_
		DAMSELS UNDER GLASS: THE SERIES
		Jessie & Chelsea: THE  ADVENTURES  OF Shorty & the Cowgirl ———————————————————— by Van © 2002
		Chapter 4

CANYON STABLES
COPPERHEAD CANYON LODGE
ARIZONA, USA

---

Chelsea's heart was beating like a triphammer.  She twisted in her ponygirl costume of corset and sleeve-mitten harness and mewed miserably through the bandana stuffed in her mouth and held there by one of Jessie's scarves.  The blonde stranger, the cowgirl who had discovered her in her naked, bound and gagged condition, continued gripping Chelsea's chin, and slowly turned the embarrassed prisoner's face from left to right. 

"Pretty little thing, ain't ya?" the stranger drawled.  Her bemused blue eyes locked with Chelsea's horrified blue eyes, and the stranger's lips slowly curled into a knowing, sardonic smirk, and she slowly shook her head.  "Yer the Boss Lady's new girlfriend," she muttered, then released Chelsea's chin and took a step back.  "Guess there's gonna be one more of you helpless damsel types clutterin' up the place."  The tall cowgirl removed her worn, stained Stetson and sailed it towards the door, then turned back to face Chelsea.  "I swear," she said, shaking her head again, "I never seen such a tyin'-and-bein'-tied bunch in my life."  The prisoner's cheeks burned as the stranger looked her up and down.  "McQuade's really got ya trussed up good," the blonde noted.

Chelsea tried not to squirm in her bonds (with limited success).  A gift for understatement, the captive mused.  Tightly gagged, a leather collar clipped to the center of a taut, horizontal chain buckled around her throat, a tight corset that pinned her sheathed arms and hands against her sides and behind her back, rope hobbling her booted feet.  Yes, I'm 'trussed up good'.

"Oh..."

The stranger turned and Chelsea lifted her gaze to find Jessie standing in the doorway, a tinkling bridle in one hand.  The tall redhead (as tall as the blonde stranger) was clearly embarrassed, then Jessie smiled, asserted herself, stooped and retrieved the strangers hat, dropped it on her saddle, and casually strolled into the room.  "I see you've met the new pony," she said.

The stranger laughed and shook her head a third time, a tolerant smile on her face.  "So," she drawled, "the Red Bitch of Copperhead Canyon goes away... and a new Red Bitch takes her place."

Jessie's cheeks reddened, but her smile never wavered.  "Shuddup!" she snapped, giving the stranger a good-natured tap on the arm as she approached.  "Cody Linderman, Chelsea Brightman.  Chelsea Brightman, Cody Linderman."

Cody smiled at the still highly embarrassed Chelsea.  "Pleased," she purred. 

Chelsea's only response was to blink, her eyes darting from one cowgirl to the other, from her lover to the grinning blonde.

"That new roommate?" Cody asked Jessie.

"Yep," Jessie confirmed, then turned to Chelsea.  "Cody and I went to High School.  Now she's my wrangler."

"I prefer the title Head Wrangler," the former stranger drawled, "only I'm the only wrangler so it's kinda pretentious." 

Jessie laughed.  "Glad you're here," she told Cody.  "I got a favor to ask."

Cody winked at Chelsea.  "Doin' favors for the boss...  Some call it 'work.'"

Jessie laughed again and led Cody towards the door, whispering in her ear as she went.  Chelsea watched as the two carried out a quiet (inaudible) conversation, then Cody laughed, nodded, smiled at Chelsea (who blushed again).  The tall blonde then retrieved her hat and put it on her head, picked up her saddle, shook her head and chuckled softly, and was gone.

Jessie strolled back to her prisoner (and lover), stepped under the chain, and busied herself untying the still blushing pixie's gag. 

