, but it tasted the same. It didn’t matter. It was food, and they had to have it. The water bag was about half full now, but she didn’t seem to worry about that, drinking freely and urging him to drink well too. He suspected she knew they would find more water the next day.

Spreading out what had been her rapist’s blanket, but which was now hers, Little Flower made a bed for them. She removed her dress and he wondered if she would use her mouth on him again, like she had the night before. She did not.

But before she pulled his blanket over them, she did crawl until her face was over his, and leaned down to kiss him with warm, loose lips.

In the morning, she woke first and then got him up. He stumbled into the grass to get his bladder empty, and realized he felt pretty good. Breakfast was cold jerky and she was there to push on his ass as he stepped up into the saddle. It was so easy that he felt real hope for the first time since being shot.

But he did not feel like he was taking this girl back to her people. He was quite sure, in fact, that if she’d just left him, she’d be back a day sooner. Of course he couldn’t know that for sure, because he had no idea how far they were going. But she seemed to run circles around his horse. He tried a canter for a bit, but his injury wasn’t quite up to that yet.

They didn’t stop for lunch this day. She simply ran past him and handed him jerky to eat and then surged on ahead. She seemed to be in a hurry, and he wondered if maybe they were getting close. He was surprised, therefore, when with two or three hours of light left, he came upon her fire. It was in another little group of trees, like the place where he had saved her. There was water too. It was a good campsite, but he was surprised she didn’t just fill the water bag and go on.

She helped him down, though, and went to work on the saddle herself. Again, she seemed to be in a hurry. Now he wondered if maybe she sensed a storm coming, and was trying to get as secure as possible before it hit. When the horse was taken care of, though, and their gear stowed at the base of a tree, she spread out the dead man’s blanket and pointed at it. He didn’t know what she wanted, and shrugged his shoulders. She went to stand on the blanket, and then gracefully sank down, sitting Indian style. She pointed across from her at the blanket, then at him, then at the blanket again. He sat.

She showed him the flat of her hand, telling him to stay, and then got up and made a small fire. Setting meat on a rock beside the fire, she left it to warm and went into the woods. In a little while she was back with a plant Slim had never seen before. It had a short, gray/green stalk, with a brown pod on it. He watched as she crushed the pod between two rocks and produced a red mush. Sticking her finger in it, she painted her face and then came to paint his.

She unpacked the cup and poured water in it from the skin. He wondered why she didn’t just fill it from the pool he could see fifteen or so feet away. Then, bringing the cup and the meat from the fire, she came to sit across from him again. It was obvious she was performing some ceremony, and he watched with interest. She offered him the cup, keeping it in her hands. He took a sip. She handed him the cup and waited. Finally, he offered it to her, as she had to him, and she also sipped. He thought she looked relieved. Next she offered him the meat, holding it while he took a bite. When she handed it to him, he knew to extend it to her and she smiled. Taking a bite, she chewed and took the meat from him.

He expected her to feed him again, but instead, she stood, tossing the uneaten meat aside. With lithe movements, she skinned out of her dress and then came to unbutton his shirt.

He was, of course, erect when she got him naked. She seemed to ignore that, but took his hand and pulled him toward the water. He was astonished when, as he stepped into it, he found it almost hot. Examining his surroundings, he realized this was a spring, and that the water was coming from within the earth. He knew of hot springs, back east, but hadn’t thought there could be the same thing here, on the plains.

She sat him down and told him to stay, with her open palm. Then she scampered off again. When she returned this time, she was holding a plant, with a bulbous root. She lay the root on a flat rock and smashed it with another rock, making a gooey white mash out of the bulb. Scooping that up, and leaving the rest of the plant behind, she brought it to him and smeared some of it on his shoulders. The rest she rubbed on herself. Holding out her hands, she stood him and began working the crushed root all over his chest. It gave off a pungent, but good odor.

“Soap!” said Slim, amazed. He’d been on the prairie for years, and didn’t know about this plant. She didn’t say anything, but kept rubbing the stuff all over his body.

