Cowgirl Thrillers

by Barbara Neville

  ***

  “Who the fuck are those guys? I mean, I don’ think they are working alone,” I say when we stop to water and change horses. We have been riding fast for hours. “I heard Crystal and Mitch say they were chasing a guy who double crossed them.”

  “They could be working for Soames, if he is still alive. Or someone else who knows about the spirit caves. Or even be working on their own,” says Sir Jacob.

  “Fucking bad guys.” I say. “I never did trust strangers. And, of the folks I know, Crystal is the worst.”

  “One would hope that you do not feel me to be a fraud. We are almost strangers, having not been acquainted for long,” says Buzz, tongue-in-cheek, eyebrows raised quizzically.

  “Takes me a while to get used to new folks, Buzz. I think you are okay. Also, Sir Jacob vouches for ya.’

  “Almost everyone lives their life in what they feel is a proper and moral way. It is muddled by the fact that the concepts of right and wrong are subject to interpretation. One must not take it all too seriously,” says Buzz.

  He shrugs his shoulders, grinning. He is probably concerned, but he sounds completely nonchalant.

  “You seem to find a lot of humor in this,” I say. “Lives are at stake here.”

  “Including yours and mine. I shall continue to attempt to find humor in life until the final bullet arrives.”

  “That’s a tall order.”

  “Tis a wisdom which arrives with the years,” Buzz says.

  “You don’t look too much older than me.”

  “Ah, well, that is a story for another day,” he says as we tighten our cinches.

  “Yeah,’ I say. Tucking in my latigo. ‘Time’s awastin’.”

  We all hop aboard.

  “Oh, yes. Very much so,” says Sir Jacob, kicking his fresh mount up to a lope.

  And we are once again off to the races.

  We have been backtracking along Spud’s shortcut. As we near the spot where it meets the trail at the base of the switchback hill, we hear a rider approaching fast from our right. We turn and pull our rifles. As he approaches, we realize that it is our scout, Wolf.

  “They backtrack, Spud track and others, seem to be together. Maybe two or three. Come,” says Wolf after skidding to a stop next to me. “They head toward MadDog.”

  We turn down that trail and slow to a jog, to rest our and the horse’s muscles.

  At the next change of horses, Buzz asks me, “Sir Jacob told me quite a bit, but I am unsure. Why were Crystal and Zeb fighting each other?”

  “Someone stole Spud’s horse, they pointed fingers at each other. Other than that, sounds like it’s the map,” says I. I go on to relate Zeb’s story.

  “While you walked Crystal in, surely you asked her side of things?” asks Buzz.

  “Waste of time. She is a lying bitch.”

  “Ah,” says Buzz. “You two have a history.”

  “Yep, bad blood. Very bad blood.”

  Sir Jacob looks at Buzz and shrugs.

  “And the Ugh you mentioned?” asks Buzz.

  “Hard to say, that also needs more investigation,” says Sir Jacob.

  “Well, maybe I might be understatin’ it a bit,” I say. “But it seems to me that it has all gotten fuckin’ crazy. I suppose Jonny Soames, Mitch and Crystal could be working together. And double crossin’ one another at the same time. Then Zeb and Trixie are their own gang or an innocent pilgrim expedition.”

  Buzz laughs and says, “Time will tell. One wonders who would have known or cared enough about all of our movements to have sent an Ugh. Likely it has nothing to do with us. Maybe those other factions are spying on one another.”

  “Yeah, who knows,” I say.

  “I can’t wait to see the rest of the map,” says Sir Jacob.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “Funny though, Mitch has older bite wounds, human bites. He must have been in an earlier altercation,” says Sir Jacob. “We must ask.”

  “Holy cow. Maybe he is the one who captured Shaz. Mose said she bit the hell out of her captor,” I say.

  “Bloody hell. I didn’t know.”

  “You must of missed the tellin’ of that part of the story,” I say. “Mose was speculatin’ that maybe the captor would bleed out from his bites. Guess there was a fair amount of blood where Shaz and him fought. Fuck me, I knew that not shootin’ Mitch was a mistake.”

  “Curiouser and curiouser,” says Sir Jacob.

  “If he is the one,” I say. “Shaz has a bone to pick with him.”

