Hey, Cowgirl, Need a Ride?

by Baxter Black

  Valter hung up the wall phone. “Busby, get on this phone and see if you can find a helicopter to pick us up right here.” He turned to T.A. “And you, little lady—”

  “You know what he’s gonna do, Valter? Money or not, he’s going on with the hunt,” she said. “I’m the monkey wrench in the works. Are you gonna do his dirty work? Look at me! I’m not going away and I’m not giving in. Are you willing to have me on your conscience?”

  “You have made your own nest, my dear,” answered Valter blandly. “I know nothing of any hunts or your theft. I only know that your husband wants you at his side and I intend to deliver you . . . any way I have to. If you can’t act civilized, then I shall simply carry you, chair and all, into the washroom, where you will at least be out of earshot. I have no intention of putting up with your insubordination.”

  “Pike?” she said, looking over her shoulder at him, her eyes welling with tears.

  Pike remained mute.

  Surprising everyone, the back-door handle turned and Boon came mincing in barefoot. They heard the sound of a pickup driving off.

  “Morning, men,” he said cheerily.

  “Mornin’, Davy,” said the old man cheerily. “Where ya been?”

  “It’s Dan, Al,” said Boon. “Well, I hitched a ride into town with Jaybird. I’d built a little fire and spent the night toasting my bare feet. He picked me up and brought me here. Took about thirty minutes. I was gonna have him take me on in to Mountain Home, but I saw the horses in back and reckoned you blokes might need some help.”

  “You’re a little late,” said Valter. “We’ve already got it handled. We’re making arrangements for transportation right now.”

  Boon walked around behind the bar and poured himself a water glass full of Wild Turkey. He saw the pile of weapons that Valter had taken from the captives. Valter’s two automatic pistols, Pike’s snub-nosed .38 revolver, the old man’s .22 pistol, and the .30-.30 lever-action rifle lay on a table behind the bar. Boon surreptitiously slid one of the automatics into his waistband in the middle of his back.

  “Anyone else care for a toddy?” he asked.

  “I thought you’d never ask!” answered the old man, brightly. “Turkey,” then, realizing his position, he added, “with a straw.”

  Boon ignored him and walked back behind the counter where Fusion was cooking. Valter was leaning against the counter, his back to the stove. He had stuck Pike’s pistol in his waistband and was sipping his coffee.

  “You got any coffee?” Boon asked Fusion.

  “You know, I could use a toddy,” piped up Busby.

  “Busby,” ordered an irritated Valter, “get on that phone. Find us a way outta here!”

  Boon slipped up behind Valter, pulled the automatic out from the small of his back, and laid the point of the cool barrel against the right side of Valter’s neck.

  “I’d like my boot back . . . but very slowly,” he said.

  There are some words that can freeze a crowd, like “I just dropped my two-million-dollar diamond” or “Somebody just cut the cheese,” but “I’d like my boot back” usually would not have that effect. However, under the circumstances, it struck a chord.

  Everyone in the room immediately looked at Valter’s feet. Valter spun hard to the left, and Boon pulled the trigger! The shot blew off Valter’s right earlobe and he stumbled, tripping over his own feet— actually, over Boon’s size 12½ boot—and fell, banging his head on the edge of the counter and knocking himself out cold. T.A., seeing her opportunity, pushed her chair back hard against Pike and toppled him flat.

  Busby froze. Lick, still on his belly, didn’t have a good vantage point, so he contented himself with staying put.

  Boon leaned over the bar and looked down at the prone Valter, his face covered in blood and a pistol lying by his open hand. He looked quickly up at Busby, then down at Pike. “Don’t be plotting any sudden moves, mates,” said Boon. He picked up Valter’s gun. “Busby,” said Boon, “would you be kind enough to untie Lick and Al?” Busby quickly complied.

  “And you, Mister Pike,” he addressed Pike, who was flat on his back with T.A., still strapped to her chair like an ejected pilot, square on top of his chest, “I’d be grateful if you could just lie there for a moment until I have the whole situation under control.”

  Valter began to stir.

  Lick was free. He stood up, stretching his shoulders.

