Having evaded the Federals in the person of ‘Señor’ Soames, we were feeling mighty cocky. But we shouldn’t a’ been. Our cattle are all gathered up in one small unit and need to be moved on to the ship and off of the planet before they use up the feed.
After I get shed of town, I backtrack and meet up with Spud and Wolf.
“Thank the gods that Charley has an in with the sheriff,” I say.
Spud and Wolf laugh.
“I got something you need to see,” says Spud.
This meant going back in through the scene of the crime. We dasn’t sneak around the canyon, it would look too suspicious. And as Wolf pointed out, our renewed passing through the area would serve to confusticate any investigators that might be snooping about. So we ride right into the eye of the hurricane, singing ‘Old Paint’ at the top of our voices, thus hoping to prewarn these dumb ass cocksuckers of our approach. We don’t care to get shot up yet again.
After we get through Dead Horse Draw, Lone leaves us saying, “I got Injin business.”
Spud and I continue on companionably together.
As we top a rise, we can see a rider speeding toward town.
“What’s his hurry?” I ask.
“Cayuse Express. Neither rain, nor sleet, nor snow, nor dark of night, nor prairie dog hole shall keep the Cayuse Express from their routes,” says Spud.
“Oh, yeah, I’ve heard about those guys.” Mostly heard they are hot young studs.
“Yep, I was one for a while. Wolf, too.”
Yup, hot young studs.
“Not a job for the timid,” continues Spud. “They really have it rough. The Cayuse Express Boys used to be another outfit, the Pony Express, a few hundred years and many generations of fast ponies back. The Cayuse riders ride at a full gallop on the best stretches of trail all over the wilderness. Folks are scarce out here, few and very far between. A letter is the way to talk privately across the land. The mail boys run three times a week. They have the Express schedule to keep and miles to cover between sleeps.
“They run a short stretch between Express stations, where a fresh horse is saddled by the station workers and ready to run. The rider has but to jump off, flip their saddlebags onto the next horse, hop aboard and fly again. Them ponies know the trail and make it their business to do it right. True they don’t always run flat out, they have to pace theirselves so as not to kill their horses, or roll the horses and kill theirselves. But, if the ground can handle it they go from a fast lope to a full run in the straight open stretches.
“So ever’ other day or so, a flash of speeding horseflesh can suddenly round the bend and scare the bejesus out of you and your horse.”
“Adds to the excitement of life,” I say.
“Yep. We trail the skittish stock on non-Express routes when we can or non-Express days if we can’t. Not always possible in long stretches of rough terrain.
“Don’t see them out where you were rounding up cattle so much. No houses out there.”
Cayuse Express, the spice of life. Hot, young riders, too.
Lawsy me, I’m gettin’ excited again.
18 Spud’s Place
Cowgirl Thrillers Page 28