Cowgirl Thrillers

by Barbara Neville

“Half Injin, half Bãngh, eh?” I ask Wolf.

  We are out feeding. Dawn is approaching and the horses are full of piss and vinegar. They frisk and buck around in the cold. The breath from their snorts looks like smoke in the frosty morning air.

  “Injin, not Bãngh,” says Wolf. “Buzz tell crazy story. Wolf Injin. Father cowboy. Look at Spud. His only power is over women.”

  “Oh, I was hopin’ we was unique.”

  “Annie. We are,” Wolf says and smiles.

  We stand arm in arm and watch the sunrise. Then, chilled, we run back into the cabin and join Spud and Sir Jacob in front of the fireplace.

  “So, Bãngh, eh?” I ask. Since Wolf won’t talk about it, I hope someone else will. I blow on my coffee, thirsty from the exercise.

  “Yes?” asks Sir Jacob.

  “Well. Yeah, but I was just thinkin’ on it overnight. I mean, I know the brothers and I are part Norse, Dansk, Viking, whatever you wanna call those northern Germanic tribes. So are the Bãngh originally. Right?”

  Sir Jacob nods and says, “Yes, okay.”

  “Bãngh just left Earth a few centuries back. Don’t make them not earthlings or not Norse, even if they didn’t interbreed with Earthkind for a few hundred years. They and us here are all still Norse. Many earthlings are not Viking, but we are, we share that common ancestry. With a little of this and that, like the Injin blood, sprinkled in in our case. Right? Anyhow, the Norse were supposed to have god powers. So, maybe we got god powers too, eh? Even if our fathers are not from Bãngh. Maybe they are not powers that arose on Bãngh, but powers that were perfected on Bãngh.”

  Sir Jacob nods again and says, “Ah, I see. Perfected. Interesting speculation. I suppose that remains to be determined.”

  I can see the wheels turning in his Lordship’s head. Speculation is something he and I have in common. His is educated. Mine? More seat of the pants.

  “Mm-hm,” I agree.

  “Nice of Buzz to share a risky subject. It must be very disturbing to his species. Conquered on their own planet by earthlings, descendants of the same peoples. Living in a Universe peopled more and more by the ever expanding human race whose laws make all Bãngh outlaws.

  “And to Buzz, personally, cast out alone as a teenager among, from his perspective, aliens. Imagine living with such a secret, knowing not who is friend or foe. Or even if any are Bãngh. Dangerous to ask when your entire species is being hunted for bounty. Their powers must have spooked someone back then. Spooked them enough to start the bounty program. Plus the war. Not unusual for losers to be blamed and ostracized.”

  “No kidding,” I say. “I wonder if he has shared his story with others.”

  “Or perhaps it is simply that we have the audacity to call ourselves Bãngh, rather than human.”

  I look around and sure enough, that light-footed Bãngh, just like Wolf, has snuck up on me again.

  He adds, “And, no. I have not shared until now. Mose and Sir Jacob figured it out themselves, lo, so many years ago. Sir Jacob assures me that you are family, so…” He shrugs his shoulders and spreads his hands palms up, in acquiescence.

  “Well,” I say, feeling a mite red faced. “I guess that answers that question. Thank you, Buzz. Coffee’s on the sideboard.”

  He pours a cup and grabs a chair.

  “The cosmos is a huge place of which we know little,” says Sir Jacob. “Bear in mind that as our area of knowledge grows, so too does our perimeter of ignorance. Thus, the more we learn, the more we realize how ever much more we have yet to learn. In the end, one could postulate that there are no answers, only fascinating and ever evolving questions.”

  We all sit there nodding.

  “Okay, who wants Irish in their coffee?” asks Spud, breaking the mood.

  We all take him up on it.

  “How about a quiet day with no emergencies for a change?” asks Spud. “Everyone seems to be safe and sound.”

  We while away the hours talking and laughing, ignoring any scary Bãngh vibes.

  “I heard that there is a planet called Life,” says Michael. “The people there make their decisions based on the spin of a pointer on a wheel. Apparently, there was a game that worked this way on Old Earth. These Life folks don’t like to face the consequences of their own decisions, so they have elected to follow the whimsy of an inanimate wheel.”

  “The capricious nature of fate can be difficult to accept,” says Sir Jacob. “There are many ways to dodge the guilt over one’s own life choices. The most popular is simply blaming others; spouse, friend, your boss say or the government, for your problems. Or the opposing political party.

  “Or, of course, the following of a cause or cult. Belief in superstition, any place where there is someone else making the decisions. Why not a spinning wheel? Leave the responsibility to others.”

  “Tossin’ a coin,” says Spud with a wink for me.

  “Or the Bãngh question?” I ask.

  “Ah. But we all have unknowns in life, you see,” says Buzz. “That is why one must push ever forward, to live, to enjoy, the never ending search for bliss. For sickness or death can take one at any moment. ”

  “Are we just helpless pawns on the chessboard of life?” I ask, rhetorically.

  “Mostly,” says Spud.

  “Heavy stuff,” I say. “Kinda Zen.” I look at Wolf.

  He looks stoic.

  “Hey, on a lighter subject,” says Michael. “I heard a story about three Brit guys who used to buy half broken old vehicles and race each other all over Old Earth. They would search out unusually rough places for their routes.”

  “Ah, yes,” says Sir Jacob. “They say it was a comedy act. They did it for no particular reason, other than to pull various tricks on one another. They would repair broken parts badly or break them further with hammers. And then, they would insult each other over their various quandaries.”

  “Oh, yeah, I’ve heard some of them stories,” says Spud. “Was they the guys called the Stooges?”

  “I don’t know, I think maybe it was them Top Gear guys,” I say, “Either way, I bet those are some popular stories on Gearhead.”

