Cowgirl Thrillers by Barbara Neville
***
I wake up. Damn, was I dreamin’ again? Dizzy, head hurts. Damn, don’t say ‘ow’ out loud, girl.
Things stay quiet. Seems like forever. Did I say that before? I have no recall of exactly what has happened to get me in this situation. Did Bogey trip, or get shot? Not sure if it’s been seconds, minutes or hours. It is muddy and a mite cold. Where did that adrenaline go?
Bogey is passed out now for sure. Hopefully not almost dead. Many a skeleton has been found trapped under their fallen horse. There’s a long slow way to die. I dasn’t move my hand down to even check for a pulse in his neck, what with the fear of outlaws laying up and watching for any movement in my vicinity. My heart is apoundin’ to beat the band. It is hard to separate that from any heartbeat that may be emanatin’ from Old Boge.
As the sun sets, I begin to hear wolves howling. Oh great, good news.
Bogey and me are the perfect bait. Quite a large tasty meal for a pack of wolves. Yes it is true I am very sweet and tasty, not to mention hot and sexy. In retrospect, a strange train of thought for someone with only five .45 caliber bullets left in my weapon. It might turn into hand to tooth combat if the wolf pack is more than five.
Shit. I suddenly remember. Armed enemies are lurking nearby, so I dare not start working on getting Bogey off my numb leg. I am also pretty concerned about the leg. Is the circulation cut off? Will I live to care? I am truly caught between a rock and a crazy place.
Seems like I really am a mite depressed. I am usually in perfect spirits, ready to rock and roll as they say. “Oh lord won’t you buy me a magnificent young stud...what the?”
Suddenly a large hand covers my mouth. Caught totally unawares, I shit a big fucking brick. The hand keeps me from yellin’ out. So I bite it. Defensive reflex.
“Unhh,” a quiet groan.
Another hand appears with three fingers held in front of my face. Then some pointing with the index finger, which I figure means that there are three enemies about. Then the pointing hand levers me up and goes down to my holster to relieve me of my sidearm. Shit! What the hell is this? Double crossin’ bastard.
He moves behind me and out of the corner of my eye I can see him toss the sawbuck off my pack horse, Jake, onto the ground. Then I hear Jake jump into a run and move across my vision with the now gun and horsejacker miraculously glommed onto his back. He has fashioned a hank of rope Injin style through Jake’s mouth and under his chin, giving him just one rein for steerin’.
I see a gallopin’ blur as Jake and his new rider head back up the trail hell bent for election. The rider is bent over the saddle. It looks like that Shadow fella from earlier with long black hair waving in the wind. There is a lot of waiting, enough that I begin to wonder if it is a ruse. Has he stolen my pistol, joined his outlaw compadres and left the country?
I am left with only the five shot derringer in my boot holster and my pocket knife still pinned down under my side. I normally carry two pocket knives: one for skinning and other precision work, like surgery, in my left front pocket. The other knife is a coarse utility blade, part toothed, part smooth and sharp, that I carry in my right rear pocket. Unfortunately, I had forgot and left the utility blade on a rock by the campfire this morning. Works great fer whittlin’ bacon.
I hear two shots.
I am still stayin’ still on the ground in hopes no one will notice me. Bogey’s body kinda dictates that. Seems like maybe three enemies are about.
Bogey takes a deep breath and shifts a bit. The ensuing pain brings back my reality. Fuckin’ A it does. Oh, doggies, it hurts. Maybe it’s good news. Pain is a reminder I might live another day. But I truly have stepped in the deep shit and got stuck hard.
At least this guy has left me alive though, whoever he is.
Suddenly I hear a volley of shots and the brush a poppin’. Three horses emerge from the trees and head up the trail toward me. Jake is in the middle gaining ground fast on the lead rider. Shots are flying from both directions, but the horsejacker has slid over onto Jake’s side and is riding on the far right side of the road, shooting at the other two from under Jake’s neck.
Hid in the brush more or less and lookin’ out from under, I hope to not be spotted and rubbed out. My derringer is too short barreled to shoot with any long range accuracy. If anyone comes close, however, I’ll have ‘em dead to rights. Oh, not so much, it’s stuck in my boot under Bogey. I have at least learned that Jake’s rider is no friend of the guys who shot at me. He is the same guy who was shootin’ at them before, ain’t he?
As they approach, Jake is catching up fast on the lead rider. The horsejacker hops over onto the lead bad guy’s horse and I can see a big ass bowie knife being proffered. The knife flashes and slashes around with both hombres having a hold on it.
Then the third rider catches up and jumps on, too. The poor overloaded horse staggers once, then humps up and lets ‘er blow: still runnin’, also buckin’ and sunfishin’. How he stays head over feet I’ll never know. The struggle is on as they arm wrestle atop the crazed, buckin’ mustang who was likely never broke to ride triple. My horsejacker seems to have a hold, but it’s tough to tell who’s winning. I can see as they disappear a big streak of red blood headed back along the horse’s flank. Just as the horse rounds the bend to go out of sight, they tumble off and roll across the trail, yelling to beat the band.
A big brawl ensues and since they are still in sight I stay quiet and try to rub the pain in my hip away.
Finally the bout of knife and fisticuffs sends them totally out of sight. Maybe I will luck out and be able to get this big stupid horse off of me now and find one of the other guys horses who ran off and catch him so I can get back to my camp. I don’t want to have to sit here all night with no food or bedding. Definitely need fire before it gets too cold. Yep, a warm fire would hit the spot about now, although Bogey is still putting out heat. Once I get out from under him, brrr. I wrap my arms around his neck to catch all the heat I can while I await resolution.
2 Lone