Page 11 of Runaway Hucow

It was a funny name, but also a deadly serious one. The two big spikes growing out of his head looked sharp enough to kill a man, and indeed, the bisonman had killed three men that very morning, though he hadn’t used his horns for that. He’d used that damned big shotgun.

Now he was working on building a small campfire in the center of the cave. Tess sat and studied him silently as he worked.

The minotaur had taken off his bison-hide cloak and spread it out on the floor of the cave to give Tess somewhere soft to sit. She was grateful for that thoughtful gesture, but she was even more grateful for the view it provided. The bisonman’s upper body was on full display now, and it was every bit as impressive as she imagined it would be. His shoulders were as big and round as a pair of boulders, and his arms looked powerful enough to bend a steel train rail. His hard muscles bunched and flexed in the growing firelight. Around his neck and head, his dark fur grew shaggy and thick, but on his chest and stomach and bulging biceps, it was short and smooth like suede, and Tess found herself wondering how it would feel to touch it.

She bet it would feel pretty good.

Her eyes drifted lower, to the minotaur’s thick thighs and the sizable bulge between them. His trousers were stretched taut against his body, and Tess could easily discern the length and shape of his manhood beneath the fabric. As she stared at it in wonder, that massive member twitched visibly.

Tess gasped and lifted her eyes to Spike’s face. When she saw his own dark eyes watching her, she blushed and quickly looked away.

“It’s big, isn’t it?” the minotaur said.

Tess blushed even harder. “What?”

“It’s a 4 gauge,” he said proudly.

Oh. He was talking about the shotgun. In the course of darting her eyes away from Spike’s face, Tess’s gaze had landed on the weapon propped against the stone wall of the cave, and the minotaur had mistaken that for curiosity. Or maybe he was politely pretending not to have noticed Tess staring at his other big “gun.”

But… a 4 gauge? Tess had never even heard of such a thing. All she knew was that the gun was huge, more than most men would be able to handle—or need, for that matter. Still, it had come in handy earlier with the bounty hunters. Thinking about the way the three men had died made Tess feel a bit ill, but she felt even sicker thinking about what the men would have done to her if Spike hadn’t shown up when he did.

“I… I never said thank you for this morning.”

“No need, ma’am. I was just doing the natural thing. Where I come from, a woman’s word is the law, and when she says no, a man ought to reckon that she means it. I was raised to treat women with respect, and to protect them from men who don’t.”

“Well, I thank you just the same,” Tess said. “And I’m sorry you got hurt.”

“It’s nothing, ma’am.” He looked at his left arm. “Just a scratch, that’s all.”

That was an understatement. It was definitely more than a scratch. The bandage he had tied around his arm that morning was now dark with blood. When he pulled it away, Tess was surprised to see that the wound had actually stopped bleeding. Still, the gash still looked pretty nasty, and it wanted stitches.

With a grunt, the bisonman pushed himself to his hooves and moved over to where the horses were standing by the wall, dozing. Tess couldn’t help but notice how comfortable the animals were around the big bisonman. He was a stranger to them, and a seemingly dangerous one at that, but he had a gentle way about him that set the animals at ease.

And me too, Tess thought.

They had already untacked the horses for the night, and the saddles and bags lay in a row by the wall. Tess watched as the bisonman crouched and rifled through them, rumbling softly to himself as he did so. After a few minutes, he returned carrying some items he had found.

“Here’s some hardtack if you’re hungry,” he said, handing her several hard, dry biscuits. “I’m more partial to grass myself, but maybe you want them?”

“Thank you,” Tess said. Her stomach was starting to rumble again, and she was happy to eat just about anything besides grass, even if it was just dry, bland hardtack made from flour, water, and salt.

Spike had several other items bundled in his black handkerchief. He sat down on the other side of the fire and spread the items in front of him. Tess nibbled a piece of hardtack and watched.

The first item was a pint bottle of whiskey. Spike pulled the cork out with his teeth, sniffed the mouth of the bottle, then sprinkled a good amount of the amber-colored fluid into his wound. Tess winced as she thought about how badly that must burn, but the bisonman’s face showed no signs of pain. When he was finished, he set the whiskey bottle aside and turned his attention to the other items he’d gathered.

Tess leaned closer to have a look.

There was a small folding knife, a pair of metal tweezers, and several small straight-shank fish hooks with cotton-cord leaders. They were useful items for a person traveling long distances through the wilderness to carry. The fish hooks would be a good way to catch food on the go, the tweezers would come in handy for removing splinters and cactus quills, and the knife would be useful for just about everything.

The bisonman picked a twig from out of the campfire and used the burning end of it to sterilize one of the hooks. Then he looked across the fire at Tess.

“Could I trouble you for one or two of your hairs, ma’am?”

Tess understood. As a hucow, her hairs were thicker than a human’s, more like a horse’s hair, and they were much longer and straighter than the minotaur’s. She plucked a few of them out, doing her best not to flinch. She didn’t want the bisonman to think she was weak. Then she moved to where Spike was sitting, and she handed him the hairs.

Their fingers brushed, and Tess experienced a strange fluttering sensation just below her belly.

And she noticed something else too.