Cattleman's Lament

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6-13 Available On

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Chapter Four

Molly woke, shivering.

There was a horse blanket draped over her upper torso, which helped, but her legs were cold and her feet leaden. The fire had died down, and the two logs smoked, above red embers. She levered herself up on one elbow and looked around. The boy was right beside her, covered with another horse blanket. She was between him and the fire. "He must be freezing." she thought, but his breath came softly and steadily from under his hat. She reached out and threw several sticks of wood on the embers, piling them up. They started smoking immediately and burst into flames as she lay back down and pulled the blanket up to her chin.

She lay there, uncomfortable. She should have emptied her bladder, but she'd been too stubborn to go off in the dark. Groaning she sat back up. When she got to her feet she stumbled. She couldn't feel anything in them as her boots scraped across the ground. The boy moved, rolling toward the fire a little, but didn't seem to wake.

She only went ten feet, and felt the cold air on her pale buttocks as she dropped her jeans to squat, leaning back on a rock. Her urine splashed and hissed so loudly she was sure the boy would wake up, but he didn't move. She sighed as the pressure vanished inside her. She was so cold she didn't want to wait for things to drip dry and she stood, quickly pulling her pants back up. She wrapped her horse blanket around her shoulders and walked around a little until she could feel her feet again. Then she sat with her boots close to the fire, until she saw the soles smoking. She put more wood on the blaze and felt welcome heat bathe her.

What was she doing out here in the wilderness, alone with this strange boy? Her thoughts went to Sarah. Was she freezing too? She looked up at the stars. The moon was setting. What time of the month was it? How long was it until dawn? She looked at Bobby again. He could have taken his sheep and just gone home. Why did he care what had happened to her daughter? He obviously did, though, and was going to some lengths to help her. Would she have done that if his sister was missing? Did he even have a sister?

Eventually Molly lay back down. This time she lay on the outside, so the boy could get some heat. She lay down close to him, and could feel his body heat. She draped her blanket over their legs and feet and then lifted his blanket, and snuggled in close to him, pressing her breasts against his back. It felt odd to be so close to a strange man, but it was warmer.

It was the least she could do for this strange boy who cared about a girl he'd never met... and for that girl's mother.

It was past midnight when Jonas and his men got back to the ranch. The three of them made enough noise though that Frank was up and awake when their weary feet hit the planks of the back porch and they entered the house. Frank expected to hear news. What he heard instead was his father's terse question "Are your mother and sister back?"

"I thought you went to get them." said Frank, getting even more anxious. Jonas was tired, and he knew they were at the end of their strength for the day. He gave Frank only the minimal information that it appeared that the sheepherder's boy and Frank's mother had either found Sarah, or had followed after her and two of the Rocklin men.

"We've got to go find them!" cried Frank.

"We're worn out, boy." said his father heavily. "And we don't even know where to look."

"But that man - the sheep herder - he has to know which way they went." objected Frank.

"He says he doesn't know, and anyway, we don't need the help of any sheep-lover to take care of our business." retorted Jonas.

"But..." started Frank.

"Go back to bed!" ordered his father. "We'll decide what to do in the morning. Do as I say, boy!"

The men began dragging off their clothing, getting ready to get the sleep Jonas had just ordered. Frank went back to his room, but he didn't go back to bed. He couldn't stand the thought that his sister and mother were out in the dark somewhere, maybe hurt, and that no one cared enough to go after them.

It was a typical reaction in a fifteen year old boy who felt like the adults around him didn't appreciate his skills and talents. He had no idea what the men had gone through already that day, or the details of what they'd found. It was fixed in his mind that the sheepherder knew where to find his missing relatives, and he intended to get that information out of the man, one way or the other. And if he could help, then it was foolish not to accept that help.

He dressed quietly, and then waited until he was sure the others were asleep. Knowing the floor boards would squeak, he climbed out the window of his room. Then, saddling his horse, and with his cherished pearl handled revolvers strapped on, he walked the horse far enough away from the house that he could mount and ride without making noise that would wake anyone. He was sure he could find the old Johansen place in the dark.

Sarah woke again. This time, while the pain in her wrists and shoulders was just as bad, her head felt a little clearer. She realized she didn't smell the burlap bag any more, and opened her eyes.

