Sheriff Molly

Sheriff Molly

A novel

By Gene Cox Published December, 2011

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Gene Cox Books 827 W Harwood Rd. Hurst, TX 76054 genecoxbooks.com gene@genecoxbooks.com 10 digit ISBN 0615585574 13 digit ISBN 978-0-615-58557-4 Copyright 2011, all rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Printed in the United States of America

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Chapter 1 Hill Country Cattle Rustle They came as wraiths, dragging the night behind them. The birds and other chirpers heard them or sensed their approach. They became silent and hid as they knew they must.

The air became more solid, little pieces of night beginning to violate the emptiness of day. The Mesquite trees, huge alien insects, their wicked broken legs praying to an un-listening heaven.

The two-tone KaKlop KaKlop charged the air. It was joined by a second set resulting in a frantic KaKaKaklop KaKaKaklop. The sound beat heavier and faster. Even the wind froze.

A black object bounced up and down, winding its way through the bushes. A second one followed. The hat in front had a wide sloping brim which covered most of what was below it. The second hat was taco shaped. A small probable face below it had long braids on the sides which danced in the air.

The lead figure was large. In a controlled manner she bounced in the saddle, making a fast gallop comfortable for horse and rider. The smaller figure behind stood in the stirrups, slapping the horses flanks with a crop.

Horse and rider leaned forward capturing as much new ground as the animals could possess.

Their hooves dug in the ground sending shovels full of earth behind them; clawing, demanding what lay ahead.

Everything parted for their rapid approach. The eyes of horse and rider glowed with passion.

They covered ground quickly and flew by. Everything behind was sprayed by dirt and four round rears chased a dying sun.

Another hill and another set of animals became silent as the previous ones considered breathing again.

Their pace never slowed. To be tired was not in their thoughts. They wound through the insects, big and small. The leading figure wore pants and chaps, leather vest, and a large silver star. A large sixshooter adorned both of her ample hips. One hand held the reins. The other was held in front like she held a magical force which guided her. A spit of tobacco flew from her mouth as she thundered by. The rider behind wiped her face then applied the crop to her horse, this time with a little anger. She wore a simple dress. A silver star was pinned to her bodice which was small like the rest of her. Even in a dress she rode astride. Her dress was bunched around her thighs and revealed scrawny legs capped with cowgirl boots and spurs. In her right hand she carried a rifle. In the dust of the first rider she flew by creating more dust and deadly chunks of flying sod.

Another hill, another silence, and another demanding approach. Just when the wild animals started to breathe again three more riders spurred and slapped their horses trying frantically to keep up with Sheriff Molly and Deputy Holly, sometimes called Holy Hell Holly. Two of the three women wore dresses, cowgirl hats, and rode side saddle. The third was heavier set. She wore chaps, a vest, a large round domed hat, and rode astride. They breathed harder than their horses, begging more ground from their mounts.

A bluff lay ahead. A scene of deep blue sat on a scalloped layer of pink and purple, the sun demanding to be remembered.

The sheriff and deputy slowed as they neared the bluff, finally came to a trot, and then dismounted. Both automatically went to a crouch. Quietly, they crawled to the top of the bluff and peaked into the canyon below. The sight, sound, and smell of cattle came to them and filled the canyon.

Directly below them were six cattle rustlers. They wore dresses and road side saddle. Their saddles contained rifles, ropes, and saddle bags. Extra dresses were rolled up and tied to the back of their 3

saddles. They were on their horses facing each other, talking. The cattle were mostly quiet and the rustlers were at ease, feeling they were hidden for the night. Getting the cattle, escaping without getting shot, and hiding them was the job for the day. Tomorrow they would drive north to a rendezvous point prearranged by their boss, Virginia Steel, Texas' most feared and notorious outlaw.

The sheriff tapped the deputy on the shoulder and beckoned her back to the horses. The other three women were approaching and the sheriff waved her hat and arms telling them to be quiet. The three cowgirls dismounted and left their horses. They hunched over, and crept to the sheriff and deputy.

"They are there,” Molly spoke quietly. "Six riders and your cattle”. Her hand went along the line of the canyon.

"You three,” looking at the Barker sisters, "go around to that side and down into the canyon," pointing to the north. "We will drive them to you from the other end. Unless they fire at you, don't shoot ‘em".

"Yes sheriff,” said Amy Barker, the oldest sister and foreman of the Barker Ranch. She arranged her shoulder length black hair that hung straight down from her hat and motioned for her two sisters to follow her. They led their horses down the bluff, mounted, and headed north.

Sheriff Molly waited for her deputy who had stopped and squatted to pee. With pee still striking the ground the deputy stood and hopped back on her horse.

They rode quietly and in a relaxed manner. The situation was now under control. They found a way their horses could walk into the canyon. They walked them slowly so the cattle would not be alarmed. The sheriff led them into the herd of Herefords, Black Angus, and Longhorns. The deputy had her rifle in her hand.

The sheriff saw the bluff ahead where she had leaned over and observed the rustlers. The rustlers were probably still below it.

"Now!" she said to Holly.

Their horses jumped into the herd. The cowgirls yelled and flailed their arms. Their horses danced, and the cattle stampeded in the direction of the rustlers. Once it was started, the whole herd mindlessly followed.

The sheriff and deputy galloped with the cattle down the valley. A ricocheted bullet informed them their presence had been noted. Holly looked down the barrel of her rifle and stopped her horse long enough to squeeze off a shot then trotted to catch up with Molly.

The shot put the herd in run mode. The law women saw the rustlers in front of them, running with the herd. The two women in back turned in their saddles and fired their six-guns.

Molly put the reins in her mouth. She stood in her stirrups and pulled both six-guns, firing first the left then the right as she rode to overtake the rustlers. Left right left right. Before her guns were dry the two back rustlers had been shot off their horses. Molly and Holly rode over them in pursuit of the other rustlers.

The three remaining rustlers stopped, their path being blocked by the Barker sisters. They dropped their guns and raised their hands in the air.

"Hold them,” Molly told the Barker girls and Deputy Holly.

Molly spurred her horse to a run, catching up with the head of the herd. Turning a herd of stampeding cattle is dangerous for a group of cowgirls, but for a single cowgirl, nearly suicidal.

Sheriff Molly thought not of that danger, only the job. She and her horse pressed on the side of the steers, forcing them to the side. She pushed cow after cow until finally they turned. There was nowhere to go, only the side of the canyon. Those behind them stopped, just following the leader.

Molly rode back to where the Barker girls and her deputy were holding the prisoners. The deputy had taken the cowgirls’ guns and tied their hands to the saddle horn around which their right legs were wrapped. Then she tied their right ankle to their left knee.

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"Here are your cattle,” the sheriff said to Amy. "Can you handle it from here?"

"Sure, and thanks,” said Amy. She roped a large steer and handed the rope to Molly. "Take it home with you".

"Just what I need, something else to take home with me,” she said, eying the three rustlers tied to their horses. Then she smiled. "Thanks Amy".

The sheriff and deputy lead the captured rustlers and horses to the cowgirls lying on the ground.

Molly threw them over their horses and tied their hands and feet to the saddles. Then she tied the horses together.

"You want the live ones or the dead ones?"

"I'll take the dead ones. Less trouble,” Holly replied "Figures."

They mounted. Sheriff Molly put a small cigar in her mouth. She took out her six-shooter, pointed it down then struck a match on the brass frame of the grip and lit the cigar. Though tired, they would have to ride until they were back in town with their prisoners and cows.

Behind them the sun sank into her grave. The gods of the day followed and left the gods of the night, their worshipers, and their slaves, to do what they would.

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Chapter 2 Saloon Arrest of Virginia Steel It had been dark for hours when the sheriff and her deputy arrived in Gunbarrel. Noise from the Lucky Cowgirl Saloon could be heard a mile south of town. Other than that, it was quiet. The general store, bank, restaurant, boarding house, and beauty salon occupied the north side of the main Street. The saloon formed the head of the street. The sheriff's office and jail was a small three room frame building in the middle of the south side of the street. The doctor's office was toward the saloon, and adress shop next to that.

They walked their horses and prisoners to the hitching post in front of the jail. The three live cowgirls were led into one of the three jail cells. The three dead ones were heaped in another cell. In the morning Sheriff Molly would have the bodies identified and taken to the undertaker. The horses and cow were led to a pen behind the jail. There were only two horse stalls. The other six horses and cow stood in the lot. Having been used in the crime of cattle rustling the horses would belong to the sheriff and the town of Gunbarrel 50/50. Molly would have the cow butchered, keep some of it to dry, sell some, and give away most.

The sheriff and deputy sat down in her office for a minute of rest. Two shot glasses, a bottle of whiskey, and a cigar appeared. Molly took out her right six-shooter and struck a match on the handle and lit the cigar. They tried to relax, but the belly aching of the prisoners made it hard.

The sheriff got up and walked to the door of the room where the jail cells were. With a grizzly bear like firmness, she yelled "shut up or I'll fill all your holes full of cement.�

The scare tactic worked. They shut up. Molly walked back to her chair and put her boots up on her desk. The spurs found the holes that had been wallowed out by them and Molly leaned back in her chair. Two more shots and Molly sat up in her chair. "Well, let's go get her." Holly finished her shot and loaded her rifle. The sheriff checked both of her six-shooters and placed them lightly in their holsters.

