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			DAMSELS UNDER GLASS: THE SERIES
			A Bug's Tale (Charlie's Story) ———————————————— by Van & Courier   ©2000
			Chapter 13

"Look," Charlie said, "we can't just sit here all night waiting to get caught.  I'm coming with you."

"For the third time," Jessie answered, "I go up the canyon wall, you go into the desert.  Trust me, you can't make the climb up to the Lodge, not a free climb, anyway."

Charlie crossed her arms across her chest.  "I'm not helpless," she muttered.  "I may be short, but—"

"If I thought you were 'helpless'," Jessie interrupted grimly, "I wouldn't be sayin' you should hike twenty miles into the desert," she continued.  "Size ain't the issue, it's experience.  I'm the climber.  There's a couple of three-point-five moves involved.  Hard enough for me without my climbing shoes.  Impossible for you."

Charlie started to say something... then sighed.  She's a smart kid, Charlie had to admit, and she's right.  "You're the expert," Charlie said.  "But why can't I come along and cover your six, maybe throw rocks at the Bitches if they show up?"

Jessie shook her head.  "Pointless," she answered, then climbed out of the lifeless Humvee.  Charlie sighed again, opened her door, and climbed out as well.  Jessie pointed towards a dry stream bed and a distant butte with a distinctive double peak.  "If you follow that arroyo, it keeps heading towards that twin butte.  Eventually it opens out into a flat pan that'll give you a good view of the twin butte and a smaller butte in front of it.  It's little more than a big rock pile, really.  You with me?"  Charlie nodded.  "Climb the small butte and look East, towards the sunrise."

"'Towards the sunrise,'" Charlie quoted with a grin.  "Thank you," she said sarcastically.

Jessie smiled back.  "Ya never know with you city slickers," she said, with an exaggerated Western drawl.  "Now... from the top of the small butte you'll see the road to the Pickney spread in the distance.  Pick some landmarks, hike over to the road, and turn North.  The road'll take you to their main house."

"Okay," Charlie said.  "You climb up to the Lodge and call for help.  I hike to the Pickey spread—"

"Pickney," Jessie corrected her.

"Pickney spread," Charlie continued with smile, "and I call for help.  You've got that number I gave you.  Don't forget, ask for Eve, and tell her 'Bug' sent you."

Jessie nodded, then opened the Humvee's door and tossed Charlie the canteen.  "Try to walk on hard rock and off the soft bottom as much as you can.  Don't drink from that canteen 'til tomorrow at sunset, and only move at night."

"Only at night?" Charlie asked.  "I won't get very far before sunrise.  Shouldn't I—?"

"You'll shrivel like a head of lettuce if you try hiking over those rocks during the day this time of year.  Find a place you can keep out of the sun and a foot or two above the desert floor, and stay put 'til dark."

Charlie shouldered the canteen.  "Anything else?"

"When you get to the Pickney's, don't mention Victoria McQuade and don't let them call the Sheriff.  Tell them you got separated from your friends and you need to call.  Offer to pay for it and George Pickney will sell you the phone."

Charlie turned and smiled at Jessie.  "Be careful," she said.

Jessie returned the smile, then pulled Charlie into a tight hug.  "You too," she whispered.  "I'm sorry.  I'm sorry I—"

"Been there, done that, had the cry," Charlie said brightly, returning the hug.  Jessie laughed and stepped back.  "How far did you say it is to Stately Pickney Manor?" Charlie asked.

"Twenty miles," Jessie said grimly, "maybe twelve to the small butte.  You need to move fast, when you can travel, but don't underestimate the desert."  Jessie looked up at the stars wheeling overhead.  "We better both get moving.  I've got about a seven mile hike before I can even start to climb."

Charlie smiled, hopped up and planted a kiss on Jessie's lips, then started walking towards the arroyo.

"Unroll those sleeves!" Jessie called after the diminutive fugitive.  Charlie waved and unrolled her sleeves as ordered.  "Tenderfoot," Jessie muttered under breath, but noted with approval that as instructed, Charlie was keeping to the hard rock, trying her best not to leave a trail.  With a final encouraging wave, Jessie turned and began carefully but quickly jogging laterally away from the Humvee and back towards the looming canyon wall.

Drake strode into Copperhead Canyon's lower stables, dressed in dark tan jeans, black boots, and a plaid shirt.  Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and a worn, black Stetson with a flat crown was pulled low over her brow.  A coiled lariat was in her gloved left hand, and a Model 1892 Winchester Short Rifle in her right.  A holstered Colt Cowboy revolver on a wide, cartridge studded belt rode her right hip.

