Savage. Part 47

She pulled her knife and slit a leg of the German's trousers all the way up the side. She cut it off from around his thigh. Being none too careful, she gashed him once. The blade opened a raw pink furrow in his skin.

She sliced and tore at the cloth, getting it to the proper size, then wrapped it around her head and tucked in the loose end. When she finished, the bundle of checkered cloth atop her head resembled a turban.

Still, she wasn't done with the German. She pulled off his boots, checked inside them, and tossed them aside. Then she went through his pockets. She found a folding knife, a handful of coins, and a leather pouch.

"This is for you," she said, and tossed the knife to me.

She kept the money.

She opened the pouch. Inside was tobacco, cigarette papers and matches. She grinned up at me. "Let's have us a smoke."

She got to her feet. I picked up both the rifles and we wandered over toward the buckboard.

"Are they dry?" I asked.

"He never got his feet wet," Jesse said. "Told me as how he was up in the rocks when the flood hit. Carried off everything but him."

We sat down and leaned back against the wagon. Jesse rolled herself a cigarette. She pa.s.sed the makings to me, and I did the same. She waited for me to finish before striking a match, and used it to light both our smokes.

She drew in on hers, and sighed. "What ever come of all that there bad luck you was telling me about, Trevor?" The glint was in her eyes again.

I was sure glad to see it. I felt uncommon fine to be sitting there next to Jesse, having a smoke, n.o.body about who might cause us harm, the sky cloudless and blue.

But I reckoned there'd be trouble ahead.

"I shouldn't be calling the flood good good luck. Not this morning's business, either." luck. Not this morning's business, either."

"Whatever befalls you is good luck if you come through it kicking. We come through it right handy, appears to me."

"We lost everything."

"Didn't lose General. Nor your saddlebags and guns. Didn't lose each other, either." She reached over and gave my leg a pat. "Fact is, we gained us a good Henry rifle and a fair .45, a folding knife, a handful of change, and some fine smokes. A gunshot s.h.i.+rt, too," she added, and nudged my side with her elbow.

"We lost my water bag," I told her.

"That don't amount to much."

"It'll amount to quite a good deal if we try to carry on down the trail."

"You sure are a worrier, Trevor Bentley."

"It helps me stay alive."

"We'll do fine, long as we stay here. I'm too tuckered out for travel, anyhow."

"I didn't sleep all night, myself."

"Let's get us some shut-eye."

"Now?" I nodded toward the body.

"Oh, he ain't likely to cause no trouble."

"He'll draw scavengers."

"Then let's get shut of him."

After finis.h.i.+ng our smokes, we went over to the German and dragged him by his heels to the river. We waded out a few paces, then let him go. The current sailed him off.

We washed our hands and returned to the buckboard. We hefted it up on its side. All the cargo was gone, but that came as no surprise.

We gave the wagon a shove. It crashed down on its wheels. One wheel was busted before we started and another gave out when it fell. They were both at the rear, so the wagon had quite a slant. But it was dandy for our purpose. We crawled into the shade underneath it and stretched out.

Me and Jesse, side by side.

We lay there and looked at each other for a spell. She eased an arm over and took hold of my hand.

We were safe. We were together. I figured we had some tough times ahead of us, but everything seemed just fine right then.

I drifted off to sleep.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR.

Mule Waking up, I was all hot and groggy and felt like I'd been asleep for a month. Jesse wasn't beside me any more. That worried me and cleared my head. I rolled over and crawled out into the blazing sunlight.

Not only had Jesse gone missing, but so had the Henry rifle.

I figured she might've wandered over to cool off at the river. General was there, taking a drink. But I couldn't see hide nor hair of Jesse.

At the sh.o.r.e, I looked up and down the river.

No Jesse.

n.o.body else was in sight, either, which came as a relief. We sure didn't need any more trouble, not after all we'd been through.

More than likely, she'd taken the rifle to do herself some hunting.

I got shed of my hat, gunbelt and boots, but kept my s.h.i.+rt and pants on so they'd get wet and keep me cool for a while afterward. Besides, I didn't fancy being naked on account of Jesse might come back and see me that way.

Then I waded into the water. It wasn't racing along furious any more, and had shrunk down considerable to where it was only about three times as wide as it had been before the storm. Nothing dead appeared to be drifting my way, so I had a drink. After that, I swam and floated about, enjoying the coolness.

I'd just climbed onto a rock, figuring it was time to go searching for Jesse, when the bray of a mule caught my ears.

It came from downstream.

The mule wasn't in sight yet, but the sound made me think it must be hidden by the outcropping about fifty yards south of me. Fearing there might be more than a mule, I ran for my gunbelt. No sooner was it buckled around my waist than the mule hobbled into view. Behind it walked Jesse, prodding it along with her rifle.

The mule was having a rough time, grunting and braying as it struggled forward on three legs. It kept its left foreleg off the ground. The way the hoof wobbled, I judged the poor mule's leg was broken at the knee.

