Now where my big wreck had took place was about halfway down the big creek known, no shit, as Dead Horse Draw. If I believed in coincidences I’d a’ been even more worried yesterday.
Dead Horse runs for a few miles from the high top snowy mountains down to the small pasture where we put our daily gathers. Now with the small lots we are picking up on the back rides, time permitting, we move them on through the small pasture into the corrals. Saves us some time when we are ready to head out, but then we have to throw them some hay if they stay penned up too long. And hay has to be growed. You may have heard the truth, cowhands are allergic to farmin’.
Partway down Dead Horse there is a narrowing of the hills on each side called Badger Canyon for about a half mile which opens back out to the small Holding Canyon pasture which is a less narrow defile maybe a half mile square. It works great for holding the herd overnight.
The head of Badger Canyon is where the shootout had occurred, just where it narrows to about 50 foot wide. So when I get to the beginning of Badger, holy cow I start sweatin’. Lightning truly has been known the strike the same place twice.
My thighs grip tight to the saddle all on their own. Fortunately Spike is not a worrier. I consciously relax my muscles and say a short prayer to the animal spirits. “Easy buddy, take it easy.”
Nothing untoward occurs for the first 100 yards in.
“Things are lookin’ good, Spike.”
Okay, I admit it, Spike is calm. It’s me I’m trying to convince.
I about crap my pants when I hear a twig snap. Instantly my pistol is in my hand.
Wolf’s voice comes ‘halloin’ out of the brush.
I breathe again.
“Uh huh, figured you would be a shoot first, ask questions later type gal.”
“Son of a bitch, I just about was! If you hadn’t yelled when you did...”
“Paleface, if I’d been layin’ for ya you would have never heard the shot that killed you.”
“I was hoping that yesterday was just happenstance. It sure left me jumpy.”
“Lookin’ at the sign I’d say they got a regular deal comin’ up here. We’ll know more if we can track them past your cow tracks. You find your cow critters?”
“Naw, looks like just one cow and her little calf must have spooked. They are likely further down where Michael will pick them up. I ain’t cut no sign newer than yesterday.”
“Well cowgirl, you partner up with me, we can figure out if the outlaws are stealin’ things.”
“What have you got to do with it, Wolf?”
“I poke in to things.”
“Why poke in to things?”
“To satisfy my curiosity. Once my curiosity is satisfied I am calm. When I am calm my thoughts are pure.”
“Now that is definitely Injin talk.”
“Actually I think it has its origins with the other Injins, the India Indians. It is Zen.”
“Ah.
“You Injins got valuables?”
“Would that we did. Mm, maybe. Not business of white girl.”
“I’m the one they shot at, hurt my feelin’s and some body parts. I am actually part Kioway and Osage, not just white.”
“Hmm.” Wolf looks me up and down. “Tall, like Osage, but you not look Injin.”
That got my back up. “Oh yeah, what does a’ Injin look like? You racial profiling, Injin? Just ‘cause you are darker brown.”
“Haw, just pulling your leg. Haw haw. Glad to know you are of the chosen people. I am Comanche.”
“Does that make us ancestral enemies?”
“Many say Native American tribes all enemies. That not the mistake. Tribes not Native Americans. That the mistake,” says Wolf. “We came from Asia, got to Americas centuries ahead of Palefaces. The Comanche, we had our own Nation, Comancheria.
“Injin and Paleface came from same place before America time.
“But Injins better.
“So we are friends, all human people start in Africa, all same. We have our tribes, we have our friends, our families. No such tribe as Native Americans,” says Wolf.
“Hell, speakin’ of Natives, shouldn’t there be an original much worshiped bunch called Native Rockians? Who was on the first crew that terraformed the Rock, wouldn’t they be first, who the pioneers displaced? Yep. Native Rockians. Maybe the first pioneers killed them off.”
Wolf surprises me and says, “I never met any other than that one crazy Brit feller.”
“Crazy what feller?”
“You ain’t met His Lordship yet? You think Injin crazy...”
I interrupt, “I got no idea of Comanche ways, but yore’s do seem crazy. I guess whoever died and made you Chief taught you that you got the right to boss me around.”
“Sheeit, woman, you are some ballsy girl. I am Injin, and mighty proud of it. If you like I can teach you Injin ways, Woman Who Talks To Horses.”
“Say what now?” I’m ponderin’ on that statement. “Geez, Talks To Horses? Have you been shadowing me?”
“Yep. Heard a few speeches,” says Wolf. “It ain’t easy being red.”
“White mans’ stereotypes, Hollywood stories, have made us the Injins we are today, whether we like it or not.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Wolf puts heels to his horse. “Catch you later, Annie Talks To Horses.”
“Annie what?”
Wolf slows his horse and looks around. “Annie Talks To Horses, it is your Injin name.”
“How come I never heard it?”
“Lone Wolf has just named you after your habit of talking to your mount, it is good. And a rare privilege to make yore acquaintance.” Wolf doffs his hat with a nod then lopes his horse up the hill out of sight.
To his disappearing back I say, “Still a little on edge from being shot at yesterday. Thanks for asking.”
I look down at Spike’s ears. “Whose privilege? His? What the fuck? Annie Talks To Horses? Man has been follerin’ me for some while it seems. Shit, and close enough to hear me talking to you. Creepy, thinkin’ too much on that. Stalker or guardian angel? What’s yore impression, Spike?”
Maybe all this talking to horses is driving me to the loony bin. In my defense, horses like to be talked to. And then there’s dogs, who love a good song, especially if it’s about them. “Ain’t had a dog in a while actually,” I tell Spike. Who nods agreeably.
Cowgirl Thrillers Page 17