A saddled pinto stallion pawed the ground in the center of the stable floor.  Delores knelt in the dust, nude, the unbuckled ball gag still clutched tightly in her teeth, unbound wrists crossed behind her back, the stallion's reins gripped tightly in her left hand.

Drake slammed the Winchester into the saddle's scabbard, then lightly kicked Delores' thigh with her right boot.  "Buckle your gag, slave," she barked, "tight!"  Delores complied, cinching the strap 'til her cheeks bulged.  Drake pulled a thin, leather thong from her pocket, knelt behind Delores, and tied the Latina's thumbs and wrists tightly behind her back.  "Get on your stomach," Drake growled.  Delores quickly flopped on her stomach and breasts, raising a puff of dust from the dirt floor.  Drake pulled out a second thong and bound Delores ankles and big toes.  She then produced a third thong, tied a slip knot, and dropped the resulting noose over Delores' head.  Finally, she folded the rebellious maid's feet back until her heels touched her dimpled buttocks, threaded the free end of the noose between Delores' bound toes, down and between her bound thumbs, pulled the slack from the thong with a jerk (tightening the noose around the helpless Latina's throat) and tied it off to her wrists.  Drake stood back and gazed down at the stringently hog-tied prisoner, then gave the pinto's flank an affectionate rub.  "I suggest you keep very still," Drake told the miserable captive, "if you like breathing."  She took the Pinto's reins and wrapped the ends loosely around Delores ankles.  "And you better hope your mistress sees fit to untie you before your legs get too tired."  Drake glanced around the stable.  "Speaking of which... where is your mistress?  Yo, Red!" she shouted.

A muted curse and a dull rattle echoed from the back of the stables.  Drake grinned, followed the sound, and found Victoria in one of the stalls.  The nude, bound redhead smiled guiltily.  "That was quick," she said.  "I was just—"  Drake stepped forward and grabbed Victoria by the hair.  "Hey," the naked, freckled prisoner protested, "there's no need to—"  Drake scraped the straw aside with her boot and an old dull farrier's knife rolled into view.

"So," Drake purred.  "You don't trust me to untie you."  One gloved hand still in Victoria's hair, she used the other to caress one of her lover's white breasts.

Victoria smiled coyly.  "It's hardly a matter of trust, Drake darling," she purred.  "You know you like it when I do something... unexpected, just like I like it when you—M'mmpfh!"

Drake had released Victoria's hair and was holding her lover close from behind with a tight hand gag.  Her other hand had tightened over one of Victoria's breasts and was squeezing it unmercifully.  "Unexpected?" Drake whispered.  "How 'bout I bind you face-to-face with your traitorous maid with so much leather neither one of you can twitch, then chain you by the neck, up on your toes, down in one of the lower cells, then leave you there 'till I get back?  Is that unexpected enough for you?"  She released her hand gag, Victoria turned her head to the side, and they kissed.

"Unexpected," Victoria conceded, "but impractical."

"Yes," Drake sighed, "I'm afraid it is."  She stooped, picked up the farrier's knife, and threw it at one of the timbers of the stall.  It quivered on impact, the blade half buried in the gray wood.  Drake then pulled a long, sharp blade from her boot and severed Victoria's wrist bonds with one deft slash.

Victoria busied herself freeing her wrists and ankles from the remnants of her rawhide bonds.  By the time she was finished, Drake had tied a bulging saddlebag and a bedroll to the pinto's saddle.  As Victoria stepped from the stall and joined the group, Drake tightened the pinto's cinch, unwrapped the reins from around Delores' ankles, and vaulted into the saddle.  "You might want to button things up 'til I get back," Drake suggested to Victoria, "just in case."

"Good idea," Victoria agreed.   Drake nodded once, gave her mount a light kick, and galloped off into the darkness, towards the Canyon gate.

Victoria listened to the pinto's hoof beats fade into the night, then lowered her gaze to her stringently, dangerously, bound and gagged maid.  "What am I to do with you?" Victoria mused aloud.  "So many ways to inflict pain...  So many devices..."  Delores remained rigidly still, sweat glistening on her forehead as she strained to maintain her contorted position.  Victoria knelt and gently brushed the hair from her maid's gagged, grimacing face.  "What a terrible thing my Drake has done to you," she sighed, gazing sadly into the Latina's silently begging eyes.  Victoria then stood and strolled towards the stable door.  "Well, I'm going to get dressed," she called back over her naked shoulder.  "Please try not to die before I get back."  Victoria turned off the stable lights, then headed towards the Lodge, stifling a yawn with the back of her freckled left hand.  "No rest for the wicked," she sighed.

