Southern Wyoming was a forsaken place in 1842. A few small homesteads, with houses made of hand hewn logs with dirt floors, seemed strewn erratically through the land. Desperate farmers tried to cut out a meager life for themselves from working the dry, barren land. Tom Garner was one of those men. He stood 5 foot 7 and weighed in at around 160 pounds. Not a big man by any standard, but strong as an ox he was. Now, at age thirty-four, he had been working this land for about 7 years. In that time, he built his small one room home, a three-sided makeshift barn, and, of course, the outhouse. His land sat in a little valley about 19 miles east of the small town of Hanna. It was a good day's ride to town, so Tom did not make the trip often. Rising hillsides, covered with scrub oak and small stands of poplars, surrounded his home. His main meat source was deer and an occasional elk, if he was lucky. Vegetables were grown in the small garden he had scratched out of the dusty earth. He raised a single cow, a sturdy old plow horse, and had a few chickens that ran freely through the arid farm. The closest water source was a small lake some distance away.
The lake, which was surrounded by a rocky shoreline, had trees on one side that crept sparsely down to the clear waters of the hidden lake's edge. Tom would hitch his water wagon up to his old mare, travel down to the water's edge, and hand pump water into the large container on the wagon. It was a full day getting there and back with his load. His captured water was used sparingly to drink, bathe, and water the animals and vegetables in the garden. It had become a weekly trip.
About two years ago, Tom met a woman over in Hanna. Emma was a beautiful girl, in her twenties and single. She stood another two inches taller than Tom. Her dark hair curled beyond her shoulders and bounced about her back. Brown eyes smiled at you when she talked. She was trim, with a full bust that formed an intoxicating cleavage at her neckline. Tom fell in love with her immediately. Although Hanna was a day's ride from his farm, he made the trip just to see her several times. He finally asked her to marry him, which she happily accepted. A small ceremony was quietly done by the local sheriff.
Now, Emma often made the water trip with him. Once there, she liked to hike to the far side of the little lake and bathe in the cool crystal clear water near the trees, while Tom was busy filling the wagon. After Tom finished the chore, he would too dive in and rinse the dust and sweat from himself. The two of them would share a late lunch before heading back home.
On one their water days, the scorching hot sun made the dusty trip to the lake miserable. Tom and Emma could hardly wait to refresh themselves in the cool water. Once there, Tom unhooked the mare from the wagon and led her to the water to drink. Emma grabbed a blanket and her homemade bar of lye and lavender soap from the wagon, then followed the path around to the lake's edge on the far side. She knew Tom would be busy for at least an hour. This was her time to get cleaned up and relax.
She picked the same spot she always went to. The rocks made a natural staircase into the crystal clear water. A fallen tree lay into the water, making a natural place to hang her clothes. After dropping the small blanket to the ground, she stripped down to her camisole and petticoat, placed her shoes and dress on the trunk of a fallen tree, and then waded into the cold water. When she was waist deep, she stripped off her remaining garments and laid them over a nearby branch of the tree. Walking out further, she waded till her breasts floated in the coolness, causing her rosy nipples to stiffen into hard crinkled nubs. She could see her feet through the clear water. Her dark patch of pubic hair stood out against the whiteness of her skin. She began to wash herself.
Matt Crowley was a drifter, never staying in one place for more than a month or so. He worked odd jobs, usually as a helping hand, then would move on when he got tired of a place. Some said that he was a hired gun. Others saw him as just a wanderer, offering no harm to others.
He had been traveling north from Colorado when he heard the whinny of a horse. Cautiously, he slid from the saddle and tied the reins to a branch of a long dead tree. He carefully drew his revolver, then slowly made his way up the hill towards the horse's sound.
Arriving at the top of the hill, he looked down and saw a man pumping water into a wagon on the far side of the lake. The man's horse was tied on a long lead to a tree near the water's edge. Matt searched around the man for a gun, but saw none.
"Where the Hell he come from?" flashed through Matt's head. "There ain't no town nowhere nears here."
He squatted down behind a rock and watched the far side of the small lake. A moment later, he heard a splashing sound closer to him. Unable to see where it came from, he slowly moved down the hill, hiding behind the few trees and large rocks.
"Holy damn!" he whispered to himself, seeing the naked woman washing herself in the crystal clear water. Her back was towards him. The long dark hair, wet from the lake, clung to her shoulders and back. As his eyes drifted downward on her body, he saw her small waistline widen to her soft round butt. The water rippled, making it look like she was shaking her beautiful ass.
"Fuck! Who are they?" questioning himself. Matt glanced up to see that the man pumping water was still busy and looked back down below him.
The woman had turned, reaching for her undergarments. A firm breast raised from the water, a hard nipple jutting out.
Matt felt the swelling in his trousers. "NO!" his panicked mind screamed. "Don't get dressed!"
The woman lowered the garments into the water, scrubbed at the dusty soiled items, and then returned them to the branch to dry. She turned, facing squarely towards Matt. Her large round breasts hung slightly out of the water, both nipples stiff from the coldness.
Matt gulped. He could see a dark patch of hair just under the water.
With soap in hand, she reached between her legs and ran her hands up her inner thighs, washing the smooth white flesh. Then her fingers slipped into the folds of her womanhood, cleansing herself in the clear water. Her hands traveled around her hips, spreading her butt cheeks and washed between them. She dunked down and scrubbed at her armpits and breasts, rinsed her body of all the soap, then stood.
