Cowgirl Thrillers

by Barbara Neville

After a few miles of riding with the bitch not far behind us, we climb a hill. Spud raises an arm and we all dismount and crawl up to the ridge top.

  “This is not really a very clever hideout. It is, after all, our line shack,” says Sir Jacob.

  “But them dudes don’t know it, they likely think it is someone’s small abandoned home,” counters Wolf.

  “In a situation where bullets are flying it is important to have a general plan and a General to coordinate it all. So we are working together, not at odds,” says Sir Jacob. “In these situations Spud is our leader, being the most locally experienced and having, I believe, untapped leadership qualities. He will come up with the plan.”

  I look at Spud. Spud looks confused

  “That’s good, right?” asks Michael.

  “Possible you weren’t around for some of his previous plans,” mutters Wolf.

  Meanwhile Spud and I are deep in discussion.

  “We’ve talked this through, I even took a course,” I say.

  “Talkin ain’t doin’. Talkin’ ain’t learnin’ either. Doin’ and doin’ agin, over and over agin is learnin’. We call it experience,” remarks Spud.

  “Book learnin’ is useful,” I insist.

  “Sure it is, so is talkin’, but look at the FNG, fucking new guy, death rate in any war. Them fellers, just arrived from school, no field experience, die like flies,” warns Spud. “They ain’t no substitute for experience.”

  “Yore own book learnin’ is bound to have helped, too. It ain’t all experience.”

  “Hells bells girl, if I had wanted book learnin’ I’d of gone to school.”

  “What?”

  “Close yore mouth, girl. Yore catchin’ flies.”

  Wolf says, “Spud and I did not go to school. Much of our not going to school was done together. I feel that has left us not smart, but smart ass.”

  “Actually we was home schooled. Hooky was our favorite class.”

  Sir Jacob says, “I have in fact observed, through long association, enough to know that under my ass is a horse much cleverer than either of you.”

  “Hell, horses are smarter than all of us,” I say.

  “Which explains why she talks to them,” says Wolf.

  “That loosened us up,” says Spud.

  Sir Jacob adds, “The much maligned school of hard knocks is, I believe, the best school of all. It hopefully includes a visit or two to the library or better yet the oracles themselves. There is much wisdom to be had from some of even the most common of men.”

  Spud looks at me and says, “Trust me, you need to hang back or stay out of it. Okay?”

  “I can provide cover fire,” I say.

  “Okay, but be careful.”

  “She is a crack shot,” says Michael.

  “Long as she don’t get her personal head shot off,” says Spud. “Okay, Annie Oakley, you stay up here, use the sniper rifle. Don’t shoot me.”

  “Or Injin,” adds Wolf.

  “This is crazy! We can’t just shoot people like the old time cowboys did,” says Michael.

  “Must I remind you? This is still the Rock and we are old time cowboys,” says Sir Jacob.

  “No black and white. All shades of gray,” adds Spud.

  Michael and I chew on that a bit. The others wait patiently.

  His Dukeness peers all around, surveying the layout. Then he walks over to the ammo mule, pulls out a full bandoleer and lifts it over his head.

  “The element of surprise is a formidable advantage in combat,” says Sir Jacob as he loads his revolver, then reaches for a rifle. He has another rifle slung over his shoulder and few grenades at ready to stuff in his vest.

  Wolf looks at Sir Jacob. “How many weapons you plan to take? Ya got but two hands.”

  Sir Jacob says, “A lot of choices present themselves. I plan to be prepared for all.”

  “There’s a lot of fine ways to die,” says Spud, “and I ain’t waitin’ for the Centrists to choose mine.” He cocks his gun.

  “First rule of Injin warfare, do not let them know where you are,” says Wolf. “I will circle round.”

  “I thought Spud was in charge,” I say.

  “Wolf read Spud mind.”

  “We been workin’ together fer a long time,” Spud agrees.

  “What we need is a robust backup plan,” says I.

  “We’ll just sneak up,” says Spud.

  Suddenly, Michael rushes out of the bushes below us screaming, “I’m here, I’m here, they’re coming to get me. Help!”

  “Or create a diversion, an alternate school of thought,” says Spud and then he scuttles off.

  Michael goes up and pounds on the door, still yelling.

  Eventually he turns the knob, walks in.

  We wait.

  In a few minutes he comes back out.

  “Shit, the door closing, all the rattling I heard?” he yells up.

  “One guy, he just died. He was still jerking around, leftover muscle spasms. Dead as a doornail now.”

  “Objects are not deceptive, they are deception,” says Sir Jacob.

  Wolf stands up on the other side of the shack, shrugs his shoulders.

  Spud rises from behind his bush. “Fuck! Okay, let’s search for a clue, anything.”

  Wolf disappears.

  “Annie and Jake, stay here and keep an eye peeled, this could be a diversion to out divert our diversion. Be sure yore both watching different directions at all times. And don’t lose them damn horses.” Spud walks down the hill kicking innocent rocks. “Damn it!”

