by Baxter Black
T.A. and the old man put out the fire while Lick rode to the high ground and looked back down the road whence they’d come. They heard the faint sound of steel shoes on the gravel. More than one horse, Lick realized as he listened to hoofbeats growing louder.
Lick raced back to the draw. “They’re coming! At least I think it must be them. Down the road, maybe half a mile back. On horses. I can hear ’em talkin’ and one of ’em has a flashlight. I guess they’re trackin’ us, but I thought the ground was froze too hard to leave tracks.”
“Ol’ Davy might be a tracker,” observed the old man. “That Pike feller looked like he had a little cowboy in him, too. What say we ambush ’em? Leave their bodies for the coyotes.”
“How ’bout we just hold ’em up and take their horses?” said Lick.
“They hang horse thieves,” said the old man.
“Well, if it’s them, where did THEY get the horses?” asked T.A.
“Prob’ly stoled ’em,” concluded the old man. “From the trap. Okay, shoot ’em.”
“No,” said Lick. “Let’s think about it.”
Ten minutes later Lick and the old man were hidden on either side of the road across from each other at the top of a small rise.
“How cold you think it is?” Daniel Boon was asking.
Valter looked at his radon-illuminated all-purpose outdoor Apollo 7 chronometer. “Minus four degrees . . . centigrade.”
“You cold?” asked Boon.
“No. I’m in a hurry. If you’re right about these invisible tracks, we should catch up with them, or at least find them at this mysterious ranch you say is this direction. If we’ve been chasing wild geese, then we’ll borrow a vehicle at the ranch and head back the other direction to catch up with Pike at Scotland. If it’s where you say it is.”
“How do you know they’ll lend you a vehicle?” asked Boon.
“I’ll just buy it, Boon. I’ll make them an offer they can’t refuse.”
“What are you gonna do with the girl?”
“Take her home to her husband, that’s all.”
“What about the old man and the other cowboy?”
“Nothing. They just act smart, stay out of the way, and they won’t get hurt.”
“What if—” Boon was suddenly interrupted by Lick leaping from Boon’s side of the road and grabbing his horse’s halter shank from the off side. The horse reared in surprise. Boon, who had been riding bareback, slid right off the backside and landed on his duff, the flashlight flying from his hands.
Lick pulled the horse down hard and swung him around.
The old man had jumped a second later and jerked the left rein of Valter’s horse, sending him crashing heavily to the ground. Lick swung around and took Valter’s horse from the old man. Both pursuers sat in the road, dazed.
“Yer guns, you nickel-plated Lewis and Clark wannabes!” ordered the old man. He was pointing the .30-30 at them. He levered a shell into the chamber, cocking it.
Valter dug his pistol out of the shoulder holster under his air-force-issue bomber jacket and tossed it in front of his feet.
“How ’bout you, Davy?”
“It’s Dan, and sorry, mate. I don’t have one.”
“All right,” said the old man. “Before I pierce your ears and blow your kneecaps off, I wanna know where your two buddies are.”
“What!” said Boon, alarmed. “You’re not going to murder us! Why, we’re, I mean, these guys . . . I’m just—”
The old man fired the rifle. Valter jumped out of his skin and Boon broke wind. The shot echoed briefly, leaving everybody’s ears ringing.
“They took the fork north out of Goat Creek,” Boon hastily answered. “We’re going to meet them all at Scotland if we don’t find yew first, which I guess we did, so I’m not sure what the plans are now.” Boon hesitated. “Maybe you could ask Leftenant Valter here.”
“Yer ridin’ two of our horses from the trap and that’s Lewis’s saddle. Does that mean they have the other horse?”
“Yessir,” said Boon. “Bareback. I’m not sure if they’re riding double or afoot by now—the way that horse was actin’ they’re liable to . . .” Boon noticed Valter glaring at him and shut up.
“Is that right, Hitler?” asked the old man of Valter.
“Except we’re going to get the girl, sooner or later,” Valter said. “And you hillbillies might get caught in the middle. You don’t know who you’re dealing with. Best thing you could do right now is just turn her over to me and be on your way. She’s nothing to you. She’s in serious trouble and you two heroes are likely to get hurt if this goes on much longer. If it’s a matter of money—”
“That’s enough, mister,” spoke Lick from the shadows.