The scarf came away and Chelsea expelled the bandana crammed in her mouth.  "You horrid, horrid pig!" she complained, her embarrassment having turned to anger.  "How dare you—"

Jessie's left arm was around her prisoner's leather-bound arms and torso; her right hand across the squirming, blushing, mewing captive's flushed lips in a tight hand-gag.  "Hush... hush, Pretty Pony," she cooed.  "Settle down."  Chelsea stamped her booted, hobbled feet, and struggled against her lover's hand-gag, but was (of course) completely helpless.  "Cody won't bother ya," Jessie continued.  "She tolerates the nonsense around here, but doesn't take part in any of it.  She was the closest thing I had to a best friend in High School," the smiling redhead explained.  "We might've been closer... if I'd been allowed to have any real friends."  The regret in her lover's voice stilled Chelsea's anger... and she stopped struggling.  After a few seconds Jessie released her hand-gag.  "Anyway," Jessie sighed, "Delores can't be expected to take care of everything around here.  Cody needed a job, so I hired her to run the stables."

Chelsea cleared her throat.  "So... who exactly is the 'Red Bitch of Copperhead Canyon'?"

Jessie sighed again.  "You would pick up on that," she muttered.  "That's more of that stuff I don't want to talk about... yet."

Chelsea lifted her head until her blonde mop was resting against Jessie's cheek.  Her captor and lover tightened her embrace.  "You'll have to tell me whatever it is you're hiding sometime," the short prisoner observed, then gasped when a portion of the bridle that had been in Jessie's hand was dropped over her head.  "What... what are you—?"

"Every pony needs a bridle," Jessie purred, adjusting the thin leather straps of the headstall one by one.

"Horrid!" Chelsea said, her voice dripping scorn.  "You're a horrid sadist!"

Jessie smiled.  "Don't make me get the riding crop," the tall redhead purred.  She couldn't see her captive's eyes, but did notice Chelsea was holding her head perfectly still, making the job of caging her head with the network of straps much easier.  Jessie buckled the final strap and stepped under the chain to the front.  Chelsea gazed up into Jessie's smiling, freckled face, her eyes shining, a hint of a smile curling her lips and dimpling the helpless Brit's cheeks.  A horizontal strap of the headstall encircled her forehead.  A vertical strap encircled her head from across her crown to under her chin.  In addition, a pair of straps started at ear level, criss-crossed under her chin, and buckled together behind her neck, anchoring steel rings set at her cheeks .  A thin, curved, steel bit dangled from the left ring, waiting to be thrust between the "pony's" teeth and strapped in place through the right ring.  "Behave yourself and I won't use the hackamore.  No need to have you stumbling up the trail blind.  You'd miss all the scenery."

"Sadist!" Chelsea whispered, her eyes twinkling.

"If I was a sadist I'd use the training bit," Jessie said, lifting the smooth, plain, recurved bit and thrusting it into Chelsea's unresisting mouth.  The short, blonde 'pony' took the bit between her teeth, giving her a not entirely involuntary grimace of a smile.  Jessie stepped back under the chain, threaded the strap through the right ring and buckled it behind Chelsea's neck.  "The training bit's really nasty," she explained.  "It has a tongue clamp and sharp burrs to discourage you from taking the bit in your teeth... and speaking of which.."  Jessie grabbed each end of the bit, where they passed through the cheek rings, and tugged.  "Let go," she ordered.

Chelsea sighed and opened her jaws slightly, allowing the bit to he seated further back, until it pulled at the corners of her mouth.

Jessie tightened the bit's buckle and whispered in her captive's left ear.  "Try not to drool too much, okay?"

Chelsea shook her head, testing her new gag.  The bridle was tight, albeit of limited use as a gag.  It was designed more to facilitate control than to enforce silence; however, Chelsea had to admit it was relatively comfortable.  Of paramount importance, it was obviously not designed for a horse, but for a human.  Complete chain sets, genuine ponygirl tack... obviously my Cowgirl is a well-equipped 'sadist', she mused, ...and there's more to this place than meets the eye.  She felt her captors fingers fiddling with the back of her collar, there was a click, and the slight weight of the taut chain not formerly carried by the rings set into the opposite walls was gone; then, the collar itself was unbuckled and tossed aside.  Jessie gave her a gentle shove and she shuffled forward, encumbered by her hemp hobble.  The harnessed, hobbled, and bit-gagged blonde turned and stared at her tall, redheaded captor, squirming in her inescapable bonds, her saliva dripping chin raised in brave defiance (a charming, amused twinkle in her blue eyes).