  “Is he grouchy?”

  “So it would appear. Big adrenaline buildup, only natural, he expected answers,” says Sir Jacob.

  “Hell, me too.”

  Spud joins Michael in searching inside the cabin. Wolf stays outside casting around looking for sign. The bitch is about 50 feet from Sir Jacob and I, alert and watching both the cabin and the perimeter. Just like us but with better nose and ears.

  After a bit, out of the corner of my eye I see the bitch swivel her head. I look over my shoulder to where she’s looking.

  “Hey ya,” says Wolf quietly.

  I jump, Wolf has sneaked up agin. “Damn Injin.”

  Wolf says, “Bitch see me, protect you. Good Spirit Dog.”

  “And wipe that shit eatin’ grin off yore face.”

  Wolf grins. “Wolf bring dead man mare, nice quiet ride, make good foals.”

  “Good foals?”

  “Part of Wolf horse herd now.”

  “Thievin’ Injins, give us all a bad name.”

  Wolf laughs. “Rock rules. Besides, him no have next of kin, me check.”

  “Okay. You look in the root cellar?” I ask.

  “Cellar?”

  “Over in the trees north of the shack.”

  “Not know about that.”

  “I ‘bout lost a bull in there during round up. Some rock pilings from an old house, likely burned down, fallen down chimney, not much else. Root cellar ‘bout 30 yards north. Right in them thick dog hair trees. Didn’t look in the cellar, bull ran off again so I got too. Figured you knew of it. Probably should check it out. Just in case it ain’t fell in.”

  “I go tell Spud and Mike. You move north on ridge, cover us.”

  Sir Jacob and I move back from the rim. I gather the horses, tying the ones who’ll pony to their buddies so I have less of a handful of reins and heads.

  “Easy, Boots, Spike. Let’s go boys.” We quietly make our way north, Sir Jacob keeping a good lookout. I tie a couple of the horses; hobble and ground tie the rest and meet Jacob on the rim. The bitch sets up just a bit south of us. She seems to be as careful as we are about being quiet and laying low.

  “Could it be this is not her first battle with humans?” wonders Sir Jacob. “She is certainly careful.”

  “Woods are full of wolves and Mexicans,” pointing at himself, “that love puppy meat,” says Michael.

  Wolf laughs and says, “Best keep eye on Michael.”
>
  “True, the boy loves his tacos,” I say.

  Spud meets us at our new overlook.

  “Point it out to me. Don’t want ‘em to hear us thrashing around down there lookin’ fer it. Can’t let ‘em know we’re coming until we are all set up.”

  “Look down there where that dead snag, looks lightning struck is, see it?”

  “Okay.”

  “That’s where the fallen chimney is, it don’t stick up into sight from here. But over here just below us where the hillside meets the flat if you look off to the left maybe 40 feet, you can just see a stovepipe, real rusty, sticking up out of that brush patch.”

  “Aha. Okay.”

  Just then we spot Wolf who holds up three fingers and makes the horse sign. Then two fingers and makes the human sign.

  “Is Michael going to do the chicken run agin?” I ask.

  “No, I told him to calm down this time or I would shoot him,” says Spud.

  “But he looked so cute.”

  Spud says, “Michael didn’t find evidence of any other visitors here. Maybe these guys shot the guy at the line shack, hard to say.”

  “Did he figure anything out about who kilt the guy at the line shack? Any last words or such?” I ask.

  “Nope.” Spud gets up. “We’ll wake those naked starker cocksuckers right up,” he whispers and heads down the hill.

  I set the sniper scope right in front of where I think the door of the root cellar should be in the brush. When Spud arrives at the bottom he tiptoes over and I can see him drop a grenade down the stovepipe.

  “Holy shit, I thought we wanted them alive. And any evidence!” I exclaim quietly.

  “Not to worry,” whispers Sir Jacob.

  After a few seconds, smoke comes pouring out along with shadowy coughing figures.

  “Drop your weapons now!” yells Spud.

  “We just want to talk,” says Michael.

  They drop and roll and start shooting wildly, not seeing us. One spots Spud and draws a bead.

  I aim for a shoulder and pull the trigger, but with him rolling it hits center and the guy stops moving.

  Sir Jacob lobs a grenade down into the woods, hoping to distract the second guy. But the guy must be a soldier, he ignores it, draws down on Spud, then falls. The sound of Wolf’s shot follows.

  Michael walks out carefully, using trees for cover. We can’t be sure that no one is left in the root cellar. Wolf covers him, as do we.

  Spud goes over to the stovepipe and yells down, “Come out on five or I drop a real grenade.”

  Of course, we want to look at what’s in the cellar, it’s an empty threat.

  After Spud gets to two, Michael rushes in the door, guns in both hands. All is quiet though. Michael comes out after a minute, coughing. After a breath he says. “Seems to be all clear, I disarmed the trip wire, just smoke left. Couldn’t stay down there yet, we need to wait for the smoke to dissipate.”

  Spud is checking the wounded, one is moving. He yells, “Jakey, bring yore bag!”