Back in the dark stables, Delores struggled to hold her legs in their thong enforced, unnatural pose.  The thin leather noose was already tight around her throat.  She knew if she allowed her legs to relax, to let the leather take the strain of the hog-tie... it would be over... slowly, painfully over.  A bead of stinging sweat rolled into her left eye.  Delores blinked and carefully explored her bonds with groping fingers.  Impossible, she decided, even if my thumbs weren't tied.  She listened to the frog chorus echoing back up the canyon from the pool area... and prayed.

Jessie examined the canyon wall before her.  She'd made this climb before, but that had been about two years earlier and with the proper shoes and gear.  This was a free climb, with no margin for error.  It had taken her most of the night to make it this far.  She knew she'd gained about a quarter of the canyon wall's total height by picking her way up the maze of game trails that skirted and climbed the clutter around the canyon's base.  Some of the side trails looked promising, but Jessie knew they all led to sheer rock.  There were lots of ways up the canyon wall, but only one that didn't require ropes, and had the added virtue of being relatively hidden from below.

The sun was about to rise, and Jessie could see her chosen path reasonably well.  She carefully climbed the pile of scree skirting the canyon's base and planted her right boot in a small cleft.  Jessie could see the series of holds that would lead to the first shelf.  The first real obstacle would be—fwick—a lariat whistled over her head and tightened around her chest, pinning her arms.  The lariat snapped taut with a jerk, and the startled teen was pulled from her feet.  She rolled down the scree field and landed at the base amid rattling rock and a cloud of dust.

Jessie coughed, shook her head, and looked up.  Drake was looming over her, dressed in her usual working cowgirl outfit, a Colt on her hip, the end of the lariat in her right hand, and a gloating smile on her face.  Jessie glanced to the side.  Maybe I can—

Drake gave the lariat a second jerk, and pounced.  Before the dust cleared, Drake had dropped three more tight loops around Jessie's chest, had pulled Jessie's arms back, and had roped her wrists tightly together between the cursing teenager's shoulder blades, lashing them in a double hammer-lock to the arm-encircling loops.  Drake tied a final hitch and leaned back.  Her weight was on her right knee, atop the tangled mass of Jessie's red hair, pinning the miserable prisoner's face in the dirt.

"You left an obvious trail," Drake stated in a husky, gloating whisper, "too obvious."  Jessie squirmed in her bonds but said nothing.  "I know you're better than that," Drake continued, "so there must have been a reason you made yourself so easy to follow.  Then I found Shorty's trail leading towards Twin Butte.  You sending her off to meet George Pickney?  Thought maybe you could keep me busy chasing you around the canyon?"  Jessie still said nothing.  Drake laughed.  "No matter.  I'll catch up to your little friend soon enough."

Still kneeling on Jessie's hair, Drake pulled a folded bandana from her pocket.  She shook it out, crumpled it into a loose ball, and crammed it into Jessie's mouth.  One gloved hand over the teenager's lips, Drake sat on the ground, then pulled her prisoner up onto her lap.  Three turns of wide rawhide thong went around Jessie's head and between her white teeth, then was knotted tightly behind her neck.

Jessie's nostrils flared above her gag.  Her fingers groped for a weakness in her bonds, but found none.  She's got me, Jessie admitted to herself with a sigh of despair.

Drake turned herself and her captive to face the sunrise, then scissored her legs around Jessie's narrow waist, pinning the bound teen in place.  By now the entire eastern horizon was a fiery red.  Dull, orange, indirect light flooded the landscape from behind their backs, signaling that the rim of the canyon was already in full sun.  Drake pulled a phone card from her pocket, unfolded it, and tapped the pad.  She leaned forward over Jessie's left shoulder, slid her gloved, left hand under her prisoner's denim shirt and bra, and clutched Jessie's right breast.  The redheaded captive mewled through her gag and squirmed in her bonds, more to express her frustration and disgust than seeking escape.

"Mornin' Red," Drake said into the card.  "I found your cousin climbin' up to the Lodge...  Yes..."  She gave Jessie's breast a squeeze.  "I think she was tryin' to sneak back in, so you wouldn't know she'd busted curfew."  Drake laughed. "Yes, I'll tell her for you.  She's not in a talkative mood at the moment...  Okay, and say hello to Delores for us, will you?"  Drake laughed, folded the card and returned it to her pocket.  "Cousin Victoria says to tell you you're grounded," Drake whispered in Jessie's ear.