“The trouble with you Nazis,” said the old man, “is you don’t have a sense of humor. Normally I’d be content just to leave you here, take our horses and go—”
“That would be fine, mate. I’d be glad—” interrupted Boon.
“But,” continued the old man, “I think I’ll just take your manly footwear, too.”
“Aw, Al,” said Boon. “I just bought these Whites at Anacabe’s. Two hundred and fifty dollars! They still hurt my feet.”
“Off with ’em, you whiners! But to show my sensitivity, so’s nobody can say we didn’t treat you with that genyoowine cowboy hospitality, you can each keep your right shoe. How’s that?”
“Mighty generous, ol’ mate, many thanks,” spoke the shivering Boon.
“Kiss my—” spat Valter.
“Now, now,” cooed the old man. “Let’s not get testy.”
“C’mon, Al,” said Lick. “Let’s go.”
“You’ll be sorry,” warned Valter to the backs of the disappearing cowboys. “You’ll be sorry.”
T.A. led their two horses across the sage a couple hundred yards back up the road behind Valter and Boon. The old man and Lick joined her with their fresh haul of guns and the two left shoes. All three mounted a saddled horse, with Lick leading the fourth horse.
“Let’s head straight for Scotland,” Al said. “It’s closer than the ranch, and it’ll get us to the main highway faster. I got a friend, Stone Roanhorse, lives up on the Goose Valley Indian Reservation south on 51. We can give him a call from the store, have him pick us up.” Al looked back at T.A. “You ready to go, little lady? We got to get there before those desperadoes. What time is it, kid?”
“Quarter to eleven,” answered Lick, squinting at his wristwatch. “That’s Cowboy Standard Time.”
“Shank of the mornin’, lad,” chimed the old man. “Let’s make some tracks.”
At an easy walk a horse can travel five miles an hour. It was nineteen miles from the horse exchange to Scotland. Thus, allowing for potty breaks and another campfire stop to warm up, it would take them at least four hours, maybe longer. After a couple of hours of riding and napping, Lick raised his hand. “Hold up!”
T.A. and the old man reined in their horses and looked down the road to see if they could see what Lick was looking at.
“Over there, to the north of the road, the other side of Mary’s Creek.” He pointed. “Sort of a glare or somethin’ on the horizon. Like a fire maybe. I’m thinkin’ maybe those other two banditos had to pull over and build a fire to warm up like we did. According to Boon, they had one horse between ’em. Ridin’ double, bareback, specially on Torpedo, could be a hazardous journey. We need to check it out. I don’t know what you think, Al, but my guess is they’ll be up and movin’ again pretty quick. If we get to the store and they come up on us before your Indian buddy arrives . . . well, there’s liable to be a shoot-out. I don’t want ’em behind our back. If we can steal Torpedo while they’re nappin’ we’d buy a little time.”
“Now yer thinkin’ like that grand Indian general Sitting Bull,” commented the old man. “Better make our move now. We get any closer and the horses will whinny and give us away. Lick, whyn’t you sneak around behind ’em and catch ol’ Torpedo if he’s there. Then
ride him back toward the road. Me and Teddie will swing wide around to the west, cross-country, and see you on the other side.”
“Let me go steal the horse,” said T.A.
“You couldn’t,” said Lick quickly.
“Why?” she said.
“Well, yer . . . I’ve got . . .” he stammered.
“What? Better shoes?” she asked defiantly.
“No. It’s just that, I, uh . . .”
“He’s an articulate bugger, ain’t he,” said the old man. “Our camp has been a literary desert since he showed up. He’s been reading one book, the same one, since September. I try and tell him the classics to upgrade his learnin’. I’ve done the epic poems for him, ‘The Open Book,’ ‘Oh, My, You’re a Dandy for Nineteen Years Old,’ ‘The Little Brown Shack,’ ‘The Castration of the Strawberry Roan.’ He only knows one poem, ‘Reincarnation,’ but he can’t even say it right.”
