Follow The Stone

by John Locke

  “A lot can happen ’tween now and then,” I said.

  She smiled broadly.

  “It sure can,” she said.

  Though her mouth was covered with mud, Gentry’s teeth were sparklin’ white. I hadn’t remembered ’em bein’ so pretty the other times she’d smiled. As she climbed off me, she placed her hand on my privates by accident. Only the way she did it, didn’t feel so much like an accident. Then the way her hand sort of stayed there longer than it had to also didn’t feel like an accident.

  But it didn’t feel bad.

  “Tonight, then?” Gentry said.

  “We’ll see,” I said.

  16.

  Phoebe, ridin’ sidesaddle, looked a muddy mess. But she was handlin’ it well.

  “How old a man is Wayne?” she asked.

  “I don’t rightly know.”

  “If you had to guess.”

  We were on safe but uneven terrain, pickin’ our way through scrub pine with no trail in sight. Visibility was sparse, and would be for the next three or four miles. What open areas we found were heavy with bushes. Our horses were fidgety, havin’ picked up the scent of bear, cougar, or wolves. I was more concerned about wolves, havin’ heard a pack howlin’ a couple hours before Ira Glass tried to kill me. Their cries had started miles away and grew fainter durin’ the night, suggestin’ they were movin’ away from us.

  But they could always turn around.

  I stood in my stirrups and made a wide sweep with my eyes, searchin’ for any motion in the bushes that shouldn’t be there.

  “Emmett?”

  Phoebe again. She’d asked me somethin’ personal about Shrug three times since the Indian attack.

  “Shrug’s age is hard to pin down,” I said. “He could be anywhere from twenty to forty. Maybe older. Or younger.”

  “Emmett Love,” she said, “I’m being serious.”

  “Me too,” I said.

  “Will he pay us a dinner visit before we reach Springfield?”

  “It ain’t likely.”

  “Why not?”

  “Shrug don’t like bein’ around groups of people. He’s not overly social.”

  “I find him charming.”

  I turned to look at her. “If you want, I can ask if he’d like to have dinner with you.”

  Phoebe’s face was caked in mud, so I couldn’t tell if she blushed. “It wouldn’t be proper,” she said.

  “I guess not.”

  “Unless you’d care to join us,” she added.

  “I think I might already have plans,” I said.

  “With Gentry? She’s a child!”

  We rode in silence a minute. Then I said, “Gentry’s mighty well-formed for a child.”

  “You should have the decency not to notice how well she’s formed.”

  “That type of formation is mighty hard to overlook,” I said.

  “It should neither be noticed, nor commented on.”

  “Well, I believe you’re the one brought it up.”

  “I most certainly did not. And beyond everything else, she’s half your age.”

  “Maybe. But she don’t seem to care.”

  “Well, go ahead and fornicate with her, then. See if I care.”

  We were quiet a few more minutes before I said, “Would you?”

  “Would I what?”

  “Care if I fornicate with Gentry?”

  She started to speak, then paused. Finally she said, “Of course not. I’m practically a married woman. Why should I care what you do or to whom you do it?”

  17.

  In warmer months, the mosquitoes along the White River are the most determined you’ll find this side of the Mississippi. So thick and fierce are they, I’ve heard stories of men and dogs bein’ driven crazy while polin’ the river from here to Yellville, Arkansas. Campin’ along the banks of the White would’ve been impossible a month ago, but we were four days from October, and the biggest issue we faced was the frigid water. Phoebe had been standin’ on the river bank, watchin’ the whores yelp and frolic in the water. But somethin’ made her turn and walk back to where I was buildin’ a fire.

  “You’re not jumpin’ in?” I asked.

  “In due course. Right now the others are having a—a contest.”

  “What sort of contest?”

  “I’ll not say the word. But it’s the sort of contest you’d be pleased to judge.”

  I stood and turned my attention to the creek, wonderin’ what she could possibly be talkin’ about. Then it hit me: the whores were havin’ a nipple contest.

  “Sure you don’t want to join in?” I said. “It ain’t the overall size of the bosom, it’s the length of the tips that count.”

  “Thank you, no,” she said, her voice full of frost. “But it’s obvious you’re aware of the judging criteria.”

