Chapter 13

Look, I know my drovers aren’t the best fighters, and it’s no secret their combat experience is limited as fuck. I’m well aware of that, but the last few goddamn weeks have toughened their resolve. And that has to count for something ... progress even, as most didn’t have that when we first started out. Sure this won’t cause them to shoot any straighter or punch any harder but at least they now have the stones to pull the goddamn trigger and to defend against any son-of-a-bitch trying to do ‘em harm.

We’d certainly need every ounce of this newfound resolve to pass our biggest test yet. These fucking rustlers had us by the balls, caught us off guard, outgunned, ambushed in the dead of night and were threatening to steal our profits and to take our very lives. Exactly how these assholes managed to accomplish this, with our added patrols, was baffling ... fucking infuriating is probably the better phrase.

This meant they either had some serious skills or some dumb fucking luck.

To pull this off strategically, they’d have to follow us discreetly for several days, avoiding detection the entire time in order to gather enough intelligence so as to determine our vulnerabilities and devise a master plan to be executed flawlessly.

Well, if this were the case, then we’re up shit creek for they’d know how many guns we have, where we sleep, who’s the best shot and exactly how to strike in a deadly manner. We wouldn’t stand a chance. In fact, we’d be best served to simply surrender and take our licks with whatever dignity they afforded us.

But then again ... there’s an alternative explanation that’s also equally plausible; it’s quite possible these pricks got crazy lucky and just happened to get the drop on our patrols in some fluky manner. Maybe the boys were slacking off and decided to take a nap rather than walk the perimeter or maybe Benny had dropped his rifle while taking a shit.

Who the hell knows? Anything goes out here.

Regardless, these rustlers claimed to have us surrounded by twenty well armed men. Truth be told though, I had a pretty strong feeling this prick was bluffing his ass off. More than likely, they had half that many guns. I mean, for fucks sake, where are you going to find twenty able-bodied men, willing to ride this far out, in the dead of night, to collect some goddamn Longhorns. The bounty couldn’t possible be good enough to spread it out that far, between that many mouths.

Even twelve men was a stretch by my estimate. If I had to guess, I’d say they had about eight men ... ten at the very most.

Why? Couple reasons.

First, theoretically you could drove one thousand cattle for a few days with eight well rested men. And second, there’s no way in hell twenty men could have kept quiet for long enough, to surround our little camp without giving themselves away ages ago.

Come on?

Crusher would have waked much earlier had that many men been moving in on us from both sides at the same time. The foliage to the right of me, where Jimmy had just slinked into, was almost too thick for one man, let alone ten to work their way through without being heard.

So in all likelihood these dicks had one man stationed to our right, in the woods. And four or five to our left while the rest would be clustered heavily in the middle, handy to where that arrogant, son of a bitch kept chirping from. If anything, they might have us half surrounded, in a little semi-circle formation, which is still tough, don’t get me wrong, but much more manageable than being completely encircled.

“So what will it be?” I heard the cocksucker call out once more with a little more urgency in his voice. He likely wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible, knowing time was not necessarily on his side.

I knew I had a big decision to make; fight or surrender.

I looked out at my boys, glad they’d found weapons and decent cover. Most were straining the lengths of their night vision to find suitable targets to shoot at if given half a chance. If I had the time and opportunity, I would tell them to hold their fire until fired upon as shooting into the darkness is little more than a guessing game and subsequently, a waste of bullets. However, as the rustlers open fire, their barrel flashes will offer pinpoint targets.

“Carlos,” I half-whispered. “Put that out would ya?”

The well spoken Mexican had taken cover closest to our campfire. The flames were dying down but still putting off enough light to give away our position, providing the rustlers with an unfair advantage.

“Sure thing boss,” Carlos replied in a hushed tone, understanding my meaning perfectly. He worked quickly to kick out the flames, staying low to the ground the entire time.

“Listen boys,” the lead rustler said, his booming voice echoing off the boulders. “This ain’t hard ... you only have one option. If I were y’all, I’d get that trail boss of yours to surrender. Hell, we won’t hold it against any of yas who want to give up all on your own. Why do you need the boss’ go-ahead? Y’all can stand up, right now, with hands raised and walk over here and I swear to God ... nobody will shoot ya. In fact, you’ll be free to ride away ... Scott free, on one of your own horses as soon as this little affair is over and done with. How does that sound?”

I couldn’t see all of my men nor was I able to gauge many of their reactions as we were spread out and our campfire had been extinguished, but I had a sneaky suspicion one or two of my less reputable drovers were mulling this over. It wouldn’t surprise me at all to see Frankie stand up, like a dumb fuck, and surrender, being the complete coward he is.

