At first, he was in a good mood, having been fortunate enough to buy F. Lee Horse from its original owner, Senor Salerno, at the outdoor auction, along with a beautiful gray mare for Helen, all within their budget, and with fifty dollars to spare.
And, despite all his misgivings, he couldn’t deny being flattered that Helen wanted to make love with him. It wouldn’t happen, of course, until their last night in the past, but it was nice to know he still had the old sexual appeal. Even so, every once in a while, she gave him one of those little Mona Lisa smiles — the kind that said I-know-something-you-don’t — and he wondered if he was taking her threat too lightly.
But he had other worries now. Senor Salerno had pulled him aside to give him a bit of friendly advice. The Angel Bandit had escaped the jail in San Francisco, and because of their similarity in appearance, he advised Rafe to hotfoot it out of town, or else join Ignacio in that great gold mine in the sky.
He and Helen decided to head due north to Marysville, about eighty miles from Sacramento. They could have sidetracked slightly to the west and hit the colorful Grizzly Flats, or Hangtown, or Murderer’s Bar, but those were busy towns with a reputation for hating Mexicans. At the least rumor that he was the Angel Bandit, he’d be wearing a rope necktie.
Once they put some distance between themselves and Southern California, the Angel Bandit’s territory, they wouldn’t have to be so careful. In the meantime, they rode their horses hard, avoiding the main road, which was heavily trafficked by dozens of mule teams and wagons carrying supplies, as well as hundreds of prospective miners and budding entrepreneurs, on foot and horse and mule.
He and Helen stopped only when absolutely necessary to water the animals, or relieve themselves.
That was when Helen started whistling.
And whistling.
And whistling some more.
Hey, he didn’t mind a little whistling now and then. It was a visible sign that Helen felt chipper, more cooperative about their gold-seeking adventure. But after a while, with the blistering heat — it must have been 115 degrees — the incessant dust of the well-traveled road, his sore butt, and F. Lee’s gas — geez, he hadn’t known a horse could fart — he was not in a good mood.
To top it off, F. Lee stepped on his sunglasses. A hundred dollars down the drain!
That was the first three hours. Then Helen resumed her blasted ooohm-ooohm-ooohm meditating.
How could a guy go from thinking he was “in love” to thinking he was “ufloathing” in such a short time?
Ooohm. Ooohm. Ooohm. Ooohm.
“Who ever heard of meditating on a horse?” he grumbled.
She laughed, a bubbly kind of laugh, and that irritated him, too. He couldn’t stand perky women.
“I never heard of it, either, but, actually, the rocking of the horse is conducive to rhythmic chanting. Don’t you think?” Flashing him another one of those Mona Lisa smirks, she inquired sweetly, “Cranky, are we?” Without waiting for an answer, she continued with her hippie humming. Ooohm. Ooohm. Ooohm. Ooohm.”
He heard a grinding sort of noise — probably the sound of his own gnashing teeth.
Nah, on closer inspection, he realized F. Lee was farting again.
Maybe he wasn’t cut out to be a prospector after all.
The day wore on, and Rafe decided that riding a horse was a world-class bore. Give me first-class accommodations on a jet with a magazine and a Scotch on the rocks. Or a nice smooth-riding BMW with Aerosmith on the CD and the air conditioner blasting. Not that he traveled first class, or had a BMW. But someday he would. That was his dream.
Occasionally, between whistles and ooohms, Helen pulled out the notebook he’d given her, interrupting his daydreams. She managed somehow to guide her horse with her thighs while she braced the notebook on the saddle horn to write. Which, of course, started him on daydreams of a different sort.
Betcha she has really muscular thighs. Betcha they clutch a guy when she’s ridin’ him. Betcha she could control the pace of lovemaking with her thighs alone. Betcha I better get my mind on other things or I’m gonna embarrass myself.