Earlier that day, Charlene Lancer had departed Olsen's Falls for Apache Springs, the spot where she had stolen the cowboy's clothing, and where she often came to swim and seek solace in solitude. She felt she needed to be alone that day, and to sort out her thoughts. She'd been riding over four hours, pushing her horse fairly hard, intending to make the spring before the sun went down. She wasn't worried about the horse, however, it could easily handle the chore.

It was a mare standing nearly fifteen hands high, and almost fully mature. The horse was one of Murdoch's experimental breeds and had the coloration of a pinto, although that particular strain was not one that was in its breeding background. She wasn't sure what all the horse could claim as its ancestry. Thoroughbred, arabian, and mustang, maybe some morgan, and no telling what proportion of each. She'd named her Jezebel, after the wicked queen in the Bible. That was due to the fact that the mare carried herself with the arrogance and dignity of a queen, yet, had irrascibly resisted every effort to break her in.

Charlene had insisted on breaking her in herself. She'd been kicked, bitten and thrown several times before Jezebel would allow Charley to ride her, and it took several more months of intensive training before the mare finally bowed itself to Charlene's will. Finally though, through incredible patience, and an abundance of love, Jezebel had become a model horse. Charlene loved her, and strangely enough, the mare eventually came to feel the same for her. At this point, Jezebel would do virtually anything Charley asked, were it within her ability to do so. And there were very few things that a horse could do, that Jezebel could not. Charlene's patience and love for the animal had paid off handsomely.

Charley reached the sight well before eight o'clock that evening. Apache Springs was located in the heart of the Barilla Mountains. Although in a spot easily accessible to a small herd of cattle and often used for watering purposes, most of the time it remained entirely secluded. It was about twenty miles from Olsen's Falls, and about six miles west of the border which separated the section of the Barilla Mountains owned by Angus Murdoch, from the part owned by Joe Bolton.

It was not so verdant as the area around Boykin Springs and Lake, near the east Texas homestead where she'd spent her childhood and frolicked with her brother and some of the Indian children of the Alabama and Coushatta tribes. However, the spot was beautiful in its own way, and isolated enough that she was reasonably sure that she would not be disturbed.

During Indian troubles, she would never dare venture there alone, but neither the Apache nor Comanche had been raiding for some time as of late. The Apache had encamped in the Davis and Barilla Mountains off and on, right along side of Murdoch and his cattle, but had made peace with him some years back, and since the reactivating of Fort Davis had for the most part, avoided the area. They avoided the Barilla Mountains completely, and generally, stayed out of sight in the Davis Mountains when they were there at all. Murdoch allowed them to butcher cattle as needed. He considered it a small price to pay in order to prevent hostilities.

These Apache rarely rode horseback and thus, Murdoch had less fear of them stealing his horses, unlike their cousins, the Comanche. However, they could be deadly foes, even on foot, since one never knew where they might be hiding in ambush, especially in the mountainous terrain which afforded numerous opportunities for concealment. Charlene at that moment, was enormously grateful for the peace.

The spring was surrounded by a grove of trees consisting of yellow pine, mountain juniper, various oaks, and even a couple of black cherry trees. She hobbled Jezebel next to one of these by the stream running down at the base of the rocks which she'd have to climb up over in order to descend to the crystal-clear pool of water where she liked to swim. First of all however, she gave Jezebel a good rubdown with grass which she bunched up in her hands, then fed her a small bag of oats she'd brought along for that purpose. She decided that she'd take in a swim before preparing a meal for herself.

Charlene retrieved her rifle out of the scabbard and carried it with her as she scrambled to the top of the rocks. She also carried a Colt Navy thirty-six, but could not allow it near the water which would foul her loads immediately. The Navy thirty six was a cap and ball revolver which meant that one had to set percussion caps upon six nipples atop the cylinder, then pack in a measured amount of black powder, then tamp down the thirty-six caliber lead slugs atop the powder. Cartridge pistols had not yet become widely available in the west, although they soon would. The rifle however, was a Henry 44, and the cartridges she currently had it loaded with had been waterproofed, therefore, she was able to carry it down into the basin with her. There was a small ledge just large enough to leave the Henry on, where she could reach it quickly from the pool, should the necessity arise.