  “The what?”

  “You’ve obviously done this before.”

  “Well, I’ve not been a contestant, if that’s what you mean.”

  She closed her eyes, put her hands on each side of her head, and muttered somethin’. Then she went and pulled a bar of soap from her kit and started walkin’ down river.

  “Don’t go too far,” I said. “And be sure to finish your bath before it gets dark.”

  I pulled a fish hook out of my kit, tied some string to it, then went to the riverbank and turned wood over ’til I found some grub worms. I paused a minute to watch the women. Phoebe was right, I’d had some experience with cold water nipple contests among the whores I’ve brought out west. Funny thing, the winners are never the big-jugged gals like Scarlett. It’s always one of the skinny ones you’d never expect. In this group the clear winner was Leah. But had I been judgin’ on overall appearance, and if Monique was to be excluded, I’d a’ picked Gentry.

  I tipped my hat to her, and got a kiss blown back in return.

  Headin’ up river fifty yards, I found a quiet pool that had a huge dead tree lyin’ in it. I stepped onto the tree trunk and walked about fifteen feet and sat down. It took about five minutes to land the first perch, and I quickly landed three more. But the next quarter hour went by without a nibble. By then, dusk was settin’ in, so I hopped in the river to clean the caked mud off me, then packed up the perch and headed back to camp.

  The women were sittin’ on rocks around the fire, naked under their blankets. Gentry winked and blew me a kiss as I passed by. Scarlett stood to meet me and held out her hand.

  “I’ll clean ’em for you, Emmett,” she said.

  I handed her the perch.

  “Thanks, Scarlett. If you start these, I ought to have some more by the time you’re done.” I looked around. “Anyone seen Phoebe?”

  They hadn’t.

  I was a little surprised, but not concerned. It wouldn’t be dark for another half hour or more, and Phoebe had gotten a late start. Also, proper women take twice as long to wash their clothes as whores, ’cause whores will strip naked and wash everythin’ at once. Proper women remove their clothes one piece at a time to wash ’em. I figured to give her another fifteen or twenty minutes, and if she weren’t back by then, I’d take one of the women with me to fetch her. I’d do it myself, ’cept I wouldn’t want her to think I was spyin’ on her.

  “Emmett?” Gentry said. “Can I fish with you?”

  A couple of the women snickered.

  “I reckon you can,” I said.

  Gentry’s face lit up and she scrambled to her feet and raced to my side.

  Monique rolled her eyes and declared, “Elle baiserait une pile de roches en souhaitant un serpent.”

  “Don’t wait up for us,” Gentry said, laughin’.

  “Measure him close,” Emma said. “We’ve got money on how big he gets.”

  “Oh, Lord,” I said.

  “If he wears you out, give me a shout!” Leah hollered.

  As Gentry and I passed the point where we could be seen, I heard Scarlett sigh, “Guess we’ll have to make do with four perch for dinner. Anyone got some c
orn dodgers?”

  18.

  I had every intention of puttin’ my line in the water and provin’ Scarlett wrong, but once we sat down on the riverbank Gentry was on me like sparkle on gold dust. She coaxed sounds out of me I would a’ laughed to hear come from another man. While it ain’t no secret whores know how to pleasure a man, in my experience them that love doin’ it are few and far between. If Gentry didn’t love what she was doin’, she sure had me fooled, ’cause she was the best I ever had. So skilled was she at ruttin’, I may have said I loved her! I may have said it twice, even though the whole episode took less than five minutes. Durin’ the time I said it, I did love her. If I thought for one minute she’d continue to service me like that into old age, I’d a’ promised to make an honest woman of her right then and there. But passion don’t stay put in a younger woman’s heart, and it would only be a matter of time before she’d want to rut a man her own age. And when that time came, she’d do so, whether I loved her or not.

  “Scarlett said you were a screamer,” I said.

  “Did she?”

  “But you never screamed tonight.”

  Gentry placed her palm on my cheek and kissed my lips. “I didn’t need to scream tonight, Emmett.”

  “Why? Was I that bad?”

  “A’ course not!”

  “Then why?”

