Hell of a Horse

by Barbara Neville

“Cha’a was here,” he says. “Táági and Ma’cho drawn to here.”

  She looks unconvinced. “You mean, you were drawn to this spot because she had been here?”

  “Ma’cho say.”

  She looks confused.

  I laugh. “He knows how to talk like us, just refuses.”

  Ma’cho grins.

  “Sometimes,” she says. “I can’t bloody follow him.”

  “Ma’cho talk. You’ll get used to it,” I say, waving a dismissive hand. “He’s an obstinate Injin.”

  “Billy Red Bone sit there,” says Ma’cho, nodding toward the adjacent table. “Watch you three, tell us about you. We were here next night.”

  “So close,” I say.

  “One day slow,” he says.

  “You can’t say ‘one day behind’?” Zastee asks.

  He grins.

  “If you tease him about it,” I say. “He leaves out even more words.”

  Ma’cho says something to Góshé in Apache, then has to explain a couple of the words. They chuckle.

  “Him, too?” I ask.

  “Góshé learn Apache,” says Ma’cho.

  I hold up my palms and say, “I’ve been remiss in my language studies.”

  Bigan and Güero arrive with trays of snacks and a pitcher of beer.

  Ma’cho relates what Billy said.

  “Damn, I never noticed him watchin’,” I say.

  “He was blithering, mumbling to himself,” says Zastee. “Fumbling the cards as he played. Drunk on his ass, it seemed.”

  I nod.

  “A clever man,” says Ma’cho.

  “He started to talk to us in Albuquerque,” says Zastee. “Then, those bastards from Raton showed up. We had to flee.”

  Ma’cho nods. “He said you go west, maybe. But, his feeling is east. Why I come.”

  “Why Táági would go west,” says Güero.

  “Mm hm. West not covered,” says Ma’cho.

  “But, where?” I ask.

  Their heads all swivel to look at me.

  “Crap,” I say, covering my eyes. “It’s not my job to know.”

  “Not job,” says Ma’cho. “Calling.”

  I concentrate, taking off my hat and massaging my scalp with all ten fingers in order to jump start my brain. All I get is hands full of wind tangled hair. “Fuck me.”

  “Relax babe,” says Bigan, topping us up. “Have more beer.”

  Güero touches my hand and says, “Inspiration arrives when ya ain’t lookin’.”

  After filling everyone’s mug, the kid sits by Ma’cho. Góshé crawls across into his lap. Bigan feeds him crackers and sardines. In a few minutes, the Dog boy is sound asleep.

  We talk, snack and visit for quite a while. Góshé wakes up, rubbing his eyes.

  He looks at Ma’cho and says, “You know the big guy?”

  Ma’cho nods.

  “He’s surfin’.”

  Ma’cho points west.

  “Yeah.”

  Ma’cho says, “West. Sunrise. We go.”

  “Might be faster to catch the train,” says Güero.

  Ma’cho looks unsure. He holds his thumb and fingers across his forehead shading his eyes. Thinking? Or feeling the universe around us, Injin style?

  After a bit, he looks slowly around at us all and says, “We speak to spirits, decide. Go, Ma’cho come later with herbs for ceremony.”

  “Ever’thin’s closed,” I say.

  “Fresh herbs, not store bought.”

  I slap my forehead. “I knew that.”

  104 Angus: Outgunned

  Angus has his hat pulled down low to shade his eyes and hide his blonde hair. Seems silly, he’s not the only blonde in the world. He is taller than most everyone though. Stands out in a crowd.

  He’s at the far end of the bar. As far as he can get from the batwing doors up front.

  His first good news was the crocodile boots. He found them in the livery stable. And reclaimed them. The toe tips alone gotta be worth fifty dollars.

  Harley’s boots. Jigger’s before that. Now, his again.

  It just felt like his luck had turned, getting the boots back. By golly, he liked them boots. What a deal to get them back like that. His god was smiling kindly on him from high above.

  And, now this.

  As Blondie and his bunch leave the bar, he leans over to his neighbor, who is resting his head on his arms, and slurs, “They was too many fer one man to handle. Next chance I get, they’re plumb dead.”

