Bright and early next morning we head back out to look at the blood sign. We don’t have any other leads. We need another sighting, or at least some fresh tracks, to give us something actual to investigate. The hombres Lone Wolf had spotted previously vanished by the time he had worked his way around to their positions.
As we ride back out toward the scene of the ambush he explains.
“Looking at how they were set up and which way they was aiming, they were either laying in a crossfire to get whoever came up the canyon or they were in a gun fight with each other when Annie and I showed up. They either thought they killed us and left, or else us runnin’ into their firing lines fightin’ and shootin’ spooked the hell out of them.”
“Too many choices, gotta narrow ‘er down.”
“Skullduggery? Alien abduction?”
Wolf and I look over quizzically.
“Farfetched, I know, but it too had to be mentioned,” says Michael.
“In any case they seem to have appeared out of nowhere. Can’t find sign in all that rocky ground,” says Wolf.
Hence Michael and I go on about our back riding business, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious or any shooting, while Wolf plies his trade.
Sure enough, after a day of roaming the country to the west, we have found 10 head between us and are headed back into the canyon, when one dry cow takes it into her head to go into the, of course, thickest brush around, just under the rim rock. I spur Spike in to head her off, but end up follerin’ her on into the thicket where holy moly, I strike proverbial gold. Or not.
A dead body ain’t exactly gold, but it did appear to maybe be a clue.
Michael swings down for a better look and says, “Ugh, this fella is completely corpsified.”
“You can be incompletely corpsified?”
Michael strikes a pose. “Oh, sweetie, if you saw a few of those old queens hanging on by the fingernails to their long lost youth? Still alive but definitely corpsified.”
That gets us to laughing. Helps overcome the pukifyin’ smell, but not much. Not a pretty sight for the eyeballs either.
“Maybe that Injin you are so sweet on can spot something we missed; he knows the territory pretty well.”
“Sweet? Me?”
“Not sweet, sweet on, sweetie.”
We look around the area, trying not to disturb things too much.
“Yo, Michael, can you head them cows on down toward the corral then come back up and help me investigate this bloated up feller?”
“Gladly,” he says, holding his nose theatrically. “Be back shortly.”
And off he goes.
Now this here feller is purely shot through the head. Not too pretty. And there is a track or two about, like as if the killer had come over to be sure the job was done. I mean if his buddies had come to check on him, wouldn’t they of buried the poor soul?
Weren’t much of a face left to identificate. I did find a few shell casings from his rifle, showing he had been in the fight. Not just shot without notice like I almost was.
Lone shows up about then.
“Hey girl, what you messin’ with now?”
“Hey, Lone Wolf, meet my friend, Headless.”
“Life has been extinguished. Spirit still burns,” explains Wolf. “It will find a new vessel and alight.”
“You say so.”
“Michael sent me up,” Wolf says. “I told him to head on down to camp when he was done beddin’ them cattle down. I can help you out.”
“Good to know that my crew follers your orders.”
“Seemed logical.”
“It was, I was just pullin’ yore leg. Maybe Michael will scare up dinner for us.
“You know this guy?” I ask.
“Hard to say, I don’t believe his head always looked that way. You find any eyeballs so we can get the color?” asks Wolf.
“Why do I need to sort through the goo? May not be an eyeball intact. His hair looks to be brown or blonde maybe?” I find a stick and troll through the remains until I find a blue eyeball. Smell is worse than the gore. Amazingly, I don’t puke when I find it.
“Blue and dishwater blonde is my call.”
“Sure. Hey girl, lay down next to him so we can see how tall he is. Add eight inches for the head. Here, let’s straighten him out.”
“Isn’t there an easier way?”
“Sure, pull out yore pocket tape measure.”
“Yeesh.” I look down, trying not to get in the massive pool of brain and blood splatter. “Are you doing this just to creep me out?”
“Just checkin’ yer fitness for tough work.” Wolf grins.
I grab his cowboy booted feet and Lone his shoulders, there being not enough head intact to get a good hold on. “So is he before going stiff or after?”
“Rigor has come and gone. I’m thinkin’ he was shot by that bullet that about took yore ear off the other day. I just didn’t see him ‘cause I was lookin’ at you and Bogey.”
“Maybe I was just caught in a crossfire with no ill will for me. I was a blazin’ along at that point of the battle. Then when you joined in, we likely raised their enmity. Not that my wingin’ that one feller didn’t help.”
I lay down next to the corpse, trying to avoid the blood and brains. Get my shoulders lined up with Headless’s so Lone can judge his height. Nasty work, but I got cojones or at least I don’t want Wolf to know I don’t.
“Little feller, 5’ 8” I’d say. Good six inches shorter’n you, Stretch.”
Yuck, I jump up, feelin’ a mite green. “That’s how you tell the bad guys, short.”
“Guys too short for yore attention are still folks. Don’t mean they are bad. Just ‘cause they got short changed in the height department,” says Wolf.
“Don’t make ‘em good, either. But you are right, he could be with the good guys. Can’t say ‘til we know more.”
“So 5’8”, blondish hair, blue eyes, regular clothes. Well, blue work shirt with snaps, blue jeans, boots.”
“What the heck did they shoot him with to blow his head up like that? Were they real close and used a shotgun?” I ask.
“Good question, let’s scout the holes where the others were laying up.”
Off to the north, on down the trail a ways, is the spot where the second guy had been spotted by Lone. We look her over and see that this feller had shot .45-70, and from the lay of the ejected shells had been aiming across the trail to where the last two were laid up in wait. Then we cross the draw and check the two south sites. The westerly one has a similar look. The third shooter had used a .45 Colt, likely a lever action from the drop pattern of the ejected brass casings. We go on to number four. He was at the east end, the end I had come in from, and he had a bipod mounted .50 cal.
