"Patches! Get over here!" Patsy called to his medic in his clear, boyish voice. "Medic" was a generous term for Patches, considering his complete dearth of medical training. But the sight of blood didn't affect him, and he'd been in enough scrapes as a lad in Mississippi to know how to take care of himself. He rushed over to the scene, his mop of gray hair flopping into his sweaty face.
There was a man on the ground. From the look of him, he'd had a run-in with some pretty tough customers and been left for dead in the middle of the trail.
"Whoever's the culprit, they sure weren't afraid to bein' followed," Patsy explained, indicating clear tracks leaving the scene.
Patsy had only been trail boss for a few weeks. He was greener than the others by a damn sight, but nobody else wanted the responsibility. There was something else people didn't know about Patsy, which is that he was a she, and had been passing for the last five years out on the range.
They wouldn't want to chase down the injured man's attacker, though there was a decent chance they'd run into the culprit regardless.
Patches knelt over him and dunked some alcohol onto the man's wounds. He called over Muscles when that didn't go so well, and their strong, silent Indian rider came over to hold him still.
It had surprised them a little, at first, that Muscles hadn't learned enough among his people to act as their medic, but apparently not everybody was cut out to be a shaman. Indeed, his skill lay in sheer willpower. Muscles grew up on a reservation basically until he couldn't stand it anymore, and then he departed to get into fights with the white men who put his people there. They didn't appreciate that much, so by the time he was fifteen he had seen the inside of as many jails as he had saloons. His rehabilitation was long and hard, but a job on the range kept him out of trouble. His friends treated him well enough.
The injured man's wounds disinfected, Patches got him to calm down and tested him for a concussion with a twig. Satisfied that the man followed it with his eyes well enough, Patches gave him a drink of water.
Patsy leaned over to speak with him. "Can you tell us what happened to you?" She inquired, doing her best to keep her voice both loud and low in true male fashion.
He looked up, his eyes gray and clouded. His hair was a sweaty mass of gray too, and a trickle of blood ran down his forehead.
"Came at me outta nowhere," he panted. "They was vicious, with black masks and long, lean bodies. Had a pair o' guns between 'em, but all they used 'em for was to hit me, 'gain and again. Violent!" He looked around as though they might come back. "Took all I had and rode on up the trail. It's my livelihood, I hate to impose..."
"Sir, we've a hard ride ahead and can't in good sense ride herd on these thieves," Patsy explained apologetically. "But you can ride ahead with us for your future safety, and if we happen on them, we'll put 'em to rights."
The man was crestfallen. "Feel well-suited to die about now; reckon I'll feel different in time. Man could let bad become worse real easy, when regrets turn to disaster. Let me come with you, even if my weary bones ain't up to it."
They gave him space atop Mel's horse, and with the chuckwagon, he proceeded with them along the trail. In but a few hours, they came upon the tracks of two horses--they might as well have been twins, from the look of things--and then they found signs of a scuffle, and a corpse in the dirt. Back among the herd where Jason and 'Nureman were, the two junior drovers couldn't see what was happening. They'd be a huge help in a fight, young and quick as they were, though 'Nureman got his nickname from a faceful of feces one fateful day when his horse was sick. He wasn't bright, but the boy could shoot. And he was handsome, too, with his close-cropped red hair and his small nose and narrow eyes...
Patsy shook her head to clear it. She'd passed for so long that feelings for men often took on a homosexual glow in her mind, even though she knew she was only pretending. It was so easy to get lost in the role of the opposite gender once other people believed it.
Patsy gathered them all in and addressed them. "We're a big old target moving as a giant herd. One man's been left for dead, another one killed. I'd say we've got good odds of running across the culprit here one night soon. We're slow and we gotta stay on the trail, so keep 'em sharp when you're on watch. Got it?"
With everyone's assent, Patsy led them on until it was time to make camp. She cared for each of them in a way that went beyond friendship or even attraction, and nevermind that they might no longer listen to her if they knew the truth.
'Nureman rode over to the congregated team at the fire pit and dismounted in a hurry. "Patsy! Found some tracks out yonder. Some folks follered the Trail only a little ways, maybe just crossed over. Tracks're fresh, so's likely they didn't go far."
The gentleman they'd picked up, Harvey, became visibly agitated.
"Well now..." Patsy mused. She did her best to show calm in the face of possible danger. "In fact, you didn't find anything."
"But--" 'Nureman jerked a thumb behind him.
