Two months passed, from a hot April to an even hotter June. Karen was pumping water from the well, wearing a white sleeveless shirt and one of the short, mid-thigh length white skirts she had made for herself. It would not have been appropriate to wear in town, or even there at the farm, had anyone lived there with her.

But she was alone, miles from anyone. No one visited her, unless there was some emergency at a neighbor's place. Living like that, during the hot summer days, she had elected to dress for comfort, rather that tradition.

She saw a buckboard moving along toward the house, and was surprised. The wagon was still too far away for her to see the driver. She briefly considered changing, and decided against it. Whoever he was, he would be embarrassed to see her in such clothing and would leave quickly. She returned to the house and poured the water into a pitcher and into the pan she used to wash her dishes.

She put down the empty pail and returned outside. She was surprised
to see Yolanda stepping down from the buckboard. The Romany woman was wearing short pants. They were black and ended at the tops of her thighs. She wore a sleeveless blue floral blouse, with the red sash still around her head.

The two women studied each other. Then Yolanda laughed. "I like your skirt", she said.

"Where did you get those pants?" Karen asked.

"I made them."

"They look very comfortable."

"They are." The gypsy's smile was blinding.

Karen straightened as their eyes met, with the full force of their will. She sensed a stiffness in Yolanda as well. "What are you doing here? This place still isn't for sale."

Without a word, Yolanda drew a line in the dirt with the toe of her shoe, stepping across it with her right foot. She had kept her eyes locked with Karen's, waiting.

Karen felt the same sense of excitement that she had in the casino. She stepped forward, not crossing the line with her left foot, but placing the heel of her right foot against the heel of Yolanda's. She felt the calf muscles of the gypsy tense against her own. She flexed her own in return. The thighs, pressed side by side, were both hard, like rock. The two women locked eyes again, hating each other, moving together so that each felt the outside of the other's right breast against their own. And they felt the
trembling excitement of the other, each breath pressing them closer together.

Simultaneously, each lifted her right hand to just above head level, interlocking their fingers together, gazing at each other, challenging each other, through the crooks of their arms. Once more, each felt the spirit of the other, then the hands rose to full extension of their arms and each began to strain to bend back the fingers of the other. They could no longer see each other's eyes, blocked by their extended arms.

Karen and Tamara had removed their skirts and were standing, facing each other in petticoats, ready to begin.

"This will not work with an opponent of a different height," Tamara had said. "The arms must touch from the bottom of the shoulder up, until one woman begins to fail the test. The test is won in stages, with the fingers forcing the weaker wrist back, then the arms coming apart, until finally the stronger woman forces the other to her knees.

"You will not see the other's eyes when the test begins, but the hatred will be revealed beforehand. There is more touching of the bodies, and more intimacy. You will feel every breath, every movement. When her breast hardens with the excitement of the battle, you will know it, as she will with you. You will feel the muscles of the underarm, the legs. Your hatred will become more intense. For you and I now it will be difficult to stop, as it will be harder for each contest, as our spirits meld more and more. We will do this on the left side." She had looked at Karen without smiling. "Are you ready to begin?"

Karen had nodded and watched as Tamara drew the line in the dirt and placed her left foot across. Their eyes met as Karen responded and they fit their bodies together, leg against leg, thigh against thigh, breast against breast. She felt Tamara's spirit meet and challenge her own as their hands interlocked, feeling the excitement in the other woman, the hard breathing as breast swelled against breast, for both of them. Their arms rose and each felt the trembling muscles of the other, before their contest began. Their strength locked and held for a full five minutes before Tamara called the contest off, remembering why they were there.

And, again, Karen felt the disappointment, the lack of completion. And when she looked into Tamara's eyes, she saw the same hunger there.

Now, though, she and Yolanda were locked in their hatred, giving it full vent as they each knew they would fight to the finish.

Neither wore anything under her blouse and each could feel the sweat building underneath. Each felt the hot skin of the other, pressing her breast ever harder against the other. The leg muscles hardened ever more as the hatred between the two women grew. They grunted loudly, like animals, alone with each other and their test.

Yolanda was astonished at the depth of the hatred between them. She had fought hard tests before, yet never had she ever felt such a strong spirit. She had never lost a test before, yet now she felt as though she was being pushed beyond her limits. The sweat and the pressure between them had caused their breasts to slide. She felt Karen's nipple alongside her own, feeling it stiffen in the new contact, feeling her own answer the new challenge, as her hatred, and her excitement grew. Everything about them was geared to test each other, she thought. Even their breasts.

Slowly, she felt the blonde's hand giving way, the strength waning against hers. Up to now it had taken ten minutes, though she was certain that it had been at least half an hour. She felt Karen's hand strengthen, accompanied by a sob of pain and effort, and she held her advantage, though not without a similar cry of her own. Karen's arm separated from hers, bending against the pressure of the Romany woman's strength. They locked eyes once more and Yolanda was astonished at the agony on her rival's face, never dreaming that her own agony appeared just as intense. She felt Karen's breast stiffen, the leg hardening as the hatred grew even more with the eye contact, and the arms actually began to close once more. Breast heaved against breast and the two women screamed as the last of their reserves went into the struggle.

Once more the arms separated. Karen's knees buckled as the other woman's strength overcame her own. Their breasts separated as the blonde began to sink. Karen's hatred grew as she was slowly, agonizingly forced to her knees. Both women sobbed with the last effort as their test of strength ended.

Karen rose and stared deeply into Yolanda's eyes. They knew it wasn't over yet.

"I better get back to town," Yolanda said.

Karen shook her head. "Stay for a while. There's no rush. We'll get your horse put away and get some food. It will probably take both of us. I think only one of my hands will work."

Dinner had been an excellent stew. Afterward, Karen opened a bottle of whiskey and they sat in the main room, drinking and talking, recovering from the afternoon's activities.

They were both well-intoxicated when Karen asked how Yolanda had come west.

"On a wagon train, much like the one you were on, I suppose. I was a young girl, but my mother, who really wanted me to become the queen, began training my spirit early. She seemed scared of me as it grew, which surprised me, because my mother was the strongest woman I knew. Until I faced the queen. Then I found out what strength was. My duel with her took over an hour." She looked over at Karen. "You may be even stronger than she was."

Karen smiled tightly and rose from her chair. Something in her expression made Yolanda rise as well. "I'm the strongest woman you'll ever meet," Karen said, slurring the words.

Yolanda's arms rose slightly, defensively, at her sides as Karen took a step toward her. Karen's hands rose as well, but she stopped as their bodies made contact, breast against breast.

Neither woman moved or looked away. Nipples pressed together and their fingertips touched. The contact was electric and both women were suddenly cold sober. Their eyes flashed.

"I hate you," Karen said.

"No more than I hate you," Yolanda replied.

"Only one of us can be the stronger. I'll test your strength any time."

Yolanda felt the trembling in their breasts and their fingertips. They had pressed closer together. She felt rock-hard thighs against her own. "And the spirit?"

"That's a big part of it. Perhaps the biggest."