Cowgirl Thrillers

by Barbara Neville

  ***

  After my cowless go around, I must pass once again through Badger Canyon. Twice in one day is two times too many. All I can think about this time are the sheer canyon walls. They are easy 30 feet high on each side, makin’ the perfect sitiation for an ambush or dry gulchin’. I think about Lone’s Injin spirits and hope they will guide me through safely. My backside is swarmin’ with creepy crawlin’ nerves, but I keep my muscles relaxed so I don’t telegraph my unease to Spike.

  Now, being as I have been out hereabouts for about a month and rode what seems like every inch of the country gatherin’ the Cattleman’s Association cattle, me and my mounts have learnt this ground fairly well. Hard to miss a foreign track with 25 of us scouting hill and dale, tracking them split hooved cow critters. Not one of the hands had reported seeing any strange activity. The cattle break plenty branches and, when they walk a trail, cover many a track. But a track atop the cow prints, we’d of noticed.

  Maybe these shoot ‘em up fellas is new in the country or have just returned from a 30 day vacacion. In any case, riding back through that narrow defile makes my ass muscles clench up so tight onto the seat of my saddle that I couldn’t fart if I wanted to. Good thing I am aboard my best horse. Little red bay horse, Spike is, likes to crow hop of a chilly mornin’.

  Even with my rifle slung across my lap, my trigger finger is itchy as hell. I feel like Spike is walking slow as molasses. Fortunately nothing goes amiss this trip. I start to believe I will live to sin another day. Buy me a ticket straight to hell.

  After I get out in the open I slide my rifle back in the scabbard, give my arm a rest.

  About an hour further on, I hear runnin’ horses.

  Shit, hope they are friendly. Fortunately there is a big oak tree with some brush under it by the crick, so Spike and I head behind that. Maybe they’ll just saunter on by and not see us. I don’t want no more trouble. Feelin’ a bit coward like, in fact.

  Spike and I go behind the massive tree trunk and set tight. I loosen up my sidearm in the holster, just in case. Hell, here comes a dude in a surrey. Nice team of matched Belgian draft horses providing the propulsion. I pull my longarm out of the scabbard again and flip the safety off, just in case.

  “We’ll just set quietly here a spell. They’ll never hear us. Quiet now, Spike.”

  Next I hear a big, “Halloo, the rider!”

  So much for hiding.

  He heads toward me where I appear to be loafin’ in the shade of the giant Mexican blue oak tree near a log corral. My quickly contrived story is that I am waiting for Michael to complete his circle. I am hoping he will have found the strays since I didn’t. Then we can work together to get them corralled and do any needed doctoring for shipment to their home ranch. Actually, it’s true. I am too nervous after the last few days to think anything up.

  The surrey is a beauty, looks like a town rig all painted up with delicate stripes and swirls. It even has a pretty red fringe around the roof and curlicues on the wheels.

  It pulls up beside me and I find the ‘dude’ to be a yahoo in fancy duds. I’m talkin’ suit, string tie, shiny boots, big ass white hat. This feller is way out of place out here in the bush. Gotta be a city slicker plumb lost. Oh crap, he has got a gun in his hand, too.

  “Hold it right there, fella. We don’t need any itchy trigger fingers causing an accident,” I say.

  “Whoa Nelly, relax that rifle,” says the stranger. “No need to get nervous. I am the good guys.”

  “Says who?”

  “I believe that would be me,” comes a voice from behind me.

  Fuck a duck, I fell for the oldest trick in the book. “Okay, no need to shoot, I’ll set it down slowly.”

  “I daresay, young lady, we have no desire to harm you, just holster that piece and we will call it good,” says the voice behind me.

  I reset the safety and slide my rifle back in the scabbard. The feller behind me walks around into sight, his rifle lowered. The dude in the wagon holsters his revolver. And we all start breathing again. Who are these goofy fuckers? Damned dudes.

  I sink the spurs but before Spike gets half a stride, the dude on the ground has caught my reins and pulled us up.

  “Hold it there, young lady,” says the guy on the surrey. “We likely ain’t who you think we are, we come in peace. How about we all get down, meet and palaver.”

  Ay yi yi, they got me.

  We all step down, they doff their hats and holy guacamole, this one feller, as Michael would say, ‘Too die for!’ Tall, blonde and dead handsome, even has dimples. I like dimples. I wipe my chin to check for drool. Not too many about that are taller than me, but this fella measures up right nicely. And he don’t talk a bit like a dude despite the duds.

  “Who are you?” I ask, still nervous.

  The feller that snuck up on me bows and says, “Pardon, Miss, ladies first.”

  “Hell, I’m Annie, picking up strays for the Cattleman’s Association hereabouts.”

  The tall blonde says, “Pleasure, young lady. I am Spud Mullens and my friend here is Jake.”

  “I say, please forgive my friend’s rough frontier manners. Allow me to introduce myself properly. Jake is my lead horse’s name, gesturing toward the near Belgian. I am Sir Jacob Bridbury, Duke of Barkingham, 88th Earl of Boyd, Heir to the Flemish fortune and Quimby Castle at Bridbury, first cousin to His Royal Majesty King Arthur II, Counsel to the Duke of Beltingham, Brother to the Pontiff of Laxham, Friend to the Court of Palanca, and descended from the Neanderthal. Ambassador to the planet Rock. No one else wanted to be. Your servant, Madam.”

  That’s a mouthful. “Pleasure to meet ya,” I say.

  “Enchanted. A beautiful woman, even one as manfully dressed as yourself, is always a pleasure to find in even these most primitive of circumstances. I say, you might want to stop by my castle and avail yourself of the bathing facilities.”