Jessie laughed.  "Okay Flirt, listen up," she ordered, "out the door, left turn, and out to the Canyon."

Chelsea sighed a piteous, long-suffering sigh, and shuffled towards the door as ordered, her cruel, sadistic captor (and lover) following behind.

ON THE TRAIL TO KETTLE LAKE
COPPERHEAD CANYON RANCH

---

Chelsea plodded up the narrow, dusty track, concentrating on maintaining slack in the long rope lead tethering her to Jessie's horse.  Back at Copperhead Canyon, hours earlier, Jessie had tethered Chelsea to a post in the corral by clipping a snap at the end of a long rope to a ring in the front of the her harness, between and slightly below her exposed breasts.  Chelsea shuddered in the heat, recalling her tormentor (and lover's) words.

"The options are leading you by the bit—" the gloating redhead had said, giving Chelsea's bit a tug.  Her gloved hands then dropped to Chelsea's breasts and she'd given the squirming blonde's nipples a few playful tugs.  "—or nipple rings, clamps if ya don't got rings."  Her hands then went to the clip between Chelsea's breasts and she gave it a strong jerk, testing it for the trail and causing her captive to lunge forward, then stutter-step back.  The "Mistress of Copperhead Lodge" then allowed her hands to wander lower, until Chelsea yelped through her bit when she felt her lover's gloved fingers part her labia and fondle her clitoris.  "Or maybe I can clamp something else," she purred, her gloating, freckled face inches from her prisoner's, "and drag you up into the mountains that way."

Chelsea remembered squirming in her inescapable bonds, flushed and increasingly aroused, Jessie's gentle, knowing fingers causing her clit to engorge, her sex to become wet and slippery.  Then, Jessie had withdrawn her hand and stepped back, laughing at her captive's whining, quivering frustration.

The gloating cowgirl had then picked up a bulging nylon stuff bag and stepped behind Chelsea's back.  Straps were fitted and buckled and the first of 'Pretty Pony's' load was in place.  The stuff bag was followed by a large canteen, a second bag, and finally a sloshing nylon bladder with an attached hose.  In total, the load was somewhere between thirty and forty pounds, but it was well distributed and well carried by the clever placement of the harness' many lashing points.  The end of the hose from the bladder was clipped to Chelsea's bit, where she could reach it with her lips.

"Drink as much as you want, and often," Jessie had advised as she made the final adjustments, then stooped and untied Chelsea's hobble.  "You're gonna need it," she purred, and gave her encumbered prisoner a kiss on her bit-cleaved mouth.

This isn't too bad, Chelsea remembered thinking as Jessie climbed into the saddle, no worse than backpacking on the moors; and then they started out.

That had been about four hours ago.  Chelsea's opinion had changed.

The first hour had been over more or less level ground—boulders, sand, and sagebrush—then the trail had begun to climb.  Slowly, desert had given way to shrubs and small trees, and finally they were trekking through a forest of tall pines.  They had a crusty, rust and gray bark, and long green needles in bundles of three.  Chelsea trudged along, dry, rust-red needles crunching under her boots, grateful for the towering pines' sparse, dappled shade, and savoring their pungent, pleasant aroma.

There had been hourly rest stops, for which Chelsea had been very grateful (although they had seemed to confuse China, Jessie's horse).  Harnessed, bit-gagged, loaded, sweaty and dusty, Pretty Pony had stood patiently while her Mistress gave her a quick rubdown, renewed her sunblock, refilled her drinking bladder, checked her load, fed her a slice or two of apple or a handful of trail-mix, then helped her sit on a convenient rock or patch of sere grass where she could rest for a few minutes.  Except for one encounter with several distressing large and inquisitive ants, the rest stops had been most welcome.

Chelsea could see why Jessie loved this country so.  It was arid, sun blasted, and dusty, nothing but rocks, inedible plants, hostile insects, and creepy tarantulas (not to mention lurking coyotes, pumas, and bears, no doubt), but it also had an almost transcendent, seductive beauty.  It was so big, so empty, nothing like the fields and forests of her England, or the moors, or the Highlands, or anything else in her beloved Britain.  It was the exact opposite of Gondaloo.  There, the green, humid landscape was alive, punctuated by glimpses of the underlying earth.  Here, life and water were fugitive and the naked, ancient rocks ruled... and then you reached the pines, with the promise of shelter from the sun and after the parched rocks of the desert, it was almost wet by comparison (in a dry, dusty sort of way).

