The Heat Of The Moment

by Teobi

Started out as a one-shot and has become a gentle tale about the hesitant, developing relationship between clumsy, well-meaning Dusty and prim, ladylike Betsy. Who knows where it will end up?

9. Naked Buffalo

(Naked Buffalo- what Dusty called an ant on the lens of his telescope.)

# # # #

"I'm sorry I yelled at you, Mr. Callahan."

Dusty had sloped back to camp looking very sheepish. Mr. Callahan knew better than to question where he'd been seeing as Betsy had returned a little earlier looking flustered and had tried to insert herself back into the group as though she'd never been away. Even Lulu had known better than to say anything for fear of causing any more trouble than she already had.

"That's all right, little pal," Mr. Callahan said gruffly. Supper was over and the big wagonmaster was reheating the coffee pot while Andy stacked the tin plates and cups ready for washing. The Brookhavens had retired to their stagecoach for an after supper nap, and Lulu and Betsy were still sitting on their log, talking quietly.

"No, Mr. Callahan, I mean it." Dusty shifted nervously, tugged at the chinstrap of his hat, trying to catch Betsy's eye but at the same time scared in case she looked up and saw him. "You're the one who's supposed to yell at me. Not the other way around."

"Dusty." Mr. Callahan straightened up. "Really, it's okay. I know why you did it. You were upset because Betsy was upset. I probably would have done the same in your position. Let's just forget it, okay?"

Dusty thought about it for a moment. "You would have?" He said finally. "You would have done the same? You would have yelled at yourself?"

"No, I would have yelled at you."

Dusty frowned. "Why would you have yelled at me? I didn't do anything."

"No, Dusty...I would have yelled at you if you had yelled...no, that's not right. I would have yelled at me, if you..." Mr. Callahan shook his head. He was already confused. "Dusty, why don't you go help Andy with the plates?"

Ever obliging, and even more so because he needed to make it up to Mr. Callahan for yelling at him, Dusty went off to help Andy wash up.

"Is everything okay now, Dusty?" Andy asked, up to his elbows in a bucket of warm sudsy water.

"Yeah. I think so," Dusty replied, picking up a worn dish towel to help with the drying.

"Mr. Callahan thinks we might get an extra day's camp tomorrow," Andy continued brightly, handing Dusty a wet plate. "Seeing as Betsy's been unwell and it'll likely be just as hot. He thinks it'll be a good idea to let her rest while we stock up on fresh water and just relax a little. I was thinking of maybe going fishing, if you'd care to join me?"

"Sure," Dusty shrugged. "Sounds like a good idea. I guess an extra day's camp wouldn't hurt." He chanced a look at Betsy again and was caught off guard by the fact that this time she was looking back at him. He fumbled the wet plate in his hands and dropped it into the dirt. "Darn," he muttered bending to retrieve it. "Sorry, Andy."

"It's okay, Dusty," Andy said sympathetically. "I'd probably be the same if I felt about her the way you do."

Dusty blinked as he handed over the dirty plate. He was shocked that Andy had brought the subject up so easily. "But you don't feel the same way about her as I do, right?" he said, unsure of the answer he might get.

"No," Andy smiled warmly, reassuringly. "I don't. Betsy's a dear friend, Dusty, but that's all she is. A friend."

Dusty didn't know why he felt so relieved to hear that.

# # # #

At around eight o'clock the next morning while Andy fried salted bacon for breakfast and Dusty, having fed and watered Freckles, brewed a fresh pot of coffee, Mr. Callahan officially announced that they would be camping for another day to give Betsy a chance to rest. Betsy protested, but the wagonmaster held his hand up and stopped her. "No, Betsy, that's very noble of you, but I've decided. Besides, the horses could also do with the rest," he grinned like a big, good-natured bear, "and so could I."

The Brookhavens were delighted at the prospect of lazing around for a whole day.

"Oh, Carter. This means we can have Elevenses at a proper table," said Mrs. Brookhaven.