She tucked her shirt in and pulled her pants up. Holly straightened her dress. Molly led the way out of the doors and turned right, walking down the middle of the street toward the saloon.

The Lucky Cowgirl was brightly lit. Every window in the rooms upstairs glowed and a flood of light escaped the hole in the front guarded only by batwing doors. Cowgirls cursing, glasses clattering, and a piano making noise flowed out of the Lucky Cowgirl’s central orifice. The sheriff and deputy walked to it like death approaching. Upon reaching the door Molly stood on one side and Holly the other. They listened, trying to determine who was sitting where before they made their grand entrance.

Molly looked at Holly and they both jumped in the doors, which battered around behind them before finally stopping. Everyone inside knew that particular entrance. Someone who at least thought they were important had just entered. Hands and mouths stopped and everyone looked in that direction.

Everyone knew the Sheriff's look of "I'm here on business." They then tried to quickly determine who she was after so they would know which way to run when the shooting started. They knew Virginia Steel was the only major outlaw in the saloon and carefully migrated away from her, leaving a wide path between her and the law women.

Tex was standing beside Virginia and had his hand on her shoulder. He was her favorite bar guy.

Henrietta, a woman with a lot of healthy red hair was behind the bar wiping glasses and the bar. When one was clean she would wipe another until something actually got dirty enough for her to decide to wash it. Usually a cigar in the mug prompted this. It was her bar and the Lucky Cowgirl was her saloon. She cleared her throat and Tex and Tom, the two bar guys she had working the tables that night, carefully made their way behind the bar to stand by her. She wanted her flock in a safe place when the shooting started.

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"When I finish this, Tex, bring us another bottle,” Virginia said, her hands motionless on the table.

Tex and Tom wore red and white striped shirts and khaki pants. They were closely shaven and well groomed, something Henrietta demanded of her bar guys.

Six other cowgirls were at the large round table where Virginia was sitting. They looked like the saddle bums and probably rustlers. They laid their hand of cards face down on the table, took a gutsy last swig of beer or whiskey, then slowly stood and backed away from the table. Virginia brought her hands to the edge of the table.

"Move those hands again and you'll never spread those worn out legs for Tex again,” Molly said.

No one thought of coughing. The deputy was surveying the crowd for someone wanting to help Ms. Steel out.

In an explosion Virginia flipped the table on its side sending cards, money, and beer mugs clattering to the floor. Quicker than a fly Virginia turned sideways and drew her six-shooter which hung from her waist. Her left-hand crossed the top of the pistol to pull the hammer back for a quick fire.

Molly knew this was coming. Virginia had used four actions. Molly only needed one. Her right sixshooter twisted sideways out of its holster and fired. Fast, but accuracy was difficult. Molly had practiced this move a million times and the bullet flew true. Virginia's pistol was shot from her hand.

She closed her right fist and winced in pain, the side of the pistol having clawed grooves in her hand as it was shot away.

"You'll never take me alive Sheriff."

"What are you going to do about it?" They stared at each other. Molly had butch cut blond hair with no graying. Her eyes were crystal clear and blue. They sat in a fairly rugged face. Virginia Steel had graying black hair that was put up in a bun. Steel was 15 to 20 years older than Molly. She had coal black eyes and an intense stare that would cause a buzzard to fall out of the sky.

"Tie her up, deputy,” Molly said. With her free hand she took the cigar out of her mouth and threw it out of the batwing doors.

Holly had a small manila rope tied around her thin waste. It was good for tying up cattle and outlaws. Standing, you could not tell she was bowlegged because she wore a dress. But when she walked it was obvious. She handed her rifle to the sheriff and walked behind Virginia, spurs clanging and making small trails in the sawdust and tobacco spit on the floor. She untied the rope from her waist.

She roughly pulled Virginia's hands behind her, one at a time, and grinned at tying them tight. Then she took the small pistol out of Virginia's left boot and huge knife from her right boot and shoved them in her own boots. There was nowhere else to carry them.

"March!” She ordered and shoved Virginia ahead. She nearly fell over the table.

"I am not going to your jail, Sheriff. They tell me you torture girls, which is against international and federal laws. Not me, sheriff. I am not the one."

"Yah you, Virginia, you’re the one."

“Take her in, deputy. You girls get back to your drinkin’ and gamblin’”. Molly nodded to Henrietta then followed Holly out the door who was being as rough as possible with Virginia .

"What's the charges sheriff?"

"Cattle rustling."

"I've been in this saloon since noon, ask Henrietta."

"It was your girls who done it."

"My girls? I don't have any girls. I don't know what you are talking about, sheriff."

"We’ll see."

"If you touch me, sheriff, I'll have your badge."

"It don't work that way. You’re the crook and I’m the law woman. You've enough wanted 7

posters to have killed a field of trees.”

Molly walked ahead and opened the door for Holly, who bulldogged Virginia through it.

"Put her in the empty cell then go get Dancing Deer,” Molly said.

"Oh, hell no. You're not going to use Indian Boarding on me. It's illegal."

"So is cattle rustling, and we can because you're a terrorist. New law."

"A terrorist! Who said?"

"I did."

"Know any of these girls?" Holly asked Virginia as she backed her into the cell then untied the rope on her wrists.

"No. I don't know them."

Sheriff Molly sat in her chair and put her feet up on her desk. The spurs sought out their holes on the desk top and she leaned back, striking a match on the butt of her gun and lit a cigar. Holly stomped out of the jail cell, got her hat off a hook by the door, her rifle, and left. Molly got a bottle and a shot glass and tried to numb the pain.

A half bottle of liquor later the door opened and in swayed the sexiest Indian squaw that ever wore a feather. She was young, probably about 20. Her black hair flowed down her back to her waist, glistening like it had been polished. She wore a small deer skin halter top and short skirt. Half of her large cantaloupe sized breasts were exposed. Her waist had a wasp look. Below that was a full butt. The skirt abruptly ended and legs that every man dreamed of continued to the floor. She knew the effect she had on people and used it without remorse.

"Dancing Deer, we need a confession out of the lady in the cell by herself. Holly will tie her to a board for you."

"Yes sheriff,” she said with a teasing voice and showed them what a woman's swaying hips could look like as she walked to the jail room.

When Dancing Deer stood in front of the door Virginia yelled "NO" loud enough to set the guns off. The sheriff and deputy smiled at each other and Holly made her way to the cell to tie Virginia to the board. She positioned the feet end of the board on the bed and the head end of the board on the floor.

"She's all yours Dancing Deer." Holly walked outside the room and Dancing Deer went in.

It did not take long, just a couple of minutes.

Virginia started by saying "NO" "NO." They heard the sound of material tearing and her cries became louder "No!" "No!”"Damn you, don't you dare. Nooooo!”

"No. No. No. No." A little more clothing tearing.

"Oh, oh, oh, oh."

A little more tearing.

"Oh -- yes." "Yes" "Yes" Holly walked to the jail cell door. "Victoria Steel, were those girls hired by you to rustle Barker cattle?"

"Yes, yes. Oh - yes." She was breathing hard.

"There is your confession, Sheriff."

"That will do, Dancing Deer."

Dancing Deer swayed her way out of the room and over to the Sheriff Molly's desk. Molly gave her the other half of the bottle of liquor and a five dollar gold coin.

"How’s your mom and sister?" Molly asked.

"They are good. You need spirit weed?"

"No, I'm good. Thanks for your help."

Dancing deer turned and walked to the door. Her hips rotated an impossible figure eight. Molly and Holly watched them and shook their heads.

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"My whiskey level is low,” Molly said.

Molly reached in her bottom desk drawer and pulled out a fresh bottle. She opened it and she and Holly took several quick shots. Holly gulped down another one then took her rifle to the storeroom.

Molly put her feet on her desk, the spurs finding their holes, and leaned back in her chair. A hard day’s work well done.

Molly pulled a cigar out of her vest pocket and put it in her mouth. She pulled out her right sixshooter. She held the barrel with her left hand and rested it on her crotch. She struck a match on the gun butt with her right hand and lit her cigar.

Molly took a big puff then blew it out. She closed her eyes and took another puff.

"BAM!" The gun went off.

Molly's eyes shot open. "Oh – shit," covered her face. Her mouth opened wide and the cigar felt out on her shirt. She stopped breathing, scared to look down at her crotch.

Holly burst into the room. "Gun went off cleaning it. Sorry sheriff."

It was a full 30 seconds until Molly could draw a breath.

"Gawd dammit Holly, warn me before you do that next time." Her face still looking horrified.

"How am I supposed to warn you when a gun is fixing to accidentally go off sheriff?”

"I don't know, but it's your job next time it happens."

"Gawd dam!" She shouted again.

She was still scared to look down, fearing she had another hole to contend with.

The cigar burned a hole in her shirt and her skin started to sizzle. Molly jumped up and brushed ashes and sparks off her shirt. She poured a shot of whiskey and threw it on her stomach. She holstered her gun, shook her head side to side and finally sat back down. Not wanting to laugh in the sheriffs face Holly went back into the storeroom.

"Hey, untie me,” came from the jail cell.

Two women who looked like their horses had been riding them burst in the door and stomped to the sheriff’s desk.

"We’re here to bond out Victoria Steel,” one said.