  “Lick,” said Boon, “slide around behind the counter and collect those guns. And maybe you could aim one at Mr. Pike while I have a short talk with the head of security.

  “Let’s get a move on, Busby. Al probably doesn’t enjoy bein’ trussed up like a gladiator’s calf.”

  “I dang sure don’t, Dan—Davy,” said the old man. “Although, next time I am captured and tied up, I believe I will request the reclining position. How ya doin’, little darlin’?” he asked T.A. “Maybe we can get you unlashed, too.”

  Lick stood at Pike’s head with a pistol while Al cut the baler-twine bonds tying T.A. to the chair. Freed, finally, she stood rubbing her wrists, then stepped over Pike and deliberately stepped on his ankle, the same foot the horse had mashed earlier that morning. He cried out! He tried to sit up, but Lick put a boot on his shoulder and pressed him back down.

  “Stay put,” ordered Lick. “Al, we need a plan here. What say we disable these characters and leave ’em here?”

  “I might have somethin’ to say about that,” said Fusion.

  “On second thought, Fusion, you might not,” said Lick.

  “Yer right. I’ve got nothing to add.”

  “T.A.,” said Lick, “go get some more of that baler twine. We’ll tie these boys up.”

  As they began to organize the retribution, Boon squatted down in front of Valter, who was now sitting up on the floor.

  “I’ve got a bone to pick with you, ol’ sod. It’s not good etiquette to steal a bloke’s only boot. By the way”—he turned back to the old man—“I hope you didn’t throw away me other boot.”

  The old man shrugged. “Sorry,” he said.

  “Aw, fulminating wombat poop,” Boon cursed. “I guess I had it comin’ for signing up with this bunch of dunnybuckets. You could have shot me like I’m planning to do with this stiff-necked boot thief.” Then, addressing Valter, he said, “Git my boot off and make it quick. Pike, what size of boot you wear?”

  “Twelve,” answered Pike.

  “Perfect. Peel off them ostrich hides and let me try them on.”

  While Boon was reshoeing, T.A. returned with enough twine to bale two hundred acres. She and the old man hog-tied Pike and Busby facedown.

  “Your turn,” said the old man to Valter. “Assume the position. T.A., darlin’, grab one of those pistolas and point it at Hitler’s head while I lace him up.”

  “It will be my pleasure,” she replied.

  Lick took Boon’s elbow and led him out back where they could talk in private.

  “Boon,” said Lick, “we’re leavin’ here. We’re supposed to have a ride comin’. You’re welcome to come with us. You sure saved our skins. It looked like we, or at least the girl, was a goner.”

  “Let me ask you a question,” said Boon. “Why don’t you just let them take her back to her husband? They’re goin’ to a mighty lot of trouble to get her back. If these blokes are as serious as they appear, you and Al are just diggin’ yourself a big ’ole.”

  Lick considered. “I don’t think she’d be safe in their hands. I believe she’s in mortal danger.” Lick stopped short of mentioning that T.A. had admitted robbing her husband. “I couldn’t sleep good if I just turned her over to these gunsels. Too many guns. Too much backup. She’s kinda outnumbered and I never did like an unfair fight. I might cut and run when she’s in the clear, but not now . . . not yet.”

  “Well, shades of ’enry Lawson, I’d be glad to have friends like you,” said Boon.

  “Well, you do,” Lick answered. “What are you gonna do now?”

  �
�I had all night to think about it and if Fusion’s car is runnin’, he and I can head down to Elko or up to Boise. We’ll call Lewis. He can come pick up the horses. You three can go wherever you want. We can leave the three stooges here.”

  Fusion’s car was running but Al had an amendment to the plan.

  Before he could introduce the motion, Stone Roanhorse showed up in an official tribal police supercab pickup. He and the old man visited while Fusion cooked him some scrambled eggs.

  “Those biscuits sure smell good,” said Busby from his position on the floor. “It’s been since noon yesterday that I’ve eaten. Could you spare a bite?”

  “Sorry, lad,” answered the old man. “You fell in with the wrong crowd. You should never bet a Nazi and a helicopter against two cowboys and a woman on the run.” He turned toward Stone. “How are those biscuits, Stone?”