It was dark, and cold. A small fire flickered ten or so feet away. She was lying on her side, with her hands bound in front of her. She tried to move and couldn't stifle a groan of pain. Her whole body hurt.

"Oh, little miss cow girl is awake, is she?" came Buford's voice. Sarah turned her head to see Buford bent over, pulling things out of her saddle bags.

She tried to speak, but her throat was so dry she couldn't make words come out. She swallowed and got some saliva in her mouth.

"Leave that alone." she said weakly, her voice cracking. "Those are my things." "You ain't the one giving orders here missy." said Buford more or less pleasantly. "What's this here?"

He pulled the paper-wrapped package that contained her new dress out of the leather pouch. Tearing it open he shook out the dress.

"Now ain't that purty?" he said. "I bet you'd be a lot better lookin' with this on." He held out the dress toward her. "Course we're gonna have to get you all nekkid to put it on you." he leered.

"You're a dead man." Sarah spat.

Buford let his hand fall, and the hem of the dress puddled on the ground. He looked himself up and down.

"I ain't nowheres near dead." His eyes glinted in the dim light as he looked at her. "And I'm gonna prove that to you right soon now. But first I want to see you in this purty little dress."

"You go to hell." said Sarah.

Buford unbuckled his gun belt and dropped it to the ground. Then he walked over to her, dragging her new dress in the dirt. He casually leaned over and slapped her face hard enough that her head bounced off the ground. His handprint would remain on her face for over a week. Sarah cried out and rolled. His foot came down on her stomach hard, pinning her on her back. He reached out and grasped her brother's old shirt, pulling, and the old, worn cloth ripped easily in his hands. Sarah tried to fend him off with her hands, but she had been tied over the rump of a horse, with her wrists roped to her ankles. Her shoulders wouldn't work right and she cried out at the pain.

Buford pulled a knife from a sheath on his belt and pressed the tip right between her now-naked breasts.

"You fight me and I'll carve you up like a turkey on Thanksgiving." he snarled. "You're gonna put this here dress on." He dragged the tip of the knife down off her ribcage, to her belly, until the blade went between her wrists and came in contact with the rope still binding them. He gave a savage flick and the rope parted. The tip of the knife was too dull to penetrate her skin, but the cutting edge was razor sharp.

Sarah's arms fell limply to her sides as her shoulders refused to support them. She lay, her naked breasts heaving, pale in the dim light of the small fire. Chaps appeared in the dark. "What are you doin' Buford. We're in enough trouble already. Don't you go hurting that girl."

Buford didn't turn his head, but it was obvious his words were for Chaps. "You just shut your yap. I told you I'm gonna get me some pussy. If you had a brain in your head you'd be standing in line."

"It ain't right Buford" whined Chaps.

Now Buford did stand and turn to face Chaps. The knife glinted in his hand. "You get in my way Chaps and I'll gut you. You hear me? If you got no stomach for prime pussy, you just go off and jerk yourself off or something. But don't mess with me Chaps, or I'll kill you dead."

Chaps held up his hands, trying to sooth the angry man, and took a step back. He didn't feel like turning his back on Buford just then, and stood quietly. Buford turned back around to Sarah, who had been trying to get her arms to work. Her vision was fuzzy. The pain was still severe, but she could move her lower arms a little. She'd managed to get her numb hands up to cover her breasts. Buford leaned down and grabbed a tender wrist, pulling her to a sitting position. Her shoulder shrieked at her. Her head swam, and she almost fainted, her upper body lolling back and twisting as it tried to fall back to the ground.

With a muttered curse Buford let her go and knelt beside her limp body. His knife made short work of the jeans she was wearing as the cut them off in strips and pulled them away from her body. He ripped at her shirt again too, cutting off her what she wasn't lying on.

He stood back up and gazed at her youthful nakedness. He kicked her ankles apart and stared at the fluff of hair that stuck up into the dim light.

"I changed my mind." he growled, kicking her new dress to one side. "I don't care about the dress any more."

He worked at his own jeans, pushing them down to reveal his erect phallus. He stroked it a couple of times and stepped between her legs without taking his pants off. He got to all fours and, supporting himself with one arm, reached to hold his stiff dick and nose it into the dark area that he knew contained the opening he sought.

Sarah moaned and raised her hands again, only to have them slapped away by the hand that had been down by her crotch. She felt pressure in a place she had never felt pressure before.

"I'm gonna like this." leered Buford. "I can tell already."