  “What is the point of these stories? They seem no more than trivia,” asks Buzz “I heard such things often at Oxford.”

  “The old Hollywood stories are tales of the times on Old Earth before the Troubles. Better times, some say,” says Michael. “Truth or fiction, who knows?”

  “Ah, my friends,” says Sir Jacob. “Be it truth or fiction, no matter, trivia is the nuts and bolts of the cosmos.”

  “It truly does keep us entertained,” agrees Michael.

  But, doesn’t trivia mean small, unimportant things?” I ask.

  “Yes, exactly,” says Sir Jacob.

  “So how can it be important?”

  “Nut and bolts are small and unimportant also, but empires would fall without them. Every system is a mass of tiny things working together to accomplish, at times, very grand things. For example, the cosmos and everything in it, made up of tiny particles, mere wisps in the wind,” says Sir Jacob.

  “Wow.” I say, nodding.

  I stand up and look out the window and say, “Hey, look. It’s snowin’. Best time fer a hot soak.”

  We rouse ourselves from our aimless reverie and head out through the snow flurries to the hot pools.

  Spud says, “Here Buzz, let’s take a bit of a detour. I can show y’all how this deal works. Have I showed you the hot works, Annie, Michael?”

  “The what?” I ask. I have my arms wrapped around myself. “It’s cold.”

  “Join us, darlin’. Just take a sec,” says Spud, as he puts a warming arm around my shoulders.

  We walk up a small hill across the road from the ranch buildings and over a swale into the next drainage. There is a log building straddling a small stream. The water is steaming in the cold.

  Buzz asks “I say, Spud, what is this structure?”

  “That there is the hot works. We tapped into the hot spring th
ere on the side of the hill See the white ground there? There are pipes running to the cabin, shop, barn, and the teepees. We circulate hot water to all. Gravity flow. Gives us free heat. Cuts our firewood gatherin’ chores to nothing, unless we want to run a fireplace fer the romance of it.”

  Spud smiles down at me and squeezes my shoulders for effect. Michael sees this and winks at me.

  “Geothermal,” says Buzz. “Quite the luxury.”

  “Then, just below the works we run the water through the pools, which get cooler as you go downstream. We also have the cool crick water so we can change the pool temperatures to suit our taste. And cold pools fer the polar bear types.”

  We arrive at the main pool, where Sir Jacob is already taking a slow lap.

  “Come on, Buzz,” I say, and in I wade. “Time for a swim. It’s especially fun when it’s snowin’.”

  He hesitates.

  “Hey, did they not teach you to swim at Oxford? I thought it was a well-rounded school,” I joke.

  “In fact, embarrassingly, I have never learned how to swim.”

  “Come on, it’s shallow, you can stand up everywhere. Join us.”

  Our big accomplishment of the day is getting our new friend in the water. After he gets over his first fears, he finds a nice underwater rock to lounge on and slowly relaxes.

  “We have taught our Bãngh friend a new power,” says Sir Jacob. “The ability to survive warm springs.”

  That evokes a laugh from all. Buzz turns a lovely shade of red as he laughs.

  Michael, who is floating nearby, flips his wrist and says, “Is this fabulous or what?”

  “Ah yes, my friend, it is,” says Buzz lying back carefully in the flow of the warm, supportive, embracing liquid.

  “This moment, now, is life. We are in this moment. We are all in the same moment,” says Wolf.

  “Now, me,” I say, floating peacefully. “I once heard someone say: ‘I want to be the elemental spark at the core of an ever evolving cosmos.’ That sounds purely electrifyin’.”

  “So much fer the moment,” says Spud.

  “However, in Annie's defense, one must consider that if one is not building a future,” Sir Jacob asks, “is it because one believes there is none?”

  “To believe in the future must one plan for it?” asks Michael.

  “Only now. And now. Also now,” persists Wolf. “This now, Wolf go to teepee, think good thoughts.” He climbs out on the teepee side, across the pool from Spud’s cabin and walks off.

  “Arrgghh,” says Spud as he dives under the water like he is trying to wash all this philosophizing out from between his ears.

  He surfaces and walks out of the water saying, “I got hooves to trim.”

  I get out, too, and wander over to help Spud. Leaving the three boys alone to comport theirselves as they wish. I know Michael is gay, still wonder who he was comporting with the other night.

  Them other two? Well it ain’t my business, I reckon. And it makes no never mind to me, they are my friends. But curiosity…said to be a killer.

  I join Spud in catching up horses and we each set to work on one with our nippers. I get the splay footed roan and Spud does the little blue mare.

  “You never found sign of the big footed guy who kidnapped Shaz?” I ask.

  “Didn’t, all them leaves that blew off the trees covered his tracks well. When I met up with Buzz, we talked it over and decided to try again the next day.

  “We went back to T’ree Forks and ate some food, planning to continue our search later. But, as you know, that snow started fallin’ faster and gettin’ thicker. Mose kept lookin’ at it, judgin’ the weather. We climbed a hill to look it over, couldn’t see a thing. By the time we got back down to camp, it was startin’ to pile up a bit. Ruined any chance of ever trackin’ that guy.

  “Mose said the storm looked like a big ’un, plus he pointed out Buzz’ skill fer seein’ in the dark. Mose bein’ the wilderness expert, we took his advice and hit the trail. Didn’t want to get snowed in out there. Plus the trail you, Wolf and that bunch of horses broke would be settin’ up good fer us if the snow got deep in the passes. We was only but a few hours behind you.

  “We saddled up and lit out at a lope on yore trail. Got into some slow goin’ here and there in the lee of the wind, but we made ‘er.”

  “Glad you did,” I say. I set the hoof I just finished down and walk over fer a kiss.

  “We finish these last two ponies, a nap might be in order,” says Spud.

  “Oh yeah.” 

  32 A New Day