  “Hell, Jakey, she don’t smell ripe to me,” counters the other fella.

  “Certainly not, being of your species. Pardon, I meant to imply that you appear to have the forbearance of royalty and should be treated as such. The rude fashion of camping out that is oft practiced hereabouts is rough on the female persona even more so than on the male, delicate creatures that you are. My eternal apologies if I have offended.”

  “Jakey, yore just diggin’ a deeper hole. My apologies, Ma’am. Sir Jacob, he ain’t from around here.”

  “So I see. Yesterday there was some shootin’ in Badger Canyon over yonder, made me jumpy of strangers,” I say.

  “Oh. We have arrived here via Badger slightly discombobulated ourselves,” says Sir Jacob.

  “As Sir Jake is sayin’, we was out and about lookin’ over our country. Then about five minutes back we were mindin’ our own business. Heading through the canyon. When we find ourselves smack dab in the middle of a gun battle. Motherfuckers were blastin’ away at us. Fortunately, our team spooked and run us out of there right quick. We aim to be fucking well armed to the teeth next trip.”

  “Quite. A rocket launcher will be perfect. A few grenades,” says Sir Jacob. “But I say, Spud, there is a lady present, best to mind your language.”

  “No fucking problem,” I say to set them at ease lingo wise. “I was wishin’ I had brought a few of them motherfuckin’ grenades myself when I was pinned down the other day.”

  They both smile and look relieved.

  Spud is nice and tall, a man I can look up to, yeller blonde hair cascading over his forehead, great tan, startling blue eyes, broad shoulders, tight ass, dimples, shiny white teeth, the whole freaking package! Did I mention this already? Worth repeatin’.

  “That was you?”

  “Sorry, what?” I say, too busy gawkin’ at this Cowboy God to have heard a single word.

  Spud says, “Do you know what the hell is goin’ on?”

  I shake my head to get the cobwebs out. “Shoot, yea. I seemed to be right in the line of fire between two fractious factions yesterday. My horse
ended up on top of me. Tall Injin fellow saved my ass.”

  Who are these guys? Damn, they still are good lookin’. Add these two to Lone Wolf and Michael, maybe I just haven’t had any in way too long. They are all beautiful. And only Michael is off limits as far as I can see. I been tryin’ for years to get Michael to switch teams.

  And failed.

  “Wolf, yeah. He mentioned some excitement yesterday. He forgot to mention you were a girl.”

  “A girl can be a cowhand.”

  Spud looks at Sir Jacob. “She’s a mite touchy.”

  “She ought not be, weren’t you the bloke who hired her?” asks Sir Jacob.

  “Believe I was. I disremember hiring more than one girl. Bud said she was a top hand, but this one seems a mite simple in the head. Must be two of ‘em.

  “I say we get rid of this girl. I know a place just up the trail, lots of bears. We got too many strangers in the area already.”

  “We are not getting rid of the young lady.”

  “Why not? She’s dimwitted. Plus how do we know we can trust her?” Spud winks.

  “No matter, I like her,” says Sir Jacob, “and she is pleasing to the eye.”

  “Hey! I’m right here, listening.”

  “See? Not dim, knows we are speaking of her. I say we let her in on it,” says Sir Jacob.

  “Disregarding all that, I was thinking lightning might strike twice. Is this all a coincidence or did we each get bushwhacked by the same fellers on two different days?” I say.

  “It seems that some kinda war has placed itself right in the middle of our cattle range,” says Spud.

  I look at the fancy Brit. “Are you sure he ain’t the dim one?”

  Sir Jacob smiles and pokes Spud in the side. “See? Excellent judge of character.”

  “Yea, it was Wolf that saved me. He said they were shootin’ at each other, not me. So, you acquainted with Wolf?”

  “Hell yeah, Wolf and I are brothers,” says Spud. “Guess we all better get together with Wolf and have a powwow. I’ll send out a smoke signal tonight.

  “If he saved your bacon, you must be okay. He don’t generally go out of his way with strangers, even pretty ones. Plus you work for the Association. We would have met on the roundup, but I was off on business. I own the Par Excellence Bar None.”

  “Oh, that Mullens.” I had heard he was a hardass motherfucker. Seems to be true. Bit of a shit, too, I’d say. No one mentioned he was a stud, a broad shouldered fine ass motherfucker. If I tape his smart mouth shut, ooh doggies. I’ll need to get hands on.

  “I say, Wolf is as tough a gentleman as it has been my pleasure to encounter on this primitive rock,” declares Jacob, a fancy lookin’ sucker. He seems out of place in this world. Talks like a high tone English Lord. Oh, yeah, he said he was...Sir something or other...sheesh.

  “You sticking around for a while?” asks Spud.

  “My feelings are sure hurt over the whole shootout deal. Reckon I have a duty to the Cattleman’s Association too, seeing as how I am working this country for them. Outlaws ain’t likely to care about the rights of cattlemen or their cows. Can’t afford to lose no cows to flying lead.” Plus I got nowhere else to go, long story.

  “And they don’t seem to care who is in their line of fire. Wolf has been out studying their tracks and such today. I’ll get him out here mañany and we will rendezvous,” intones Spud.

  “My camp is just up the side draw here if you want to meet up there. Take a left by that big cottonwood. Lone Wolf knows where it’s at. Let me know if you need help, my partner and I will be around a few more days.”

  “Yore partner good lookin’?” asks Spud.

  I say, “Oh hell yeah!”

  8 Powwow