Cowgirl Thrillers

by Barbara Neville

We load into the shuttle and Spud runs us down to MadDog.

  “Tell me again why didn’t we just hop the Rockchuck in out of the wilderness?”

  “Sharp eyeballs could spot us. Best to not take the chance.”

  “Unpowered? Not possible. With all that g-force?”

  “I told you Sir Jacob was somthin’. It is a slingshot, he invented it.”

  Sir Jacob chimes in, “Just really an update of the old time slings on aircraft carriers. Mine is simple, quiet, a tad bit larger, and it effectively does the job.”

  “With no lights, just the whoosh, it is gone quick and it only makes the one noise, hell them cidiots likely think it’s frogs croakin’. They are scared of every noise out there. Maybe they’ll hightail it out. Be funny,” adds Spud.

  “Cidiots?”

  “City idiots. You ever notice they seem half dim?”

  “Well, yeah, just never heard the word.

  “They called Michael and I ‘hicks’ when we worked near Center. Seemed hilarious, they knew so little. Couldn’t even saddle a bronc, much less fork him. Jealous, I reckon.”

  “I must say, in their defense, that they are not so much cidiots as persons of a different skill set. However, I find myself, as a former cidiot, often boggled by your range of skills. A myriad more than one needs in the city. Things being much more specialized and persons much more interdependent in town. Here one must be a master of virtually all skills.”

  “So, you got the slingshot. Have you got beaming up?” I ask.

  “Myth,” says Wolf.

  “You think?”

  “That’s just an old wives tale.”

  “I heard the Trek system has it,” I say.

  “Those guys? We had a bunch of them visit here. Total whack jobs. Not a one of them could even ride a horse. Hell, they didn’t even figure out how to mount a horse. I mean that is as basic as life gets. How could they possibly do something as advanced as beam? ‘Specially since it is a lost art,” Wolf says, shaking his head.

  “Actually,” I say, “them guys don’t have horses. Not everyone rides or even needs to. They got them car things, just get in, tell ‘em where you want to go, and zip, yore off. No reins or nothing, just a moving box. It’s weird. And scary fast. I rode in one oncet. No room for my horse inside though. Had to give it up.”

  “Food for thought,” says Sir Jacob.

  Spud takes us to a friend’s house and we get a bath and put on our duds for the evening.

  Spud has a funny look on his face when he sees I am in a dress.

  Wolf ogles me and says, “Hell. You clean up nice, little girl.”

  “Close yore mouths, boys, afore yore tongues hit the floor,” I say.

  “Let’s go get us a drink,” says Michael.

  “Now yore talkin’.” I agree.

  “You two proceed. We shall arrive momentarily,” says Sir Jacob.

  Michael and I head to the Short Branch Saloon, the only game in a one horse town.

  We saunter in through the swinging doors, just like in the stories, and belly up to the bar.

  “Whiskey, beer back, for two,” I say.

  We lean our elbows on the bar and squint up at the big sign by the mirror:

  ‘Please keep weapons safely holstered until the need arises, then shoot to kill.’

  Our kind of place.

  “Busy tonight. What occasion is this?” Michael asks the redhead behind the bar. His Spanish accent is coming out strong.

  I hadn’t spent too much time in MadDog. But I had been in the bar when we first arrived for roundup and noticed the bartender; she is as cute as a bug and twice as tough. I wouldn’t be surprised to find she had a shotgun hid behind the bar.

  She delivers our drinks and says, “Welcome, my friends, to the show that never ends.”

  I slide some bills across the bar.

  “No need, that fella in the corner over there seems to be celebratin’, he’s buying your rounds. Small town, word of free drinks gets around, everyone gets thirsty,” she says.

  “Thanks!” I yell to the duded up feller in the corner, wearing brand new ‘cowboy’ duds and sporting a handlebar mustache. Nary a cowpie has ever touched his city ass, and every crease is still in place.

  “Bueno!” says Michael, then lifts his glass and offers a toast. “Salud, querida!”

  “Cheers, Tio!” I say.

  We set ‘em down fer a refill. Barkeep pours and I raise my glass.

  “Ay caramba. Where are your manners, young lady? We will go over and thank the gentleman in person,” says Michael, whose Spanish accent is back in spades now.

  He saunters over to the table, looking as sexually straight as an arrow. Always hilarious. I gotta cover my mouth and cough to hide the laughter. Michael does a great Spanish nobleman.

  “Mighty kind of you, Señor, you are a gentleman,” he says.

  “Pull up a chair,” says the mustachioed one. “Take a load off.”

  Michael hesitates. “Allow me first to introduce myself, Señor. I am Don Miguel Santa Cruz of the Rancho Fin del Mundo on Nuevo España. Mucho gusto en conocerle.