"And an afternoon nap under a shady tree," sighed Mr. Brookhaven.

"And High Tea from a proper tea service!"

"And another afternoon nap under a shady tree!"

"And then it'll be time for bed," muttered Mr. Callahan out of the side of his mouth, making Andy and Lulu laugh.

Andy dished up biscuits and bacon. "Well, in that case, Dusty and I are going fishing. I believe there's salmon in that river, and I aim to try and catch me one."

"Are you sure?" said Dusty, pouring out the coffee. "Salmon? That means we can have fresh fish!"

"That'll make a change from this chewy old boot leather," said Lulu, picking at the bacon with her fingernails.

"We'll need to find some bait," said Andy, becoming more enthusiastic by the minute. "I'm sure we can find some grubs or worms or something. Even if we have to use bits of our own breakfast."

Lulu chewed and chewed, then pulled the masticated lump of dry bacon gristle out of her mouth. "Here. You can have this," she offered.

"Ah, no thanks, Lulu," Andy grinned.

While Andy and Lulu bantered about the taste and texture of their breakfast bacon and Mr. Callahan sat on the other log chatting to the Brookhavens, Dusty noticed Betsy get up and head towards the wagon. He drank his own coffee for a few moments, staring into space and wondering what to do. Then he hefted a sigh. Why shouldn't he go and talk to Betsy? She wasn't a leper taking to her sick bed.

He got up, stretched his arms and shoulders and rolled his head to ease the kinks in his neck. He walked breezily and confidently, (he hoped) past the others, daring anyone to say anything to stop him. But no-one did. After last night, he guessed they were probably too nervous in case he yelled at them.

He reached the back of the wagon. Betsy was inside, folding up her bed things and humming softly to herself, a tune he couldn't make out, although it sounded very nice.

"Hi Betsy," he said, startling her.

"Oh! Hello, Dusty," she smiled, putting her hand on her chest as though he'd given her a heart attack. "I didn't know you were there."

"I wasn't," he replied. "Well, I am now, but I wasn't. I mean, I wasn't when you thought I was. I mean, I just got here." He grinned goofily.

"Silly," Betsy laughed. "Well, as you can see, I was just making some room in here. Mr. Callahan may be giving us a day off, but I'm certainly not going to spend the whole day lying around in bed." She blushed suddenly, realising she'd just said the word 'bed' in front of Dusty, and indeed was holding her rolled up bed blanket in both arms.

"Me and Andy are going fishing," Dusty said, trying to ignore the fact that she'd just said the word 'bed' in front of him.

"I know, Dusty, I was there when you said it."

"Oh. Yeah, that's right. You were."

"For salmon, right?"

"That's what Andy says. I guess I don't know too much about fishin', same as I don't know too much about anything."

"You know how to make good coffee," Betsy smiled. "And you know how to look after Freckles."

And you certainly know how to kiss me.

"Okay, so I guess I know how to do two things."

"Three things," Betsy said shyly. "Only I didn't say the other one out loud."

"Make biscuits?" Dusty said, puzzled. "Tie a clove hitch? Oh, no...wait...I don't know how to tie a clove hitch."

"No, Dusty. Think."

Dusty shrugged, his eyes darting left to right as he thought hard. "Milk a cow?" He asked.

"Dusty! How would I know whether you knew how to milk a cow?" Betsy laughed.

"I don't know how to milk a cow," Dusty confessed. "I tried once but it went in my eye. Oh! I know what I can do. I can set traps."

"Yes, you can set traps, that's true. But that isn't what I was thinking about. I was thinking more about...well, you know." Betsy couldn't even bring herself to say it out loud. She hoped he'd see the way she was looking at him and get the message. Finally, when he looked just as puzzled as ever, she invited him inside.

Still trying to think of what the third thing was that she thought he could do, Dusty clambered into the wagon, careful not to step on any of the girls' possessions. There were items of Lulu's everywhere. If he stepped on her silver hand mirror, he knew there would be big trouble. "Did you want me to help you with anything?" he asked, wondering why the girls needed so many trinkets. Surely it just meant more items to lose?