They crested a low ridge and Jessie stood in her saddle, scanning the terrain ahead.  They continued to the top and paused, Jessie motioning for Chelsea to join her.  The weary, sweating ponygirl sighed and trudged forward, until her tether trailed in the dust and her shoulder nearly brushed her Mistress' denim-clad leg.

Jessie pointed forward.  The trail was level for about a half mile, making a slow bend.  The mountain sloped up to the right, but to the left the trail was bare of trees, a precipitous fall of hundreds of feet to a boulder cluttered valley.  On the opposite side, perhaps fifty yards distant at its closest point, Chelsea could see another trail, on a plateau of roughly the same altitude as their own.  "This is McQuade land," Jessie drawled, "but over there it's National Forest, and that trail's pretty popular.  If you see anybody over there, I suggest you duck to the right and into the trees and we'll wait for them to mosey along... unless you get a charge out of lettin' strangers see ya naked, bound, and bein' used as a pack animal, that is."

Chelsea favored her lover with one of her patented if looks could kill expressions, but Jessie didn't fall from the saddle.  Instead, she laughed, clucked her tongue, and China clopped into a slow walk.

They negotiated the outlook without incident, and the climb continued... for two more hours... punctuated by two more rest stops.  By this time the day was waning, and the country had begun to change yet again.  On exposed slopes and ridges the pines were fewer and the species different, and they were increasingly bent and windswept in their growth habits.  Ground squirrels barked in alarm from sentinel positions when rider, horse, and 'pony' passed grassy swards, the small gray-brown rodents scurrying to their burrows and watching nervously until the strange caravan was out of sight.

Chelsea was waning as well, but was determined not to show it.  She concentrated on her booted feet, placing one in front of the other... placing them carefully on the occasionally treacherous trail... ignoring her tired legs... aching feet... sore shoulders.

They rounded a bend in the trail and crested a rise, and Chelsea nearly stumbled into China's rump and swishing tail.  The weary 'pony' shuffled forward and followed Jessie's pointing gesture.

Before and below them was a small, very picturesque valley, nestled in the pined slope of the mountain.  A third of the valley was a field of fist sized rocks angled against a rocky cliff.  A stream made its talking, falling way down one side of the cliff, to a small. elongated, finger-shaped lake.  Opposite the cliff a small log cabin with a sod roof was set into the slope.  Beside the cabin was a small corral.

"Kettle Lake," the grinning redhead announced.

"Eh da'ah oo ie uh eeta," Chelsea mumbled through her bit.

Jessie laughed.  "'It doesn't look like a kettle,' you're tryin' to ask?"  Chelsea nodded.  "It's where you fill your kettle," the cowgirl explained, then laughed again when Chelsea shook her head in weary disbelief.  "Who knows how things get named?" Jessie drawled.  "Some Indian mumbles the lake's proper name and it sounds like 'kettle' to the local trader?  Who knows?"  She clucked her tongue and they started down the steep, switchbacked trail towards the cabin.

China got taken care of first.  Jessie was kind enough to unload her 'pack pony', but then she hitched her still harnessed and bitted lover to a post and attended to her mount.  Chelsea sat her naked rump on the hard ground, put her back to the post, folded her knees and crossed her throbbing, booted feet in front of her, and watched as China was unsaddled, watered, rubbed down, and fed.

Jessie next unlocked the cabin.  It had a very solid, thick door of seasoned timbers and a high security padlock with a case steel shielded hasp.  The windows had equally heavy shutters which were secured with heavy bolts on the inside.  The tall redhead carried their supplies inside, lit a fire in the cabin's stone hearth (Chelsea could follow her actions through the open door), then stepped outside, looked at her helpless friend, and smiled.  "I think I'll get myself cleaned up," she announced, and started undressing.

"Wah 'ow eeh?"  Chelsea demanded.