I got into my boots and hat while Jesse nudged the mule closer along the sh.o.r.e.

"Look what I found us," she called.

"He won't do us much good, being lame," I said.

"I don't aim to ride him," she said. "This old boy, he'll keep us in meat for a week."

"You want to eat eat him?" him?"

"Gotta put the thing out of his misery, anyhow. No use letting him go to waste."

I couldn't come up with any good argument against that.

We stood him close to the water's edge. Then Jesse shot him in the head. I was glad she didn't ask me to do it. I'd plugged my share of men, but they'd all been fixing to kill me or my friends. This mule hadn't done any harm. I felt sorry for it. From the look on Jesse's face when the mule dropped, she wasn't too happy, herself, about shooting it.

After setting the rifle down, she commenced to roll up her sleeves. "You go on and build us a fire."

She pulled the Bowie knife out of her boot and knelt down beside the carca.s.s.

I hurried off, glad to get away. Instead of scrounging about for bits of wood, I broke up some of the buckboard. Jesse still had the German's tobacco pouch with the matches. She was up to her elbows in blood, though, so I fetched matches out of my saddlebag. I found Snooker's big knife in there, too, and used it to split some kindling.

I made a neat pile of wood, and fired it up.

The notion of eating mule didn't set well with me. But meat was meat. While I watched the flames rise, I recollected that General Forrest had told me how the Apaches were more inclined to eat horses than ride them. They had an appet.i.te for mules, too. According to him, though, they weren't above eating rats. He sometimes called the Apaches "gut-eaters." That didn't speak well for their taste in vittles, but I allowed as how I'd rather eat mule than rat just about anytime at all.

With such thoughts in my head about the Apaches, I suddenly recalled their trick of using horse guts for storing water.

The flood had taken our water pouch.

We couldn't leave the creek behind if we didn't have us a way to carry water. It ran from north to south, so following it wouldn't get us any closer to Tombstone.

We might head upstream, find the trail and wait for strangers. Somebody was sure to come along, by and by. Then we'd need to borrow, buy or steal a container.

It seemed a mighty roundabout and dicey way to handle the problem. Better, by a far sight, to avail ourselves of the mule's innards.

I picked up my knife and went on over to where Jesse was busy carving. She'd already cut us a couple of steaks off the critter's flank, and was slicing long, thin strips off the thigh.

"We'll have us these tonight," she said, prodding one of the steaks with her knife, "and jerk the rest." She nodded, quite pleased with herself. She had a smear of blood across her brow. I reckon she'd rubbed a hand there to deal with an itch.

Not being any too eager to commence my task, I helped her cut some more strips.

When we had quite a pa.s.sel of them, we carried all the meat on over to the fire. We ripped a plank from the buckboard, cut it into a few long poles, and fas.h.i.+oned them into a rack. With that in place, we draped the strips rather high over the fire to let them smoke.

Back at the creek, we washed up. Jesse didn't seem aware of the blood on her forehead, so I dampened the front of my s.h.i.+rt and wiped it off.

Looking me in the eyes, she reached up a wet hand and smoothed some stray hair across my brow. Then she curled the hand behind my neck, eased me closer to her, and kissed me on the cheek. My face heated up. I felt myself go all mushy inside.

I had a good notion to take her in my arms and have a go at kissing her mouth, but she stepped away quick and said, "Reckon we oughta float the mule down the stream before it ripens on us."

My wits were still rattled. I just gaped at her.

She swung out a hip and tipped her head sideways and studied me. She had a frown on her face, but her eyes gave it away that she was amused, not annoyed. "What's the matter with you you?"

"Not a thing, actually."

"You never been kissed before?"

"Not by you."

"Well, don't let it spoil your day. Come on, now, let's send the mule off to join the German. Then we'll cook up them steaks and..."

"I'd prefer to eat first. We've already washed our hands, after all."

"Won't take a minute. Then we'll be shut of the thing."

"I'm afraid there's a rather messy job that needs to be done before we dispose of the mule. It's likely to ruin my appet.i.te."

"What're you talking about?"

"We can fas.h.i.+on a water bag out of the guts."

She only just stared at me, scowling.

"I know it's rather appalling, but if we clean the intestine properly..."

"Where'd you ever come up with such a notion?"

"The General once told me about it."

"Your horse horse?"

"No, certainly not. General Matthew Forrest, an old Indian fighter. It was a trick the Apaches used."

"Sure wish I'd I'd thought of it." thought of it."

She was just full of surprises. "You think it's a good idea, then?" I asked.

"It's just bully, that's what I think. You're right, though. We oughta eat before we settle down to meddle with the thing's innards."

With that, we headed on back to the fire. The strips hanging in the smoke had already darkened some. Their drippings fell into the flames, popped and sizzled. Mule or not, the aroma set my mouth to watering.

I added some wood to the fire. Then we cut a couple of sticks from the side of the buckboard, whittled points on the end of each one, and poked our steaks onto them. Jesse held both the steaks over the flames while I removed the whiskey bottle from my saddlebag.