  The bleary-eyed gentleman turns his head to look at Angus, who is totally out of focus and says, “Huh?”

  Angus had come back to check on things.

  The snowpack is holding. It has compacted and melted some, but the cloudy weather here in the hills has slowed the spring thaw. There’s talk of cold, clear nights and cloudy days. So, the gold is stuck. Safe enough. He’s not really interested in bucking the snow for four more trips to pack it out on foot. A hundred-pound pack load through soft snow is a bitch.

  Angus decides call it a night. He chugs the rest of his ‘sober up’ beer, adjusts his hat and stands up, almost falling over his newly returned boots with the first step.

  He stumbles out the back door, three sheets to the wind, barely remembering the importance of avoiding Blondie and his heavily armed gang.

  They looked pretty damn ominous in their black leather dusters and dark Mexican style ponchos. Like professional pistoleros.

  Hell, the ponchos cover their gun rigs and their hands. Gives them a deadly edge.

  He heads for his hotel, almost too tired to walk.

  Next day he catches the train east, figuring to talk his kin into coming out to help clean up this mess. They’ll have to spend some of the gold to hire some real gunmen to help out.

  He has a few days to kill before the snow melts enough to be able to get the gold out. In the meantime, no one else can get in either.

  Them gals is still there in town. One good thing about the snow, he can tell no one has walked up the road to the workings in recent days.

  He sits in the back, so he can watch the other passengers. Soon, he’s staring out the window thinking of Harley. Then, another thought occurs to him.

  Shit, what if Blondie and them go up there while he’s gone and steal his gold?

  “Son of a sodbusting bastard.”

  He gets off at the next station and finds a friendly bar to think it over.

  Damn, he misses Harley. Plus, Pa’s dead. Kit’s terminally depressed over losing his hand. Shorty’s as old as the hills. His two cousins have disappeared off the map.

  Cripes. The whole damn family’s falling apart. And, the rest of the useless shit heads have turned into professional sodbusters. Bought mules, plows and everything. Plowing hard bottom clay. Bound to be poor the rest of their days.

  Hell, not him. He’s rich now. Money’s no object. He decides on a new plan.

  105 Táági: Re-turn

  Táági is heading east.

  He tells his seatmate, “I was headed for the bloody ocean. You know, just to look across it and say I’d seen the Grand Pacific. But, life threw a bloody wrench in the works.”

  “Do tell.”

  “When I got into bloody California, a pack of grungy bastards pulled their sixguns on me.”

  The buxom redhead smiles encouragingly.

  He reaches out and takes her hand, kissing the back of it.

  “Luckily, I was able to escape unscathed,” he says. “And such good fortune. I grabbed the next eastbound and, here you were, with a double berth booked. In bloody first class.”

  She grins.

  He revels in her expensive scent, carefully arranging her diamond necklace to hang just exactly in the center of her cleavage, and says, “I feel quite fortunate that you agreed to share, love.”

  “Oh, my, your accent is so exquisite,” she says, fanning herself with a hand painted paper fan. “I just adore you British people. Such a noble people, your Lordship.”

  �
��You’re very kind,” he says. “Shall we adjourn to the dining car for cocktails?”

  She reaches into her ample cleavage and pulls out a lace handkerchief, which she uses to daintily pat her brow.

  “Gladly, Lord Branahan.”

  “Buzz will do love, no need to rest on formality now that we are, shall we say, rather well acquainted?”

  She grins, holding a palm up belatedly to hide her demure smile. Dainty.

  He stands and offers an elbow.

  She blushes and takes it. They walk, she just ahead, toward the dining car.

  They find a plush table and sit to sip mint juleps in resplendent surroundings.

  Soon, the conductor shows up and says, “Lord Branahan, if you would be so kind. Lord Buckingham, the owner of the private coach, has asked that you and your lady friend join him in his parlor.”

  “What?” he asks. “Oh, yes, of course. So unexpected. Thank you, my good man, we shall retire there post haste.”

  He turns to his companion and says, “One wonders how such a thing occurred.”