"Haven't you guessed what the third thing is?" Betsy said, hoping she wasn't going to have to spell it out.

"Play checkers?"

"Dusty, you're not very good at checkers."

"Flip a coin so it lands heads up?" Dusty gave a resigned shrug. "I don't know, Betsy, I've gone through all the things I don't know how to do. I give up."

Betsy put the blanket down and crossed the already very small gap between them until there was no gap between them at all. "Can you guess now?" She whispered, lifting her hands to his chest, pressing her fingertips into the fabric of his shirt.

"Um..." Dusty blinked, his mind going vague as her face drew closer to his and he felt her warm breath on his neck. "Um...I know...I can do a turkey impression."

Betsy laughed softly. "I've seen it. It's very impressive. But don't do it now. Well, Dusty, if you really can't guess, then I'll just have to remind you." She pulled his head towards hers, looping her arms around his neck and drawing him into a warm, gentle kiss.

Dusty was in heaven. He knew his need for Betsy's company was no longer entirely innocent and he knew he'd only followed her to the wagon for just this very reason, in the hopes that he might be able to steal a kiss. He put his arms gently around her waist and held her close but not too close, careful not to compromise her dignity or act in any way in an ungentlemanly fashion.

"There," Betsy breathed after their lips finally parted. "Can you guess now?"

Dusty gazed into her beautiful eyes, marvelling at the length of her eyelashes. "Count backwards from fifty?" he asked.

"Now, Dusty, you really are being silly," she scolded.

"You're right," he grinned lazily. "I can't even count backwards from ten."

# # # #

Later that morning, Andy stood in the clearing showing off the fishing rod he kept stowed under the wagon but for some reason hadn't had the chance to use yet. Mr. Callahan was admiring it, and the two men were having a conversation about fishing and the best ways to catch particular types of fish. It didn't sound to Dusty as though either of them were experts, but it was still more than he knew, so he took their word for it that everything they said held a modicum of truth.

Lulu, however, was sceptical. "They all have their stories about 'the one that got away'," she drawled, hovering on the outskirts of the conversation. "Most of the time it got away cause they were too lazy or too drunk to care."

"Are you into fishin', Lulu?" asked Dusty, impressed at the showgirl's knowledge.

"I wasn't talkin' about fishin'," she retorted, and drifted off to find something else to do.

"Dusty, I know I said we'd go fishing together," Andy said, a huge smile lighting up his sunny features, "but I'm so anxious to get started I thought I'd take some of this bacon down to the river right now and get a line cast while it's still early. Would you do me a favour and find me some live bait if you could? Some grubs or worms or anything? I know you like exploring the surroundings every time we make camp, I just thought maybe you'd be good at finding me some bait. Then you can come down and join me and try to catch yourself a fish."

Dusty thought about this, then shrugged and grinned widely. "Sure, Andy. I'll bet I can find you the biggest, fattest grubs you ever saw in your whole life. I'll bring you some bugs the size of your head. I'll find you the creepiest crawlies, the squishiest beetles, the longest, ugliest worms. I'll..."

"Dusty, will you quit it?" groaned Lulu. "As if it ain't bad enough I got all that undigested bacon in me. You want me to bring it all back up?"

"Sorry Lulu. Hey, you want to help me?"

"Ugh, no thanks," Lulu retorted. "Do I look like a girl who goes around picking up creepy crawlies? Although, thinkin' about it..." She laughed heartily. "I guess I have known worse insects in my time."

Andy gathered his fishing equipment plus a large pail for anything he might catch, and set off towards the river, whistling a happy tune and promising everyone fresh salmon for supper.

Mr. Callahan watched the young man go, marvelling at Andy's relentless enthusiasm. "Well, little pal, I don't know about you, but I'm getting' hungry already," the big man grinned, turning to Dusty. "Fresh cooked salmon. Mmmm-mmm."