"Well, let's see," the sheriff said. "I just got the new bond amounts for a terrorist. 200 gold."

"200 gold! That's outrageous."

"Do you want her or not?"

"Okay. Okay. We’ll pay." The women pulled gold coins out of their bodices until they had $200.

They also lost about 10 inches of their top measurement.

"Holly, go bring Victoria here."

Holly walked out of storeroom. "Yes, sheriff."

"I'll be back in the morning for my girls. And I'll have you arrested for Indian boarding me,” Virginia said on the way out.

"So now they are her girls." Holly told Molly.

Virginia and her bond makers left and Holly and Molly sat down at her desk. Holly lit Molly's next cigar.

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Chapter 3 Indian Move Request One. Gun Trade Captain Godsby struck a regal figure. Her dark blue uniform of the United States Cavalry was expertly tailored, pressed, and spotless. The jacket buttoned up with brass buttons. On her shoulders were captain’s bars. Her pants were equally well tailored and pressed and tucked in her knee high black riding boots. The gold tassels on her Cavalry hat showed she was an officer. Her face was plain and serious. Black, neatly cut hair came to her shoulders. One gloved hand held the reins. The other hand she held beside her. She wore a small pistol and a rifle was in a harness tied to the saddle. Her horse trotted with as much dignity as the rider showed.

Detachment A of the 223rd Cavalry followed her. Sergeant Bell was blond and beautiful. She obviously had a different tailor than Captain Godsby. Her uniform had lumps in them. Big ones. She wore the same jacket with the brass buttons but it was very tight around her waist and held her breasts at attention. They resembled large oranges and the tops and middle were open and ready for inspection.

When she was not on a horse her snug pants showed an exceedingly round rear end. Her Cavalry hat was worn on the side to show beauty rather than bearing. Her body moved sensually in the saddle. She looked at her face in her small mirror she carried more than she did at the trail ahead.

At the rear rode Private Honicutt. She rode rigid in the saddle and never smiled. She was thin and there were no lumps in her uniform. Fairly long straight dark brown hair was kept in a pony tail.

She constantly waited for Captain Godsby to give a command for her to obey. She was a soldier. She ignored Sergeant Bell, considering her not worthy to wear a uniform.

The Cavalry detachment was out scouting for Indians. Those were their orders from General Cornwall. They wound their way through Mesquite trees in the sandy soil of East Texas.

The captain stiffened, raised her right hand at a perfect right angle and stopped her horse.

Sergeant Bell was looking in her mirror and if not for the intelligence of her horse would have run into the captain. The private saw the signal to stop, did so, stiffened even more and prepared to pull the small side arm they were issued. Her eyes were glued on the captain, awaiting orders.

Then they noticed it. The captain did not have to say anything. Drums. Indian drums. The captain looked like an alerted bird dog. Sergeant Bell was studying her nails. Private Honicutt had her eyes on her captain, ready to pull her weapon if ordered to do so.

The captain’s hand still stuck out like a stop sign. She motioned for them to creep foreword.

They tracked the drum beats until they knew they were close. They dismounted, tied their horses to a bush, pulled out their rifles, crouched over, and slowly continued toward the drumming.

Captain Godsby looked carefully under a Bush. She stood up and pointed, holding up three fingers. She motioned for them to cock their rifles -- quietly -- then follow her. When she was past the bush the captain sprang in into the clearing and aimed her rifle at the Indian with the most feathers on her head. Bell and Honicutt aimed their rifles at the other two Indians.

An older Indian, in a full headdress was sitting on the ground. In her lap was a tray with an herb on it. She was picking out the stems and seeds. To her right sat an obese Indian maiden beating on a drum between her legs. Her hair was in a long braid and two feathers in a headband sat on top of her fat round head.

To the Indian Chief’s left was a large tepee. In front of the tepee Dancing Deer was dancing erotically to the drumming beat. Her curves and the way she moved them caused the three Cavalry women to gawk.

The Indian Chief looked up from her tray. The obese drummer stopped abruptly and looked up as well. She took a hit on a hand rolled cigarette lying beside her, held it, and blew out a cloud.

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Dancing deer stopped in a pose and with her liquid dreamy eyes surveyed what had just burst into their camp.

Captain Godsby sat regal in a saddle but when on her feet she walked with a flourish of her long thin arms, flapping her elbows up and down.

“We're the U.S. Cavalry,” she said. Her rifle was going up and down like her arms.

The chief looked at her for a moment with her blood shot eyes then turned to the obese Indian on her right.

"Caterers. Did we call for caterers?"

"No Ma," the fat Indian said, taking another hit off her cigarette. "Cavalry ma. Cavalry."

"That's right, hold it right there. We’ve got you now," Captain Godsby said, her elbows flapping like wings.

The chief looked at her daughter on the right. She shrugged. Then she looked at Dancing Deer, who also shrugged.

"What you want?" Asked the Indian chief. While waiting for an answer she picked up a cigarette paper and rolled a joint.

"You move,” said the captain. "This land is property of the united states government."

Captain Godsby arms were going up and down. She was stepping back and forth, getting different grips on her rifle. The fat Indiana maiden took a hit off her joint, coughed, and started giggling. Dancing Deer was eyeing Sergeant Bell. Competition. Sergeant Bell felt the eyes. What she wanted. She did her best to stick out her boobs and rotate her hips while her face said she was bored.

Private Honicutt had her rifle pointed at the fat Indian maiden and waiting for the captain’s orders to open fire.

When the chief had finished rolling her joint and lighting it, she looked to the captain.

"You wrong white girl. I am called Sitting Cow. My mother Running Cow was born in that tepee. Her mother, Jumping Cow, was born in that tepee. And her mother, the great Humping Cow was born in that tepee. My daughters, Squatting Elephant and Dancing Deer born in that tepee."

Dancing Deer and Sergeant Bell were still playing women's games with each other. Private Honicutt had not moved, and Squatting Elephant was smoking and laughing, enjoying the scene.

Captain Godsby felt they were at a standstill. "When we come back, you and your tepee better be gone or we will attack."

It was not obvious whether Chief Sitting Cow heard her or not. She stuck her hand out with the joint. "Try this".

Godsby's arms were flapping up and down. She was stepping back and forth. "No tricks now."

Sitting Cow just looked at her. While still holding her in her sights the captain reached over with her left hand and took the joint. Keeping her eye on Sitting Cow she took a huge hit then handed it to Sergeant Bell who was still modeling for Dancing Deer. Sergeant Bell smoked a few hits in a sexy way and handed it to Private Honicutt who ignored her.

Captain Godsby was becoming less worried about her rifle and more interested in getting the joint back. Sitting Cow noticed this.

"It Indian custom to trade."

"Well, what do you have to trade?" Asked Godsby, her rifle now at ease in her hands.

"Go get trade," sitting cow told her daughter. Squatting Elephant lumbered up and nearly fell on Sitting Cow, staggered around, then went behind that tepee. She returned lugging a huge bail of marijuana. She sat it down between the captain and the sergeant. Their mouths fell open.

"What do you want for this?" The captain asked, obviously very interested.

"Your rifles," said Sitting Cow. "We get all this just for some stupid rifles?"

Chief Sitting Cow nodded, smiling.

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"Sure!"

Sitting Cow nodded to Dancing Deer, who swayed over to Captain Godsby and took her rifle with two fingers. Then she walked to Sergeant Bell. She looked at her from head to toe. Sergeant Bell threw back her head and arched her back. She was leaning on her rifle. Dancing deer took it, then walked to Private Honicutt who still had a deadly aim on Squatting Elephant. Dancing Deer smirked, snatched the rifle out of her hands, and then swayed to the tepee with them.

"Carry this to the horses,” Captain Godsby commanded of the sergeant and private. Each took a side of the bail and staggered back toward the horses. Captain Godsby followed.

Sitting Cow and Squatting Elephant looked at each other and laughed. "White women crazy,” said Sitting Cow. Dancing deer walked out of the tepee to the circular trail she had danced into the earth.

Squatting Elephant saw her and began to drum again. Dancing Deer’s body undulated like a snake and began to dance. Sitting Cow rolled another joint.

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Chapter 4 Twins Background The Twins stood in the warm spring sun of Northeast Texas. The weather was comfortable but they were not smiling as far as you could tell. Occasional baths in the river west of town kept them and their one dress marginally clean. Other than their one dress they had a round black hat with a small dome top, a boy’s hat. They each carried worn out purses church ladies had given him years ago. They went barefoot often, but had a set of worn out shoes with their coat and blanket which stayed in a corner of the town's stable where they slept. There was plenty of warm straw and they were used to the smell.

Wherever they went they went as one, not a pair. Jamie had an arm hooked around her smaller twin Heather's neck. They were a four-legged staggering unit. Both of their faces were red and purple from alcohol poisoning. They might have been pretty otherwise. What they lacked in looks and smell Jamie made up for in personality. Jamie did all the talking. Heather only talked to Jamie and then in a whisper. Without her larger twin she would be as lost as a newborn puppy.

Jamie and Heather were Gunbarrel’s town drunks. Most of the people tolerated them because they did not cause problems. Some pitied them and gave them food when they saw them on the streets.

They also gave them change telling them it was for food knowing it would be spent on booze. But they could pretend. They would have a clear conscience and have done a good deed.