“That just might blow your head clean off with the right load.”
“Like an old Buffalo gun, eh?”
“Yep, mighty straight shootin’ and kicks like a mule. Mayhaps he had some kind of explosive bullet in front of a shitload of powder. So when you come through the draw, this .50 caliber feller shot at Headless, you ran into the path and heard the bullet whistle by your ear, then it headed on through the air to turn the other guy into Mr. Headless. It were about 250 yards all told. Mighty powerful.”
“So what do we know that we didn’t before?” asks Wolf.
“They was four, no five, of them. There’s the one I shot off yore back.
“.50 Cal either had amazing reflexes, aimed at you and got his buddy by accident because Bogey was one jump ahead of the bullet, or he was shooting at his enemy, future Headless, and you ran through the bullet’s path.”
“So, back to square one.” I shrug.
“We do know their boot sole patterns now and we know they was five to start with. We know the calibers of their guns, but we don’t know if they beamed right in outa outer space or where they come from,” says Wolf.
“Was they afoot or ahorseback? Mighty long walk from anyplace out here to nowhere.”
“Ha-ha, ‘Nowhere’ is the name of Sir Jacob’s place. How did you know that?”
“Never did, just feeling pretty far out here for so many people to be about.”
“Full name is the ‘Arse End of Nowhere Ranch’. Spud and Sir Jacob are maybe partners in it. Not sure. They do get thick as thieves.”
“What about you, Lone? You seem to be in it, too.”
“Hell, I’m just a dumb Injin. Got horses, not cows.”
“How you make a living at that?”
“Raise damn good horses and I am the Guardian of the Spirit Cave.”
“What is that?’
“My tribe has an ancient Spirit Cave, plenty big medicine. I protect it.”
“What is inside?”
“Only the Spirit Elders know of these things. The cave is sacred to my people. The Elders come soon for Spirit Cave Ceremonies. Big doin’s for the People. Make our year shine.”
“Ah.”
We ride over to the aptly named ‘Nowhere’ to exchange intelligence with Spud and Sir Jacob, if you can call it that. Intelligence, I mean. We had damn little info from our snooping other than Headless, of course, the anonymous corpse.
He was something tangible and also stinking to high heaven. So we left him in place. He hadn’t been found by the coyotes yet, but it wouldn’t be long before their patrols sniffed (ugh!) him out. Coy dogs love the stinky stuff.
We impart our new finds to the boys.
Sir Jacob’s reaction is quick. “I shall harness the team. We will take the Periwinkle to transport the corpse. Will it be possible to get close enough with it to load the body?”
“Periwinkle?” I ask.
“Jakey’s spring wagon with mobile lab aboard,” offers Spud, the only one who seems to call the Sir ‘Jakey.’
“I think you can get in there with the wagon. Headless corpses weigh less not having the head, you know.” I think I’m educatin’ somebody, hah.
“So you can tote him a bit if you don’t mind the mess. I don’t think you’ll need a pack horse to get him out. Hope yore team is broke to stinky man corpses, though,” I say.
“Could be a rodeo. Maybe I otter go along to take a pitchur of that,” says Spud.
“Yeah and you can lug the body, being a big strong feller, Mister Photo Op,” I interject.
“Seems to me you are the big muscular girl type, maybe you should go tote him.”
“Hell, yeah, that I will, Mr. Puny,” I say.
Spud was 6’4” if he was a’ inch and did I mention his muscles yet? Tight, lovely muscles. Enough to drive this girl mad with desire. I was feeling mighty loverly over this big hunk, but I would be clever and not let on. Besides, he was kind of a’ asshole. Providential, seein’ as he was from the ‘Arse End of Nowhere Ranch.’
“But just in case I need a weakling to take the foot end, maybe you better tag along,” I add.
Sir Jacob says, “I can surely be of assistance.”
“You are the driver, likely need you to hold the horses when they get the smell of all that blood. We need to both go, mayhaps we will find a clue.”
“Yeah, all three of your heads together might make half a’ Injin brain,” says Wolf.
“Mayhaps, indeed. Thanks for the compliment, red man.”
So we harness up and all set off to investergate or interpolate or whatever it was we are supposed to do. Mainly I want to get shed of the whole deal. Except maybe I need to get to know Lone, Spud and Sir Jacob a bit better. Not often a girl runs into two hot hunks and a Lord, especially not out at the ass end of nowhere with not hardly a soul about. Like I said, the finest kind of country. I got ‘em all to my loverly little ol’ self.
From Sir Jacob’s lair we head out with his Periwinkle, which has an amazing mobile laboratory in the bed.
Spud tells me, “Sir Jacob is best known for his gun collection, but he also has mad scientific skills. He is interested in ‘most ever’thing.”
Lone, riding Scout alongside Spike and I, explains, “Finding and autopsying dead animals is just another of his many unique hobbies.”
“The headless corpse is an opportunity for myself to move my animal autopsy skills on into the study of the human species. Study, examine, double check, research, measure twice, and cut once,” says Sir Jacob.
Everyone has a good laugh when Wolf tells them how he got me to lie down by the corpse for measurement. Spud trots up and reaches in Lone’s saddle bags, draws out a cloth tape measure. “He always carries one to collect measurements for things too big to drag back for Sir Jacob to examine.”
Lone says, “You had to be there to really appreciate it. She laid right down like a trooper.”
“Didn’t want to spoil his wild Injin image with a tape measure,” Spud says.
“Glad I could brighten up yore mornin’, fellas.”
13 Exsanguination
Cowgirl Thrillers Page 23