  “Oh, that’s just dandy. Actually, I may have mentioned to the conductor to explain to His Lordship that you were a cousin of the Queen, Your Lordship. His Lordship must have fallen all over himself when he heard a fellow noble was aboard,” she says. “We’ll get the treatment you damn well deserve.”

  Yes, this beautiful woman is an accomplished gold digger. He takes her back to the private car and politely palms her off on Lord Buckingham. Hell, he might be a real noble.

  Táági debarks the next station, happily fingering the diamond bauble from her neck and the stack of bills he retrieved from her clutch when she was looking elsewhere.

  106 Cha’a: Kiss Marry Kill

  “You bloody well better kill me now, love, if you plan to.”

  I jerk awake. It’s Táági’s voice.

  I open slits of eyeball, slide my pistol out from under my saddle pillow and aim.

  Zastee’s bedroll is head to head, next to me. Ma’cho is sharing with me.

  The chilly night kept us all close around the fire.

  Zastee has her peashooter aimed at the big guy.

  “Best not,” I say, holding mine point blank. Not quite touching her ear.

  “No,” she says, lowering her gun and glancing over at me. “He surprised me. I didn’t know who he was the dark. I’ve no intention of…”

  “Easy to claim while I got you dead to rights,” I say.

  She slides her snubby back in her waistband and crawls out of the blankets.

  Táági pushes his poncho aside with his right hand, revealing the pistol in his left, which is aimed at her, also.

  “Good job, big guy,” I say.

  “I wouldn’t walk in among you crazy lot unarmed,” he says, grinning.

  I get up, wrapping a blanket over my naked skin to survive the frost, and get my just due. A warm and tender kiss and a pat on my shapely ass.

  Ma’cho appears up on the skyline and waves.

  Confused, I look over my shoulder at our bed. Oh, Ma’cho isn’t there anymore. Explains why he wasn’t the one offering to kill her.

  “I’ve got bloody coffee made already,” says Táági. “No one woke until I clinked two cups together. Short of Ma’cho, of course. The rest of you lot are heavy sleepers. Must have had a long day, what?”

  Táági passes me a cup.

  “So, big guy,” I ask, taking a second sigh of relief at seeing him, and stepping close for another smooch. “Is this our honeymoon?”

  “Not quite what one had in mind, but why bloody fucking not? There’s quite the unobstructed view here.” He swings his free arm to encompass the limitless horizon to our south.

  “Táági?” asks Góshé, walking over, rubbing a sleepy eye.

  “Hallo, rug rat,” says the big guy, leaning down to sweep the child up for a kiss. “Come, we’ll get coffee and go spell Ma’cho.”

  “Where’s Bigan?”

  “He’s here?” asks Táági, setting the boy down.

  “He was earlier, we…”

  “Blimey, don’t say it,” says Táági, covering his ears with his hands. “I bloody well know what you must have done. It’s all you two do.”

  “We like it.”

  “Blasted youngsters,” he says, picking Góshé up for another hug. “No bloody pacing.”

  “Gotta use it afore we lose it.”

  “Come,” he says, ignoring me, “young dog person, we’ll fry up some bacon.”

  “Bacon, yeah,” chirps Góshé. “I love bacon.”

  “Is there any food you don’t love?” I ask.

  The boy snickers.

  I dress, buttoning my duster up tight, and roll up my thin soogans. We’re still short of bedding. Who expects winter cold in May?

  I walk over to the smoke free side of the small blaze and rub my hands together to encourage blood flow.

  “Brr. Maybe the kid is out gathering more cow chips for the fire,” I say. “How about Güero?”

  “Haven’t seen either of them,” says Táági.

  After breakfast, Ma’cho and Z stand guard with Hoss while the Viking and I wander out into the low brush and get reacquainted.

  107 Cha’a: Disheveled

  “You’re all disheveled love,” says Táági. “You’ve been shagging someone else, eh?”

  I grin.

  “Maybe,” says Bigan, stepping up from behind the big guy. And overshadowing him with his breadth of muscle.

  “Aha, Bigan, of course. Always Johnny on the spot, what?”

  “Good to see you big guy,” says Bigan. “And good timing, she’s just about done me in.”