“Don’t nobody go thinking these rustlers mean a word of it,” I called back, still under the Chuck Wagon. I had to stall as Jimmy needed more time and I needed more info in order to develop a feasible strategy. “These bastards make a living by stealing what rightly belongs to another. They know nothing of honour or an honest day’s work. They survive by lying, cheatin’ and stealing. What makes you think they won’t do the same to any of us and go stabbing us in the fucking back as soon as it’s profitable for ‘em?”

“Come on,” the rustler countered in that annoyingly, sarcastic tone of his. “We ain’t that bad. Ya got us all wrong friend. We just want them cows. Don’t give a shit about y’all ... don’t want to hurt any of yas if we don’t have to.”

“Well, clearly you assholes don’t know us,” I said while checking the ammo in my pistol, wishing I had my rifle instead; this six shooter doesn’t shoot near as straight over long distances, but it would have to do as everything else was inside the Chuck Wagon, above me, and I couldn’t get to it at the moment. “They think that five men, yelling empty threats, will cause us to drop our drawers, bend over and take it up the ass ... now that might be true of Frankie, but the rest of us ain’t that flexible, even if we were into shit like that.”

At this I got a few chuckles from my boys, who surprised me, but I think our rustlers were even more taken aback.

“Yeah, they probably haven’t fucked a hairy ass for days now,” Clyde yelled out confidently, garnishing even more laughter. “Likely couldn’t get it up with everyone watching anyhow.”

“Or maybe they need an audience in order to get a little stiffie,” Carlos added with a chuckle of his own.

“Likely too sore themselves,” Frankie said excitedly, failing horribly to deliver his punch line in any meaningful manner. “From bending over and getting fucked in the butt ... all five of them ... you know?” He tried to recover but still failed.

Nobody laughed but it pissed off the rustlers nonetheless. Their big boss shouted angrily, “Why the fuck do you keep saying five of us?” His soft tone was gone, replaced with frustration and unease. “Can’t you fucking count? The TEN of us have been doing this a long time and have never gone home empty handed! Y’all better smarten the fuck up and take us seriously! We ain’t joking around here. You’ll go home in a world of hurt if you go home at all. Do you understand?”

“Oh now there’s only ten of yas?” I said; glad to have gleaned a valuable piece of info. “I thought you had twenty men who liked giving it ... or taking it up the hairy pooper?”

My men laughed all the louder, barely able to contain themselves. This might have been because of my insults (funny as shit) or maybe because of the comforting realization that we weren’t nearly as screwed as we once thought. Ten enemies with guns is way better than twenty. Fact is, we had them outnumbered if you counted me. Oh wait ... they have Benny and Paul as hostages. Shit, guess we were even then.

Regardless, this was getting better by the minute.

“We’ll give you assholes one minute to surrender peacefully,” the dickhead offered his final ultimatum. “Or else we’re going to shoot your friends and then open fire on you. And none of us want that.”

Shit. The clock had been set and there was no undoing it now. A gunfight was all but inevitable. However, I didn’t feel near prepared enough. We would have little advantage without Jimmy’s assistance, and poor Benny might suffer the most. Jimmy needed more time, but I’d just squandered my last chance to give more to him.

Slush.

Ah, that’s the sound I’d been waiting for. And fuck me, what a comforting sound it was ... well disgusting, but still comforting. I knew a man had been grabbed in the brush, to my right, and his throat had been slit. The quick, muffled slashing was unmistakable and fit Jimmy’s methods perfectly. He’d used the laughter as a distraction and pounced when the rustler’s guard was down.

The poor bastard hadn’t even see Jimmy coming, I figured. Quite sure their boss missed it as well. The faint noise would have been hard to detect from across such a distance.

At least we had one less asshole to worry about. That left them with nine guns and none on our right flank, as Jimmy would surely see to that, and now he just needed to reach Benny, before the shooting starts, and I needed to be there to back his play.

“Carlos...” I whispered from underneath the Chuck Wagon.

“What’s up boss?” he whispered back, about fifteen feet away.

“Four over there and five up there,” I mouthed as I held up nine fingers and then pointed to the left of us and then towards the front.

Carlos nodded his understanding.

“You guys take those four,” I said using my hands to convey the orders.

He obeyed and started whispering instructions to the others.

I turned my attention away from him and slid closer to the front of the Chuck Wagon.

“Hey Clyde,” I called out softly, towards our camp cook. The old timer had decent cover behind a tree to the front of the wagon with a rifle in hand. He looked back at me with the confidence only an experienced drover could possess. “Five men up there,” I pointed past him and he understood the implication. “Get the boys aiming that way.”

“Will do boss,” he replied.

I suddenly wondered if he’d ever called me boss before, but no time to wonder about that shit. Jimmy was likely to make his move any moment now and we’d have to be ready to play our part.

“You got that Frankie?” I mouthed to the bastard, hunched close to Cookie, still staring at me like a dumbass.

“Got it,” he replied a little too loud for my liking.

“Be ready,” I said while checking with the few men I could manage to communicate with from this distance.