He was enjoying the feel of being at her portals, and began to push. She was dry, and he couldn't force himself in her. He rearranged his knees to try lunging. Suddenly there was a soft hissing noise and a thump, followed by a gasp from Chaps.

Buford paused to turn his head. Chaps was standing there, eyes wide, an arrow magically sprouting from dead in the middle of his chest. With a sigh, Chaps collapsed in a boneless heap beside the fire.

Buford reacted instantly. Forgetting the girl, he rolled sideways into the dark, pulling at his pants to get them back up. He lost the knife in the process, but didn't care. He'd taken off his gun belt so he could get his pants down, and so the girl couldn't try to grab for a gun, and it was lying on the ground not far from the fire. Seeing the girl's dress, he dashed into the light, snatching up the dress and throwing it on top of the fire to blank out the light. He kept running, leaning over to grab at his gun belt. He pulled at the pistol frantically while he ran toward the horses. He saw the horses, and a figure standing between them, a hand on each bridle. Part of his brain cursed the animals for not having given them any warning about strangers being about.

Buford brought his pistol up and pulled the trigger. The pistol wasn't cocked and he swore as his thumb scrabbled at it. The muzzle flash as he fired lit up the Indian that was guarding the horses, and he saw the man jerk and fall backward. The horses bolted, one to each side, but Buford had expected that, and he veered left. He didn't know which horse he was going for, but he didn't care. Grabbing the reins, he pulled the horse, running until he was away from where he had shot. The horses had been on the high side of the little meadow they'd stopped in, and he ran upward. He'd left the horses saddled on purpose, something that wasn't good for them, but he was nervous about pursuit, even though he didn't admit it to Chaps. Now he was glad he hadn't pulled the saddles off of them. When he thought it was safe, he vaulted up onto the horse. He could tell by the saddle that it was Chaps' horse, but then Chaps didn't need it any more... did he?

He rode hard into the dark, hoping the horse wouldn't stumble.

Water Man, as he was called by his tribe, walked into the light of the fire. Sees Long Distance followed, his bow still in his hand. He had fired the arrow that had killed one of the two men abusing the woman. Both had heard the other man shoot, and the sounds of a horse being taken from where Little Pine should have been guarding them.

Water Man looked around. He paid no attention to the naked white woman. She was no threat. He hoped, against hope, that Little Pine would walk into the light. If Little Pine had been killed, there would be trouble in the tribe. The old ways were dying out, and when Water Man wanted to take the two young men on a vision quest, the elders had argued. But both young men had been eager to prove themselves, and a vision quest was the only way to do that any more. In the past there could be honor gained in honest battle, but the white eyes had ruined all that. Now if natural enemies fought, the white man would come and kill indiscriminately. Often they killed women, and the young. Most white men had no honor.

Just as these two men had no honor.

No civilized person treated a woman like this. Water Man and the two young braves, flitting through the trees, had watched the men for a whole day. Little Pine had been careless, and should have been seen, but the two white men had been oblivious. The men treated this woman badly, never feeding her, or giving her water. They tied her to a horse like baggage, instead of letting her sit. Why didn't they just make her walk? Why must they cause her such pain? Then, when it became clear that the men intended rape, Sees Long Distance couldn't take it any more. He had not asked if he could attack. He had simply pulled an arrow from his quiver, knocked it and let fly in a moment of passion.

Water Man frowned. Had he known what Sees Long Distance was going to do he would have been ready to take care of the other one. Now, perhaps, Little Pine was dead, and the elders would be very unhappy. He walked toward where he was afraid he would find Little Pine's body.

Little pine's body was there, but it was not dead. He sat, holding one hand to his head. His face was stained dark, and Water Man knew that must be blood. Silently he pulled Little Pine's hand away and saw a shallow crease on the side of his head, where the bullet had skimmed the skin. Water Man heaved a sigh of relief. "He was just there!" complained Little Pine. "The horse blocked my vision." "Just as the horse blocked his shot?" chided Water Man.

He pulled the young man to his feet and back into the light. Sees Long Distance was standing over the white woman. No, she was only a girl. Water Man could see that now. Still, he knew what was going through Sees Long Distance's mind. "I think our quest is over." said Water Man.

Sees Long Distance turned his head. "She is mine. I claim her as my right of conquest."