“I can, too!” blurted Lick.
“Do it,” said the old man.
“Uh, um,” Lick cleared his throat. “What hath reincarnation . . . what hath re-in-car-nation done, a cowpoke asked his friend. It starts when they lay you in a box beneath your rendered mound. I mean . . . beneath your life’s travails . . .” Lick took a breath.
“Enough!” said the old man, “A travesty! Cease and desist! You are to the spoken word what smallpox was to the Indians! I’m here to tell ya, if history was left up to him, it would begin with his last paycheck. How he ever got a college degree is beyond me. Maybe you can buy ’em now.”
Lick took offense. “With respect to your twilight years, I don’t see what difference it makes to you.”
“Just trying to add a page to your book of knowledge, kid. You are—” Suddenly Al stopped.
“What’s wrong?” asked Lick.
“Whose horse are you holding?” asked the old man.
Lick looked down at his left hand, being a lefty, and noticed that it held the reins of T.A.’s horse, which stood behind him, T.A.-less. He looked back over his shoulder down the road and into the dark sagebrush and ravines on the west side. The old man followed his gaze.
“Well, bite my lip and twist my toe in a knot!” said the old man, disgusted. “Ya let her git away.”
“Sometimes, Al, you get on my nerves.”
20
DECEMBER 4: HORSE THIEF
Teddie Arizona was heading cross the country toward the small glow of the pursuers’ campfire. The going wasn’t as rough as it could have been. The moon had gone down but the starlight was strong. The sagebrush stood out against the lighter-colored ground. She fell down a couple times going over the occasional embankment but soon was within hearing distance of the glow.
“Git some more wood, Pike, willya, please. I’m freezin’.” Busby was huddled next to the fire with his arms around his knees.
“Git it yourself. I’m nappin’ here, can’t ya see?”
Hidden in a low swale less than fifty feet away, T.A. heard Busby get up and stomp around in the brush. She spied the other horse on the opposite side of the camp, tied to a big sage by the lead rope. She waited till Busby had kicked up a couple pieces of deadwood and had headed back toward the fire, then she made a wide circle and crept up on the tethered horse. He saw her, smelled her, and snorted. Twin puffs of steam rose from his nostrils.
“What’s the matter, boy?” she heard Pike say. “What did you do to the horse?” he asked Busby.
“Nuthin’!” Busby answered. “Anyway, I really couldn’t give a rat’s bicep for the evil bustard. Maybe it’s a mountain lion gonna chew his head off. Suit me.”
“Aw, yer takin’ it too hard. He’s just not one of those horses that rides double. Wasn’t his fault. He’s snorty, that’s all. I rode him okay.”
“Yeah, and I walked. My feet are killin’ me.”
“Well, my tailbone’s killin’ me. He’s got a boney ol’ spine.”
Teddie laid low till they quit talking, then approached the horse cautiously. He watched her as she fumbled the lead rope knot with cold stiff fingers. She jerked it. The sagebrush rattled, the knot came loose, the horse pulled back, and T.A. froze.
Pike and Busby both rose quickly and looked back toward the horse. Teddie Arizona stood sixty feet away. The firelight showed her features.
“Where you goin’, Teddie?” said Pike.
She didn’t speak.
“You know you can’t get away. F. Rank’s never gonna let up. If you come with me we can think up some story he’ll believe. I’ll help you. Better me than Valter. If he catches you there’s no tellin’ what’ll happen. I like you. We’ve been friends, haven’t we? I don’t mean you no harm but we’ve come to take you back, so let the horse go and wait here with me.” He stepped toward her. “He’s your husband—”
“No, he’s not,” she said. Suddenly it seemed important to her to tell the truth.
“Sure he is,” responded Pike.
“Not for real, only for show.”
“He tells everyone you’re his wife. You live with him. You wear his ring. Looks like a marriage to me.” Pike continued stepping toward her, slowly, cautiously.
“Not officially, Pike. It’s just a business arrangement for the benefit of his parents.”
“If you say so, but—”
“Stop!” she shouted.