  “Man, I sure was hungry. I didn’t know it. I drank a beer and ate some Pop-Tarts. I didn’t have time to put them in the, uh, microwave.” He paused to chew and swallow. “Do you think he has some more bacon?”

  “Anything you want,” offered the old man. “Where did you find that snappy-looking vehicle?”

  “It was parked outside the office on my way through town, so I thought I would just siphon a little gas, but then I noticed that the key was in it and decided, well, I could just, uh, borrow it and have it back real quick. It saved me some time.”

  “Stone, my good friend, while yer eating, we’re gonna borry your truck to make a short delivery. We shouldn’t be more’n half an hour,” said the old man. He turned to Fusion. “Innkeeper, whatever the gentleman wants, please put it on our tab.”

  “I think a beer would be just right, thank you,” said Stone politely.

  24

  DECEMBER 4: WICKAHONEY DESERT

  Lick and Al loaded Busby, Valter, and Pike, hands tied behind their backs and tied to each other, into the back of the Goose Valley tribal police pickup with Al’s two dogs.

  “Just lie flat,” ordered Al. “Eyes to the sky.”

  “What does it matter?” grumbled Busby. “I can’t see anything anyway, with this tape over my eyes.”

  Lick and the old man jumped in the front of the truck and hit Highway 51. They drove north for less than a mile and turned back west onto a rough gravel road. It got worse the farther they went. They finally stopped after twenty minutes.

  “This should be fine,” said the old man. “We can strand them here and give ourselves a chance to escape.”

  “Where are we?” asked Lick.

  “South of Wickahoney. You were actually there once when we worked cows this fall. Except we came in a different way. C’mon. Let’s not keep these criminals waiting.”

  The old man dropped the tailgate.

  “All right, gents, slide out here and stand at attention,” he instructed.

  “Couldn’t we work out a compromise?” whined Busby. “You could just leave us at Scotland and we’d promise not to follow you anymore.”

  The old man poked Valter with a finger. Valter hissed like a Gila monster.

  “I don’t think your companion would honor our agreement,” chuckled the old man. “Nope. Short of killing you or necking you to a mountain lion, this is the best I can do without having a weekend to think about it.”

  “What are you going to do to us?” Busby whimpered.

  “Shut up, Busby,” growled Valter. “Show some spine.” He turned toward the old man, “You can shoot us all. You can leave us maimed and bleeding. You can pull our fingernails out one at a time and pour hot wax in our ears. You can carve your names in our raw and whiplashed backs. You can stick a screwdriver up our nose, and we will never, and I mean, NEVER, quit your trail—”

  “A screwdriver up our nose!” screamed Busby. “You raving maniac! Have you gone completely mad! Pike! Are you gonna let this boot camp refugee speak for you? Do you really want to die out here of exposure? The coyotes tearing your stringy muscles from the bone and gnawing off your gnarled toes?” Busby’s chest was heaving from his grand oration.

  Pike remained silent.

  “Are you done, helicopter pilot?” asked the old man sympathetically. “That was really good. I’m sorry it has so little effect on your partners in crime. Is there any message we could get to your loved ones if you don’t crawl out of the wilderness in forty days or so?”

  “Forty days!” Busby cried, then his shoulders sagged and he sighed.

  “I guess not,” remarked the old man. “Lick, bring the duct tape.” He tore off a piece of the roll Lick handed him.

  “I’m gonna take this personal,” snarled Valter.

  “I was hoping you would,” said the old man, who then placed the strip over Valter’s mouth.

  Lick stood behind and held them as the old man did his adhesive artwork. It only took a few minutes.

  The old man addressed Busby. “I take it you are a man of your word. Is that true?”

  “Yes,” said Busby with a hint of hope.

  “Then I will give you the Pop-Tart from the front seat in return for a promise.”

  “What is it?”

  “Lick has convinced me that we shouldn’t leave you out here without some help. So, if you promise not to open your eyes until you count to three hundred backwards, then I will take off your blindfold. Yours, and yours only. You will be the periscope of this hideous insectoid mutant. Plus . . . you will get the Pop-Tart.”

