But I couldn’t be certain Shrug wasn’t hurt. If he had been, he could still be up on that mountain, tendin’ to his wounds.

And I’d left him there.

And never thought a second thought about it.

But whether that’s what happened to Shrug, or whether somethin’ else happened, there was no escapin’ the fact that I’d been careless, and now poor Phoebe was payin’ the price.

I started walkin’ slowly down river, tryin’ to put all thoughts of Shrug out of my mind. If he was hurt, I’d deal with it later. If he was nearby, so much the better. Suddenly, I heard Phoebe make three quick, muffled noises close by. It almost sounded like she was tryin’ to call out, but couldn’t, like maybe someone had his hand over her mouth.

Which told me she wasn’t mortally hurt.

If she had been, I’d be able to hear her pain sounds.

Whatever had befallen her, at least she was alive.

Which meant I could still save her.

I slid my Colt out of the holster and felt the tip of the barrel to make sure no twigs or mud had got in it, then silently put it back in place. I pulled some bullets out of my gun belt and stuffed them in my left pocket, so I could reload quickly if need be.

I crept slowly along the river bank, careful not to snap any twigs. When I came to the edge of a thicket I knew I couldn’t go any further without wakin’ the dead. I slowly backtracked to the river, put my gun on the ground, and quietly stepped into the water ’til I reached a depth of five feet. I crouched down so that only my nose and head were above water, and then I moved slowly down river another fifty feet.

There on the river bank, twenty-five feet away, I saw Shrug.

Fuckin’ Phoebe.

Or maybe Phoebe was fuckin’ Shrug.

From where I stood in the river, it was hard to tell who was fuckin’ who. But they both seemed to be enjoyin’ it.

I almost passed out from relief that Phoebe and Shrug were okay. Then I nearly passed out over the fact that Little Miss Proper was actually fuckin’ someone she barely knew, right out in the open, on a riverbank!

The proper thing to do was turn my head and walk away, like when some young cowboy’s had too much to drink and challenges me to a fight he can’t win. But this weren’t one a’ them times where walkin’ away would save someone’s life. And it didn’t make me feel bad to stay put. I reckon I should a’ felt worse than I did about spyin’ on ’em, but it was like watchin’ a cyclone form in the clouds: it ain’t what you expected to see, or what you hoped to see, but once it starts, you want to keep a close eye on it.

It weren’t the kind of fuckin’ you’d expect to see on a riverbank, where there’s all sorts of creepy, crawly things slitherin’ about at night. Hell, the chiggers and ticks alone would make me want to keep my drawers mostly on. I’d a’ thought others felt the same way, and would keep as much clothin’ on as possible, when riverbank fuckin’.

But not these two.

They were buck naked.

It was dark, but not so dark I couldn’t see Phoebe’s milky thighs straddlin’ Shrug’s broken body. She arched her back and moved her hips and tossed her head back and began moanin’ softly. She cupped her breasts in her hands and—well, at that point I knew I’d intruded enough.

Good for Shrug, I thought, and slowly waded back to where I’d left my gun.

 


 

 

 

20.

 

“Everythin’s fine,” I called out to the women from a distance. “You can put your guns down.”

Gentry said, “Thank God you’re okay!”

“Where’s Phoebe?” Scarlett said.

“She’ll be along directly.”

I entered the camp and took a spot by the fire.

“Is she okay?” Scarlett said.

“She’s fine.”

“You spoke to her?” Hester said.

“No.”

“But she screamed,” Gentry said. “I heard her. Three or four times.”

“She screamed ’cause the water was cold.”

“You watched her bathe?” Gentry said.

“I didn’t spy on her,” I said.