"Let it rest." At the confused looks she got, she decided to explain. "They'll make their move one way or another. They're mobile, which gives them an advantage. That can be our advantage if they don't know we're onto them. Except..." she made a face and glanced at Harvey, who appeared to panic. He even stood up.
"Now wait just one minute!"
"I don't wanna cut you loose, not yet."
"Not ever! They'll kill me. You can't! You--"
"Keep carrying on like that and I'll not think twice on it."
His head fell out of sheer dismay, and he was silent.
"Thank you. Now sit. Let me tell you all the plan."
Night fell like a shroud, and many points of light in the broad, open sky let them see the surrounding landscape.
Jason rode the perimeter and sang to the cattle. Once in a while, he thought he heard a little commotion from the surrounding woods, but he could never spot anything. At a certain point, however, some of the cattle behaved as though they had been disturbed. He rode over to investigate, hand on his sidearm in case things got rough.
A female form popped out at him and pointed a gun at his head. "Hold it," she barked in a half-whisper. She was tallish and blonde, with curves in all the right places underneath tight Levi's and a checkered red-and-white button-down shirt that was tied in a knot in the front. "Shut your jaw and pay attention. We're just gonna hang tight while my sister raids your stores. You all look like the kinda dummies that'd hide your cash in the chuckwagon. That where it's at?"
He stared at her in silence. Jason knew taking this job that his life would be in danger, but he wanted to just answer the lady. She was quite becoming, and between that and the gun, he almost spilled the beans. He turned to look toward the chuckwagon when he heard a noise, only to be stopped.
"Don't! You just look at me, sugar. Don't worry about what my sister's doing. She spoke like she was in some kind of trance. Her eyes were glazed over, and although she stared right at him with her gun stiffly leveled, her eyes darted up and down and from side to side in mysterious patterns.
"You okay?"
"All I wanna hear from you is where the money's at."
"It's here," Patsy said, and there was a barrel at the girl's temple. She put her hands up. "Call your sister off, or I'll show you the money shot, and her next."
"She's off," the girl replied, distracted somehow. She was joined a moment later by her sibling, identical in every way. The two of them did not look at each other or speak to each other.
"You two have a funny way about you," Patsy observed. "Maybe you oughta think about a different lifestyle. You two involved with opium or some such?"
"Girl's gotta do hard things to survive," said the sister, who chilled Patsy with a knowing look. "I expect you know something about that."
"Just get gone, y'hear?" Patsy insisted, rattled.
The blonde twins sauntered off into the night, and it was the last time Patsy and her crew encountered them.
There was a man on the ground. From the look of him, he'd had a run-in with some pretty tough customers and been left for dead in the middle of the trail.
"Whoever's the culprit, they sure weren't afraid to bein' followed," Patsy explained, indicating clear tracks leaving the scene.
Patsy had only been trail boss for a few weeks. He was greener than the others by a damn sight, but nobody else wanted the responsibility. There was something else people didn't know about Patsy, which is that he was a she, and had been passing for the last five years out on the range.
They wouldn't want to chase down the injured man's attacker, though there was a decent chance they'd run into the culprit regardless.
Patches knelt over him and dunked some alcohol onto the man's wounds. He called over Muscles when that didn't go so well, and their strong, silent Indian rider came over to hold him still.
It had surprised them a little, at first, that Muscles hadn't learned enough among his people to act as their medic, but apparently not everybody was cut out to be a shaman. Indeed, his skill lay in sheer willpower. Muscles grew up on a reservation basically until he couldn't stand it anymore, and then he departed to get into fights with the white men who put his people there. They didn't appreciate that much, so by the time he was fifteen he had seen the inside of as many jails as he had saloons. His rehabilitation was long and hard, but a job on the range kept him out of trouble. His friends treated him well enough.
The injured man's wounds disinfected, Patches got him to calm down and tested him for a concussion with a twig. Satisfied that the man followed it with his eyes well enough, Patches gave him a drink of water.
Patsy leaned over to speak with him. "Can you tell us what happened to you?" She inquired, doing her best to keep her voice both loud and low in true male fashion.
He looked up, his eyes gray and clouded. His hair was a sweaty mass of gray too, and a trickle of blood ran down his forehead.
"Came at me outta nowhere," he panted. "They was vicious, with black masks and long, lean bodies. Had a pair o' guns between 'em, but all they used 'em for was to hit me, 'gain and again. Violent!" He looked around as though they might come back. "Took all I had and rode on up the trail. It's my livelihood, I hate to impose..."
"Sir, we've a hard ride ahead and can't in good sense ride herd on these thieves," Patsy explained apologetically. "But you can ride ahead with us for your future safety, and if we happen on them, we'll put 'em to rights."