The edge of the sun cleared the horizon.

"I just love this time of day," Drake murmured, "Don't you?"  She glanced up at the high clouds, now a brilliant yellow-orange.  "Hmm, looks like a change in the weather," Drake observed, her head still close to Jessie's, her gloved hand kneading the miserable teenager's breast.  "You have nice tits," she purred.  "Bigger than Red's... certainly bigger than mine."  Jessie was very still, her nostrils flaring.  "I think I'll ask your aunt if she'll let me pierce your nipples."  Jessie mewed and struggled.  "Easy Jessie," Drake cooed.  "Enjoy the sunrise.  It might be the last one you see for a very long time."

The sun had been up for nearly an hour, and Charlie still hadn't found a suitable place to hide.  She'd reached the base of the smaller butte a little before sunrise, and had started to climb.  She was tired... very tired... and her feet were really sore... and the canteen was heavy... and she was thirsty. Best not to think about the canteen, she decided.  Jessie had told her not to drink 'til sundown.  Reason told her that was a good idea, that her body didn't really need the water, not when she didn't know how long the two quarts would have to last.  But the thirsty animal in her kept whispering that one little swallow wouldn't make any difference.

Jumping from rock to rock, Charlie kept looking around the side of the butte for a cave, an overhang, any shelter from the sun.  Maybe I'm being too pickey, she mused, then she saw a pocket of deep shadow under a leaning slab of sandstone.  She peered under the slab, and found a crevice, a space between two house-size boulders.  Charlie wriggled under the slab, and carefully worked her way into the crevice.  The shade felt deliciously cool after the long hike and the hour of early morning sun.

The floor of the crevice was slanted at about five degrees, but was wide and deep enough for her to recline with relative comfort.  Sometimes it pays to be a munchkin, Charlie mused.  She cradled her head on the canteen and gazed at the rock wall overhead.  Maybe it was just a trick of the light, or... no, it was real.  Someone had painted a spiral on the rock, and to the right she could see a deer, or antelope, or some other animal with antlers, and even further to the right, a stick figure of a human, armed with a bow and arrow (an unmistakably male figure, with a rampant... anatomy).  Is that an arrow in your quiver or are you just glad to see me? Charlie thought.  Pictographs...  I'm not the first human to visit this... Is this a 'nook' or a 'cranny?'  It could hardly be called a 'cave'.

Charlie yawned and smiled up at the animal, the antlered animal, not her fellow human animal.  Did you get away? she wondered.  Did you make lots of little fawns or antelope babies, whatever they call them?  Charlie yawned again.  I hope so.  Teri would really like this.  Charlie frowned.  Thinking of her still captive best friend had broken the mood, had brought her back to reality, to her predicament.   Good luck Teri... Delores... Jessie, especially Jessie, still free (Charlie hoped) and probably their best bet for contacting TESSERACT.

Charlie's sleepy eyes focused on the figure of the hunter.  "Sorry," she mumbled.  "I know you were just feedin' yer family."  I could use an antelope burger with all the fixin's myself right about now.  Charlie ignored her hunger, and her thirst, and her fear... and closed her eyes... and in a matter of seconds... slipped off into quiet slumber.

Dressed in her usual Cowgirl Chic outfit of boots, designer jeans, and expensive Western blouse, Victoria was enjoying an early lunch by the pool: smoked turkey sandwiches, fruit salad, and a chilled carafe of Chablis.  It had been quite some time since Victoria had to fend for herself.  Cooking and cleaning and other mundane domestic chores weren't activities to which she was accustomed... or wished to become accustomed.  I wonder if there's some way I can torture Delores and still have her continue with her housekeeping duties, she wondered.  I'll have to give it some thought.

Just then, she heard the klip klop of horse shoes on stone flags echoing down the canyon.  Drake and Nightmare came into view around the bend... followed by Jessie.  The miserable teenager had been stripped, boots her only remaining articles of clothing.  A bandana was stuffed in her mouth, held there by a cleave-gag of multiple tight rawhide bands.  More rawhide bound her arms to her torso and her elbows and wrists behind her back.  Additional thin leather thongs framed and encircled the teenager's mildly sunburned breasts, criss-crossed her torso, and dived between her legs.  All of the thin leather was cruelly tight, biting and dimpling Jessie's flesh.  Victoria guessed it had been applied wet (one of Drake's favorite techniques) and had long since dried in the hot sun and shrunk.  Drake's lariat was looped around the captive's waist.  The remainder of the stiff rope trailed up to Nightmare's saddle, where it was coiled and looped over the horn.  Jessie stumbled in Nightmare's dusty trail, doing her best to maintain some slack as she was pulled along behind her captor's mount.