It was nearly go time and then I’d have to make some moves, but I didn’t want to leave the safety of this Chuck Wagon until absolutely necessary. I knew, that once the gunfire erupted, I would be forced from this spot as it offered little advantage save for the concealment, with nothing but wooden spokes as cover.

But when would go-time arrive? Would it be on the rustler’s initiative or on ours?

That fully depended on Jimmy. If he makes it to the center of the rustler’s camp, before the order is given, we’ll have our advantage, otherwise it’s theirs. He had to be close by now.

Fingers crossed.

I don’t even have to open my eyes. I know exactly where I am. I recognize the smell, the feel, the constraint. I’m in my goddamn coffin and sadly, it feels like a second home to me by now.

How pathetic is that?

But as confident as I am in my location, what eludes me is the timeline. How long have I been stashed away for? How long have I been sleeping in this unconscious state? Hours ... days ... months? There’s no way to tell.

I do my best to recall what happened before this, but my brain is foggy and aches when pressed. It’s like waking with a shitty hangover after partying all night long, but that can’t possibly be right.

Can it?

I prod my memory further causing bits of remembrance to flash before me. I suddenly recall being on center stage with the queen demon who ordered me to service her like an indentured sex slave.

Shame fills me to the core as I relive that dreadful moment; of pleasing her with my tongue. How could I possibly have done that? Where did I find the strength?

Oh yeah ... I did it for Benny’s sake.

Yes, that’s right ... He’s alive!

Thank the Lord Almighty.

I actually saw him there, on the ground floor, mixed in with the crowd. But he looked so scared, so lost. I never got the chance to speak with him...

More memories come trickling back.

I was on stage, watching the boys fuck those hideous bitches and somehow, they loved it? No it can’t be true ... That doesn’t seem possible, unless they’ve gone ape shit crazy.

Am I misremembering that part?

“Oh damn,” I feel myself turning a deep shade of red. I fucked that green one ... or I tried to ... can’t remember exactly what happened. For some reason I found her truly desirable. But why? Is this how it feels to wake up, after a binger, and learn you’ve made love to the ugliest woman in town?

I honestly don’t know, but there are more questions than answers and it pisses me off to no end. “What the fuck are they doing to us?”

Pop. The casket opens half an inch allowing a thin white border of light to encircle my dwelling.

“Any second now,” I think to myself.

Swoosh. The casket opens fully, forcing me to shield my eyes as the light is too painful. I step out of my coffin, with hand still raised, curious to learn of my latest predicament.

Again, without even seeing it, I know exactly where I am. The smell alone is a dead giveaway. I lower my hand and take in my surroundings just to be sure. “I’m home,” I say as a shot of joy bubbles up from deep inside of me. “I’m fucking home!”

My ordeal is finally over. I can’t believe it. They let me go!

Though modest as fuck, the view of my kitchen is the greatest thing my eyes have ever seen. I honestly figured I’d never see this room again, yet here I am, standing in the middle of it. I run my hand along the makeshift table just to be sure and then test out the wooden cupboards and countertops.

Yup, they’re real. My eyes aren’t playing tricks on me. I’m actually home, so I start doing the only thing that makes sense. I whoop and holler and dance excitedly as only a fucking cowboy can, until a familiar voice stops me in my tracks.

“What the fuck are you doing Buck?” Susan scowls as she steps hurriedly into the room. “You could at least take off your dirty boots. You’re tracking mud and shit all over my clean floors.”

I look down momentarily and learn she’s absolutely right. I’m no longer adorned in that white skirt, but am properly dressed in work jeans, shirt and boots. I remove my hat and pull back my hair only to learn there’s nothing stitched into my skull.

That moon shaped thing is long gone. I’m free of it!

“Susan?” I look back up at her with eyes wide as saucers. She’s dressed in her gardening attire, with grass stained knees and dirtied hands, yet has never appeared more beautiful to me in all her life. “Is that really you?”

“Who else would it be dipshit?” she replies with an annoyed, quizzical grin. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I instinctively rush over and pull her in for a giant hug. I want to stay like this forever, never letting her go.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she counters, pushing me back. “Are you drunk? Cause you ain’t getting any right now if that’s what you’re after. Too much work to be done.”

I laugh so hard tears start flowing down my cheeks.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Susan steps away to tend to the boiling pot of stew, cooking on the wood stove. “You need to finish your chores before supper.”

“Chores?” I ask, but am too happy to care. I’ll do anything to stay. I’ll never take anything for granted ever again nor will I complain when things don’t go my way. Take Susan’s shitty cooking for example. Right now I’m just excited to find out how bad her latest meal will taste. I’ll gobble it down with a big fucking smile on no matter what. That’s a promise.

Anything is better than the hell I just escaped from.

“And don’t think that gift of yours is going to get you out of your work,” Susan continued.