Page 26 of A Good Prospect

Like a little minx, Tamasin brushed right on by them—right in between them!—perhaps to show her lack of concern. “These hills remind me of the smiling meadows of the Emerald Isle,” was all she said.

Ophir looked at Sal and shrugged. “All right, then. We canwater our mounts, and keep our eyes skinned for putrid pioneers at the same time.”

Salvador seemed to get an impish idea then. “Knut, are you coming with us to protect Tamasin while she bathes?”

Knut’s reaction was immediate and fierce. He splayed out protesting palms and his eyes went round. “No, no! I mean, ah, who else will stay here with the horses? I will be fine here alone with my firewater and this fine six-shooter piece, in case some dunderhead decides to rob us of our valuables.”

They had both observed that Knut became paralyzed with a baffling sort of terror when the chance of seeing an unclothed female body part was even remotely hinted at. He got along very well with the gentler sex on an everyday basis, but the sight of a woman’s naked knee sent him screaming for the hills. They did not know the story behind it, but it was much more fun to let it remain a mystery.

“All right, Knut,” said Salvador with twinkling eyes. “That six-shooter will ensure the barbáros don’t lift your hair.”

Their mounts began the rugged steep descent cautiously as Knut cried, “Barbáros? The barbáros in this vicinity do not lift hair! You are referring to the Indians of the Plains, are you not? I have never seen one of our barbáros take the hair from a man’s scalp. Have you? Mein Gott im Himmel!”

Tamasin chose a spot in a deep, glassy, aquamarine pool. After picketing their mounts at the riverbed to be watered, the men ascended a thirty foot tall, rocky cliff where they had a good view of any intruders arriving from the other side, or above them. Tamasin, already stripped down to her chemise and drawers, waved up at them unconcerned, her moon face beaming.

Salvador shaped his hand into a horn and yelled, “We’ll be right here, behind this…” He looked around.

“This boulder!” Ophir finished.

Tamasin must not have heard them. She poised, her hands on the lower hem of her chemise, and all cheer fell from her face. Then the happiness suddenly returned and she waved again, perhaps understanding. When she began raising the chemise over her shoulders, the men went at full chisel behind the boulder, although Ophir suspected Salvador of looking over his shoulder.

They cowered as though hiding from bandits, panting as though they had run a mile. They glanced at each other and laughed. Their laughter turned fuller, throatier, until they were gripping the soil beneath themselves for support.

Ophir hooked a thumb in the direction of the river. “I think we should at least crawl…” He couldn’t stop laughing. “…to a spot where we can at least see…”

“See if anyone’s about,” Salvador agreed.

Instead of crawling, they ambled upright like humans toward the lip of the cliff. Their heads cleared the rim of smaller boulders just barely enough so they could view Tamasin’s blindingly white form. Entirely nude. She must have been standing on the creek bottom, for she held both hands up in the air at her sides, seemingly concentrating at a point on the water’s surface. Like a dancer, she seemed to hover lightly, bouncing on her toes. If she would have looked up, she would have seen their two heads like notched crenellations atop a castle wall, peeking over the rocky lip. But she was too intent to notice them.

She had unplaited her hair, and the squiggly radiant locks flowed down her shoulder blades like fire snakes. Indeed, if she were back in The States, some may have imagined she were a witch, the way she appeared to be incanting or at least meditating with half-closed eyes, her lips vaguely moving. But she was only preparing to slide her entire body into the icy water, so blue it was almost black. When she slowly arrowed her fingertips above her head, she dove carefully into the darkness, her graceful form diffracting like an albino trout beneath the surface.

The men released the breaths they’d been holding all in a whoosh, and collapsed to the ground on their backs, panting shallowly.

Ophir couldn’t quite believe what he’d seen. He’d been expecting her to swim in her chemise.

“Ai ai ai…” Sal whistled in approval, ineffectively with dry lips.

“Double that,” Ophir agreed. He tried to swallow, couldn’t, and reached for his water skin. Tiny clear bubbles danced before his eyes, and he fumbled with the plug.

Flinging one limp arm out, Sal wiggled his fingers to indicate he wanted some water, too. “Hoo. Ay dios. Encantador de piel blanca…” Enchanting white-skinned…

Ophir handed Sal the water skin. “I’ll say.” He was going to say more, but Salvador overflowed with emotion.

“Me gustaría lamer esta piel hermosa…”

Ophir turned to his friend in disbelief. “You’d like to lick her skin?”

Sal glared. “Certainly. Wouldn’t you? Ella tiene el sabor de leche fría…”

“Listen. We have to keep our eyes skinned for her. It’s our duty to guard her. We’re not doing her any good lying here like jackasses, are we?”

They stared hard at each other, then scrambled like iguanas on their stomachs to the ledge.

“All right…” Ophir breathed. “I don’t see anyone lurking about. Do you?”

“Not yet.”

They remained there motionless, chins propped on their folded hands, breathing steam, looking mostly at Tamasin, and not skinning their eyes for interlopers.