"Well," Victoria called, "somebody's certainly been 'rode hard and put away wet'."

"What are you talkin' about?" Drake protested, leaning forward in the saddle and patting Nightmare's neck.  "He's in fine shape, aren't you boy?"  The stallion bobbed his head and coughed.  "Easy," Drake cooed.  "I'll let you drink soon, but not too much.  We're headin' out again."

Jessie staggered forward until she was even with her mounted captor... then collapsed to the ground.  She was a mess, her skin caked with dust, hair dirty and tangled, skin flushed, gagged lips pale and chapped, her eyes dull and uncaring.

Victoria smiled up at her lover, then nodded towards her captive young cousin.

"Oh, you mean the runaway," Drake said with exaggerated innocence.  "We took the scenic route home," she explained.  "I slathered her with that new sunblock you bought in Tucson, and wanted to give it a good test."

"It seems to have worked pretty well," Victoria observed.  "I'll have to send the manufacturer a testimonial... omitting certain unnecessary details of course.  I hope you have more.  I don't want our other stray to come back looking like a piece of lobster jerky."

Drake laughed.  "I got more than enough left for Shorty.  Speaking of which..."  Drake lifted the coiled lariat from her saddle and tossed it to the ground.  "I better take care of Nightmare and head back out."

"Wait," Victoria called.  She picked up the second sandwich from her platter and refilled her wine glass, then stood and carried the impromptu lunch to her mounted lover.  Drake tossed the Chablis back in one long gulp, then took a bite from the sandwich.  Jessie rested her gagged head on the hot flagstones and gazed up at her dining captor and grinning cousin.  "Want more for the trail?" Victoria asked.

"I've still got a full saddlebag," Drake mumbled.  "This is good.  Real mayonnaise."  She took another bite.  "I hate that diet crap."

Victoria knelt at Jessie's side.  "How 'bout you, Precious?" she purred.  "Anything I can get for you?"  Jessie glared at her gloating cousin, her dust caked nostrils flaring in defiance.  "Maybe you'd like a drink?"  One hand in Jessie's hair, the other clutching the lariat looped around the mewing teenager's waist, Victoria hauled Jessie to her feet, dragged her the several yards to the pool, and tossed her in.

Jessie landed in the blessedly cool water with a huge splash, then bobbed to the surface, sputtering through her nose and around her gag.  Her hair was plastered to her face, covering her eyes.  Victoria used the lariat to reel her cousin in, then leaned forward, grabbed Jessie by the hair; then, handling leather bonds and thrashing limbs; flipped the struggling prisoner head down, caught the teen's wet bare legs in one arm and held them.  Most of her body under the water (including her head, of course), Jessie thrashed and squirmed.  Smiling, Victoria plucked off Jessie's boots and socks and tossed them aside, taking her time as the bound teenager's struggles grew increasingly desperate.  Finally, the prisoner's kicking feet bare, Victoria released her cousin's legs, and the teen dropped under the water completely... then struggled back to the surface.  Her head broke the water and she gasped for air.  Victoria tied the end of the lariat to the arm of a convenient deck chair and stood back.  Jessie treaded water and glared up at her cousin.

"You're gettin' soft, Red," Drake drawled, finishing the last of the sandwich.  "I would have left her dry and tied her where she could see the water, almost touch it... maybe take a swim myself to show her how cool and wet it was."

Victoria smiled at her lover. "And have her die of sun stroke?"  She lowered her gaze to the half floating, half swimming prisoner.  "No fun torturing a corpse, is it?" she continued.

Drake smiled but said nothing.  She turned Nightmare's head and trotted back towards the stables.

Victoria watched her lover disappear, then walked back to the table and poured herself more Chablis.  She strolled back to the pool, sipping the cool, white wine and watching her bound cousin struggle in the water.  "Enjoy yourself while I finish my lunch," she said, "then I'll get you out of that tight leather... and into something equally uncomfortable.  And I guess I better put some lotion on you so you don't peel."  Jessie treaded water and glared up at her cousin.  "Perhaps I'll have Delores do it for me," Victoria continued, "free one of her legs and have her apply the lotion with her toes.  Would you like that, Jess?"  Victoria laughed and returned to the table.

Jessie treaded water and watched her cousin pick at a small fruit salad.  I guess it's all up to you, Charlie, she thought.  Good luck, Tenderfoot!