Jessie grinned evilly, draped her Western shirt and bra over a rail and leaned against the post to pull off her boots and socks.  "What about you, Pretty Pony?" she purred, then removed her jeans, followed by her panties.  Naked and smiling, she stooped beside her prisoner, unbuckled Chelsea's bit, crammed the warm, sweat-dampened panties into the squirming captive's mouth, and buckled the bit back in place.  Chelsea shook her head angrily and mewed through her now much more effective gag.  "Livestock needs to learn patience," the naked redhead explained with a gloating smile.  She then unclipped Chelsea's tether rope and used it to make the blonde pixie even more helpless.  Her semi-lotus position was unchanged, but soon Chelsea's crossed ankles were bound and bands of rope held her against the post at her waist, above and below her breasts, and around her throat.

Jessie leaned close and whispered in Chelsea's left ear.  "What were you tellin' me the other night back in Tucson about this bein' the best part?"  She felt her captive flinch in her bonds and squirm when she started teasing the stringently bound pixie's left nipple.  "Just think," Jessie continued, "you know how helpless you are.  You've had hours to test your harness.  You know you won't be squirmin' out of that rope... don't ya Pretty Pony?"  Chelsea's nostrils flared above her gag and her corset supported and rope framed breasts heaved.  Both nipples were flushed and hard.  "Miles and miles from nowhere... sweaty, dirty, tired...  What if I were to leave you like this all night?  ...while I sleep in my comfortable, warm bed in the cabin?"  Chelsea shuddered under her touch.  "There's certainly nothin' to stop me, is there?  No one to rescue you... no one for tens of miles...  no one even thinkin' about rescuin' you."

Jessie took a step back and smiled down at her prisoner.  Chelsea was indeed a helpless, sorry mess, badly in need of a bath and obviously very unhappy, but she lifted her bedraggled, dirty face and Jessie could see the brave defiance in her lover's eyes. There's my Shorty, Jessie thought, a thrill of pride (and lust) coursing through her loins.  She blew her captive a kiss, then turned and sauntered down to the lake, carefully picking her course on the rocky path.

Chelsea watched as Jessie made her way to the water's edge, hesitated on a flat boulder, then leaped into the still water and dove under.  Seconds passed, then the naked redhead surfaced, several yards out into the lake, sputtering and yelping.  Her cries echoed off the cliff and reverberated through the valley.

The water's cold, Chelsea surmised. I could do with some cold, she mused, squirming in her bonds.  As she watched her captor paddle around, Chelsea contemplated her predicament.  Escape was clearly impossible.  Her fingers were trapped in individual sleeves inside her mittens, her wrists and upper arms were strapped in wide, stiff cuffs, and the cuffs were strapped to the tight, hot, constricting corset, and then there were the tight rope bands enforcing her semi-lotus and back-to-the-post pose, and the gag, the cloying wad of Jessie's panties, the hard steel bit, the tight straps of the bridle's headstall, and... 

A tear fell and stained the ground between her bound, sock-protected ankles and her naked sex.  The rope bands around her throat gave her just enough slack to lower her gaze and watch its dark stain disappear into the dust and dry air.  The first tear was followed by a second, then others, some making it to the ground, but most rolling down the weeping captive's face and splashing her breasts.

Chelsea was hot and tired and dirty and helpless and feeling sorry for herself.  (She was also as horny and aroused as she could ever remember, short of being engaged in the act of sex itself.) God I'm a submissive slut, she mused, reveling in her discomfort and bound predicament, enjoying what she could only think of as the joy of slavery, or more precisely, the joy of being Jessie's slave!  The weeping captive squeezed her eyes shut and shuddered in her bonds, lost in the reverie of her sweet, delicious misery.

And then she flinched and mewed through her gag, opening her wet eyes.  Jessie had returned and was bending over her, water dripping from her wet, freckled body and plastered, auburn hair.  A look of fear and concern was on her face as she fumbled with the straps of Chelsea's bridle, finally succeeding in loosening it enough to pull it from her lover's tousled head.

Chelsea lifted her grubby, tear-stained face and smiled weakly at her anxious captor.  "You didn't break me," she mumbled, "really you didn't.  I'm just... just... tired, you see?"

