Gripping the stallion’s mane for dear life, Smith rode into the night as though devils were after him. As he heard thundering hoofbeats of another horse coming closer, he shouted over his shoulder, “Is that you, Bonita?”
Lit by the moonlight, another rider drew alongside him. Smith looked around, and his jaw dropped. Dark-haired Yaquita was mounted on a dun horse with heavy saddlebags behind the cantle. She wore Bonita’s riding habit and top hat with the white scarf. Her radio-guitar was strapped to her back, bouncing as she rode along.
“Oh, uh, hi, Yaquita.”
She turned her head to him in a rage, raised her riding crop and brought it down across his back with a vicious whack. “That’ll teach you to cheat on me! And with a green-eyed blonde yet!”
Though Smith could hear the thunder of ca