"What do you want her for?" asked Water Man. "She is skinny and white. She will only be trouble."

"I have no woman yet." said Sees Long Distance simply. "It is tradition to keep women taken in battle."

"The white eyes do not let us do that any longer." said Water Man, unhappy that he had to say so.

"She is mine." said Sees Long Distance stubbornly.

"Then you are responsible for her." said Water man with a sigh. This would cause trouble too, but maybe, given the chance to think about it, Sees Long Distance would realize that and let the girl go.

Little Pine was unhappy. He had been shamed by the white man, and now Sees Long Distance was able to claim a woman. "The horse is mine then." he said. "I claim the horse."

Water Man looked up at the dark sky, sighing. Young men were so impetuous. "The white men brand their horses." he said. "If you are found with a branded horse, they will think you stole it."

"Then I will eat the horse, and the brand will be no more." said Little Pine, just as stubbornly as his young friend.

"I need the horse for my woman." said Sees Long Distance.

"What do you have to trade?" asked Little Pine.

Water Man groaned as the two young men argued. He stood over the girl and examined her. She was indeed skinny, in his opinion, but her milk bags were large and firm, and would serve little ones well.

She looked dead to him, so pale was her skin, but he saw she breathed. He felt his own loins tingle as he looked at the impossibly light colored hair that rimmed her sex. Feeling his own reaction to the naked white girl Water Man sighed again. Yes, she would cause trouble.

He listened as Little Pine demanded to be allowed to lie with the woman in exchange for letting her use the horse. Sees Long Distance finally had to agree. It would tire his mount too quickly if he had to ride double. Then they haggled over how many times Little Pine would be allowed to mate with the girl. Sees Long Distance insisted that he must be the first to get her with child. Finally they came to an agreement that Sees Long Distance would have her for one moon, and then Little Pine could mate with her.

The girl had covered her milk bags again, and she looked up at him from the ground through half closed eyes that glittering in the firelight. He offered her his hand, but she lay limply and licked her lips.

Little Pine went to get his new horse, while Sees Long Distance came to them. The girl's eyes opened wider now and she spoke the white man's language. Water man knew a little of that talk, but ignored her. They needed to be moving. Someone might have heard the shot the other man fired.

Little Pine bent down and got the shivering and obviously frightened girl to her feet. She was babbling, about being taken home. Two of them couldn't understand her. The other didn't want to talk. Water Man went through the saddle bags on the Little Pine's new horse but found nothing for her to wear. He cut the strap holding the saddle onto the horse and tipped the saddle to the ground. He took the blanket and threw it at the girl, who wrapped it around her, still babbling. She would just have to be tough as they rode to get away from here. He was tired of young people making trouble, and just wanted to get back home. Maybe the old ways weren't so great after all.

When she was finally up on Little Pine's new horse, which required entirely too much help in Water Man's opinion, she lay forward, letting the blanket cover her to her thighs. Water Man looked around and did one other thing. He pulled Sees Long Distance's arrow out of the dead man and, using the man's own pistol, shot him right where the arrow wound was. The girl screamed.

Let the white eyes think one of their own had done this.

Sarah didn't know what was going on. It was dark, and she was naked and cold. The horse blanket the Indian man had given her helped, but she was still cold. She had to hold it on with one hand, and try to stay on the horse with the other. They had cut the saddle off the horse. Why had they done that? It didn't make any sense. She couldn't run, because one of the Indian boys had hold of the reins. She knew she didn't have the strength to hold on even if she managed to get the reins free and kick the horse into a run. Then they led her to a place where there were more horses... Indian ponies, and trying to get her horse free was moot.

She tried to think. They had saved her, but they weren't acting all that friendly towards her. Where were they taking her? What was going to happen next? Where was Buford? She had seen him run toward the horses, and heard gunfire. Had the wounded Indian boy killed him? They hadn't dragged his body back to the fire.

They didn't understand when she spoke. That much was clear. But they hadn't hurt her either. And they'd saved her from Buford. That caused her to think about the last place Buford had touched her. There hadn't been any pain to speak of. She'd heard there was always pain the first time. She didn't know if he'd actually raped her or not. She had nothing to gauge by. There had been that pressure digging into her softness, but that was all.