Taking a chance, he reached to reciprocate. She thrust her breasts at him, and closed her eyes as he smoothed his hands over them. She stepped closer and embraced him, running her hands up and down his back. He did the same, and when he cupped and squeezed her bottom, she made no complaint.

Inflamed now, he tipped her face up and kissed her lips. Her own responded hungrily, but then she broke away and turned in his arms. She brought his hands to her breasts and moved them in circles, until he did it on his own. Her own hand slid lower, to wash between her legs ... much longer than was necessary to get clean.

He moved one of his own hands down to see if she’d allow it.

She did.

He rubbed her there, letting one finger slip between slippery lips. She arched and moaned.

He felt an obstruction.

He wasn’t a learned man ... but he knew what that obstruction meant. He reflected for a few seconds on the fact that she clearly had some knowledge of how to pleasure a man, but at the same time had never given herself to one completely. He didn’t reckon she’d even gone this far with a man before, since almost no man would be happy about stopping at this point. He felt a thrill like he’d never felt before, as he realized she had judged him worthy of her gift.

Little Flower pulled him from the water after washing off all the root juice. The red paint had washed off easily. Now her eyes flashed, and her breathing was rapid. Her dark nipples strained away from her dusky breast flesh and she pulled him, barefoot, to their gear. She took her blanket and lay it out. Falling to her knees, she beckoned him.

When he came near, she pulled his groin to her face. This time she didn’t just kiss the tip with open lips. This time she took his whole organ in her mouth. He groaned at the joy of it, and his hands fell on her hair, stroking it. He looked down as she looked up, her eyes wide, as if she were smiling. He watched as she pulled away from him, her lips clinging to his rod as they slid along the shaft. When she got to the tip she sucked it and teased it with her tongue. He felt light headed and his upper body swayed.

She pulled her mouth off of him and fisted his prick, sliding her hand up and down slowly, staring at the tip of his cock. Then, slowly, she collapsed back onto the blanket. She lay on her back, bent her knees and opened herself to him. Her invitation was clear.

He didn’t know what to do. His cock did. It was jutting obscenely from his groin, eager to deflower this girl. But it felt wrong, somehow. They couldn’t even speak to each other. She didn’t actually even need him anymore. Yes, he had saved her from rape, but he didn’t expect anything other than basic gratitude. And she had probably saved his life too! He looked at her wrists, where the scars of her former terror were still visible.

A sound came from her throat. Her hands beckoned him.

He didn’t know her customs. She had pleasured him. Was that something their youth did for fun? Was it a prelude to this?

He got down on his hands and knees beside her. He put his face over hers.

“I like you, Little Flower” he said softly. “I want to, but maybe it ain’t right.”

She stared at him, her brown eyes full of emotion. She reached for him, trying to pull him on top of her.

He thought about the value of what she was offering. It was something she could only give one man, and while she had judged him worthy, he had a hard time coming to the same conclusion. He’d done a lot of things in his life that seemed purely stupid in hindsight. Some were even bad, and he’d known that when he did them.

She spoke to him again, her voice urgent. Her hips bounced up off the blanket. It was clear what she wanted.

Instead, he decided to try something ... a thing he would never have thought about except for what she had done. She had used her mouth on him.

So he crawled between her welcoming thighs ... and used his mouth on her.

She was appreciative. There could be no shred of doubt about that. No language was needed for her to express how much she loved what he was doing. And when she bucked and squealed, he knew her pleasure was real. It was that, more than anything else, that inflamed him beyond control. She had offered him something special, and now he was ready to accept it. And when he kissed his way up her body, seeking her upper lips, and she reached for his stiff rod, pulling it to her sex, this time he let her.

She moaned as he plunged into her body. That there was pain was also clear, but her hands told him it was a pain she not only could live with, but actually wanted for some reason. It was only his second time, but it was the first with a woman he actually cared about. Further, he wasn’t afraid of being caught. And those things made this completely different than that first time, when he had rutted frantically, his body acting on instinct, trying to breed the woman before something happened to stop it.