Cowgirl Thrillers

by Barbara Neville

A day and a half later Deuce, Billy’s horse and I are near the meeting place. I decide to call Billy’s horse Dutch. Good name.

  I hear a noise and look back.

  “Shit,” I whisper.

  Did I hear something? Is someone following me, again? I pull into some trees and wait until they pass. I wait a mite less than patiently. I chew on some pemmican and dried fruit to pass the time.

  After I can no longer hear hoofbeats I head out again, threading my way through the trees toward the trail. As I duck under the last low branch something lands on my back. A hand covers my mouth and we both fall to the ground. We grapple for a bit, then I feel a blade at my throat.

  “Hold still, stay quiet,” a manly sounding voice says.

  Still holding the knife, he pulls his piggin string and lashes my hands together.

  “Okay,” he says. “Let’s stand up. Slowly.”

  I climb to my feet. He reaches up and stuffs a gag in my mouth. Then he ties a scarf around my face to hold it in.

  He leads me by the hands over to my horse. He helps me back on and lashes my wrists to the saddlehorn. He takes the reins and leads Deuce and Dutch over to a tall black and white blanket appaloosa horse, which he mounts. He takes us on up the trail towards Rio Rojo.

  As we ride along, I work my tongue around until it is sore from the exercise, but finally I get the damn rag out of my mouth.

  “What the fuck?” I ask.

  “Shut up, bitch,” he says.

  “Hey, I am just ridin’ down the trail mindin’ my own bees wax. Not botherin’ nary a fly. Who the fuck do you think you are blindsidin’ me?”

  “I heared about you,” he says. “You that lady been runnin’ around spyin’ on folks. Got some rock name. What is it?”

  This is not good news. Oh shit. This might be bad. Real bad.

  “Rock name? It ain’t me. I am Annie Talks To Horses. No rock names. Who the hell are you?” I ask.

  “Name’s Tang,” he says, looking me up and down. “If I am wrong, I will apologize. But, I ain’t never wrong, so don’t hold yer breath.”

  He is a fit looking guy, real dark skin, curly black hair, past shoulder length. Keeps it in dreadlocks. He is wearing a flashy gold shirt, real shiny. Brand new boots and jeans. He is also sporting a long, bright red scarf for a hatband. His belt is a turquoise scarf. His medium frame revolver, maybe a 9mm, is stuffed in a shoulder holster.

  It is always the same. I laugh.

  “What you laughing about?” he asks.

  “Nothin’.”

  “Tell me or I’ll gag you again.

  “Short guy, tall horse. Always seems to be that way.”

  “Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” he says. “I got the drop on you and you say that?”

  “You asked.”

  He climbs down and redoes the gag.

  After another hour of riding, we pull up over the last little rise into the Rio Rojo drainage. Soon, I can see Wolf and Mose’ pack horses, unpacked and loose, grazing across the valley. The smoke from their fire rises above a copse of trees.

  About twenty minutes later, as we head down the hill, a wild looking bare chested Injin steps out from behind a bush right in front of us, pistol pointing at Tang.

  Tang has his pistol in hand already, too. Pointing at Wolf.

  “Hey, you must be Wolf,” he says, jumping to the ground and holstering his pistol. What? Who the fuck is this guy?

  Wolf nods and shakes his hand. He looks stern, not friendly, but he also holsters his pistol.

  Wolf is painted up and dressed in his Spirit Quest wardrobe. There are sacred symbols in his designs to guide us and help the spirits recognize our journey for the importance it has to our lives. Actually I am just guessing, when I asked Wolf about them once, he just grunted. In any case, he looks awesome.

  “You Poon?” asks Wolf.

  “No, man. It’s Tang.” he replies.

  “What you got here?” Wolf asks, pointing his chin toward me.

  “Caught me a criminal. This heah the gal they been lookin’ fer. She and her pard, I think they the ones Pap havin’ troubles with.”

  Wolf looks at me blandly, as if I am a stranger and not his Spirit Quest cuddle bunny.

  I make some unintelligible sounds under the gag.

  “We go to camp. Talk,” says Wolf. He turns and walks off.

  Tang remounts and leads us on into camp.

  We ride around some trees and see a nice fire with bedrolls laid out nearby. All the panniers and tack are neatly arranged. No one is in sight.

  Tang stops the horses and looks around. Then he dismounts, eying Wolf. Tang walks over and unties my hands from the horn, leaving them tied together and helps me down, too quickly. I hit the ground hard but I survive the fall and look at Wolf.

  “Coffee?” Wolf asks Tang, ignoring me.

  “Sho’, been a long ride.” says Tang.

  “She want coffee?” Wolf asks, nodding toward me.

  I nod vigorously.

  “Maybe take gag off?” asks Wolf.

  “Whea is he?” asks Tang, ignoring Wolf and looking around.

  “Heah ah is,” Mose steps out of the bushes. “What you doin’ heah, boy?”

  “Pap, I come to help,” says Tang. “I heared on Pi that they was some going’s on here. Some gang come over lookin’ fer treasure. Hell, I caught the gal, right heah. We get the story from her.”

  “Boy, you ever think that they might be more than one gal on this planet? This gal is mah friend,” says Mose. “You loose her or I cut a switch.”

  “I’m growed now Pap, you cain’t be cuttin’ no switch,” says Tang.

  “Now look heah, son, bettah a switch den a bullet,” says Mose.

  While Tang is distracted with Mose, Wolf walks over to me. He holds a finger to his lips and takes off the gag. He also unties my hands and walks with me out into the trees.

  After we are out of earshot of the camp, he stops. We sit on a log with a fair view back toward camp and wait for Tang and Mose to talk it out. Wolf has us set up where we can see the two. I guess Wolf wants to watch in case Mose needs help. Mose and Tang certainly don’t seem to be on very good terms.

  After a while, Mose calls us to come in. We walk down, he is alone.

  “Set heah,” says Mose.

  He looks at me and explains, “Tang, is mah son. Raised by his mama on Pi. She doan like me. She taught him the same. Relations atween us could be bettah.”

  “No shit,” I say.

  Mose smiles and says, “He caught you and brought you in expectin’ a reward. Young and stupid, that’s mah son.”

  “He will learn,” says Wolf.

  “Nah, been waitin’ fer him to learn fer ages. Boy is 33 year old now. Guess he ain’t so young no more, air he? Maybe he never learn. I sent him on his way.”

  “We watch tonight?” asks Wolf.

  “Yessir, we do’” says Mose. “We watch extry careful, ‘case dat boy come back.”

  Mose shakes his head sadly.

  3 Huzzah