elevation. We wound our way up, and then almost
abruptly the crude ruts gave out onto a flat area to our right, opposite the massive boulders skirting the
bottom of the mountain on the left. The flat formed a plateau, the chopped off crown of a shallow bluff
overlooking where we'd come from, including the streambed. A few straggly trees, low shrubbery, and
modest grassy patches skirted the edge near the continuation of the ruts. I pulled up there to give the stud
a blow and take a look around. Del's gelding picked its way slowly up to join us. Del was, I noticed,
drinking water again.
"You all right, bascha?"
She nodded as she restoppered the bota. "Much better than this morning. Just thirsty."
"Liquor does that." I glanced around. "You know, this wouldn't be a bad place to stop for the night
—" I broke off, whistling in surprise. "Hoolies—would you look at that?" I pointed. "Up there against the
boulders, there. Looks like a shelter to me. And the remains of a cookfire in front of it."
"Where—? Oh, that?" Del rode past me, heading toward the huge tumbled boulders lining the
merging of mountain with flat area. "It is a shelter, Tiger—it's a little lean-to. The wagon ruts go right past
it, but they're deeper by the shelter, as if they stopped here."
I followed. Del was right. Someone had used one of the larger boulder formations for the back wall
and had built a rough lean-to out of branches and canvas. The fire ring hadn't been used for a while, but
clearly this was a regular camping place. No one would sacrifice canvas in the desert unless he intended
to return.
"Halloo the camp!" I called. "We're coming in!"
Del reined in next to the fire ring. "No one's here."
"You never know." I dismounted and drew my sword. Del had done the same. But there was no
place to hide in the lean-to; it boasted only two sides, the boulder for a back wall, and a
branch-and-canvas roof. It was large enough for possibly three people, if they were very close friends.
"Good enough for tonight," I said. "Let's get the horses settled, and then we can think about food."
Del recoiled. Her expression clearly announced she wanted nothing to do with food. Possibly
forever.
I disagreed. "You need to eat something. You've only had water all day."
"Yes, and in fact. . ." She turned abruptly and headed toward the hillside strewn with tumbled
boulders, sheathing her sword.
"Are you sick again?" I asked.
"No. But I have had a lot of water."
"Ah." Grinning, I strode back to the horses. I decided to be a nice, kind, thoughtful man and untack
her gelding. "Hold on, old son," I told the stud. "You're next."
I untied saddlepouches and piled them beside the lean-to, tossed Del's bedding inside. The gelding
gazed at me out of mournful blue eyes, peering through dangling bits of fringe.
"You look ridiculous," I told him, undoing his girth. "No offense, but you do." I lifted saddle and
blankets off his damp back, set both by the lean-to. "Amazing what we let women get away with, isn't
it?" His response was to thrust his head against my chest and rub. Hard. "Ah, hoolies, horse—" In
disgust, I stared down at the front of my burnous. "Now I've got black gunk all over me!" Of course, the
gelding also had greasepaint smeared all over his face, like an overly painted wine-girl first thing in the
morning. Quite a pair, we made.
I heard the rattle of fallen pebbles high in the rocks and glanced up to see Del picking her way down
from one of the piles of boulders. You'd think that since we'd been sharing a bed for several years
modesty would no longer matter, but Del was fastidious. She always went off to find privacy, and I'd
been ordered to do the same. I just never went as far. Men have a certain advantage when it comes to
relieving the bladder.
Her arms were spread for balance as she worked her way down. She was concentrating on her
path, rope of hair swinging in front of one shoulder. It's difficult to look particularly
abruptly the crude ruts gave out onto a flat area to our right, opposite the massive boulders skirting the
bottom of the mountain on the left. The flat formed a plateau, the chopped off crown of a shallow bluff
overlooking where we'd come from, including the streambed. A few straggly trees, low shrubbery, and
modest grassy patches skirted the edge near the continuation of the ruts. I pulled up there to give the stud
a blow and take a look around. Del's gelding picked its way slowly up to join us. Del was, I noticed,
drinking water again.
"You all right, bascha?"
She nodded as she restoppered the bota. "Much better than this morning. Just thirsty."
"Liquor does that." I glanced around. "You know, this wouldn't be a bad place to stop for the night
—" I broke off, whistling in surprise. "Hoolies—would you look at that?" I pointed. "Up there against the
boulders, there. Looks like a shelter to me. And the remains of a cookfire in front of it."
"Where—? Oh, that?" Del rode past me, heading toward the huge tumbled boulders lining the
merging of mountain with flat area. "It is a shelter, Tiger—it's a little lean-to. The wagon ruts go right past
it, but they're deeper by the shelter, as if they stopped here."
I followed. Del was right. Someone had used one of the larger boulder formations for the back wall
and had built a rough lean-to out of branches and canvas. The fire ring hadn't been used for a while, but
clearly this was a regular camping place. No one would sacrifice canvas in the desert unless he intended
to return.
"Halloo the camp!" I called. "We're coming in!"
Del reined in next to the fire ring. "No one's here."
"You never know." I dismounted and drew my sword. Del had done the same. But there was no
place to hide in the lean-to; it boasted only two sides, the boulder for a back wall, and a
branch-and-canvas roof. It was large enough for possibly three people, if they were very close friends.
"Good enough for tonight," I said. "Let's get the horses settled, and then we can think about food."
Del recoiled. Her expression clearly announced she wanted nothing to do with food. Possibly
forever.
I disagreed. "You need to eat something. You've only had water all day."
"Yes, and in fact. . ." She turned abruptly and headed toward the hillside strewn with tumbled
boulders, sheathing her sword.
"Are you sick again?" I asked.
"No. But I have had a lot of water."
"Ah." Grinning, I strode back to the horses. I decided to be a nice, kind, thoughtful man and untack
her gelding. "Hold on, old son," I told the stud. "You're next."
I untied saddlepouches and piled them beside the lean-to, tossed Del's bedding inside. The gelding
gazed at me out of mournful blue eyes, peering through dangling bits of fringe.
"You look ridiculous," I told him, undoing his girth. "No offense, but you do." I lifted saddle and
blankets off his damp back, set both by the lean-to. "Amazing what we let women get away with, isn't
it?" His response was to thrust his head against my chest and rub. Hard. "Ah, hoolies, horse—" In
disgust, I stared down at the front of my burnous. "Now I've got black gunk all over me!" Of course, the
gelding also had greasepaint smeared all over his face, like an overly painted wine-girl first thing in the
morning. Quite a pair, we made.
I heard the rattle of fallen pebbles high in the rocks and glanced up to see Del picking her way down
from one of the piles of boulders. You'd think that since we'd been sharing a bed for several years
modesty would no longer matter, but Del was fastidious. She always went off to find privacy, and I'd
been ordered to do the same. I just never went as far. Men have a certain advantage when it comes to
relieving the bladder.
Her arms were spread for balance as she worked her way down. She was concentrating on her
path, rope of hair swinging in front of one shoulder. It's difficult to look particularly
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