Beezy hiked her way down the canyon road and into the forest. Her summer stomping grounds were only a few days away, and thoughts of fishing in the cold runoff streams, filling her lean-to with the sweet smoke of freshly trapped game, and falling asleep in the sun nearly lifted her off her feet. But despite everything that awaited her, the unremitting picture of Blueberry asleep on his bed kept inserting itself between the frames of Beezy's sweet reverie.
Previously when bunking with men, there had always been a reason to leave in the morning, be it hunger, a sore backside, or a wife's impending return. With Blueberry, she had no reason to go anywhere at all. He could keep her full-bellied and well-sexed indefinitely, and it made her feet itch. She didn't dislike Blueberry, and even the other one was tolerable. In the end, she supposed she just wasn't the type to rub elbows or other things with barons. So she had stolen away while Blueberry slept to avoid the inevitable question, "Why?" She didn't know how to put her answer into words and was afraid that without an answer, she would have to stay.
But now she imagined Blue waking up in an empty house, and it made her gloomy. “Beholden,” she thought. The word came from thin air, but Beezy knew it was the word she wanted. “That man is beholden me down,” she said aloud.
She tried to shake her funk away. “Har har!” she bellowed into the crisp air. “HAR, HAR!” but for all its rumbustious volume, her laughter rang hollow. Though the weather was still too chilly and she too close to town, Beezy tore her old sundress up over her head and flung it to the ground. She might have left it at that, but the dress looked so limp and helpless lying on the dirt path that Beezy gave it a kick for good measure. The dress flew up and caught against the brush that lined the trail.
Beezy walked on a few steps, and her skin began to goose-flesh. She looked back at her sundress huddled in the shrubs. “I'm leaving you behind,” she called to it. “No two ways about it.” The dress flapped forlornly. Beezy ran back to it and shrieked, “Trying to take my summer from me, are you?” She snatched up the dress and tore at it with her weathered claws. One of the straps broke, but despite its age, the cloth would not rend. Screaming in wordless rage, Beezy threw it deep into the trees.
She stood motionless, legs wide and breathing like a bull, caught between repugnance and the practical reality that she had nothing else but a thin blanket to keep her warm. Before she could decide what to do, she heard footsteps coming from further down the path. A large group was approaching. Judging by the weight of their steps, it was a large group of very large men, and they were moving quickly. Beezy had been preoccupied, and now they were bearing down close. Leaping off the trail, she crashed through the scrub, branches deeply gouging her ribs and thighs, and dove face-down against the ground.
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