The Twins were twenty two. Seventeen years ago they were traveling across the West in a covered wagon. Their mother was a snake oil saleswoman and their father stole chickens when he could. One night they camped in a dry gully. The twins slept in the wagon and their parents and older brother slept under the wagon. In the middle of the night a flash flood washed them away. The Twins floated along the canyon in the wagon until the storm ended. They were found a few days later by cowgirls inspecting their ranch after the flood. Their parents and brother were never found. Jamie and Heather lived with the cowgirls until they were ten years old, always hugging each other as they had done in the wagon during the storm that had washed their world away. The Twins showed no interest in school or socializing with others and were ‘let go’ from the ranch. They wandered from ranch to ranch until people tired of them and eventually they wound up in the town of Gunbarrel at age 20. There, for the last two years, some of the town’s people watched after them.

Gunbarrel had a fairly large general store. Settlers and travelers as far away as half way to Ft. Worth came for their sugar, beans, coffee, tobacco, and a drink in the Lucky Cowgirl Saloon. The rest of their money would be taken by the card shark cowgirls that hung out in the saloon for that purpose.

The settlers then moped their way back home in their wagon.

Jamie and Heather were in front of the general store when a wagon pulled up to be loaded.

Jamie offered their help in loading their supplies. Some needed the help. Some gave them change as a friendly gesture. The rest ignored them. That was okay. Rejection they had learned to live with. Their only true friend was a clear bottle with brown liquid in it, and Deputy Holly.

A well dressed woman that was in town with her family let Jamie and Heather load her supplies then gave them a silver dollar. When she left the Twins raced around to the side of the store and sat down. Jamie emptied her purse on the ground in front of them. They had made three dollars that day.

Jamie hugged Heather tightly. Heather then laid her head on Jamie's shoulder and hugged her back.

They both had big smiles on their faces.

"Wait here,” Jamie told her twin.

Heather reluctantly sat there alone, but knew she had to. Jamie ran to the sheriff’s office and burst in the door. Sheriff Molly was at her desk reading law books. Holly was polishing her rifle. Jamie walked to the deputy and smiled. The deputy set the rifle to the side and hugged her. Jamie held out her 13

hand. Holly took the money and headed across the street. Jamie ran back to her sister and sat down. In a couple of minutes Holly brought a bright shiny new bottle to the girls; smiled, then went back across the street to polish her rifle again.

Jamie opened the bottle and gave her sister the first swallow. Then she took a long drink. The stress of life melted away. Liquid warmth and comfort returned. A few more drinks and they were no longer shaking. Their sunny smiles returned and life was sweet. Another drink each and they got up.

They were both thin as fence posts. Jamie put the bottle in heather’s dress to hide it. Then, with her arm around Heather's neck and Heather's arm around her waist they went to pursue their favorite pastime.

The saloon was always open, so that was not the problem. Henrietta was the problem. She did not like the Twins hanging around her saloon because they begged drinks and change from her paying clients.

The twins circled the outside of the town to the saloon. They hoped the bar guys were at work.

It was still early.

Jamie had a huge crush on Tex, and Heather liked Tom. They went to the window on the side of the saloon and carefully peeked in. They wanted to watch their dream boys moving around. Whenever a cowgirl would hug one or pinch them on the butt they would get jealous. Then they would pretend it was them doing the hugging and pinching. When a cowgirl took a bar guy to a back room they tried to watch in the window. It would make them flustered and cry, dreaming of the day they could try that experience. Maybe someday they would have a husband and family.

Tex was at work but Tom was not. Jamie pulled the bottle out of Heather's dress and took a drink then gave her one. Then they watched Tex’s every move. Jamie talked to him through a window like they were having a conversation. Heather pretended her twin was married to Tex and her husband was Tom. They were both very handsome men. Tom was not effeminate at all. He was masculine in his walk, talk, and mannerism. They could nearly smell the musk of a man as they dreamed of doing things with their husbands.

The Twins heard someone walk up on them. They froze.

"Its okay girls,” said the deputy. “Just making my rounds. You girls stay down, hear? And don't go ask’in no cowgirls for no drinks."

"Yes Deputy,” Jamie said. Heather was sucking her thumb which she did when she was afraid.

Holly smiled at them and Jamie smiled back. Holly could not blame the girls for watching the bar guys. It was a natural thing.

"If you girls need another bottle come get it before dark. I'll be off duty then."

"Thanks Deputy Holly."

"See you girls later,” and continued her rounds.

"Look at the way he walks,” Jamie told Heather for the hundredth time.

"Oh, he is so handsome,” she quietly whispered back. "My Tom is handsome also."

"Yes he is,” Jamie agreed.

Another drink each and they stared in the window like two baby birds in a birdhouse.

Tex could feel eyes following him around. He knew whose eyes it was. He felt sorry for the girls and would never tell on them. In fact, sometimes a cowgirl would get drunk and leave a half-full bottle in the saloon. He would sneak it out to them. And he was flattered that they found him attractive.

"Maybe for Christmas this year." He let his thoughts float.

For another hour they slowly drank their bottle and followed Tex’s every move. Soon, the bottle was empty and it was back to work. They dropped the bottle in a pile of bottles by the window. Then; intertwined, they went around the outside of town to the general store. They would have to work hard to get enough money before dark to buy another bottle. If they failed Jamie would have to ask drunken cowgirls coming in and out of the saloon for a bottle to survive. But they had to be very careful. If Henrietta caught them they were in trouble. If she complained to Sheriff Molly, Molly would have no 14

choice but to arrest them. Such was their daily life.

Chapter 5 Indian Move Request 2. Indians Pull Rifles Captain Godsby had spent an hour in General Cornwall’s office. She was still half deaf from being yelled at.

"We found a group of savage Indians. But we were greatly out numbered and barely escaped with our lives. They had whole white settlers barbecuing over huge open fires. We would have been next if not for my quick thinking. I made a deal with the savages and traded our rifles for our lives.

Then, holding off probably a hundred savages with our handguns, made our escape. I deserve a medal, general."

"You lost your rifles."

"We had to, sir.”

"You’re interfering with my pay raise, Captain,” he yelled. "You're going back there. Give them an ultimatum from me. They leave this land or I will send in the heavy artillery."

"Yes general,” said the captain. She saluted smartly, did a military turn, and marched out the door.

The captain's ears were still stinging as she led Detachment A back to the Indian camp. Her regal bearing had returned and she rode forward like a goddess. Sergeant Bell followed, chest out, studying her face in a mirror. Private Honicutt had her hand close to her revolver waiting for an order to shoot something.

The trio was observed as they proceeded through the bushes. The eyes were not sure what to think of them. They decided to go get the rest of the tribe.

The Cavalry heard Squatting Elephant’s drum and proceeded slowly. They dismounted and tied their horses to the same bush they had last time. They pulled their small service revolvers and proceeded in a crouch.

At the last bush Captain Godsby jumped into the clearing in front of Sitting Cow who was seated in her regular place cleaning spirit weed on a tray in her lap.

The captain tried to aim her gun at Sitting Cow even as her elbows flailed up and down.

Squatting Elephant continued drumming and looked at the apparition which had suddenly appeared.

Sergeant Bell and Private Honicutt followed her into the clearing and pointed their service revolvers at the two Indians. The Sergeant was looking around for Dancing Deer. Then her eyes opened wide.

Dancing Deer nudged her again with the barrel of her rifle and Sergeant Bell dropped her revolver and raised her hands. Captain Godsby sensed something was wrong and looked in Sergeant Bell's direction and saw Dancing Deer and her rifle, which was now pointed at her. She dropped her handgun, a silver handled one presented to her when she had made captain, and raised her hands. Private Honicutt was frozen. She had not been ordered to do anything. Sitting Cow and Squatting Elephant took the rifles from under the blanket beside them and pointed them at the private. She then decided to drop her weapon and raise her hands.

"Why you come back?" Sitting cow asked. "You need more spirit weed?"

"No," said the captain, put out with the situation she found herself in. "We bring an ultimatum from General Cornwall. He says that if you do not move he will send in the heavy artillery."

"What's a general?"

"He is our chief."

"This is our land.

"No, it's our land, we discovered it."

15

"Why we both can't live together?"

"You’re savages. We are civilized. We can't get along."

Sitting Cow put her rifle down and picked up her rolling tray. "Dancing Deer, take white woman to tepee. Show her we can get along.”

Dancing Deer nudged the captain in the back and motioned for her to go to the tepee.

"No! I'm not going in there with her."

Squatting elephant raised her rifle and aimed at the captain. Hands raised, the captain slowly walked to the tepee. Sergeant Bell's eyes observed Dancing Deer’s every curve and move.

Sitting Cow rolled a joint and lit it. Sounds started coming from the tepee.

"No! No! You wouldn't dare!"

The sounds of struggling.

"No! No!" More struggling.

"Oh, oh, ooooh.," were the next sounds.

Silence for a few seconds.

Then "oh yes. Oh yes."

There was silence for a little while longer then Dancing Deer emerged from the tepee with her rifle. She model walked over to Sergeant Bell, turned, held her hips provocatively, and then posed by her; looking her up and down.

Captain Godsby staggered out of the tepee. Her jacket was buttoned one button off. Her hair was a mess. She looked dazed.