  “It’s a deal,” said Busby, a little disappointed.

  “Get the truck started, Lick.”

  The old man opened the Pop-Tart and fed it to Busby a bite at a time.

  “Are you ready?” asked the old man.

  “For what?” asked Busby.

  “To not open your eyes.”

  “Oh. Yes, I’m ready.”

  The old man peeled the duct tape off the pilot’s eyes. He walked backwards to the pickup. “I’m watching you,” he said. “One false move, one wink or eyelash flutter and back goes the blindfold. You may begin counting.”

  “Two hundred ninety-seven, two hundred ninety-six, two hundred ninety-five . . .”

  The pickup door slammed and off they drove down the bumpy road.

  “Which way are they headed?” asked Valter.

  “Two hundred ninety, two hundred eighty-nine, two hun—”

  “You lily-livered pipsqueak! You couldn’t have shined shoes in my outfit!” mumbled Valter through his taped mouth. It sounded more like a rap singer dropped in a well. He tried to kick Busby, but couldn’t figure out how.

  Lick looked back at the trussed trio. The old man had been creative, yet practical. Pike still wore his duct tape blindfold. A wide strip ran over the top of his head and down over his ears like studio microphones. “To protect them from the cold,” the old man had said. Pike’s arms had been duct-taped at the wrists behind his back His right arm was taped to Valter’s left arm above the elbow and his right leg was taped at the ankle to Valter’s left ankle.

  Valter wore a duct tape ear-covering strip like Pike, a blindfold, and a mouth strip. His right arm was taped above the elbow to Busby’s left elbow and his right ankle was taped to Busby’s left ankle.

  Busby wore duct tape earmuffs. Lick had fashioned them over his ears in cauliflower-like wads. He was neither blindfolded nor gagged.

  It would be a job for Houdini to unpeel any of the bindings with teeth or fingers. Pike was in his stocking feet, Valter wore his own right Red Wing hiker boot, and Busby wore his tennis shoes. They could walk, in a three-man-sack-race fashion.

  They were less than ten miles from Highway 51 in both directions and the weather was about two degrees centigrade. It wouldn’t be their best day, but they would make it back to civilization.

  25

  DECEMBER 4: GOOSE VALLEY

  Lick had convinced Stone Roanhorse to let him drive. T.A. sat in the front seat next to him, with Al and Stone in the back. They were all feeling fine after a brunch of two six-packs.

  “I’m here
to tell you, if ol’ Dan hadn’t showed up I’d’uve had to whip ’em all myself,” commented the old man.

  Lick laughed so loud he surprised himself. “Al, did anyone ever tell you that you are crazy as a bedbug? You’re so full of hot air, it’s a wonder you don’t float off!”

  “What? You don’t think I coulda took those three bums? Why, all that time I was layin’ on my back, I was thinkin’. One time back in Hunter, Kansas, I took on six big . . .” And the stories went on, each leading to another and another as the road stretched out before them.

  There was no need to explain to Stone Roanhorse the reason they were being threatened by three other white men. Or why they needed a ride, or even when, where, or what was going on. Stone thought of chaotic situations, inconvenient laws, cars that don’t start, gunfights, missed loops, empty wine bottles, electric bills, and incarcerations as safety cones in the potholes of life. Sometimes you swerve to miss ’em and sometimes you don’t. A friend needs yer help, you help ’im.

  After an hour they reached the outskirts of the town of Shanghai, Nevada, on the Goose Valley Indian Reservation.

  “Better slow down,” advised Stone. “They’ll give you a ticket.”

  “Even in the company car?” asked Lick.

  “The tribal police are having a fund drive to get Sherrill a new computer. Everybody’s eligible.”

  26

  DECEMBER 4: MORNING IN LAS VEGAS

  Allura heard water running in the bathroom. She lay back on the big pillow and took a long pull on her Diet Coke. She tucked the satin sheet up around her armpits and snuggled down.

  F. Rank Pantaker stepped out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist.

  “I believe you’re losing weight, hon,” said Allura.

  “My ulcer is actin’ up. I haven’t been able to eat like I should.”