  “Quite,” says Sir Jacob.

  “Shit, fuck. The guy who captured Shaz, the one who took the other quartz buffalo from the buffalo spirit cave. Damn, if it is Mitch, he could have lost it in the river,” I say, “Son of a bitch. Suppose he would have been stupid enough to try to take it across in that flood? It could be lost or damaged beyond…damn.”

  “Not to worry, Annie. We shall persevere,” says the ever optimistic Buzz. “If it is in the river, it will have sunk to the bottom. In any case, the man is alive still to question. We shall work it out.”

  “Hope it ain’t shattered to pieces by the current and debris,” I say.

  “What is is,” says Buzz.

  After the horses drink, we saddle fresh ones and walk them a few paces. Then, we double-check our cinches and climb on the fresh horses.

  Just before we tap them with our spurs, I say, “Damn, confusion makes my brain hurt. I wanted to live a quiet, peaceful life.”

  “Mm,” says Buzz, nodding.

  “You know,” I add, shrugging. “Cowgirls just wanna have fun.”

  The buffalo carvings, the map and all the rest give us food for thought for the next few hours.

  We have been able to keep the remuda together save for two exhausted dropouts.

  Many miles later we switch back to our first mounts a couple of miles outside of MadDog and abandon the rest. They are too tired to keep up and will most likely graze their way home.

  Eschewing the saddle change, I undo the cinch and drop my saddle on the ground. Going bareback saves weight, which makes it easier on the horse. I have the reins in my left hand and my rifle in the other. Since we are headed to town, I figure the food supplies on my saddle are no longer needed.

  My first mount, Spike, already gave his best, but the riderless time in between has given him a second wind. Wolf is also bareback. Our two horses stretch out and, being lighter without saddles, we pull ahead of Sir Jacob and Buzz.

  As we head around the last corner and into town, a guy steps off the covered boardwalk in front of the Sheriff’s office and hails us with a tilt of the head and a wave. I start to raise my rifle.

  Wolf says, “Relax, that is Deputy Tindall.”

  The deputy is holding out a hand to stop us. He has a shotgun balanced over his shoulder pointed toward the sky. He grabs Wolf’s rein as his horse stops.

  “Wolf, out to the Spaceport. Two guys, and Spud. He didn’t look happy, acted weird. They want to fly out. Sky is trying to delay them,” Tindall says. “Hurry.”

  We speed back up, rifles across our laps, ready. I look back to see a young kid trot up to the deputy, leading a horse. Tindall mounts it. He digs in his heels to join us. Hopefully, we ain’t too far behind Spud and them.

  Tindall catches us up and asks, “What is going on?”

  “You seem to know more‘n we do,” I say.

  As we turn a tight corner, I grab a big lock of mane with my rein hand, almost losin’ my seat.

  After I right myself, I add, “Sounds like someone maybe captured Spud?”

  Tindall nods.

  “Good guys, bad guys, who the fuck knows? Why else would Sky try to delay them? Somethin’s wrong. We gotta save the Sheriff,” says Tindall. “He runs this town.”

  Spud? Run a town? I’m thinking Tindall is maybe a mite simpleminded. But he is on our side. So I shut up. Hell, you ask me, Spud is just fine as plain ol’ eye candy.

  Wolf pulls out ahead of me. Tind
all is a few strides behind me. As our horses sprint into the Spaceport, I can see four people standing on the tarmac by the access ramp to the Shitkicker.

  As we get closer, I recognize Sky standing outside the shuttle in intense conversation with another man. Spud is standing off a couple of paces with his arms behind his back. A third guy is trying to hide it, but from his attitude, I think he is holding a gun on Spud. As we close in, it sounds like Sky and the first guy are arguing over space fare.

  Wolf yells, “Ho.” And waves his rifle.

  They stop talking and look over at the wild, bare chested, rifle waving Injin racing flat out toward them, his horse’s hooves clattering on the tarmac. His long hair, feathers and all, is flowing and bouncing in the wind generated by the horse’s long fast strides.

  The guy next to Spud is quick. He moves up close and grabs Spud’s shackled hands, raising a pistol barrel to his head. The guy talking to Sky pulls a pistol and aims it at Wolf.