  “And this lovely thing is the esteemed Señorita Anna Rockefeller. We are here de vacaciones. A beautiful planet this is for fun. And maybe we will find a few trinkets, ah, souvenirs, to commemorate our vacation.”

  “Pleasure to meet you. I am Jonathon Soames.” He shakes Miguel’s hand and kisses mine.

  “You are from this area?” asks Miguel.

  “I am now. Fortune has smiled upon me to be stationed on a planet with such beautiful visitors.” He looks at me as he says it, but he winks at the irrepressible Don Miguel, who bats an eye slightly. Me thinks these two will be having a clandestine meeting later. Gaydar!

  “Where, Don Miguel, did you find such a delightful creature?”

  Jonny smiles at me again. Is this putz looking for a threesome? So much for gaydar, I’ll never learn to read these things. Michael kicks me under the table. Guess I been out on the range too long. Can’t think of anything else.

  “She is quite beautiful, I agree,” says Miguel.

  “Your English is very good, Don Miguel.”

  “Mil gracias, I thank you,” says Miguel and tilts his head.

  “Here, let us have another round and discuss treasures. I may have knowledge of a trinket or two to your liking,” says Soames.

  “Ah, we maybe have business in common after all, one never knows.”

  “Miss Rockefeller, you travel with Don Miguel?”

  “She is, in fact, my sister’s daughter. I would say my niece, but I know that to have an unfortunate double meaning en Ingles.

  “Ah, this is a bit delicato, aver, ah, I am escorting her home to her mother. My esteemed sister, Velaria, who married a tall, excuse the word, gringo. She take after her father in height and also temperament. She is young and rebellious. You see, she run away. I catch her and return her home.”

  “Uncle Miguel!” I stare at the table and try to look contrite and embarrassed, but don’t know how, which is embarrassing, so it works out.

  “I cannot let her out of my sight. I hired a dueña, how you say, a chaperone for her, but the woman quit after Annie bite her hand while trying to escape. I fear for her virginity in this rough frontier, but my negocios, my business, must also be done.”

  “Tio Miguel.” I stamp my foot. “It is unseemly to speak so frankly to a stranger!” This time I really do blush, actually turn bright red because I am holding my breath to restrain the laughter. My virginity, hah. Wouldn’t be the first time I lost it, nor the second, neither.

  “My dear, you must respect your elders. As you know, I am a superior judge of character. I can already tell that Mister Soames is, like me, a man of substance and good will. He is simpatico. You should judge all men to this high standard. A girl of your advanced age must be finding a husband before you begin to wither.”

  “Like a heifer on the auction block?” I smile.

  “Anna, watch what you say!

/>   “May I ask your pardon, Señor Soames. We should not bore you with our silly family troubles.

  “Allow me to inquire, let us speak of your family. Your wife, she must be very beautiful to have such a powerful husband?”

  Soames preens and says, “In fact, Señor Santa Cruz, I have never been married.”

  He gives me a googly eyed fish look which I am sure he thinks is flirtatious. Yuck.

  “Ah, I see. You are of the age when successful men need a gorgeous wife to advance their career, and one of good family would be the best.”

  Now Soames is looking at me exactly like a prize heifer. He smiles and winks, openly leering at me. Then his tongue comes out. Oy!

  Miguel turns to me and smiles blandly. He is having too much fun with this. I mentally stick my finger down my throat and gag.

  “Yes, Querida, an established, mature man like Señor Soames here would be just perfect for a rambunctious girl like you.

  “She is a beautiful and spirited young woman; however, a strong, macho husband could easily get her into line.”

  Soames looks me up and down again.

  “I like a challenge,” he says.

  I stand up and put my hands on my hips. “I do not give a fuck. If you are looking for a girl who gives a fuck, look somewhere fucking else. Hmph!” I toss my hair over my shoulder and stomp off to the Ladies can.

  Behind me I can hear Don Miguel continuing to grease the wheel.

  “I didn’t understand before, Señor Soames, for whom it is you work?”

  “Don, ah, Señor Santa Cruz,” Soames says and puffs his little self up. “I am the newly appointed representative, a sort of emissary if you will, of the Centrist government to the people of the Rock. We at the center of civilization have a new program to try to embrace our distant, less fortunate colonies. They need our every assistance.”

  Ah, he must indeed smell treasure. He, like many of his ilk, comes here to rape and pillage.

  A commotion occurs at the door to the bar. I swear I hear horns of heraldry and sure ‘nough, Sir Jacob, in his finest attire, makes his entrance with a cowboyed up Spud and then the resplendent Lone Wolf, in full Injin regalia, a few respectful paces behind.

  Spud yells, “We ain’t here for a long time, we’re here for a good time!”