"Don't you worry, Mr. Callahan," Dusty said happily. "I'll find Andy some of the best live bait, and then we'll all have three salmon each!"

# # # #

"Where are you going, Dusty?" asked Betsy, putting down her sewing when she saw her friend setting off for the surrounding trees with a bucket and a shovel.

"I'm going to find Andy some live bait," Dusty told her. "For fishing. Want to come?"

"Live bait?" Betsy pulled a face. "You mean, like worms and things?"

"Yeah. Guess that means no, huh? Darn. Lulu didn't want to come either. Guess it's just not a girl thing."

"Wait, Dusty," Betsy said, getting up from the trunk she was sitting on. "I'm not scared of worms. I'll come with you." Any chance to spend a bit of time with you, she thought. Even though the thought of wiggly worms is quite disgusting.

"Gee, thanks, Betsy," Dusty beamed. "Guess that makes you braver than Lulu." He waited for her to catch up with him, then they both set off for the trees. "I won't make you pick up any worms, don't worry," he told her. "You can find a rock or something to sit on and watch. I know girls don't like bugs. One time Augusta Mayhew tried to push me in a mud puddle so I put this big, black beetle about this long, down the back of her dress. Boy, she screamed the whole neighborhood down."

"I must say, Dusty, I really don't like the sound of those girls you used to hang around with," said Betsy. "They sound worse than boys!"

"Oh, they were, Betsy, they were. They were rough like boys but they screamed and yelled like girls. I hated 'em. They weren't soft and sweet and gentle, like I bet you were when you were little."

"Oh, Dusty," Betsy smiled, blushing shyly. "My mother would have had something to say if I went around behaving like a boy! I had to behave myself impeccably at all times!"

"Augusta Mayhew's mother had six other kids to take care of," Dusty said, swinging his bucket and kicking over stones in the hopes he might find some grubs. "Augusta was always out in the street."

"I would never let any of my children behave in that way," Betsy declared. "I mean, if I ever do have children. That is, I'd like to have children, of course! Some day. When I'm married. If I ever do get married."

"I'm sure you will get married, Betsy," Dusty said, scuffing his boot in the dirt. "What guy wouldn't want to be married to you? And I know you'd make a good mom. I can tell."

"Why, Dusty! What a lovely thing to say," Betsy felt her face light up at his words. "Do you really think I'd make a good mom?"

"Of course I do," Dusty replied. "You love kids."

"Oh, Dusty, I dream about it," Betsy said happily. "I dream of a lovely little house with a white picket fence and a little boy and girl setting off for school in the mornings with their packed lunches and bookbags and maybe a little swing seat on the porch where I can sit and drink lemonade and wait for them to come home. And my husband will be a handsome, hard working man who..." she stopped suddenly, realising that this was a long-held fantasy of hers that he didn't need to hear. "I'm sorry, Dusty. It's just a dream I've had for a long time. It doesn't mean I wouldn't..." What? Settle for less? She couldn't say that to him. Besides, who said she'd be settling for less? Dusty wasn't less. And what was she thinking about marrying Dusty for? He hadn't even asked her, and he probably had no intentions of asking her!

Oh, Betsy, get those thoughts out of your head. If a man thinks you've got marriage on your mind, he'll run a mile in the opposite direction!

"I'm sorry, Dusty," she said quietly. "I'm babbling."

"No you're not," Dusty reassured her. "You always make sense, Betsy. In fact, you talk the most sense out of anyone, except for maybe Mr. Callahan. I always listen to you."

"Oh, Dusty, you're so very sweet," she said, feeling a sudden urge to hold his hand and wishing he wasn't holding so tightly to that stupid bucket.

Dusty forged ahead, the bucket swinging back and forth. "I'm gonna start digging around here," he decided. "I think this is where I'll find a lot of worms. You might want to find someplace to sit down, Betsy. How about that flat stone over there."

"All right, Dusty, good luck," she smiled, gathering up her skirts and sitting down on the stone he'd indicated.

