Cactus Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy) by Shirl Henke

big juicy worms, shot and cleaned squirrels like a real Texian, and even swore like one, too. And for sure she wasn't all curvy and sweet smelling. Still, he and the men on Bluebonnet liked her better than Tomasina Carver. Come to think of it, Lupe and Lena liked her, too. Everyone did. Maybe Jim was smitten and just didn't know it yet. Sitting back with a grin, Lee watched the two of them argue. It was proving to be a very interesting summer.
     
    * * * *
     
           The next morning dawned hot and bright. Charlee awoke at sunrise as she always did and decided it was a good day to walk down to the creek and knock a few squirrels out of the overhanging trees. She and Mutt had made friends after their unfortunate initial encounter, and he was a first-rate squirrel dog.
           Noon found her and the old black mongrel slogging beside the cool rushing water. Three squirrels were already swinging from her belt. ‘‘Let's us set a spell, Mutt, 'n give Beulah here a rest.” She set the old Springfield musket carefully against a tree and stretched out in the grass beside the water.
           Beulah was the antique firearm she had found in the kitchen, an old weapon belonging to Weevils, which he had taken indifferent care of over the years. When she asked if she could clean and repair it, he had gladly given it to her. One of her most difficult decisions upon leaving Missouri had been to give up her beloved hunting musket. It was simply too big and cumbersome to carry on the riverboat. On the wagon train, she had borrowed weapons   with which to hunt. Once repaired, Beulah had become Charlee's pride and joy.
           Of course, smarty pants Slade had not believed she knew which end of the gun the shot came out of until the day she brought in half a dozen headshot squirrels for dinner. She could still see the amazed expression that he tried unsuccessfully to conceal. Recalling the incident, she laughed gleefully and kicked off her shoes to dangle her small, rather dirty feet in the cool water.
           “Ooh, that feels good. Hmm..,” Charlee looked over toward a stand of willows across the creek. Beyond the bend in the stream was the pool where Richard Lee had supposedly drowned. Hit his head diving—bunk! It was a hot day, a good day for a swim, and she could scout the lay of the land at the same time. Why not? Instructing the patient dog to stay with her gun and game, she went to the knoll.
           Slade took off his wide-brimmed hat and wiped the perspiration from his brow. Damn, it was hot. He had spent the morning with a crew of men running down a nice bunch of wild mustangs. It was hard, scorching work and he had swallowed a barrel of dust. When the men broke for a midday meal, Jim decided to head down to the pond for a fast sluicing. He felt as sweaty and grimy as his big buckskin, Diablo del Polvo or Dust Devil, aptly named both for his color and disposition. A cool swim was just what a man needed to soothe his frayed nerves and aching body.
           Approaching the meandering creek, Polvo kicked small pebbles in its crystal shallows as Slade guided the big horse toward the pond around the hill. Just then, the buckskin whickered and pricked up his ears, coming to a halt in midstream.
           “What is it, Polvo? Oh, you, Mutt,” Jim said, spying the black dog half hidden in the shadows of a large live oak. “What are you doing so far from the house? Asa'll skin you. Say, whose gun?” No more was the question asked than it answered itself. He recognized the old weapon Charlee had resurrected from Weevils' junk heap. He also noted the squirrels. But where was the owner of the paraphernalia? Swearing at the independent way such a young girl went off by herself, heedless of danger, Slade dismounted and tied Polvo's reins to a bush. He must search her out and see that she was all right.
           The fact that Mutt was so calmly presiding over her trophies indicated to him