Cowgirl Thrillers

by Barbara Neville

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” I whisper as I beat my hand quietly on the saddle horn. “Son of a bitch! Cocksucker! Motherfucking sonsabitches!” I wiggle and squirm and pull and push. “Damn, damn, damn, damn.”

  But I just can’t get out.

  “Damn it to hell,” I murmur.

  I am also runnin’ out of cuss words. Excuse my French but this is a situation that pretty much has no more appropriate response.

  I’ll tell you what happened. As in so many stories of wrecks, it all started out with a borrowed horse. Sometimes things go okay on a borrowed horse, sometimes they don’t. Horses are like people, no two are alike and people willing to loan you a horse are, well, human, so they may not be totally truthful about their horse’s tiny or mighty quirks. And cowboys, well, they just like to have fun. A minor wreck? Good for a laugh around the campfire for years to come.

  So when riding a loaner horse, bear all this in mind, because you may get a surprise. Like my first ride on Bogey.

  It had been drizzling off and on for days. Cool, damp, overcast. A spot of sun was feeling good as Bogey and I mosey down the trail bringing the last of the cows home. Bogey and me are trailin’ the cattle along towards camp, day dreamin’ about hay and oats. I’m whistling a hopeful “On Top of old Bogey.”

  “Hope the sun comes out soon, Bogey. We wanna stay dry. Not looking like we will though. Good thing yore waterproof. Ain’t fair that people don’t have fur.”

  Bogey snorts, “Bbbbbbh.”

  “Nice that you agree.”

  Suddenly we hear shooting, way too close. Bogey and I get damn nervous…borrowed horse, like I said…so I have no idea how gun shy he is. First rule of horses: never let your mount know you are nervous, he’ll get nervous too. Then he might panic. He depends on you, as the boss, to reassure him. If he doesn’t know you are the boss, you just as well kiss your pretty ass goodbye. No tellin’ what he’ll do but, in my experience, it’ll likely be bad.

  So when I say Bogey and I get nervous, I’m kinda lyin’. You see, I may be nervous as all get out, pumped full of adrenaline, but if I ain’t ready to rodeo, my entire being is relaxed. Every muscle, even my brain muscle, projects total calmness. It’s pretty much like a Mexican standoff. I blink first and it could be head down, heels up, ‘Adios, motherfucker.’

  ‘Course, on the way inside of my being, I am not so relaxed. Not relaxed at all. I’m thinking: ‘Shit, shit, shit,’ but saying, “easy, Bogey, just a few firecrackers way off there. No problem, we’ll just continue to mosey along quietly.”

  Don’t help that the cows are also lifting their heads and looking nervous.

  “Them cow critters are just sniffin’ the air. Pay them no never mind. We’ll be back to the feed bag in a bit here.” I’m scanning the hills for the source of the shots.

  The next several shots truly spook my cattle, which commence to hightail it out of the country.

  “Easy, boy.” Bogey is prancin’ around some, but mostly keepin’ his head.

  Then a bullet whistles past my ear, a sound you never ever want to hear. I instantly have no problem gettin’ spooked all to hell. Not that I let Bogey feel it. I calmly, quickly, lean forward, shake the reins and tap with my spurs.

  “Hyaw, Bogey,” I whisper, “let’s get the hell out of here!” Bogey jumps into a full tilt boogey and we sprint off after the cattle.

  We are runnin’ flat out down the trail feelin’ bullets, real or imaginary, hot on our ass. As we pass under a tree branch a shadow suddenly looms over us and…

  Sheeit, the shadow jumps down and lands behind my cantle, on Bogey’s ass. Shadow reaches around me, grabs the reins and pulls Bogey up in a sliding stop.

  Then the ballsy bastard pulls a gun on me and says, “Git down, quick, I got this.”

  I jump off, mostly pushed, before the horse stops completely. I hit the ground hard, breath knocked out of me. Bogey and the horsejacker speed up toward the bandits. One shoots from cover and Shadow slides off to the side of Bogey, hanging on to the horn and a stirrup for a few strides like a’ Injin. Then, he hops with one foot on the ground and, using the horse’s momentum, vaults back into the saddle.

  He and Bogey run on out of sight. I am left behind, stunned, laying in the muddy trail. Gooey, but mud’s softer to land in than dirt, so I shouldn’t complain. I do anyway, once I get some air back in my lungs.

  “Son of a bitch!” I grumble.

  “Oh, hell.” I can hear another horse coming down the trail lickety split. I scramble under the nearest bush and curl up as small as possible, which ain’t very small, just as another rider and horse shoot past my hiding place. As this dude passes he shoots at me.

  ‘Bang, bang, bang.’

  Hell, a bush ain’t much cover. Geez.

  So I roll around and get organized. Damn, my knee is wrenched all to hell. My back hurts, my shoulder probably ain’t broke...maybe.

  I finally get untangled from myself enough to draw my pistol.

  The dude has already run on down to where Shadow on Bogey and another guy are shooting it out. The dude is coming up fast behind Bogey and leaning over as if to jump aboard. I draw a bead just at the last second before he is too close to Bogey. Don’t want to hurt a good mount. Hell, Bogey’s rider is wearing feathers and buckskin leggings, and no shirt...oooh...muscles. Is he, mayhaps, a’ Injin?

  I take a breath, drawing a bead on the dude on the runnin’ horse just as he leans over to slide onto Bogey behind Shadow.

  ‘Bam.’

  The dude falls limp onto Bogey, slides off his ass and drops to the ground.

  Truth is I’m a fair hand with a gun.

  The action goes on out of sight. I hear shots still, but getting fainter.

  Wait, the shots are getting louder again, they’re coming back. They appear around the bend heading back towards me. Shadow is now hanging off the other side of Bogey, and he’s reloading. How is that even possible? Crazy glue?

  Bogey stumbles and Shadow finally comes off and rolls behind a tree. Bogey slows down. I run out and catch the reins, hop on, and head off down the way to look for the other assassin. Bogey and I go hell bent for leather around the bend, forgetting about the mud.

  ‘Blam.’

  Bogey’s legs slide right out from under him.

  ***

  I wake up in a daze. There I am, all alone, just me and Bogey, a motionless ton of horseflesh. Well, half a ton. They say a dead horse is cover. A live horse won’t lay still. Not so with a good horse. Bogey is lying still as a statue. Only problem, he’s lying on my leg.

  Is it broke? Hard to say. Can’t feel a thing. Leg totally numb. Might not be broke, if I’m lucky. Bogey ain’t movin’. Shit. The thought occurs in my frazzled brain that maybe the horse is dead.