  “Middle aged at twenty, eh?”

  Bigan nods. “And going downhill fast.”

  “Bloody nice of you to lie like that.”

  They shake hands.

  “Youth paving the way for experience,” says Táági, patting him on the shoulder and turning back to me. “I’ll show you a bloody proper time, love.”

  Bigan scoffs.

  “Yeah,” I say, tilting an eye toward Bigan. “I could use an actual, proper shagging.”

  “Hah,” says Bigan. “As if we didn’t. Three times.”

  “Fourth’s the charm, brother,” says Táági, holding out an inviting hand. “Shall we have a trot, love?”

  I take it and off we go to the bushes.

  The handsome Viking lays his poncho out on the sod and we’re all set.

  108 Cha’a: A Spot of Bother

  Güero returns after dusk. We all eat and settle down for an evening of campfire stories.

  “Damn it,” I say.

  “What’s up darlin’?” asks Güero.

  “Left them crocodile boots next to my saddle, forgot to hide ’em. Someone walked off with the bastards.”

  “Hell, you didn’t exactly pay for ‘em yoreself.”

  “Spoils of war,” I say. “Had them silver toe tips.”

  “Sure, but no out of pocket expense, see?”

  “Yeah, I guess.” I toss a twig into the fire. “I never had no toe tips before.”

  Güero says, “You look mighty pensive, big guy.”

  “Memories, what? I was just remembering the first time I saw our Cha’a,” says Táági.

  Wolf raises an eyebrow.

  Táági glances at me, then back at the other guys.

  “It was just her and Lady Beverly there in that old cobwebby castle of hers, eh? Bev introduced us. I was caught.”

  “Caught?” says Ma’cho, with a gleam in his eye.

  “Quite. I took her hand, got down on a knee and asked. ‘Lady Beverly,’ I said, ‘will you do me the honor?’”

  Táági turns to me. “Her Ladyship, lovely older woman, said no. So, I asked this one out.” He aims a thumb at me. “No attraction, just horny, what?”

  I shake my head and hold my hands over my eyes. “Total lie,” I say.

  He lifts one of my hands lightly away, looks me in my exposed eye, and says, “She’s bee
n a spot of bother ever since.”

  I grin at him and say, “At least I got to see yore twelve-inch mutton dagger.”

  “Blast.”

  “Ma’cho see, too. So?” says the Injin.

  “Not impressed?” I ask.

  Ma’cho adjusts his crotch and says, “Thirteen is more.”

  “Seen it, too.”

  “Have another drink, love.” Táági tops off my hot toddy. “It’s a miracle we found you and a bloody treat to see you.”

  “Treat? No. It’s a duty, husbands.”

  Even the indomitable Ma’cho laughs.

  “Cheers,” I say, raising my mug.

  “Skoal, love,” says Táági.

  The others nod and drink.

  I take Táági’s hand.

  “I was so relieved to be rid of you four,” I say, sighing. “And, here you are, already. Takin’ me prisoner, once again.”

  “A prisoner of love?” asks Bigan.

  I slap at him. “You jeezly bastard.”

  He pulls away, laughing.

  I look around.

  The others have stopped listening.

  A shot rings out, pinging off a rock in the fire ring. The sound echoing in the quiet of the night.

  We all duck and roll away from the firelight, guns automatically to hand; searching the darkness for the source.

  Güero grunts something; he and Bigan scuttle left. Letting go with a few shots to cover the rest of us.

  I grab Góshé and head behind the biggest bushes around. Góshé slithers in tight to the trunk with Hoss.

  Zastee and Táági are headed right. Ducking and weaving.

  Ma’cho is already long out of sight.

  Shit. It was a family reunion. In the middle of fucking nowhere.

  I get in a good prone position, with Góshé on the safe side, between me and the thickest branches and trunk of the bush. Assuming, which I never should, that the gunman hasn’t moved. And that he doesn’t have confederates. Damn it, but Góshé has to be somewhere. There’s no shitting cover to speak of anywhere around us.

  I hear shots off to the south, where Güero and Bigan went. And others to the west, where Z and Táági are.

  “Get up.” A man’s voice, behind me.