Sarah suddenly realized that the area of her body she was thinking about was trying to talk to her. As the horse walked under her, her bare sex pressed against the rough hair on its back. She rode bareback a lot, and while she had felt twinges of delight down there as she did so, they had never been more than that - twinges. She had never been on a horse naked, of course, and that, in itself, was strange enough. But the feelings coming from down there were distinctly more than just twinges. She was amazed to find that it felt GOOD to feel that coarse hair pushing against her. She shook her head. She didn't WANT to feel good down there. Not right now! She was cold and miserable and still kidnapped, as far as she knew. She had no business feeling good.

But she couldn't get away from that delicious feeling as the horse moved under her. She tried sitting up and leaning back, the way she usually rode, and that helped a great deal, but the blanket wasn't big enough to wrap around her and it was too cold. She still felt dizzy too. She had to lean back down so that the blanket covered more of her.

The rubbing was causing something to happen, and she felt like there was some kind of pressure building inside if her that threatened to tear her apart. It was all coming from right where her sex rubbed the hide of the horse. She moaned, and the Indian man barked something at her. It didn't take understanding their talk to know he wanted her to be quiet.

She couldn't be quiet though. The pressure was building more and more and she began to help the horse rub at her. Then she was blinded as she saw spots of light where there shouldn't be any, and a wave of sweet pleasure shot through her. She realized that, where her breasts were pushed against the horse's neck, her nipples felt pain that wasn't pain and her whole body seemed to vibrate as the sensations washed through her. It was indescribable and she thought surely she must be dying to feel this good while her whole body hurt as much as it did.

Then it was gone, and she was left panting for air as she realized she had been holding her breath. She wasn't dying after all. A few minutes later, as her breathing neared normal, it all started to happen again. With horror she suddenly knew that it would keep happening as long as the horse rubbed her sex.

Sarah tried to fight it. At one point she shoved her hand between herself and the horse. That helped a little, but then her hand made the sensations come again. She sat upright as long as she could stand the cold, but inevitably she had to lie back down on the horse.

It happened to her six more times before they stopped. She had to be helped off the horse, and collapsed onto the ground, heedless of the rocks that bruised her soft body.

Water Man looked at the girl on the ground, and then at the back of the horse. The horse's hair was dark and wet where she had been sitting. He rubbed the area with his fingers and sniffed at them. His eyes opened wide as he realized it was not urine he was smelling.

He laughed out loud. No wonder Little Rabbit, his number one woman, loved to go riding so much. And no wonder she yipped and yelled as she did so.

Molly woke and found that her arm had gone over the boy in the night, and she was snuggled close to him. He was warm, and she didn't want to get up. Still, it was almost light, and she didn't want him to wake and find her like this. It would be embarrassing.

She rolled away from him, and out from under the horse blankets. She felt amazingly good once she got some blood into her toes and could feel them again. She hadn't slept on the ground in years and years and though she felt the pains of doing so, she felt more alive than she had in a long time.

The boy rolled and reached to lift his hat onto his head as he sat up, blinking and looking around. He looked up at her and his eyes swept down her body. Molly couldn't help but feel the thrill of being looked at and appreciated.

"Get up lazy bones." she said tartly. "I've been up for hours."

"No you haven't." he grumbled. "Until about a minute ago you were the only warm thing within a hundred miles."

Molly flushed as she realized he knew she has been pressed hard against him. Her... a married woman... old enough to be his mother. She remembered the way he'd looked at her. He didn't look at her like any boy that age looked at his mother. She blushed harder and turned away to pick up sticks to put on the fire. Then she realized they didn't have anything to cook. Her stomach growled at that thought and she threw the sticks on the ground. When she turned around the boy was standing with his back to her. He had gone more or less behind a scraggly bush, but it was obvious what he was doing, looking down, with both of his hands at his crotch. She could hear the splash of his urine on the ground.

He tucked in and turned around. "Sorry, Ma'am." he said. "Sometimes in the morning... I mean sometimes a man..." he looked flustered.

"I'm married." she smiled. "I know exactly what happens to a man in the morning. Thank you for not making it obvious to me."

Bobby couldn't tell if she was kidding him or not. He was still mostly hard, even though he'd emptied his bladder. Having her soft warm body pressed against his hadn't helped any. He realized she was staring at the front of his pants and he hoped he had buttoned completely up. He looked down and almost groaned as he saw the large lump in the front of his pants that his mostly hard penis was causing. He felt like he should cover it up, but all that would do is bring more attention to it. He turned away instead.