“Go tell your chief you like Indians,” Sitting Cow told her.

Captain Godsby staggered out of the camp. Sergeant Bell, after a last look up and down Dancing Deer, followed her. Private Honicutt, hands still raised, followed them out backwards.

Squatting Elephant reached for the rolling tray and rolled a cigarette. Dancing Deer sat down by her mother. She had a rifle in one hand and bullets in the other. She tried to push a bullet in the end of the barrel.

"Bullet too small,” she complained.

Squatting Elephant and Sitting Cow considered the problem. Sitting Cow picked up a rifle and took a bullet from Dancing Deer's hand and tried to put it in the end of the barrel. She accidentally cocked it with the hand lever. It scared her and she threw it behind her. Dancing Deer and Squatting Elephant threw theirs in the same direction. Squatting Elephant finished rolling her joint, put it in her mouth, struck a match and lit it. She began to drum. Dancing Deer stood and walked to her circle. Her body undulated and she began to dance.

Captain Godsby rode in a daze. She said nothing. Her regal bearing was gone. She just rode.

Sergeant Bell was doing her best to look sexy and Honicutt awaited orders from Godsby. There were arrows peeking out of the bushes as they passed but they seemed not to notice. Bell felt eyes and did her best to model on horseback. Whistles and cat calls began to come from the bushes.

Sergeant Bell ate it up.

They rode silently back to the fort. Captain Godsby was preparing her speech for General Cornwall.

16

Chapter 6 Molly Reads Wanted Posters The Wells Fargo stage from Fort Worth, drawn by six horses, pulled in before noon. The excitement it always caused was heard by Sheriff Molly and Deputy Holly in the Sheriff's office. Holly picked her rifle up and walked to the stage which was parked in the middle of the street in the middle of town.

Every week the stage brought a leather satchel with ‘Texas Rangers’ engraving on the front. Holly got the one which just arrived and gave the driver the one from last week, which contained a written report of law activities that had occurred in Gunbarrel. Holly took the satchel back to the Sheriff's office and put it on Molly's desk.

Molly looked like a kid at a candy factory. It was her favorite part of the week. The Texas Ranger dispatches. She opened it and poured the contents on her desk. On top were folded wanted posters. She took one, unfolded it, and studied it with Deputy Holly.

"The reward for Jenny James has gone up to $10,000,” Molly remarked. Jenny was wanted for robbing anything that could be robbed. Namely banks, stages, and trains.

"She's getting a few wrinkles,” mentioned Holly.

"Robbin’ trains will do that to ya’."

Molly smoothed out the poster of Jenny James. To the left of the front door she had a large varnished board which her wanted posters were on. She took the old one of Jenny James down, reward $5000, and put up the new one. She would give the old one to one of the young girls in town who aspired to some day be a law woman. Then she stood back and admired the new poster.

The next wanted poster was for a young cowgirl wanted for cattle rustling in Southeast Texas.

Molly had never heard of her but smoothed out the poster and meticulously pinned it to the board.

Exactly even and straight. Two more wanted posters followed that one.

The next item in the pile was a book she had ordered a month ago. It was titled "Terrorism and Texas Criminal Law." Molly held it like a child, and admired its textural cover. She positioned it on the right hand side of her desk. Finally she was able to tear her eyes off of it.

On the bottom of the pile was the new issue of Texas Law Enforcers Monthly, published by the Texas Rangers Association. Molly had a row of issues of the magazine neatly displayed on a shelf behind her desk. On the shelf above the magazines was a row of law books. Above the books was a wall full of plaques and certificates she had been given over the years for excellent sheriff-ing. At the end of the wall was a photograph of her husband.

Deputy Holly was not into the politics of being a sheriff. She made sure she read the wanted posters and listened to the sheriff talk about new laws and felt she knew how to be a deputy. Everyone knows right from wrong. If you do right you were left alone. If you did wrong you got arrested or shot.

Simple.

"I’m gonna’ make my rounds." Holly picked up her rifle and put on her hat.

Molly was glowing from the new posters, book, and magazine.

"All right,” she said automatically.

As Holly went out the door, she looked around. Jamie and Heather were in front of the general store handing bags of flour to a man and woman on their wagon. Fairly well dressed towns people walked up and down the board sidewalks in front of the stores and businesses. Some were crossing the street. A horse was tied up here and there. At the saloon six horses were tied to a hitching post on the left hand side of the door, but none on the right side. Holly went to investigate. A palomino mare was tied to the back of a horse which was tied to the hitching post. Holly looked the horse over then went in the saloon. Inside the batwing doors she looked around. "Who has the palomino mare out front with a Bar D brand?"

17

A cowgirl in the middle of a poker game at a table close to the bar looked up.

"Who wants to know?" She scowled at the deputy. The three other players looked around at the deputy then back to their cards. Tex was bringing them four more mugs of beer.

Holly hooked her rifle in the crook of her right arm and walked to the trail hardened cowgirl.

She took out her ticket book and pen.

"Name?” She asked, starting to write.

"Why? What's this all about?"

"Your horse is double parked. Now give me your name and address or I'll arrest the horse."

The cowgirl started to get mad but then her attitude changed.

"Oh, did I?" With an innocent smile. “It was purely an accident deputy. I won't do it again. Can't you just give a poor cowgirl a warning?"

“Nope. You can tell your story to the Sheriff. Name and address."

Holly finished the ticket and handed it to her. She walked to the door. Behind her back the cowgirl made a rude hand gesture. As Holly passed the palomino she reached into her pocket, took out a cocka-bur and placed it under its blanket.

Holly looked around. Henrietta nodded to her. Her bright red hair was piled up and around her head. She had a large mole on her left cheek, and a smile. Holly nodded back. Tex and Tom were standing beside her, waiting for a cowgirl to bellow for something. Seeing no other problems she continued down the street.

The cowgirl who had been ticketed slammed her cards down on the table. She took her hat off.

Several tickets fell out on the table. She added the new ticket to the pile, threw them in her hat, then put her hat back on. She guzzled her beer, slammed the mug down, growled at a deputy who was no longer there, then picked her cards back up.

Holly continued her rounds down the main street of Gunbarrel. Jamie and Heather were by the store sweating and shaking. It looked like Heather had peed in her dress. Holly went in the store and bought a pint, hid it under her vest, and took it to the twins. They were shaking too bad to hold a bottle so Holly held it while they drank from it. It went down fast. The twins shaking slowed down and a little color came back to their faces. Holly hugged them then returned to her rounds.

Back at the Sheriff's office Molly had her spurs on her desk in their holes and was leaned back in her chair. She drew a cigar out of her pocket and stuck it in her mouth. She pulled out her sixshooter, rested the barrel on her crotch, struck a match on the copper strip between the hand grip and lit her cigar. Picking up her new copy of Texas Law Enforcer's Monthly, she squared it in front of her face.

Holly walked in the door and leaned her rifle up in the corner.

"Look at the picture of Sally,” Molly said, turning the magazine around for Holly to see it. She turned the magazine back around and read "Sheriff Sally Hastings of Laredo was given the Law Officers Recognition Award by the Texas Rangers for apprehending Jennifer Marino’s cattle rustling gang.”

She turned the page "And there is a picture of Penny Monica. She tracked down some one wanted in Wyoming. Then there is a paragraph about us arresting Virginia Steel. Just one paragraph, and no picture.”

"You're picture has been in there a dozen times."

"I know. But I'd still like to see it.” Molly laid the magazine down on the desk.

"That BBQ done yet?"

"I'll check it."

The cow Amy Barker had given them had been butchered and they were eating as much meat as they could. Some had been sold and some had been given away.

Holly went out the back door to the pens behind the jail. She lifted the top of the smoker and poked around on a brisket. Still a little bloody. Just right. She hefted it on a tray and took it into the 18

office. Molly got plates and silverware out of the storeroom and Holly got a chair out of the jail cells.

"Go get the Twins."

As Holly exited the Sheriff's office, a bucking palomino mare raced down the street, with a weathered cowgirl hanging on for dear life, and at the top of her lungs screaming whoa! Holly smiled and continued down the street. When Holly returned with the Twins, the Sheriff noticed Heather's dress and smell.

"Loan Heather one of your dresses. I'll get that one washed."

Holly liked the Twins but she really did not like other women wearing her dresses. She pouted, but did as the Sheriff requested. Heather changed then the four of them sat around Molly's desk and ate brisket until they could eat no more. Molly reached in her bottom desk drawer and pulled out a bottle.

The Twins’ face lit up like they had gone to heaven. Molly felt good about bringing so much pleasure to people so easily.

The four drank the bottle. The Twins happily stretched out on the beds in one of the jail cells while Holly took another. Molly got the laundry girl at the boarding house to wash Heather's dress.

Then she put her spurs on her desk in their holes and leaned back in her chair. She pulled her hat brim over her eyes and drifted into a restless sleep.

They heard the horses coming. The unmistakable whooping of Indians set off the alarm. Molly's mom took the rifle down from above the fireplace. She sat by the window, looked out, and loaded her rifle.

"Molly. Get you and your sister under the bed."

Molly got her young sister, now crying, and shoved her under the bed. Then she quickly followed.

Molly's mom moved swiftly, tucking her long hair out of the way, and stuck her rifle out the window. Looking down the sights, she followed an Indian across the yard and fired. She cocked her rifle, fired another, and then fired again.

