Cowgirl Thrillers

by Barbara Neville

Spud looks up as we saunter in.

  “Howdy boys. Hell, Buzz and Bob, you make good lookin’ cowboys,” he remarks. “Here, I’ll get badges, swear ya in.”

  He reaches into a drawer and pulls out two shiny silver and brass badges. Cool.

  Buzz grins and looks at me, “Actually, I have been a cowboy before.”

  “Yeah,” I add smiling, “Not his first rodeo.”

  “Yo, Bob,” Spud says. “New mustache, um, trim?”

  “Ha ha,” I say. “I kinda like a handlebar.”

  I walk over to the mirror and admire my mustachioed masculine self.

  “Gonna grow sideburns next,” I say.

  They forget to chuckle. I thought it was hilarious.

  “Welp, we’re just here waitin’ on their next move,” says Spud tapping his fingers on the desktop.

  “Painter here?” I ask.

  “He is.”

  “Why not just take him home with us?”

  “Remember what Wolf said?”

  “Um?” I say.

  “We need a permanent solution,” says Spud.

  “Ah. Okay,” I say.

  “We shall follow your lead, Marshall,” says Buzz.

  “See?” says Spud, turning to smile at me. He points at the ‘Marshall’ sign on the desk. “Buzz read Tindall’s sign.”

  Buzz looks askance at me.

  “Spud is referring to the fact that he is the sheriff,” I say. “This is, according to the sign out front, the ‘Sheriff’s Office’. But, when Tindall made the sign for the sheriff’s desk, he put ‘Marshall’.”

  “Tindall is a mite quirky,” says Spud. “But he’s got a good heart.”

  “Ah, I see,” says Buzz.

  Spud pulls two deputy badges out of his desk and we get them pinned on.

  “Bob,” he asks, “you’ll do what I say?”

  “Maybe,” I answer, flippantly.

  “Close enough. Buzz, you already said it. So by the power vested in me by pretty much nobody, you are now sworn in as my deputies. Loyal to me and mine,” says Spud. “No religious stuff needed.”

  “What next?” I ask.

  “Buzz, kin you go in the back and just look around?” asks Spud. “See if we need to station another hand back there. Sir Jacob is outside the alley door. Don’t sneak up on his Lordship. He may have a’ itchy trigger finger.”

  Buzz smiles and heads through the cellblock door.

  “Now, Bob, you scout back over toward the saloon and get us a big pitcher and mugs. Keep yore eyes peeled.”

  I start toward the door.

  Spud says, “Hey, stop walkin’ like a girl.”

  I man up, adjust my imaginary cojones, er, balls and head for the Short Branch. I order the pitcher and all. And then I head into the, whoops, Mens, almost went in the Ladies. The Mens room is empty, so I check myself in the mirror. I grab my jeans and adjust the equipment again. Crap, as I feared, I can see no visible equipment bulge at all. Next time I won’t forget to stuff a sock in there. I wad up some TP and jam it in. Then, I jiggle my gun belt. I have to stuff my hand down there and adjust it a bit more and blammo. Bob has a big ‘un. I name him: ‘Larry the Extraordinary’ on the spot.

  I pick up the beer tray and head down to join the boys, correction, other boys.

  After we all wet our whistles with a mug of good brew, Spud and I go into the cellblock. We join Painter in the cell, which is unlocked, and set down to wait.

  “Painter, you need to move yore girl out of town,” I say.

  Painter turns so red that it shows up even on his brown cheeks.

  Spud and I stifle our laughs.

  “She ain’t my girl yet, Annie. Just courtin’,” he says. Just a shy country boy.

  Spud and I sip our beer, no doubt both remembering our own youthful crushes. Oh yeah, I was Spud’s first fulfilled crush. Likely one of many, he is no slouch when it comes to the ladies, I hear.

  Sir Jacob walks in and asks, “Have you a prognosis for today’s activities?”

  Spud says, “No, ain’t seen any activity so far, you got any ideas?”

  We hear a noise out front. Everyone reaches for a firearm. Sir Jacob walks over and looks through the cellblock door.

  “Charley,” he says.

  We relax.

  Charley walks in and says, “Dinner, brought it early. Soames and friends just ordered dinner at the bar. I figured you’d want to finish eating before they did. Theirs will take another half hour to serve up. Cookie’s taking an extra-long smoke break just for us.”

  “Extry-long? Good. How many men with Soames?” asks Spud.

  “Six. Anything else you need? I better get back.”

  “We’re good. Thanks Charley.”

  We are stuffing our guts when Wolf walks in the back.

  “Noose hanging in cottonwood tree other end of town,” he says.

  Spud looks up from his plate and asks, “How many?”

  “One guy was there. He go to bar just now.”

  “How’s the coverage?”

  “Good,” says Wolf.

  “Eat,” says Spud. He passes Wolf the last plate.

  We finish up our meal.

  21 The Branch