  “Hold the ship. We need to talk,” Wolf says, pulling on the reins and sliding his horse to a stop in front of them. His rifle is pointed at the guy talking to Sky.

  I slide Spike in next, leaving space between myself and Wolf. I have the rifle at my shoulder, aimed at Spud’s captor.

  “What the hell is wrong with you people?” I ask, to break the tension. “You plan to kidnap everyone on this planet?”

  They look baffled. Just another no sense of humor crowd.

  “I am Deputy Regional Officer of Planet Operations,” says the guy who was talking to Sky. He is average height or short, as we freakishly tall folk say, and has buzz cut dishwater blonde hair. He is wearing brand new, off the shelf, cowboy clothes. “This man is a fugitive from justice. We have legally apprehended him and are returning him to the outpost on Proxima Pi.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize that you were the Deputy Regional Officer of Planet Operations. That sounds important. Hah,” I scoff. “How do you pronounce that? Dropo or just Drops?”

  Drops turns red. His head looks like it may explode. He wiggles his gun barrel like maybe I hadn’t noticed it and says, “Hey.”

  Finally, at long last, Deputy Tindall arrives beside me. Okay, maybe just a few seconds have passed. But, as these high adrenaline situations do, it seems like way longer. Tindall raises his shotgun. I point at his badge and say, “Our lawman here has a different story. Let me tell it to ya.”

  God forbid what Tindall might dream up.

  “No, I got this,” says Tindall. He takes a second to think.

  While all this diversionary commotion is going on, I see Buzz and Sir Jacob sneak up on foot and hide behind the ramp.

  Oh, crap. Don’t no bad guys turn their heads.

  “Our sheriff here,” I say quickly, waving an arm to keep their attention off of anything Buzz and his Lordship might be doing behind them. I point at Wolf and add, “was just tryin’ on his costume fer the Founders Day parade.” Not a great quick thinker, me.

  Wolf takes the figurative reins, saying in a commanding voice, “You owe us an explanation here. You cannot remove a prisoner from my jurisdiction without filing the correct form with the local court. The justice office is in downtown MadDog, across the street from the Short Branch Saloon. They are open now for your convenience.”

  I am staring wide-eyed and slack jawed at my laconic Injin companion. He actually can speak full on English. Several sentences at a time even. Easy to forget that.

  Tindall whispers to me out of the corner of his mouth, “Shut yore mouth, yore catchin’ flies.”

  “Captain Pilot,” Wolf continues. “You are to cease and desist. You cannot give passage to these persons until they have been cleared by me and also by the proper port authorities.”

  “I was just about to explain that, Sheriff,” says Sky. “Soon as we got a trip price figured out.”

  Wolf looks back at the bad guys, “Fortunately, I have an empty cell. I will be able to extend you the courtesy of placing your prisoner in my cell block while you complete your mandatory paperwork.”

  Wolf swings a leg over his horse’s withers and slides off, keeping his rifle aimed at Drops. Tindall has his shotgun aimed at Drops also, since he seems to be in charge.

  Wolf lowers his rifle and walks over to Spud. Wolf roughly grabs an elbow. He quickly frogmarches Spud, none too carefully, back toward MadDog.

  Why on Rock they don’t shoot him, I have no idea. On the other hand, he is large, intimidating and mesmerizing. Not to mention cute.

  They stand and watch Wolf march off with Spud, mouths open and guns dangling. Sky trips Drops. Drops earns his new nickname, dropping flat to the pavement. Sky stands like the great white hunter, with one booted foot on Drops back. He has a tiny derringer in his fist, pointed at Drops back.

  He says, “Make a move, bureaucrat.”

  Simultaneously, Sir Jacob has sauntered quietly in. He tries to grab the guy with the goatee who was holding Spud. Goatee must hear or feel his approach. He is quick, turning into Sir Jacob, whose knife just happens to be in the perfect position to slit the guy’s throat. Oopsie.

  Buzz stands up from behind the ramp and holsters his big pistol. He bends over and picks up the dying goatee guy. Blood is still pulsing out of a severed carotid artery. He throws the guy over his shoulder like a 150 lb. sack of potatoes. It looks like child's play for a man the size of Buzz. As he walks away, the dying man goes into his death throws, twisting and jerking around. Buzz is unfazed.