The sound of breaking glass brought her attention and the rifle around to the back window. She fired at the head that was stuck inside. The right top of the Indian’s head exploded and she fell across the window.

The whooping and horse hooves increased outside. The smell of smoke. Then the small one room cabin began to fill with smoke.

Molly held her sister, trying to soothe her. She was making more noise screaming than the Indians were making in attacking.

Molly's mom turned just as an arrow flew through the window, sinking deep into her upper right chest. She staggered back, breathing heavily. The taste of blood came to her mouth. She sat on the floor and looked under the bed.

Molly looked out at her mom, her dress now have covered in blood.

"Come here Molly", she said, coughing up blood. Molly was frozen under the bed with her sister.

"Now! Molly." Another cough.

Molly crept out from under the bed, dragging her bawling little sister behind her. Her mother was leaning on one elbow, wheezing. Blood ran from the corner of her mouth. Molly squatted beside her, horrified. Yet somehow she was calm.

"Now Molly Joe, you listen to me better than you have ever listened to me before. Do you hear me?" Coughing again, she looked down at her daughter.

Slowly Molly nodded. She was just eleven but recognized the seriousness of the situation.

"Take your little sister to the big ranch house. She's white. They’ll raise her." Another cough, another drool of blood. "Cut your hair short and act like a boy. You can get a job at the stables." Acting like a boy would not be hard. Molly had always been more comfortable around boys than girls. She 19

wore boy’s clothes and had no interest in dolls. She nodded again to her mother.

"Now go! Out the back window. I'll cover you."

A section of the roof fell in sending sparks and burning wood around the room. Molly picked up her screaming sister and set her down outside the window. She crawled over the dead Indian lying on the window, picked up her sister, and ran as hard as she could. She heard the sounds of her mother's rifle behind her. If an Indian made it close to her she was shot. Or at least the first few were.

Molly ran and ran, never looking back.

20

Chapter 7 The Lone Star Cattle Rustling Association They started arriving on Thursday night, some from the far corners of Texas. One was from El Paso.

Since it was several day’s ride she sometimes just sent a telegram, but Nicole Austin had chosen to attend this month. Places for them to sleep were no problem. The Lacy Steel Cattle Ranch covered many acres of sprawling grassland and housed a fifteen bedroom ten fireplace mansion. The rest arrived no later than Friday morning. The festivities were always kicked off by a huge western brunch at 11 AM. On the 15th of every month the Lone Star Cattle Rustlers Association board met on Mama Steele’s ranch. No one called her lacy. Only Mama. Her age was not known but going by the age of her eldest daughter, Virginia, she had to be in her 70s. In her prime Mama had dominated the cattle rustling business in Texas. Now she had a sprawling ranch south of Gunbarrel and had passed on the rustling bandanna to her daughter Virginia.

Virginia steel was president of the Lone Star Cattle Rustlers Association. As such, the monthly meetings were held on her spread. Virginia had never married and had always lived on her mother's ranch. It was big enough for the two clawing wildcats.

The mansion was constructed of large planks brought from East Texas. It had taken ten years to build.

After the piles of eggs, biscuits, bacon, marmalade, and coffee was consumed they took their places around the table. Mama Steel sat at the center of the head of the table. She was secretary of the association, not president, but was given the place out of honor. Virginia, the president, sat on her right.

The vice president, Clara Jeffery, sat on her left. On the other side of the table sat the other six board members.

Virginia called the meeting to order and asked for the minutes from the last meeting to be read.

"On March 15 a motion was made to accept the employment of illegal aliens as cattle rustlers.

The motion was made by Rustler Nicole Austin of the El Paso district. The motion was seconded by rustler Allison Milmoe of the Valley District. President Steel delayed discussion on the motion until this meeting. I now open the floor for comments.

"Ms. Secretary."

"The floor recognizes rustler Nicole Austin of the El Paso district."

"Ms. Secretary, I have always had to hire illegal aliens to do my cattle rustling. No other cowgirls were available. There are very few settlers and cowgirls in my district.

"Ms. Secretary."

"The floor recognizes Rustler Lara McClure from the Panhandle district."

"Mrs. Secretary, it is my feelings and the feelings of those working for me that we give Texas jobs to Texas cowgirls rather than outsourcing our help. There are many good cowgirls. Texas cowgirls -- that need a job."

"Ms. Secretary."

"The floor recognizes rustler Virginia Steel, president."

"Ms. Secretary, I am having a hard time finding good competent cowgirls to help me. Most are scared of Sheriff Molly. The ones who aren't don't know which end of the cow to rope. My rustling business is going down the drain without a larger labor pool to choose from."

After a pause, Secretary Steel asked for more discussion. No one raised their hand.

"Then I call for a vote. All for hiring illegal immigrants for cattle rustling raise your hand." She 21

counted four. "All opposed?" She counted five. "The motion to hire illegal immigrants has failed. Sorry Virginia."

Murmurs went around the room, coffee cups were refilled, and then the secretary continued.

"Next order of business."

"Ms. Secretary" "The floor recognizes President. Virginia steel."

"When I was last arrested by Sheriff Molly she used Indian boarding to wring a false confession out of me. Indian boarding has been declared torture and illegal by all countries and the U.S., yet Sheriff Molly thinks she can do it. I think we should file a formal complaint with the governor over Sheriff Molly's use an Indian boarding."

"Second?"

"I second the motion,” said Emma Logan from the border towns district.

"All in favor?" She counted nine. She slammed the gavel down "motion carries. I will see to the details.

"As secretary of the Association I move we increase our fees from $.10 per head rustled to $.25 per head rustled. I expect our legal expenses to skyrocket since they started calling us terrorists."

"I second the motion," said Julia from the Gulf Coast district.

"All in favor?" She counted six hands "Opposed?" three hands. "Motion carries. Please have the secretaries of your districts divert $.25 per head to headquarters. Any other business?"

A moment of silence. "Then I guess we will go to the awards section. This month Sarah Catania of the Central Texas district gets our outstanding rustling award. Her district rustled 2,750 head last month."

This brought a standing ovation from around the table. As the clapping died down and everyone seated, Sarah walked to Mama Steel for the award.

"I would like to thank all the cattle rustlers in the Central Texas District for doing such a good job and making this award possible. I would also like to thank the Steels for hosting this meeting and last but not least my daughter for her long support, who will someday be a famous cattle rustler. Thank you."

Everyone applauded and stood up again. When everyone had sat back down the secretary continued.

"Rustler Lara McClure from the Panhandle district, what do you have to tell us?"

"There have been a lot of cattle rustled from Oklahoma and New Mexico. They have been trying to put the blame on us and we are trying to direct all blame in their direction. Right now it's got all cattle owners in the Panhandle confused as to who to blame. I suppose that is the best we can hope for right now.”

"Rustler Nicole Austin from the El Paso district."

"We have to use illegals because that is all we have, we have no choice. I hope we have the boards understanding.”

"You do. But it is out for other districts are we all agreed?"

“Rustler Allison Milmoe from the Valley District."

"We have a large supply of illegals which are used for agriculture. We can possibly get moonlighting from those ranks. But our Texas cowgirls supply is adequate for now. We will of course follow the board's rules."

"Rustler Sarah Catania from the Central District."

"Nothing to add Ms. Secretary" "Rustler Julia Whiten from the Gulf Coast district."

"We are still successfully shipping rustled cattle to England and Spain. Profit margins are reduced due to the shipping cost but it lowers the risk because the brands disappear. We plan to double 22

our shipping. If other districts wish to sell abroad let me know."

"Okay. And rustler Emma Logan from the border towns."

"Well, you know how it goes from the border. On a rustlers moon you can stand on the border and watch scraggly cattle being rustled both ways. Most head have been on both sides of the border several times. We are working harder to get them away from the border before they are rustled back" "President Virginia steel."

"I am having a shortage in finding competent rustling hands. Most are scared of Sheriff Molly.

Those who aren't don't know cow from a bull. I've even run an ad in the Gunbarrel Daily Bullet for experienced rustlers. I'm interviewing them next week."

"Do you think that is wise?"

"What choice do I have? I can't hire illegals. I had to advertise."

"Well, we wish you luck on that. Vice President Jeffrey."

"I move we adjourn to the Lucky Cowgirl Saloon for bottles and bar guys."

"I second the motion,� everyone said.

"The motion passes. We are adjourned."

It was about 2 PM; everyone rode into Gunbarrel except Virginia and her mother. They sat on the front porch with a bottle each and plug of tobacco. Virginia listened as her mother told of great cattle rustling she had been involved in. It did not matter if it was for the 10th time. The telling and the listening was still exciting.

When the bottles were empty and their jaws and dresses stained with tobacco they held each other and staggered inside.

23

Chapter 8 Indians Move Request 3. Cannon Squatting Elephant stopped drumming and looked up. This stopped Dancing Deer in mid-wiggle. Then she heard it to. They looked at their mother who shrugged her shoulders and continued cleaning spirit weed. The creaking grew louder. It was joined by huffs and puffs which worried Squatting Elephant, the youngest daughter. Her mother looked at ease which helped Squatting Elephant remain calm.