The man was crestfallen. "Feel well-suited to die about now; reckon I'll feel different in time. Man could let bad become worse real easy, when regrets turn to disaster. Let me come with you, even if my weary bones ain't up to it."
They gave him space atop Mel's horse, and with the chuckwagon, he proceeded with them along the trail. In but a few hours, they came upon the tracks of two horses--they might as well have been twins, from the look of things--and then they found signs of a scuffle, and a corpse in the dirt. Back among the herd where Jason and 'Nureman were, the two junior drovers couldn't see what was happening. They'd be a huge help in a fight, young and quick as they were, though 'Nureman got his nickname from a faceful of feces one fateful day when his horse was sick. He wasn't bright, but the boy could shoot. And he was handsome, too, with his close-cropped red hair and his small nose and narrow eyes...
Patsy shook her head to clear it. She'd passed for so long that feelings for men often took on a homosexual glow in her mind, even though she knew she was only pretending. It was so easy to get lost in the role of the opposite gender once other people believed it.
Patsy gathered them all in and addressed them. "We're a big old target moving as a giant herd. One man's been left for dead, another one killed. I'd say we've got good odds of running across the culprit here one night soon. We're slow and we gotta stay on the trail, so keep 'em sharp when you're on watch. Got it?"
With everyone's assent, Patsy led them on until it was time to make camp. She cared for each of them in a way that went beyond friendship or even attraction, and nevermind that they might no longer listen to her if they knew the truth.
'Nureman rode over to the congregated team at the fire pit and dismounted in a hurry. "Patsy! Found some tracks out yonder. Some folks follered the Trail only a little ways, maybe just crossed over. Tracks're fresh, so's likely they didn't go far."
The gentleman they'd picked up, Harvey, became visibly agitated.
"Well now..." Patsy mused. She did her best to show calm in the face of possible danger. "In fact, you didn't find anything."
"But--" 'Nureman jerked a thumb behind him.
"Let it rest." At the confused looks she got, she decided to explain. "They'll make their move one way or another. They're mobile, which gives them an advantage. That can be our advantage if they don't know we're onto them. Except..." she made a face and glanced at Harvey, who appeared to panic. He even stood up.
"Now wait just one minute!"
"I don't wanna cut you loose, not yet."
"Not ever! They'll kill me. You can't! You--"
"Keep carrying on like that and I'll not think twice on it."
His head fell out of sheer dismay, and he was silent.
"Thank you. Now sit. Let me tell you all the plan."
Night fell like a shroud, and many points of light in the broad, open sky let them see the surrounding landscape.
Jason rode the perimeter and sang to the cattle. Once in a while, he thought he heard a little commotion from the surrounding woods, but he could never spot anything. At a certain point, however, some of the cattle behaved as though they had been disturbed. He rode over to investigate, hand on his sidearm in case things got rough.
A female form popped out at him and pointed a gun at his head. "Hold it," she barked in a half-whisper. She was tallish and blonde, with curves in all the right places underneath tight Levi's and a checkered red-and-white button-down shirt that was tied in a knot in the front. "Shut your jaw and pay attention. We're just gonna hang tight while my sister raids your stores. You all look like the kinda dummies that'd hide your cash in the chuckwagon. That where it's at?"
He stared at her in silence. Jason knew taking this job that his life would be in danger, but he wanted to just answer the lady. She was quite becoming, and between that and the gun, he almost spilled the beans. He turned to look toward the chuckwagon when he heard a noise, only to be stopped.
"Don't! You just look at me, sugar. Don't worry about what my sister's doing. She spoke like she was in some kind of trance. Her eyes were glazed over, and although she stared right at him with her gun stiffly leveled, her eyes darted up and down and from side to side in mysterious patterns.
"You okay?"
"All I wanna hear from you is where the money's at."
"It's here," Patsy said, and there was a barrel at the girl's temple. She put her hands up. "Call your sister off, or I'll show you the money shot, and her next."
"She's off," the girl replied, distracted somehow. She was joined a moment later by her sibling, identical in every way. The two of them did not look at each other or speak to each other.
"You two have a funny way about you," Patsy observed. "Maybe you oughta think about a different lifestyle. You two involved with opium or some such?"
"Girl's gotta do hard things to survive," said the sister, who chilled Patsy with a knowing look. "I expect you know something about that."
"Just get gone, y'hear?" Patsy insisted, rattled.
The blonde twins sauntered off into the night, and it was the last time Patsy and her crew encountered them.