"Nothing to eat." he said. "May as well get on with it, Ma'am."

"Would you do me a favor?" she asked him.

He turned and automatically said "Sure."

"Would you stop calling me ma'am? It makes me feel like I'm old... like a crone."

Bobby's eyebrows rose, lifting his unruly hair. "No offense, Ma'am... uh... sorry... " Doing what she had just asked him not to do flustered him and he spoke again without thinking. "I don't know how old you are, but there's no way in the world any man would think you were a crone."

He stared at her, waiting for her to yell at him, or throw something. What was he thinking? He WASN'T thinking. That was the problem.

But she didn't yell. She looked startled and then a ghost of a smile came over her face. "Why thank you, Sir." she said.

Ten minutes later they were saddled up and on their way. Bobby knew where he had seen the fire the night before, and he abandoned tracking, hoping it had been this woman's daughter and the Rocklin men. If it wasn't he'd look like a fool, and they'd lose a lot of time backtracking and picking up the trail again. But they could move much faster and make up a lot of time if he didn't have to watch the ground, so he took the chance.

It speeded them up so much that the sun was only two hours high when they came upon Chaps' body. It was lying on its back, as if the man had lain down, arms spread and fallen asleep. But his face was pale and stiff, waxy, and Bobby knew before he got off his horse that the man was dead.

"Is that one of your men?" asked Molly.

"Yes, Ma'am." he said automatically. He turned to find her looking at him, her eyes narrowed. "Sorry. What should I call you? Mrs. Collins?"

Molly's eyes left his and swept the campsite. "No, that makes me feel old too. Just call me Molly while we're out here. What happened here?" she asked.

Bobby didn't jump to any conclusions. He stalked around, noting moccasin tracks and running boot prints. He found Sarah's half burned dress in the ashes of the fire and held it up.

"Your daughter's?" he asked, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"I've never seen that one." said Molly. "She was on a ride to pick up a new dress when she didn't come back. I expect that's the dress."

"Do you think she was wearing it?" asked Bobby. He bit his lip as he realized how callous that sounded. "I mean would she wear it home?" He didn't look at her.

"I don't think so." said Molly evenly. "It was for a dance coming up. Knowing Sarah she'd have wanted to wait. I have a hard enough time getting her to wear a dress in the first place. I expect that was in her saddle bags. Those, lying there are her saddle bags." She pointed to the empty bags lying on the ground nearby.

She was silent for a moment while Bobby looked around. Then: "She was wearing that when she left."

Bobby turned to find Molly stepping down and going to a pile of rags that, upon inspection, revealed themselves to have been a shirt and jeans. It was obvious they had been ripped and cut. Bobby's eyes went to an amazingly clear print of two buttocks in the dirt, with equally amazingly clear knee prints positioned where it was obvious to him that the girl had been raped right there on the ground. He felt the urge to throw up, but coughed and swallowed the urge away. His eyes slid sideways to look at Molly. She was staring at the same thing, her face pale.

"Don't look." he said.

"Is there blood?" she asked.

He didn't understand at first and looked at her questioningly.

"Is there blood... there?" She was pointing at the imprint of her daughter's buttocks. "A woman bleeds... the first time."

He stared. She thought he was still confused.

"My daughter was a virgin. " She shook her head. "My daughter IS a virgin." she insisted.

Bobby was amazed at how this woman's mind could work so well under these circumstances. She was tougher than he'd imagined. He bent over and ran his fingers through the dust, blushing at their proximity to where the girl's... sex... had been. But the dust was dry.

"No, Ma'am." he said. "I mean Molly." he corrected himself.

He looked further afield and saw something glinting. He went to it and found the knife that he knew Buford carried.

"This belongs to Buford." he said, picking it up. "He works for us. He and Chaps... that man..." he inclined his head toward the body, "were with the flock."

"Maybe that man tried to stop him," suggested Molly, also inclining her head toward the dead man, "and they fought. Maybe he ran away."

"If that's so, where is your daughter?" asked Bobby. "Wait... I forgot! There were Indians here."

"What?" asked Molly, staring at him.

He pointed at the moccasin tracks. "See there? Moccasin tracks. At least two sets. A man and a boy I'd say." He went to Chaps and bent over, pulling the man's shirt apart. There were two holes, the edges touching. One, the smaller, more of a puncture wound than a hole, had blood all around it. The other was clean and round, with dark edges.