Jessie stood and stared down at her captive, at her harnessed, roped, and trail-worn lover.  The nude redhead was at once chagrined for what she had done to her precious prisoner, proud of her Chelsea's stamina and spirit, and increasingly aroused at the sight of the tan, sweaty, dusty, bedraggled, and helpless spectacle before her.  Unconsciously, her hands drifted to her sex and she gave herself a light, delicate caress... then she realized what she was doing, blushed, and cleared her throat.  "Uh... That's your story, Shorty."

Despite her fatigue and discomfort, the twinkle was back in Chelsea's eyes.  "You're a selfish sadist," the captive purred, nodding at Jessie's freckled hands, "aren't you, Cowgirl?"

Jessie's blush deepened, and she suddenly discovered she had no idea what to do with said hands.  She tried folding them across her chest, dropping them to her sides, clasping them behind her back... nothing was right... and then she noticed the amusement in her captive's eyes, and suddenly arms crossed across her chest was perfect.  "Just for that," the grinning redhead purred, "no nookie for you 'til bedtime."

This elicited a piteous, heart-melting pout from the helpless Brit.  "You are a selfish sadist," she groused.

Jessie laughed.  "Let's get you cleaned up," she said, "and see about settling in." 

Getting 'cleaned up' turned out to mean Chelsea getting untied from the post and plopped down in the dust on her stomach and breasts.  She squirmed and complained as Jessie sat astride her naked rump and started fumbling with the ponygirl harness' buckles—then her struggles ceased when she realized she was finally going to be free of the tight, hot, sweaty leather.  The corset and mitten-sleeves were removed and tossed aside, but Chelsea's "freedom" was short-lived as her wrists were immediately crossed behind her back and tied with a length of thin cord.  Her boots and socks were removed (which felt very good), and her ankles bound with more cord.  Then Jessie picked up the naked, sweaty and dirty bundle, carried her in her arms to the lake... and tossed her in!

Chelsea sputtered and struggled in the icy water, then Jessie jumped in after her and retrieved the outraged (but refreshed) pixie.  Soon Chelsea stood naked, bound and shivering in the shallows as her equally naked captor scrubbed her tan body (mildly sunburned, actually) and poured water over her head with her cupped hands.

'Settling in' meant Chelsea being carried to the cabin, toweled dry (Jessie toweled herself dry as well), carried to a blanket on the floor in front of the fireplace, and treated to a prolonged, invigorating and therapeutic massage.  The relaxed, half-dozing little blonde was then moved to the bed, her bound ankles tethered to the footrail and her elbows bound together (not touching) and her arms to her torso ("to prevent another wiggle-worm escape," Jessie explained), then Jessie dressed and began cooking their supper (beans, biscuits, steak, coffee and tea.)  Supper was followed by the enjoyment of a magnificent sunset, followed in turn by the spectacle of numerous bats fluttering and swooping in the deepening gloom over the glassy lake, then several bouts of glorious lovemaking; and finally, several hours of much needed slumber.  Chelsea remained a bound (but contented) prisoner throughout.

The next morning, Chelsea was untied, much to her great relief (but slight disappointment) and the lovers enjoyed (if that's the word) a brief dip in the cold lake, followed by a large breakfast.  Chelsea discovered that part of her load of the previous day had been a complete set of clothes for herself: bra, panties, jeans, Western shirt, and clean socks.  There was also a floppy "boonie" hat (a Stetson being impossible to pack).  It was not exactly the height of Western style, but did provide protection from the sun.  The rest of the morning was spent exploring the immediate surroundings on foot, just enough activity to allow enjoyment of the scenery and justify a large lunch.

During early afternoon siesta, as Jessie and Chelsea shared a net hammock slung from the posts of the cabin's overhanging porch, the dozing pair was awakened by the arrival of two saddled horses, one led and the other being ridden by Cody Linderman.

"Howdy," the grinning blonde cowgirl drawled as she approached the cabin.  "Ain't you a lazy pair."

"I'm on vacation," Jessie countered, rising with Chelsea to help her 'Head Wrangler' unsaddle and care for the horses.  China greeted the newcomers and was greeted in turn. 