But he didn’t. He broke and ran right toward her. The horse pulled back, but she jerked hard on the lead rope, grabbed the halter, then grasped the mane just in front of the withers. Pike was ten feet away when she heaved herself up across the horse’s back, swung her right leg over, and kicked him hard in the flanks!
Pike’s hand grabbed her left leg just as the horse wheeled into him, planting his left front size 1 Diamond horseshoe on Pike’s left ostrich-booted arch. The horse swung across in front of him and pushed off against the size 12 starting block, tearing Pike’s grip loose from T.A.’s jeans and doing serious soft tissue damage to Pike’s metatarsal supporting structure.
Pike vented a flume of colorful epithets, erupting like a vituperative Vesuvius, and dropped to the ground with a groan.
T.A. and Torpedo, the equine beast, galloped across the high desert. Torpedo was running away and T.A. was going with him. She held her right hand tight in his mane and squeezed him with her legs as he bounded, ducked, and dived through the sagebrush and washes. She was a good rider and he soon realized that.
When Torpedo began to tire, T.A. had a chance to look around. They’d been running in a northwesterly direction, getting farther from the road but still headed toward Scotland. Finally Torpedo slowed to a walk. He was still jittery, but she managed to pull him to a one-sided stop with the halter rope. She dismounted, then took a few moments to catch her breath and assess her situation.
“Good pony,” she said, rubbing his face. She had a fleeting thought of Superman, her old horse back in Muskogee. She recalled his face the way one would picture the childhood face of a close sibling, now grown.
She continued to talk to Torpedo quietly and scratch that special spot right in front of his eye. Torpedo eventually took a deep breath and gave himself to her.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s go find the boys.”
Teddie Arizona was a horse person. It is a gift. There are people who never touch a horse, but they have the gift within them. It’s easy to spot those folks. Whether very young or big enough to be cautious,they are instantly at ease around the beast.
Even more remarkable is that the horse is at ease around them. It’s a wonderful sight to see horses and horse people communicate. And it’s agonizing to see those without the touch try and gain the horse’s confidence.
I’ve known cowboys who weren’t comfortable around horses. I’ve wanted to ease over to them and say, “Ya know, maybe you’d be better at farming or sellin’ hog wire.” But I hold my counsel. They will concedesoon enough.
T.A. was a horse person. She could ride, and that night she became “one” with Torpedo.
Teddie Arizona
bore east on the big dark brown gelding they called Torpedo. When she finally hit the road again, she dismounted and quieted the horse, listening for the hoofbeats of Lick and the old man. She kicked into an easy lope and found them waiting a mile down the road for her arrival.
“Whoa, baby!” said Lick with concern. “You all right?”
T.A.’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah. You didn’t think I’d make it?”
“No, it’s not . . . I mean, yeah, I knew you could do it. I’s just worried, that’s all.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bark at you. I did okay. Ol’ Torpedo here got me outta the storm, although we had a little scuffle. I made it out by the skin of my teeth.” T.A. took a deep breath. “Good as Torpedo is, how ’bout givin’ me back my horse.”
She dismounted and stretched, then remounted the saddled horse that Lick had been leading.
“Should we just let these unsaddled horses go, Al?” proposed Lick. “They’d head right back Pandora’s Thumb, wouldn’t they?”
“I’m thinkin’ we best hold on to them,” said the old man. “The Third Reich might be closer behind us than we think. The horses would follow the road and would be easy to catch. I’d say we take ’em all the way to Scotland.”
“If you say so,” conceded Lick. “But Valter—is that his name?—” He looked at T.A. She nodded. “Valter and Boon are barefoot at least ten miles back and the other two carbuncles will probably wait where they are. But yer right, Al, I don’t know that for sure, so we’d better keep the horses.”
“Okay, then,” said the old man. “Let’s get goin’. Couldn’t be more than five miles to go. You ready, Teddie?”
“Ready,” she said.
21
DECEMBER 4: BEFORE DAWN
“My foot is about froze,” moaned Boon.
“Keep walking,” instructed Valter.
“I won’t. I don’t care if you don’t pay me. I need to build a fire and toast my toes. You keep this up and you’ll get frostbit. I’ve had it—frostbite, I mean—and I know. It ain’t fun.”