A big long black thing appeared out of the bushes. Then the wheels attached to it rolled over part of the bushes. The three Cavalry women grunted and pushed the cannon over the bushes and into the clearing. They stopped about ten feet from Sitting Cow and pointed the cannon at her. Captain Godsby came flailing around the side of the cannon and stood by the front of it, facing Sitting Cow. Sergeant Bell was trying to get her breath and pose. She sat on the wheel of the cannon and faced Dancing Deer. Private Honicutt snapped to attention beside the back of the cannon.

"General Cornwall says that this is our land, and you have to move,” the Captain announced. She unfolded a map and handed it to sitting cow. "Says so on the map."

Sitting Cow studied the map. "Forgery,” she finally said and placed the map beside her.

"You leave; tepee and all, or we will open fire."

Sitting cow rolled a joint, lit it, looked up at the sky and yawned. She looked at the barrel of the cannon, facing directly at her, then back to the Captain.

"This our land. We no move."

"Prepare to fire.” Said the captain, raising her hand.

Private Honicutt dug in her jacket pocket for a match. Then her pants pocket. She just knew she had brought one. Then Godsby looked back and saw her digging through her uniform. Finally she stopped and asked Sergeant Bell for a match. Sergeant Bell and Dancing Deer were having a staring match. Sergeant Bell took advantage of the request by running her hands around on the pockets of her jacket. The pockets were filled from the inside. Then, with her tongue licking her upper lip, searched her pants pocket, and rubbed every curve along the way. Dancing Deer sneered.

"I don't have one." She told the private. They both looked at Godsby.

Captain Godsby huffed and rolled her eyes, then searched her pockets. A sour look took over her face. See looked at the Privates and Sergeant, who looked down at the ground. Then she took a deep breath, exhaled, and looked at Sitting Cow. "Do you have a light?"

Squatting Elephant thought that was funny and began to chuckle. Sitting Cow took a hit of her joint and handed it to the Captain. The Captain started to hand it to the Sergeant, stopped, and took a hit. Another hit, and then handed it to the Sergeant.

Sergeant Bell usually did not smoke spirit weed, but thinking maybe it would help her to dance like Dancing Deer, inhaled, coughed, and then exhaled. One more and she handed it to the Private.

Private Honicutt smoked spirit weed, but no one had ever seen her. It was something she did in the latrine late at night when everyone else was asleep. She was disgusted with the accomplishments of detachment A and decided to smoke. She did, and returned it to Sergeant Bell.

Sitting Cow had rolled another joint by now, lit it, and handed it to the Captain. The Captain took it, leaned on the cannon, and smoked it.

Sergeant Bell felt sexy from the weed. She model walked around the camp and posed. Everyone except Dancing Deer clapped. Then Dancing Deer model walked around the camp and posed by the Sergeant. Everyone clapped heartily at her, except Bell, who glared.

Dancing deer rolled her rear in big circles, slowly squatting down, then slowly stood up. All the 24

while rotating her rear. Everyone clapped -- except of course Bell.

She was not the dancer Dancing Deer was. She bent over slightly, and turned in a slow circle rotating her rear. Another round of applause. She bowed, showing everyone her cleavage. Not to be outdone Dancing Deer bowed as well. As she did, Bell grabbed a handful of her thick long hair and yanked her head up. Bell reared back for an undercut and knocked Dancing Deer over backwards.

Dancing Deer quickly got on her feet, pulled her right hand back three feet behind her and hit Bell right in the eye, spinning her around and causing her to lose her footing. Dancing Deer sat on Bells hands and pounded her fists into her face. Squatting Elephant and Sitting Cow were cheering for Dancing Deer. Godsby and the Private rooted for the sergeant. “Come on Sergeant. Hit her Sergeant."

They rolled over and Bell was sitting on Dancing Deer and pounding on her face. Each side wildly cheered their fighter. Dancing Deer pulled her feet up to her face and flipped Bell off of her.

Both women went to a crouch, growling at each other, and circled like dogs.

Both sides went back to laughing. Deer and Bell’s growls slowly slipped away to be replaced by frowns. They stood and went to their corners.

Captain Godsby’s eyes, blood shot and puffy, put her arm around Bell's neck and led her away, laughing. The private followed. When they got to where they had tied their horses someone had stolen them. Only piles of manure remained. The smile left their Faces. First their rifles, then their side arms, and now their horses. She knew she was going to get court-martialed. With big long faces they trudged back to the Fort. The Captain planned what to say at her court-martial. Bell thought about the book she had ordered on modeling. It was from a modeling agency in Kansas City. Hopefully it would arrive on the next stage. The Private, for the first time in her military career, considered deserting.

Back at the Indian camp Squatting Elephant looked at her one drum and one drumstick. She had finally talked her mother into letting her order a new one. The profits from spirit weed for good. She sent Squatting Elephant to the Fort every week to deal weed. Most of the soldiers smoked it. You just had to sell it to them when they were alone and no one was watching. Squatting Elephant hugged herself, and dreamed of being the best Indian drummer of all times.

Dancing deer went to the tepee and returned with some herbs and a bottle of brown liquid. She soaked the herbs in the liquid then applied it to her face where she had been hit. She drank the rest of the bottle.

Sitting Cow stared at the clouds, pondering what to do. A plan began to come together in her head. Squatting Elephant was in another world but her mom told her to pull the cannon behind the tepee and cover it up with bushes. She snapped out of it and did as her mother requested. She sat back down and remorsed over her worn out drum. Then her mind floated off to the new drums. Sitting Cow let her daughter drift. She rolled a joint, stared at the puffy white clouds and the crystal clear sky and smiled, trying to make shapes out of the clouds. Hunger finally aroused Squatting Elephant who mentioned supper.

25

Chapter 9 Steel’s Rustler Tryouts South of the Steel Ranch, Interstate Cattle Trail 29 runs East and West. A rest stop is located on the trail South and East of the Steel Ranch. There was a sign “Rest stop next exit”. At the rest stop was a cantina for thirsty cowgirls. The faded name on front says “Texas Rose”. But it is commonly called “Buzzard Guts Cafe”. After eating there you know why.

Virginia Steel did not hold her cattle rustling tryouts on her mother's ranch because it was supposed to be a legitimate Ranch. Everyone knew better but no one cared. The ad in the Gunbarrel Daily Bullet said to be at Buzzard Guts at 12 noon sharp on the 20’th. Virginia had already arranged for a small table to be placed on one side of the room and chairs around the wall for applicants. At 12 o'clock the room had six chairs filled. The applicants were silent. They all had on clean and neat dresses and clean boots. They held their resumes in their hand.

"Okay. Let me have the first rustler,” Virginia began.

A tall scrawny cowgirl with a long hawk face and crossed eyes came and sat in the chair in front of the desk. She handed Virginia her resume. Virginia took it and looked it over.

"It says you rustled for Bar DK Ranch in West Texas for fifteen years. What happened?"

"They said I was too old to rustle anymore. Hell! You never get too old to rustle. I can rope and ride as well as I could forty years ago. It's just age discrimination. I would have retired after five more years. They find ways to fire girls before retirement age. I am your girl Ms. Steel.

I am the best rustler around.” Steel considered her eyes, her reserve, and her need for cowgirls.

"Well, okay, you did it. You advance to the second interview to be held out front at three PM. Be there, saddled and ready to prove yourself.”

"Yes Ms. Steel. Thank you very much."

"Next."

A middle aged woman who looked half Indian and was dressed in Indian attire strolled forward and sat in the chair. She handed Virginia her resume.

"Your name is Emma."

"Yes ma'am."

"There is nothing on your resume for the last five years. What have you done?"

"Well, I made a mistake and went to prison for it. But I've done my time and am ready to be a productive member of society again."

"What did you go to prison for?"

"Stealin’ horses."

"I'm sorry Emma; I just can't hire horse thieves."

"I have a therapist."

"Still, I'm sorry. I want a clean bunch of girls.”

"Please Ms. Steel, I had five kids while I was in prison. I have to feed ‘em.”

"Damn. If hired I'm going to be watching you like a hawk."

"You won't regret it Ms. Steel."

"Be out front saddled at three.”

Emma backed to her seat thanking Virginia ten times in the process.

Virginia let out a sigh. "Next.”

Someone in pants, chaps, a man's shirt and hat walked forward. He had short black hair and no curves. Virginia studied the applicant then took the resume. She was wondering why a 26

man would want to apply for this type of job.

"Judy. Your name is Judy.”

“Yes it is," came a husky voice.

"Well, she is a woman after all," Virginia thought.

"Ok, Judy. You have a pretty impressive resume. What happened at your job at the Rocking H ranch?"

"I was fired for my sexual preferences. They did not tell me I was fired for being a lesbian; they found some other excuse to fire me. It is a prejudiced world we live in."

"Yes it is," said Virginia. "By law I cannot hold age, gender, religious or sexual preference against you. If you can rustle, that's all I want. What you do on your own time is your business.”

"Thank you Ms. Steel."

"Be out front at three."

"Yes Ms. Steel."

Virginia was thinking about her applicants. Like she had told the Lone Star Cattle Rustling Board, quality rustlers were hard to find. She was scraping the bottom of the barrel.

"Next.”

“A young and healthy bubbling blonde with an expensive dress took the chair. She handed Virginia a piece of paper. Virginia looked at it.

"This is a High School Diploma."

"Yes. I just graduated. In the top ten percent."