  “Yo cousins, where y’all been? Spaced out?” the barkeep calls.

  She comes around the bar.

  “Cheers, Charley darling.” Jacob sweeps her up into his arms. “We have, or so it seems, been off planet forever. Space walking,to be sure.”

  “Space walking?”

  “Nah, you know Jakey, he’s always a little spaced out,” says Spud, grabbing a hug of his own.

  “We was asteroid prospectin’, found some promising color. Run out of provisions, we’re back.”

  “By provisions him mean firewater. Set us up,” says Wolf, getting a hug and a big smooch.

  I head back to Soames table looking contrite and say, “I am very sorry Tio Miguel, Señor Soames. I let my anger get the better of me. It is a rough time for me. Please forgive me.” I sit demurely down.

  Soames is staring at the bar. He rises and is suddenly in a hurry to leave, “Pardon me, Señor Santa Cruz, I have business to attend to. Here is my card, I am staying at the Granite Grand Hotel should you be in need of any assistance. Although I must say the term Grand is a bit of a stretch. Primitive planets have not the amenities of the civilized zone.”

  We all rise from the table. “It is my most fervent hope that we shall meet again. Enjoy your stay, Miss Rockefeller.” He bows and kisses my hand again.

  Soames heads for the door holding his hat on the right side of his face, thereby hiding his looks from the boys at the bar, and then as he goes through the door he finally gets it settled up top.

  After he is out the door I whisper to Miguel, “Ugh, remind me to wear gloves in future.” I trot off down the hall back into the Ladies to scrub the offending lip feel off the back of my hand.

  As I step out the door of the Ladies, I smile at Spud who is loitering there and say, “Remember, we don’t know each other.”

  “I think the gutter slime that just left is our man,” says Spud.

  “Could be, but his compadres may still be here. Also, word travels fast in small towns. Shit, here comes someone.”

  Spud wraps his arms around me, bends me over for a big smooch, nuzzles my ear and whispers, “Slap me hard.”

  “My pleasure,” I say.

  I pull away and...

  ‘Bam!’

  ...slap Spud on the cheek.

  Spud reels, almost falling over. “What the hell lady, I just wanted a little sugar,” and stumbles drunkenly back to Wolf and Sir Jacob. He huddles up with Wolf, telling him a quiet tale which includes pointing and gesturing at me and a right smart bout of laughter on their part.

  I return to the table where ‘Tio’ Miguel is sitting, telling him loudly and tearfully, “That filthy, unwashed cowpuncher tried to have his way with me!”

  Michael stands and says, “Señor, I must ask that you meet me outside. You have attempted to sully the reputation of my niece! I must fight for her honor.”

  Spud and Lone snicker.

  Spud says, “Hell, you might as well turn her out fer coin, no one will ever marry a big ugly loud mouthed girl like that. Long in the tooth, too.”

  Miguel saunters over and slaps Spud with his gloves.

  “Outside!” yells the now shotgun wielding bartender. I knew she had one back there.

  Out we all head, chagrined.

  Some groundhog who has never seen the outside of a bottle and can’t wait for the action to start takes a swing at Sir Jacob on the way out the door, saying, “Hey, you pansy ass dude.”

  Turning into the punch, Sir Jacob executes a fancy English barfly flip.

  Groundhog’s friends converge around Sir Jacob.

  Spud stands groggily, revolver in hand, saying, “I’ll shoot a man in a fair fight. Or if he’s about ta start a fair fight.”

  “That’s crazy. You can’t just shoot people like the old time cowboys did,” exclaims Michael.

  “Oh, I beg to differ, we surely can, this is the Rock,” Sir Jacob reminds him.

  A fat guy in a suit shakes an arm and a derringer emerges into his hand, just as a knife appears in front of his windpipe with Wolf’s fingers around the handle.

  Soon the whole bar is outside and a’ fightin’.

  Michael has adjourned from the fray and found ‘Señor’ Soames down the boardwalk, where they stand, being ‘gentlemen’, and watch. They are a ways away and Soames has his hat brim pulled low over his eyes.

  I, as the errant niece, am careful to throw a few epithets and weak punches at Sir Jacob’s bunch to be sure the Fed knows I ain’t with them. Then Wolf grabs me and plants a big smoocheroo on my mouth, my knees melt and I fall to the floor. ‘Uncle’ Miguel runs over to defend my honor and...

  ‘Pow.’

  ...Wolf gets it on the chin. As he falls to the ground he winks at me.

  Then Miguel turns and punches at whoever is biting him and Spud’s eye gets in the way of his fist. Ouch.

  Miguel manages to smash a couple of guys off their feet before moving back up on the boardwalk. He throws one diehard down with some fancy karate move and hogties him with his silk scarf. Careful, of course, never to mess up his coif.