  I stay up top in case any other baddies are nearby. Sir Jacob runs down and works on the wounded.

  Meanwhile Michael and Spud go toward the root cellar.

  Bitch gives me warning agin, flicking an ear. Wolf shows up by me. “Good dog, never make sound. You go down, help. Wolf watch.”

  As I go down the hill, Sir Jacob yells. I hear two shots. I stop and look. Sir Jacob is looking at the wounded guy, who is doing the death shake. Sir Jacob’s head is bloody.

  I run down to help.

  Jacob is standing looking down at his patient. “It’s unseemly shooting persons of substance. Not to mention the very doctor trying to save your life, you bastard.”

  Sir Jacob has a tiny derringer in his right hand. The bad guy has a hole in the center of his forehead.

  Sir Jacob looks at me and says, “There was concern that I was bringing too many armaments, ha!” Then he passes out. Spud and Michael have arrived by this time.

  “It’s just a scratch,” says Michael,

  Michael pulls out a bandana. “Compression, Annie.”

  “Wake up you Brit bastard,” says a distraught Spud.

  “Is he okay?” yells Wolf.

  “Head wound, lotsa blood, but only the scalp, not bone. Probably not a problem, depends,” Michael yells back.

  “Depends?”

  “Bigger caliber, more of a shock wave. Concussion is my concern here.” Michael opens Sir Jacob’s eyes one at a time, looking for trouble. “They seem to be dilated equally, a prayer couldn’t hurt here, anyone got religion?”

  “Damn, lotta blood,” says Spud. “Hit a bleeder. Wolf’s up there right now keepin’ lookout and prayin’ with his eyes open. Prayin’ to his heathen Injin gods. Best gods of all. If prayer works, Sir Jacob be just fine.”

  I pray too. I believe we all are prayin’, havin’ high regard for our royal friend.

  Sure ‘nough, in a bit, our prayers are answered. Sir Jacob moans, rolls his head around. He puts his hands up to his forehead and opens his eyes.

  He looks at Michael, who is aiming his knife towards Jake’s head, and says, “Ye gods man, lets, uh, not cut off anything important there.”

  “Just a shave and a haircut pard, not to worry.”

  Sir Jacob laughs painfully and says, “Good lord. I must indeed remain amongst the living, I am surrounded by my beloved heathen friends.”

  “I prayed hard for you, Sir Jake,” I say, “but I’m not religious, so there’s the risk that my praying could be taken as an affront which might make matters worse.”

  “Faith is but the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not seen. I verily believe all prayers are seen the same. Thank you, my dear Annie. You seem also to have saved my veritable bacon by shooting the other bloke.”

  Sir Jacob sits up, sways, then rests a bit. We all watch and worry. “Relax children,” he says. “My head is much too hard to be bothered by a mosquito bite like this.”

  Michael draws Spud over toward the root cellar, stopping a ways away to confab. Then Spud covers Michael while he heads toward the entrance. In a minute Michael sticks his head out and calls, “All clear. Wolf, you should come look at this.”

  Then Spud walks back to us. “Thought we had a situation but it looks to be taken care of. Booby trap. Michael disarmed it his first trip in. Stone cold, that guy.”

  “Yeah, seen it before,” I say. “Blurs his swish image of hisself, so we don’t talk about it when he’s in the room.”

  I run up the hill to spell Wolf.

  Spud and Wolf go in the cellar. Michael comes out to keep an eye on Sir Jacob. After an exam of Sir Jake’s wound, the two wilderness docs head out to search the area around the hideout.

  Eventually, just before I die of starvation, they show up at the bitch and my’s outpost.

  “Looks like we got them all. One man per horse and a pack animal. Saddles tell the tale. And not enough sign for another,” says Michael.

  “So that Soames, the Federal, one of the dead?” I ask.

  “Nope, no sign of him,” says Michael. “I think we are okay now. We got the bitch to guard for us, we’ll see how she does, and of course the horses always are a help. Come on down, we’ll rustle up some vittles.”

  We gather up the ever patient horses and head down the hill. I unsaddle and turn them loose to forage while the boys gather wood.

  I look around at the carnage. “Lotta dead bodies.”

  Michael says, “Personally I deplore violence, but that was totally worth the loss of karma points.”

  “Let’s go fix us a meal.”

  Then I go over and hallo the root cellar. Spud sticks a head out. I ask him, “We’re lookin’ to fix a meal. Shall we fire up out here?”

  “Yeah, close in here, lot of junk. Still smells of that smoke bomb, too.”

  After the fire is going and food is cooking, Sir Jacob heads up the hill. On his return, he says, “That bitch is still up there watching. Bloody good looko
ut she is.”

  When grits are on, we call the searchers out.

  They emerge grimy, but smiling.

  We fill our plates and set. After eating our fill, we coffee up.

  “The suspense is killing me,” I say. “I got a feelin’ you found something.”

  Wolf nods and intones, “We have found something that will change everything.”

  25 Evidence