"You have never had a job before?"

"Well, I shoed horses on our ranch and helped work them. I know cattle. But I'm just out of school. I was given a fine buckskin gilding for a graduation present and told to go get a job.

So here I am."

"Well, I've never hired an inexperienced rustler before. But I guess everyone has to start somewhere. We'll see how you do at the next step. Be out front at three."

"Oh, thank you for giving me this opportunity Ms. Steel. You are all my family ever talks about. You are a legend."

"Well, you know how to butter up the boss. Maybe they taught you something useful in High School."

"You won't regret it Ms. Steel. I'll rustle every herd in Texas for you."

"Good attitude too. Next.”

A bowleggedwoman in a dress walked forward and took the chair.

Virginia studied her face. "Do I know you?"

"I don't think so, Ms. Steel." The cowgirl kept looking at the ground. Virginia took her resume and read it.

"Becka. Looks like you have some experience rustling cattle. I have never heard of most of these ranches. Where have you been working?"

"I move around a lot,” Becka said. “Mostly in Nevada.”

“No wonder I don't recognize the ranches. Why did you move to Texas?"

"I heard a rustler could do well here. So I decided to try it out."

"Well, I'll look at ‘ya. Be out front at three."

"Thank you Ms. Steel."

Sheriff Molly had seen the ad Virginia placed in the paper and sent in her deputy under cover. She had done her best to be disguised. Her hair was in her hat, she stuffed her bra and 27

panties, two items she seldom wore. She had also purchased a new dress with town money. Her old ones were recognizable. Law women usually wore a certain style of dress you could spot a mile away. Going under cover required buying a regular dress.

Virginia looked at the last cowgirl who strolled forward and sat down. She handed her resume to Virginia, who read it.

"You have been a scout for the US Cavalry for 25 years. What happened?"

"I got budget cut. Something about an economic recession, whatever that is."

"So you have never rustled before?"

"No, actually, we chased rustlers some times, part of the Cavalry's job.”

"Well, how do you feel about being on the other side of the fence?"

"I'm excited about it. I think I bring knowledge with me about the other side that will be useful in successfully rustling cattle."

"Well, I like the way you talk. I agree that your information could be useful. Be out front at three."

"Thanking you Ms. Steel."

Silva looked full Indian to Steel, but of course by law she could not ask that in an interview.

Virginia pondered the resumes in her hand and drank a couple of beers. She knew better than to eat at Buzzard Guts. At 3:15, being a little professionally late, she walked outside. A line of mounted cowgirls was on one side of the parking lot. Three yearling calves stood on the other.

Virginia had instructed cowgirls from the Steel Ranch to bring them.

Virginia stood in the center of the parking lot holding the resumes. She leafed through them then looked at the lineup.

"Emma. Emma with the prison brats."

Emma walked her horse to Virginia.

"See that Hereford calf over there?"

“Ya’p” "Rope it and tie it up.”

“Yes Ms. Steel."

She took her lariat off her saddle, made a loop, and twirled it over her head as she advanced on the Hereford. It jumped forward and she threw the rope. It landed around the calf's neck. Both the horse and the rope scared the calf and it turned and bolted into the thick bushes that began at the end of the parking lot. The horse stopped, but Emma kept going. Holding the rope she was pulled over the horse’s head onto the ground and drug into the bushes. Everyone listened to her yell until it faded away. The horse turned and looked at Virginia, who stared back at it.

Virginia decided not to comment. Her mama always told her if you couldn't think of anything good to say don't say anything. One of the steel Ranch cowgirls led the horse out of the way. Another calf was brought in to join the other two.

"Judith," Virginia said.

Judith walked her horse over to her prospective employer.

"Three calves over there," Virginia said, pointing.

"Ya’p”, agreed hawk faced Judith, who had more wrinkles in her face than a dog had fleas. Who knew what her crossed eyes were seeing.

"Cut me out the Angus and bring it here."

"Yes Ms. Steel."

28

Wanting to impress her boss Judith hollered. "Yah!” She spurred her horse into action. It practically jumped to the calves and ran right by them. Judith disappeared into the bushes beyond.

“Yah! Yah! Yah!” The calfs and cowgirls watched her go. They listened to her as she hollered and rode around in the hills beyond, trying to find her way back. Finally she came back into the clearing from another side. Virginia looked at her crossed eyes.

“Why was it you were fired from the Bar DK in the Panhandle?”

"Age discrimination. They said I was a stupid cowgirl. But I know the real reason."

Virginia told Judith to rejoin the other cowgirls in the lineup.

Emma walked into the clearing leading the calf she had roped, avoiding the eyes of Virginia steel. She handed the rope to the Steel Ranch cowgirls, got on her horse, and rejoined the lineup.

Virginia seemed afraid to call the next cowgirl. No telling what would happen.

"Okay. Paula,” Virginia said. "Show us what a high school graduate can do.”

Paula with her young round face glowing as she walked her graduation present to where Virginia was standing.

"My family is going to be so proud I am working for the great Virginia Steel."

Virginia could not decide whether or not she liked praise coming from such a young and inexperienced girl or not.

"Paula, cut that Angus out there and bring it to me. It ought to be easy. Judith wore it out."

"Yes Ms. Steel."

Paula walked her horse over to the three calves. She rode to the far side of the Angus then turned her horse to face it.

"Shoo. "Shoo." she waved the back of her hand at it. "Go on. Go go, shoo, shoo.”

The calf looked up at her and twitched its ears around. It had no idea why she was in front of if. The calf looked at the horse which was looking back at it. Both wondered what to do.

“Shoo. Shoo. Go on." Paula said. She kicked her horse forward. Rather than be run over the by the horse, the cow turned and walked ahead. They stopped in front of Virginia. The other seven cowgirls clapped. Paula was all giggly and excited. Virginia looked ill, but said nothing.

"Rejoin the applicants, Paula."

"Yes Ms. Steel," she said with glee, her face aglow, sure she would be hired.

"Becka,” Virginia called.

Holly rode her horse out to Virginia. She avoided eye contact. She also prayed Virginia would not look her horse over very carefully. She would probably remember the brand.

"Becka. Take this Angus back over there and bring me the Hereford."

"Yes Ms. Steel."

Holly knew very well how to do things like this, but she took her time. She did not want to look like a pro, especially with this group of cowgirls around.

Holly, as instructed, directed the Angus back to the group. Then she went between the Hereford and the group. The Hereford tried to rejoin its companions, but Holly's horse was a well trained cutting horse. Holly turned her horse toward the calf then just hung on to the saddle horn.

The horse watched the calf. If it tried to break one direction it pivoted on its hind legs and headed the calf off. After several attempts the calf realized it could not get around the horse and trotted off in the other direction, which is what they wanted it to do.

29

Louder applause went up this time. Virginia nodded for the first time and pointed Becka back towards the line, where she walked her horse nonchalantly. It turned and stood.

"Our next cowgirl up will be Silva,” Virginia said.

"Yes Ms. Steel."

Silva took out her rope, twirled it over her head, and trotted over to the group of calves.

She roped the right one then jumped off. She put the rope in the horse’s mouth and motioned for it to back up. It did, dragging the calf toward her.

Silva walked to the side of the calf and grabbed its flanks on the other side. Suddenly she let go.

"Damn thing stepped on my foot,” she said hobbling around. She walked over to the calf and kicked it in the flank. It kicked back, barely missing her knees. Silva walked back to the side of the calf, and with a yell picked it up by the flanks. She stumbled backward and fell, the calf landing on top of her. Six legs and two arms waved around trying to get untangled from the mess. Mooing and curses were added to the flailing about. Finally calf and cowgirl stood. They looked at each other and declared a truce.

"Back to the lineup, Silva."

"Yes Ms. Steel."

"Okay. Our last cowgirl, Judy."

Judy, looked more like a man than a woman as she walked her horse over to Virginia, who was wondering how God could be so inept as to put the wrong sex in wrong body. She snapped out of it then looked at Judy.

"Judy, cut the Charlet over to me."

Judy walked her horse over to the cattle.

"Ms. Steel, that's not a good choice."

Shocked, Virginia said "what are you talking about?"

"That's not a good one to get. You have to be very selective in the rustling business.

Never get one which just had a calf. It could lead to psychological problems. This one is too head strong. You want to pick the weak ones to cut from a herd."

Virginia raised her hat in the air. In fact, she stood on her tip toes and reached as high in the air as she could. Then she slammed her hat on the ground.

"Judy, I've never heard such shit. No wonder you are looking for a job."

"It's kind of an advanced topic in cattle health care."

Virginia got red in the face. "Back to the lineup."

Virginia, resumes in hand, walked up and down in front of the lineup of six cowgirls who had just auditioned for cattle rustlers. Only one of them was worth a damn. And for some reason Victoria did not trust her.

"Being a rustler requires a big commitment,” Virginia said. "Last job Sheriff Molly and her deputy shot three of my girls. Think about it. If you don't have the balls, leave now.”

The cowgirls scratched their heads, considered the speech, but no one left.

Virginia had to have them. She had no choice. Maybe they could be trained.

"You're all hired," Virginia said despondently. "I will pay you your sign on bonus then we will meet here in one week."

“Yahoos” went up from the cowgirls and they grinned and congratulated each other.

Virginia still felt she was making a mistake.

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