"I'd say he was killed with an arrow, and then shot." he said.

"How in the world could you know that?" asked Molly.

"Come here." he said. "See there? The arrow pushed the skin aside as it penetrated, and it bled out around the arrow. When it was pulled out the skin almost closed back up. This other one? That's a bullet wound. See the dark edges? That's lead from the bullet. It punched the skin into the body, so the hole is clean. And there's no blood around it. He was already dead when that was done."

"You're an amazing young man." said Molly, impressed at his logic. She looked down on one of the men who had taken her daughter. There was no pity in her eyes. Then she looked at Bobby. "I don't even know your name." she said.

"Bobby. Bobby Rocklin." he said.

"So, Bobby Rocklin, where is your other man... and where is my daughter?" Bobby's mind got caught for a few seconds on her characterization as Buford being "his" man. The men who worked for the Rocklins were his father's men... not his. But this woman treated him like he was an adult... like he could be the boss. It was an odd feeling... being treated like an adult by a woman... that made his chest tight.

He looked around, and then followed the running boot prints to where two horses had stood. He saw blood on the ground, and the imprint of an elbow and moccasin prints. Either Buford had shot an Indian trying to steal the horses, or the Indian had wounded Buford. There was no body, and if they'd have killed Buford his body should be there. If Buford killed the Indian, the others might have taken his body. He saw boot prints leading a horse away and that confirmed that Buford had gotten loose somehow and gotten away with a horse. The other horse had been walked back toward the camp. He followed that trail and saw moccasin tracks deeper than the weight of a man would cause, beside prints of a standing horse.

"I think the Indians surprised them." he said. "Chaps fell right there beside where maybe Buford was... " Bobby didn't want to say what he thought Buford was doing to the girl. "beside where her clothes are. Buford got away and killed or injured one of the Indians. But they got Chaps' horse... or one of the horses anyway. They lifted something heavy up onto it right here. The only thing I can think that would be was either one of their men that Buford killed... or your daughter."

"Indians have my daughter?" moaned Molly. "What does that mean? Will they hurt her?"

Bobby thought back to one time when he had accompanied his father on a trading trip, to trade wool thread and sheep skins for elk hides and blankets. While he had been standing around two teenaged Indians, a little older than he, had run laughing past him. The boy had caught the girl and tackled her, pulling her buckskin dress up to reveal naked thighs. Then he had gotten between those naked thighs and began having sex with the girl. She had beaten at him, but had been laughing too, and obviously wasn't upset at what he was doing. Before long her arms were around him and she was lifting her hips to meet his. An old woman had come storming out of a wigwam with a switch and begun beating the boy and the girl's legs. She had shouted at them, and they jumped up to run off in another direction, still laughing.

"I don't know." he said thoughtfully. "I don't think so. But their ways are different than ours. Maybe she was hurt and can't walk or something. Maybe they're just trying to help her."

"What about that?" asked Molly pointing to where what was clear were her daughter's buttocks prints in the dirt.

"I don't think that was Indians." said Bobby. "If she was healthy and they took her, they might make her work, but I don't know about... the other." Bobby had grown up hearing stories about Indians and how they stole women and children in raids.

"We've got to catch up with them and get her back." said Molly fiercely. "Can you follow them?"

"They took a horse with shoes. That should make it easier." he said. They went in ever widening circles around the camp, expanding the search away from the clearing. Bobby didn't think they'd have chased Buford, who had gone uphill, toward the high meadows.

It was Molly who found where the Indian horses had been kept. She had watched what Bobby did while tracking and noticed that the grass had been grazed and flattened in one area. She called Bobby over and he agreed. It wasn't long before they found the tracks of the horse Sarah must have been put on. There were tracks of unshod horses too, though it was hard to tell how many horses the Indians rode.

Bobby felt bad about leaving Chaps unburied, but they were in a hurry. He stopped long enough to break two tree branches, aiming them in the direction the Indian's tracks went, but didn't take the time to leave a better sign.

They followed, and the sun was sinking toward the horizon, and Molly's stomach was grumbling constantly when Bobby stopped and shielded his eyes from the setting sun. "Smoke" He pointed. Far in the distance they could see the tops of conical wigwams in a clearing by the river. The tracks led straight there.

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