  “Powers,” I say.

  Tindall looks over at me and says, “What?”

  “Oh, nothing. Just noticed how powerful my friend Buzz is. Big guy, you know.”

  “Yeah,” Tindall pauses then adds, “You know, he looks a lot like Spud.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I say, shrugging. “All tall folks look alike.”

  Tindall looks at me, puzzled. True though, happens to me anytime there is another tall woman around. Strangers can’t tell us apart..

  We all head back toward the sheriff’s office. I dismount and lead my and Wolf’s horses, cooling them out. They have more than earned their keep today. I take them to a holding pen outside the big wood barn, where they drink thirstily out of the trough and happily attack the hay I throw in.

  Tindall shows up as I am about to leave.

  “Hope I ain’t stealing from no one,” I say.

  “No,” he says. “This is the sheriff’s hay. The rest belongs to the town. Set up by Spud for folks to use if needed. They pay fer the water and feed. I run it, since the deputy work ain’t a busy work.”

  He unsaddles his horse and puts it in with ours. I walk to the Sheriff’s office. Tindall heads off somewhere else.

  “Holy shit, Spud. Already back in the sheriff’s chair?” I ask. “Don’t Wolf get to try it out fer jest a second?”

  Spud makes a face and says, “Injins can’t be sheriffs.”

  “Sure glad this worked out,” I say. “No way was I goin’ back to the evil Proxima Pi in order to save yore sorry ass.”

  I walk over and give him a big kiss.

  “Thanks fer the sentiment and the save, darlin’.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “Um, am I hallucinatin’ or did Buzz have a miraculous recovery?” asks Spud.

  “Recovery?” I ask.

  “Yeah, he got shot. I saw him fall. I was just coming over a ridge when the shooting started below me. These same two guys against Buzz. He fell. I started shooting, they returned fire, and before you know it they was chasing me out of the country. They caught me clean in the end. After they captured me, we rode back by where Buzz fell, I saw a fair amount of blood on the ground. But Buzz was gone.”

  “He never said a word to me when he showed up at Sir Jacob’s. Maybe just a graze?”

  “Huh,” he says, “he sure fell hard. Glad he’s okay.”

  I walk over to the cellblock door and look in. “Where is the new prisoner, Mr. Dropsy Drops?”

  “Sir Jacob took him off to check his head, wouldn’
t want to lose a prisoner to concussion,” says Spud. “He also needs to identify his dead buddy fer the paperwork. I sent Tindall over to fill it out.”

  “Didn’t know you did paperwork.”

  “Tindall is the book guy, a lazy book guy, anyway. Once in a while he needs to fill out a paper, makes him feel official. Rogue Centrists are his favorite.”

  “Ah. Nice.”

  “I trained him. Kinda proud,” he says, adjusting his belt in that proud of hisself way. “Boys are meetin’ us over to the Short Branch.”

  “I’m thirsty, starved and maybe a tad bit saddle sore,” I say, “Let’s go.”

  “You go ahead. I got a bit of housekeepin’ to do here.”

  “‘Kay.” I head across the street, wanting to sit in a chair where I won’t have to move for a while should my riding muscles happen to seize up. A little muscle relaxing brew might be in order also.

  Charley is behind the bar, talking to the help. She sees me walk in and follows me back to the boys’ favorite corner table.

  I set down just as she puts a flagon of beer on the table in front of me.

  “Hey Charley,” I say, smiling. “What’s the haps?”

  “I heard you’ve had a long day.”

  “Yep. Small town, word travels fast,” I say. I look out the window. I can see Buzz and Wolf talking on the boardwalk outside. “Hunks.”

  She smiles and nods in agreement. I down about half the flagon in one long thirst satisfying drink.

  Looking back out the window, I ask, “Hey, you ever noticed how aliens are almost always portrayed ugly and creepy looking?”

  “Sure, I’ve heard plenty of those creepy alien tales.”

  “What if, instead of that, aliens were extremely handsome and so hot and sexy that they totally supplanted human men as the objects of our desire?”

  Charley’s eyes get wide. She doesn’t have to think about that for very long at all. She laughs and says, “Yeah, I like it.” 

  43 Nowhere