King Blood(42)

'Well… 'Joshie fidgeted with her reins, her eyes downcast. 'You like me plenty lot, ol' Critch?'

'I do! I certainly do!'

'How much you like?'

'Well, uh, a great deal. I mean, very much.'

"Stremely much?' she said softly. "Stremely, 'stremely much, ol' Critch?'

And she raised her small round face to his, pink lips tremulously parted against the small white teeth. And her full breasts swelled with shuddery sweetness, the nipples firmly outlined against the cloth of her shirt. And her arms went out and up, started to pull his head down to hers. And –

And her horse, brought too close too often to Critch's, curled black lips back from its teeth, and bit the other animal on the neck.

Happenings after that came too fast for Critch to follow.

His horse screamed, side-stepped and stood straight up on its hind legs. It brought its forefeet down again with spine-rattling force. It kicked, bucked and took off across the countryside like a black rocket. Critch had lost the reins at the outset, was now without any control. He could only cling to the saddle pommel and pray – activities at which he was almost wholly unpracticed. And he was given no time for a refresher course.

The horse soared over the five-foot wall of a crumbling rock corral. Effortlessly, it sailed above a startled covey of up-flying quail. It leaped a broad creek bed and a prairie-dog village and an evil duster of thorn-bush, and an endless number of equally fearsome hazards that lay in its self-appointed path. Fearlessly, it went over them all – a steed with wings on its heels, undaunted and seemingly undauntable. And then it came to a patch of bare earth – a patch approximately double the size of a man's palm. Only a tiny segment of barren soil, hardly enough to see amidst the lush overgrowth. But the horse saw it, and, by some strange quirk of equine reasoning, saw it as a monstrous menace.

The animal abruptly dug in with all four hooves, coming to a split-second stop. Critch locked his boots in the stirrups, and clung to the saddle fore and aft. So despite the tremendous forward thrust, he managed to stay in the saddle. Unfortunately, the saddle did not stay on the horse.

There was a rip and a snap. Then, the circingle (bellyband) parted, and Critch shot onward and upward.

At the height of his flight, the saddle turned slowly, his feet still snagged in the stirrups, until it was above him. Then he plummeted to the earth with its forty-pound weight on top of him.

The shock of the impact drove a yell from his body. Blending with it, he heard a distant scream from Joshie.

Then he heard nothing. *b*

While their horses grazed along the grassy brook-side, Kay and Arlie shared their noon meal of soda-biscuits and dried beef. Arlie's normal good humor had returned; was heightening now as he filled his stomach with food. Knowing that his mood was as good as it would be that day, Kay forced herself to confess the deed she had done that morning. An act that she had regretted almost from the time of its commission.

'I sure plenty sorry, ol' Arlie,' she said tremulously. 'Jus' mad and worry about you, or I no do such stupid thing.'

Arlie nodded absently, stuffing a whole biscuit into his mouth. 'Well – _whuff – _well,' he said, spitting crumbs. 'Can't say as I blame you for that.'

'You sure?' Kay said, her tone a mixture of hope and disbelief. 'Was all right to cut bellyband on Critch's saddle?'

Her husband's head moved in another idle nod, and he added a hearty smidgeon of beef to the mixture in his mouth. Sure, it was all right, he said. After all, what was wrong with –

He coughed, choked. Stumbled to his feet bent over, coughing and gagging and spraying the air with soggy samples of his luncheon. Watery-eyed and breathless, he at last rested, turning a terrifying gaze upon his wife.

Kay shrank back from him, her voice a frightened whimper.

'I sorry. I so sorry, nice ol' Arlie. You – you like good col' drink o' water, yes? I get right away!'

'No,' said Arlie tonelessly. 'You stay right there.'

'But – I say I sorry, ol' husband!' Kay insisted. 'I do damn stupid thing, plenty God damn sorry!'

'Huh-uh.' Arlie slowly shook his head. 'You just think you're sorry. If Critch gets killed or hurt bad you'll know what bein' sorry means. You an' me both will.'

'Both? How you mean, both?'

'How I mean, both?' Arlie mocked her bitterly. 'What you think I mean, you God damn stupid squaw? Who the hell you think's gonna get blamed for cuttin' that bellyband?'

'But I take blame! I tell truth!' Kay protested; and then, recognizing the worthlessness of such an admission, she broke into helpless tears.

'That's right. Bawl your God damn head off!' Arlie snarled. 'That helps a hell of a lot!'

Kay sobbed again that she was sorry. She repeated it over and over, adding with humble hopefulness that she was ver' mean, bad ol' squaw and utterly deserving of dire punishment. 'You beat my ass good?' she pleaded tearfully. 'Will make all right, ol' husband?'