  Eventually some Johnny Law with a shiny badge and a big hog leg shows up and we all get arrested and inevitably poured into the pokey. Not really my favorite kind of an evening.

  Who are these guys? Do I want to get involved with them? At this point though, after the two kisses, I was so hot for Spud and Wolf, I doubt this thought even crossed my mind. Maybe it should have. The fisticuffs had proved all them muscles were not just window dressing. They kicked ass.

  Early next morning, still half dark, the sheriff comes in and says, “Rise and shine. Your girlfriend made bail. You need to get out of my jail now, save me feedin’ ya breakfast
.”

  After we have a while to rub the sleep out of our eyes, Charley comes in and says, “Let’s go boys.”

  “We need to get out of here now,” says Sir Jacob.

  “Yeah, that’s what the sheriff said.”

  We collect our arsenal, get buckled back in, and rub our aching heads.

  “Hey, where’s Michael?” I ask.

  “Last I saw him was last night, he was talking up that Federal guy. He must have looked too respectable to haul off to the pokey,” says Sir Jacob.

  As we stagger out onto the boardwalk, Charley says, “You all seem to have made up overnight. Come on down to my place for some hair of the dog.”

  So we head for the Short Branch, which is closed before noon. We arrive and happily settle our asses onto some of the empty chairs.

  Charley sets us up with Bloody Yankees. “I want to thank you kindly for takin’ it outside rather than breakin’ my expensive bar accoutrements.”

  “The shotgun got our attention,” says Wolf.

  “Come to find out that smarmy fella Soames turned you in to the Sheriff fer fightin’. I guess he was trying to make points with Señor Santa Cruz,” says Charley.

  Michael wanders in looking happy.

  I smile and ask, “How was your night ‘Tio’?”

  “Alright, I did it. I did. I got lucky last night,” admits Michael. “He may be the bad guy, but he was fun. And I’m in.”

  Spud turns a bit green and says, “We’ll try not to picture that. Anyhoo, Charley, this here is Annie, and Michael. They’ll do. Meet Charley, the owner.”

  “Pleasure.”

  Charley is a curvaceous redhead. Very stacked. Big smile, perfect for a bar owner. Folks have to order another drink just to see her lean over the bar in her low cut dress. Cleavage city. I am green with envy.

  We sip for a bit, then Wolf starts it off, “Hey, Spud, good thing yore in the cattle business.”

  Spud is holding his head in his hands, lookin’ pretty miserable. He peers up and says, “Huh?”

  “‘Cause yore gonna need plenty steak for that shiner.”

  Spud’s eye is a swollen and sickly colored mess.

  “Yeah, good thing you were already ugly otherwise that shiner would have spoiled yore looks. Haw haw,” I pile it on. Always jump on a feller when he’s down, I say.

  I turn to Charley and ask, “What got a smart, good lookin’ gal like you in the bar business?”

  “I started on the pole, worked, slaved, saved, stayed away from the excess drink, drugs. I had a goal, be my own boss by 30 and by god, now I am. Come to the frontier where land is cheap and men are thirsty. Set myself up. And only 28 to boot.”

  We commence to toast about everything in the Cosmos, just plain happy to be alive.

  After a big appreciative gulp, Lone touches his head and yelps, “Shit, my ear hurts, feels about tore off.”

  “Hmm, maybe red man have too much firewater.” I chortle.

  “You were the guy who forgot to take it outside; you hit some guy then turned over a table. That is how I got you outside, the old ear lobe hold. Renders men helpless,” Charley informs him.

  “What did you use, your teeth?”

  “Pliers.” Charley laughs.

  Wolf touches his ear, more gingerly this time. “Ow, I thought you were red man’s friend.”

  Charley smiles and says, “I might have taken my part a bit too seriously.”

  She turns to Spud and asks, “That alibi enough for you Spud? Ain’t a person in the whole town didn’t hear you boys hollerin’ and shootin’. Everybody knows you are here.”

  “And no one knows who was on what side; at this point even I’m not sure,” I say, feeling dazed and confused.

  Spud just groans. We all head outside.

  Charley, who is walking off down the boardwalk, turns and smiles at us. All the guys perk up and their eyes light up, bruises and hangovers momentarily forgotten.

  “What woke you guys up?” I ask.

  Spud says, “Charley is a sight better endowed than the most of women.”

  “We were just perusing her anatomy to be sure she is taking proper care of herself,” adds Sir Jacob.

  “Sorry guys, that’s only a temporary cure, yore heads’ll be hurtin’ just as bad as mine again in a minute.”

  We trudge down to the livery, gather our horses, and skulk out of town in different directions.

  17 Federales