Dusty set the bucket down and took hold of the shovel in both hands. He raised it above his head and brought it down to the ground with a hard whack, digging it at least three inches into the dirt. He put his boot on it and pushed it in even further, loosening the soil and tearing up a huge clod. Underneath, in the resulting hole, lots of creepy crawlies scurried for cover. Dusty bent and extracted some long worms and a couple of beetles while Betsy squealed, even though she'd promised herself she wouldn't.

"Oh, Dusty, just the worms, not those other horrible things," she begged. "Worms won't escape, but those things have legs!"

"I guess you're right. Just worms," Dusty nodded in agreement. "They'll stick easier on the hooks, anyway."

Betsy pulled a face. Bugs and worms and fishing hooks weren't her thing at all.

Dusty pulled worm after worm out of the ground. He moved around with his shovel, pulling up chunks of the surrounding earth, finding more and more worms. Andy was going to be delighted.

After a little while, he felt something bite the back of his calf, just above the top of his boot. He swatted absently at his leg, scratching at it with the tip of his other boot. After another moment he felt another tiny nip. Then he saw a huge worm and got distracted by it, pulling it out of the ground and setting to work digging another hole.

Betsy was looking around at the trees, trying to stifle a most unladylike yawn. She enjoyed being with Dusty, but not when he was as preoccupied as this. If he'd been sitting on the stone with her and kissing her it might have been different, but as it was, he was so busy digging up worms like some eleven year old kid that he'd stopped talking to her altogether. She considered telling him that she was going back to camp to continue with her sewing. She looked over to where he was. He was rubbing one boot against the back of his other leg.

"Dusty, are you all..." Betsy gasped, leaping to her feet. "Dusty! Dusty, you're covered in ants!"

"What?" Dusty seemed to snap back from some distant place and looked down at himself. His eyes widened as he realised that his legs were swarming with red and black ants and there were even some crawling their way up his shirt. He let out an ear piercing yell and began tearing at his clothes. His hat went flying as he hauled his shirt over his head, pulled his gun belt off, kicked off his boots and began removing his chaps and jeans, shouting and yelling the whole time, brushing at his legs, shaking the ants off his arms, shaking them out of his hair and hopping up and down on one foot as he got rid of all his ant covered clothes.

Betsy didn't know where to look. Dusty was shedding his clothes at an alarming rate. "The river!" she cried. "Dusty, get down to the river, get in the water!"

"Okay," he agreed, desperately tugging at his longjohns.

"Now, Dusty! Get!"

Dusty needed no further encouragement. He turned tail and bolted back through the trees, still yelling, now feeling the itchy, stinging nip and stab of ant bites all over his body. By the time he reached camp his longjohns were half off. Mr. Brookhaven had to put his hands firmly over his wife's eyes so that she couldn't see the ghastly spectacle that was unfolding in front of them.

"Dusty! What the...?" Mr. Callahan exclaimed. When he saw the ants swarming all over his little pal he gasped in horror.

"Mr. Callahan, I need to get down to the river!" Dusty howled, hopping on one ant bitten leg, tugging his longjohns clean off and sprinting away stark naked in the direction of the cool, soothing water, scratching wildly at his torso as he went.

"Well!" declared Lulu. "I've seen some sights in my time."

"My poor little pal," Mr. Callahan winced. "That's got to be hurting."

# # # #

Andy stood alone on the river bank, glad of some peace and tranquillity at last. He was sure there were salmon in there, but it was important that the fish remain undisturbed. It was such a beautiful morning, warm and calm and perfect for a nice, gentle bit of relaxing fishing. He pictured the looks on everyone's faces when he came back to camp with a pail full of shiny, fat salmon.

Such wonderful peace. Such lovely tranquillity.