  “I didn’t scream because I love you.”

  “That don’t make sense.”

  “I didn’t have to pretend tonight, Emmett.”

  “You sayin’ you enjoyed it?”

  “A’ course I did!”

  I stroked her hair.

  “Emmett?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Why did you ask me that?”

  “Well, we were both doin’ it, but I was the only one makin’ all the noises.”

  “So?”

  “I’m not sure I did my best.”

  “Oh, Emmett,” she said. “It’s not how you do it that counts.”

  “It ain’t?”

  “Hell’s bells, Emmett! Anyone can fuck. It’s what’s between us that makes our fuckin’ special.”

  We were quiet a minute. Then I said, “Still, I like to feel I did my best. And this went awful quick.”

  She giggled. “I suppose it did.” Then she said, “You wanna try again?”

  “I do indeed.”

  She pulled me onto her and said, “Then, come and get it, cowboy!”

  And I would’ve, except that somewhere down river, Phoebe started screamin’ fit to bust.

  19.

  “Go back to camp and tell the women to get their guns out!” I said.

  “Don’t go off and get yourself killed, Emmett,” Gentry said.

  I pulled up my pants and strapped on my holster.

  “Run!” I said. “And shoot anyone who tries to enter camp.”

  “What if it’s you comin’ back? Or Phoebe?”

  “We’ll shout our names before comin’ in.”

  I took off runnin’ down the river bank, thankful I’d kept my boots on when ruttin’ with Gentry. It was dark enough to force me to watch my feet, but barely light enough to see ’em.

  After two minutes I stopped to listen.

  Everything was quiet.

  I felt terrible.

  I’d teased Phoebe into an argument and allowed her to stomp away on her own, somethin’ I’d a’ never done had we made camp in a more dangerous place. But what was I thinkin’? There are no safe places. Just ’cause we’d never had trouble in this neck of the woods don’t mean there couldn’t be trouble.

  I took a few steps while fightin’ the urge to shout her name. If a critter had her, and she was alive, she’d still be screamin’. If travelers or Indians had her, they’d a’ raped or killed or run off with her, and if she was conscious, she’d be screamin’. But she weren’t screamin’, which meant she was likely dead or unconscious

  I ran a couple more minutes, ’til I figured to be very close to where Phoebe had been when she screamed. I stopped again to listen, but heard nothin’. I realized now how trouble had found us. The whores had been hollerin’ when playin’ in the river, and sound carries a long way over open water. Someone or some type of critter could a’ heard ’em up to two miles away. Hell, Shrug could a’ heard ’em from three. Which meant Shrug probably heard Phoebe’s scream too, from wherever he’d been. Unless he thought it was part of the whores playin’.

  In the back of my mind I realized I’d relied on Shrug far too much, assumin’ he’s always near, watchin’ over us. Sometimes he’s way out in front of us, or makin’ a wide circle around us, dependin’ on where he thinks the danger is. Earlier today, he hadn’t known about the Indians, and I’d expected him to pop up next to me on the river bank when I’d been fishin’. It would a’ been just like Shrug to be standin’ there with a string of perch, all bigger than mine, pointin’ and grinnin’ at my string. Shrug would’ve expected to eat fish tonight, and might’ve even come into camp to get some. But he hadn’t so much as whistled or laid a stone since shortly after the Indian attack.

  It suddenly crossed my mind that Shrug could a’ been injured by the Indians before they attacked me. They were poor with rifles, but deadly with bows and arrows. When the shootin’ started, Shrug probably heard it and worked his way back to the mountain. He may have killed the Indians I didn’t shoot.

  I wondered if he’d been hit by an arrow. I didn’t see any blood by the stones he’d placed after the battle, which was a good sign. 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. “Only got close enough to see she was okay, then came back. But don’t talk to her about it.”

  “Why not?” Mary asked.

  “I don’t want her to think I was peepin’.”

  “Did you see her naked?” Gentry asked.

  “Nope.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive. She was deep in the river while I was there.”

  “Good.”

  “You save me any fish?” I asked.

  Scarlett laughed. “There ain’t enough fish in the whole damn river for the appetite you worked up tonight. But we saved you a share.”