She looked around carefully, and discerning no signs of anyone near, disrobed quickly atop the rocks. However, the gag she'd pulled upon the cowboys that previous May, had taught her not to leave herself open to the same sort of prank. She carefully bundled up her clothing and tied it together, looping the string through the ears of her boots where she'd stuffed her socks. She then tied the string to a rope which she'd secured to a tree limb protruding out directly above and over the top of the rock, and lowered the bundle down to where it hovered just above the pool. She then began the descent down the steep sides, into the pool. The descent was not difficult, if one were barefooted, but with slippery leather soled boots, one would have had a difficult time indeed maneuvering safely up or down the slick sides of the rock face.

Charlene reached the bottom with little difficulty and began splashing about with the wild abandon of a ten-year-old child. She had no idea that she'd been followed, and that the original distance between her and her pursuers had been reduced by well over half, by the time she'd attained the springs.

Since she was alone and in no particular hurry, she decided to wash the trail dust out of her clothing. By the time she had finished, it had become dark, and the full moon was out. She bundled her clothing back up and re-tied it to the rope, then, picked up the Henry and scrambled back to the top of the rock. She pulled up the bundle of clothing and boots, then carefully laid out the clothes to dry on top of the rock. She decided she was in no hurry to eat, and would simply recline there under the stars until her clothing dried. It was the middle of August, and if anything, the windless night was almost hot, so she didn't worry about catching a chill. Tomorrow, she'd shoot a rabbit or squirrel, and eat breakfast.

There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and despite the moon's effulgence, the night sky was blanketed with stars. Charlene laid back upon the rock and gazed into the heavens. The symphony of the night was intoxicating. She loved the chorus of the crickets, the soft gurgling of the stream below, and even the mournful sounds of the coyotes howling in the distance. She lay there considering how much she hoped Heaven would be like this. Well, almost like this. She noted that the scene was missing one key ingredient. Jesse Logan!

She remembered the time about a month ago when Jesse had been repairing a section of fence on one of the holding pens that one of the larger bulls had busted down in anger. She had offered to help, but he'd refused the offer claiming that he enjoyed the work and the exercise it afforded him. Jesse did in fact, enjoy any type of vigorous activity, as he did anything that would strain his muscles to their utmost, which kept them in top form. Thus, she had simply sat upon one of the fence railings and watched him as he worked.

Her mind recaptured the vision of Jesse working with the post-hole tool, his shirt off, exposing a powerful yet lithe upper torso that was tanned nearly bronze by the sun, and beaded with perspiration brought about by the heat and his exertions. Rock-hard corded muscles rippling, bunching and virtually slithering beneath taut, tanned skin, reminding her of the time she'd seen a rattlesnake crawling between the sheet and mattress of her bed in the line-shack down in the Del Norte Mountains. He had a flat tight stomach sheathed within dense, washboard-like muscles. A slight breeze ruffling medium length wavy brown hair with golden flecks which were accentuated by the sunlight. An incredibly handsome face that was at once both boyish in features, yet manlike in its determined expression to accomplish, and accomplish well, the task at hand.

Although unaware of the precise reasons why, her body began to tingle pleasantly all over, and she felt a powerful longing to be near Jesse, to touch, knead and caress those muscles that had held her almost spellbound that day. For him to hold her in those powerful arms, pressing her own body tightly against his. She wondered if her thoughts were wicked. Reverend Phelps would probably think so. She giggled to herself imagining what Aunt Emily would think right now were she able to read Charlene's mind.

She sighed involuntarily, long and deep, and began pushing such thoughts out of her mind. That Jesse liked her very much, she had no doubt. But she felt as though it was the love that one held for a kid sister or cousin that one was exceptionally fond of. He often kissed her on the lips, but such kisses always seemed to fall far short of imparting any kind of true passion, and often seemed almost patronizing. Each time he had kissed her that way, she vowed to herself that the next time, she would not let him go so quickly, and kiss him the way she really wished to be kissed, deeply and passionately. Unfortunately, she'd always lost her nerve. Little did she know however, that Jesse felt the same way about her, but was too reserved to let on, fearing that she would not reciprocate his feelings.

It wasn't long before the peaceful, tranquil sounds of the night drained out the tension that had been building inside of her. Worries about a possible range war, difficulties that her wild and reckless brother might bring, and even the unfulfilled yearnings for Jesse Logan soon dissipated. Her body felt completely relaxed, and she soon drifted off to sleep amidst the soft, serene symphony of the night. Thus, she failed to notice when Jezebel snorted in response to the approach of a horse and rider only moments later.

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