Chelsea was friendly but shy (much to Jessie's amusement), remembering their encounter of the previous morning. 

"Lunch?" Jessie asked.

"Sure," Cody answered, walking towards the cabin.  "Found some clothes, I see," she said to Chelsea, causing the diminutive pixie to blush prettily.

"I'm not always a helpless captive," the embarrassed Brit mumbled, "really I'm not."

Cody laughed.  "I know that... Chelsea, right?"  The blonde pixie nodded.  "I'm just rattlin' yer cage."  The tall blonde laughed and grinned at the short blonde.  "Sorry, don't mean to give Red here any ideas."

All three laughed.  "A cage..." Jessie mused.  "I wonder if the feed store has any steel kennels in stock?"

"We can do without any cages, thank you," Chelsea muttered (smiling nonetheless).

Conversation continued in the cabin while Cody enjoyed her late lunch.

"You still want to get back to the Canyon by sundown?" Cody inquired.

"That's the plan," Jessie said, as she packed her saddlebags and doused the cabin's hearth.

"Can we make it back by then?" Chelsea asked.

"It's quicker goin' down," Jessie explained, "especially when you aren't slowed down by a slow pokin' pack pony."

Cody grinned as Chelsea blushed and gave her lover a playful punch on the arm.  "I still got time fer a swim?" the tall blonde asked as they emerged from the cabin.

"Tell ya what," Jessie drawled.  "You swim as long as you want, then catch up with us.  Sound good?"

Cody nodded and began stripping.  Chelsea was impressed.  The blonde cowgirl (soon confirmed to be a natural blonde) had a lithe, athletic, tan body, wasp-thin waist, long legs, firm, full breasts...

"Uh... wanna help me with the horses here, Shorty?" Jessie drawled.

Chelsea blushed and smiled sheepishly, then hurried to saddle her mount.

"Bet'cha can't swim all the way to the far end without freezin' and chickenin' out!" Jessie called after Cody, who was now almost at water's edge.

"Bet'cha I can!" the nude blonde shouted back, then leaped into the water and started swimming away.

"Quick," Jessie hissed, "get her clothes and toss them in the cabin."

"What?" Chelsea asked, blinking in surprise.

Jessie hefted Cody's saddle, blanket pad, and bridle off the corral rail and headed towards the cabin herself.  "Get her clothes!" she repeated.

Chelsea giggled.  "This is mean," she muttered, nonetheless gathering the swimmer's boots, socks, jeans, shirt, and underwear and following in Jessie's wake.

"No, this is payback," the grinning redhead drawled.

"For what?" Chelsea asked.

Jessie ignored the question, did a rapid scan of the area, rattled the closed and bolted shutters, then pulled the heavy timber door closed, snapped the high security padlock into the armored hasp, and turned the key.  She then hurried to the corral and began checking China's saddle and load.

"You aren't really going to do this, are you?" Chelsea demanded, taking her cue and checking her own borrowed mount's tack.

Still saying nothing, Jessie climbed into the saddle and walked China out of the corral.  Chelsea put her booted foot into the stirrup, mounted, and followed, being careful to secure the gate.  Cody's mount whinnied and shook his head, mildly upset at being left behind.  They headed up the switchbacked trail, then paused at the crest.  By this time Cody had reached the far end of the lake and was emerging from the water to stand triumphant on a flat, sloping boulder.

"Hey Blondie!" Jessie shouted.  "Remember that time Senior year you switched padlocks on me and stole all the towels while I was in the shower in gym and I had to go find Coach, dripping wet and naked, to let me into my locker?"

The distance was great, but they could see Cody gaze up at them in confusion, then towards the cabin... where she could see her clothes were gone, as were her saddle and tack, and the door to the cabin was closed (and no doubt locked)!  Her horse was still in the corral.  She turned back towards the distant riders.  "McQuade...!  It was a joke!"

"So's this!" Jessie shouted back, and started down the trail.

Chelsea watched Cody, jumping up and down on the boulder far below, wet, naked, and literally hopping mad.  The short blonde Brit shook her head sadly and gently kicked her mount into motion.

"McQuade!  McQuade!!! " the nude, dripping Cody shouted up from the lake.  "You're dead McQuade!"