The lovely tranquillity was promptly shattered by an almighty banshee-like howling as a naked figure hurtled down the bank and streaked past him straight into the river with great ungainly strides, splashing water everywhere and soaking him from head to foot. He let out an exasperated moan of displeasure. Dusty. Who else would it be? No-one else on earth would have done what Dusty just did. And for what reason? For what possible reason had Dusty just raced naked and screaming down the bank and into the river, only to disturb all the fish so that Andy would never catch anything now?

"Ants!" yelled Dusty without being asked. "I'm covered in millions of ants!"

"Oh, my God, Dusty! Are you all right?" Andy felt immediately ashamed of himself for thinking that Dusty had been fooling around.

"They're biting me!" Dusty howled. "Everywhere!"

"Oh, Dusty! Just don't scratch, promise me you won't scratch! I've got formula for ant bites in my medicine chest. Just don't scratch, you'll break the skin. I've got stuff that will stop the itching."

Poor Dusty looked so desperate for relief that Andy dropped his fishing rod without a second thought and ran back towards camp to get his medicine and a towel and some fresh clothes for Dusty.

Dusty rubbed and rubbed to get the drowning ants off his body. He sluiced water through his hair- he wasn't a confident enough swimmer to submerge his head completely. At least they'd stopped biting once he was in the water, but now there were red spots appearing all over his thighs and stomach. Don't scratch, he told himself. Don't scratch!

When Andy returned, Mr. Callahan and Betsy were with him.

"No, Betsy!" Dusty moaned. He didn't want Betsy of all people, to see him covered in ant bites.

"Oh, Dusty, I just wanted to make sure you were all right!" Betsy cried. "I was so worried about you! Oh, Dusty, how awful!"

Andy was holding up a bottle of some kind of greenish liquid. "This will stop the itching," he called. "It negates the effects of formic acid, which is what ant bites are made out of."

"I guess you could say it's an ant-idote," Mr. Callahan chuckled, composing himself when nobody else laughed and instead all looked at him sternly.

"I'm not coming out of the river naked in front of Betsy," Dusty said mournfully.

"Betsy, dear, perhaps you should go back to camp," Mr. Callahan grinned, though not unkindly. "After all, a man's dignity is at stake here. Not that Dusty has much of that left after what's already happened."

# # # #

That afternoon, while the Brookhavens snoozed and Mr. Callahan and Andy were back at the river fishing and Lulu was sitting under a tree sorting out her make up bags and jewelry collection, Betsy sat beside Dusty who was lying in the back of the wagon in his undershirt with a blanket wrapped loosely around him, his body coated in foul smelling ant potion.

"You didn't have to sit with me, Betsy," he said in a small, pathetic voice. "Not the way I smell. It's worse than the time I got sprayed by a skunk!"

"It's not that bad, Dusty," she smiled. "Besides, it stopped the itching. That means the bites will heal without getting infected."

"I guess so," Dusty conceded. "Boy, do I feel like an idiot. Everyone saw me naked."

"I didn't." Betsy blushed.

"You're lucky," Dusty said ruefully.

"Your clothes have all been washed," Betsy said brightly. "We got all the ants out. Even your hat and boots are ant free."

"Thanks, Betsy. You're the best."

Betsy treated him to a dazzling smile. "You know I'd do anything for you, Dusty."

Dusty pulled the blanket a little closer around his shoulders. If he didn't look at the ant bites, he could pretend they weren't even there. The worst ones were on his legs, but Andy had said even those would be gone within days if he kept applying the green potion. "It's nice in the wagon," he said. "Beats sleeping outside on the ground."

"It's such a shame you always have to sleep outside," Betsy said, offering him a drink of water.

"I gotta sleep outside," he shrugged. "I'm a man."

Their eyes met. Betsy leaned down and kissed him softly.

Dusty snaked one arm out of the blanket and ran his fingers slowly through her hair.

Betsy sighed. "You still haven't guessed the third thing you were good at," she smiled, stroking his face.

Dusty thought hard again, screwing up his face in concentration. Finally he looked as though he had the answer.

"Gee, Betsy. Was it getting bitten by ants?" he grinned.

# # # #