Cowgirl Adventures

On the Rocks (Spirit Animal Series Book 1)

On the Rocks Large Print

Cowgirls Just Wanna Have Fun (Spirit Animal Series Book 2)

Cowgirls Just Wanna Have Fun Large Print

Cowgirls Rock (Spirit Animal Book 3)

Cowgirls Rock Large Print

Boxed Sets:

Cowgirl Thrillers (Spirit Animal Books 1 & 2)

Cowgirl Adventures (Spirit Animal Books 2 & 3)

Contents

Books by Barbara Neville

Cowgirls Just Wanna Have Fun

Description

Reviews

Cowgirls Rock

Cowboy Dictionary

Get on that Pony & Ride!

Paperback Books by Barbara Neville

Thanks for reading!

About the Author

Cowgirls

Just Wanna

Have Fun

by

Barbara

Neville

Copyright © 2015 Barbara Neville

This book is a work of fiction. Any mention of real people, places or historic events is used fictitiously. Names, characters, events and places are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real people, places or events is coincidence.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book all or in part.

Published by

Barbara Neville

Rancho Dos Osos

185 El Camino Real

Nogales, AZ 856215

Cover Photo ©2015 by Barbara Neville

Author Photo @2015 by Nancy Neville Cordell

All rights reserved.

Description

The action starts with a bang. Hot pursuit is next. Spud, who is off on his own, has a problem.

Will our intrepid heroes come to the rescue?

There will be shots fired, whiskey thrown back, clothing removed, horses run and spirits visited. Annie, Wolf, Spud and Compadres have another grand but lead laden adventure.

This is book 2 of the Spirit Animal series.

Don’t matter where you come from, by the time you finish this book, I believe yore liable to be talkin' like a cowhand and walkin' bowlegged.

***

Wickedly funny and unabashedly smartass, Annie will rock your world.

She has got a mouth on her. If the boys can say it by golly, so can she.

Reviews

Reviews of Cowgirls Just Wanna Have Fun (Spirit Animal #2):

There oughta be a very good category of writing. 'cause that's where this one is. I thoroughly enjoyed this book and will buy the next one too. Y'all do the same.

Smartass, fun and fast moving.

***

Reviews of On the Rocks (Spirit Animal #1):

A VERY ENJOYABLE READ!!! Captivating, mentally stimulating, & entertaining with a STRONG female character.

Actually my favorite summer read! I can just picture this gal ridin', shootin', and livin' it up on the range with quite a cast of characters!! Fun, lighthearted and gritty . I was born too late ! But On the Rocks puts me there!

laugh out loud funny.

On the Rocks has an intriguing story line with some definite surprises you don't expect in a Western. The characters are interesting, I look forward to learning more about them.

Interesting. Definitely not my usual book. I enjoyed it though.

Acknowledgments

To my awesome editor:

Anonymous Accomplice.

You do a tough part. Thank you.

Dedication

Dedicated to Family:

Yours

&

Mine.

Especially:

Tiger & Fox

Cowboy dictionary

Some unconventional spelling is used in this book to impart an authentic cowboy feel to the narrative. The author rode with various cowhands, prospectors and other bush folk who spoke as Annie, Spud, Wolf, Mose, Sir Jacob and the other characters do. Wolf’s Injin speak is his own.

Cowboys are fond of colorful and obscure language. It is a source of humor and a sign of their unique culture. Their stories are passed back and forth, repeated over and over during the long hours on the trail and around the campfire. Accents are accentuated, especially in front of dudes and tales get taller with the telling. Jokes and pranks are another form of entertainment, often pulled on unwitting comrades. All in good fun.

At the back of these two books is a guide to the more unusual vernacular terms:

Get on that Pony & Ride!

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Spirit Animal Series

The adventure continues.

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http://barbaraneville.launchrock.com/

Remember

"Once you realize that the road is the goal

and that you are always on the road,

not to reach a goal,

but to enjoy its beauty and its wisdom,

life ceases to be a task and becomes natural and simple,

in itself an ecstasy."

-Nisargadatta Maharaj

Introduction

I started out life as Roxanne Rockefeller, born on a cattle ranch on Triassic, one of the Dinosaur planets.

Many years and even more ornery broncs later, I got nicknamed Roxy Rocks. I was full of piss and vinegar, and always ready to ride. I got offered a roundup job on the Rock.

Before deciding on the job, I asked around. Folks warned me that the Rock was an empty green globe on the edge of the cosmos, as desolate, primitive and inhospitable as they come. But, being a curious type and also in an almighty hurry to get gone from a different planet, I took the job.

I have since found this dark warning to be an accurate assessment of the Rocks. Especially true for those of you that like their modern life in the city with crowds, cars and the questionable security said to be provided by a government. Hell, the Rock might just be a tad too wild for you folks.

However, if you are a down-home, wild, nature-in-the-raw lover, the planet Rock is, praise the gods, empty of luxuries or conveniences. Settlers here are unimpeded by taxes, laws and all them so-called finer things in life. Whatever sidearms and such you carry are all that enforce your personal safety.

My reincarnation as Annie Talks To Horses, a simple cowgirl riding the range and rounding up cow critters here on the planet Rock, has indeed provided a few unpleasant, but not quite deadly, bumps in the road.

After all, life is an adventure.

Overall though, it has been an awesome ride. I have arrived on the planet of my dreams, a truly extraordinary cowgirl playground.

And a paradise conveniently filled with sexy cowboys in tight jeans. I suppose that’s why I like it. Maybe I have, unbeknownst to myself, actually died and gone to cowgirl heaven.

To find out more, turn the page…

Foreword

Think about it. 300 people. That’s it. Three hundred people on a whole planet.

Now, let’s take Old Earth, a planet we all come from and have traded quite a few stories about over the centuries. Earth had billions of people. One planet, billions of us. Humankind. Okay, now go down the road, out of where you live, to a town with 300 folks or better yet a whole county with 300 folks.

Okay, the town of 300 you have picked out to look at has another, bigger town down the road. Which has more goods and things. So it ain’t really a good comparison to an entire planet with only 300 souls.

Also, most of the folks on the Rock are out in the country growing food on their ranches and farms to eat. Meat and taters, even some veggies. Fruit, all the good stuff. The people in the town of MadDog, the only town bigger than a crossroads, are traders and business owners who provide what the farmers and ranchers can’t. The town ain’t got public utilities, whole planet don’t. Too small and the place is full of rugged, self-reliant individuals. Drill yore own well, or get smart and live where you can pipe in gravity flow from a crick. Light a candle or put up some of them solar panels. Things like solar panels, they aren’t made on the Rock, they have to be imported from another planet far, far away. Hence, the shopkeepers.

Only time Old Earth had 300 people was when humans first started. They had a few tree houses or some such thing, on the edge of a savanna. Part of a huge continent called Africa. Just like us Rockers, they was no more than a speck on the planet’s ass.

They was like Rockers. But, they didn’t have tools. Or fancy inventions and such. And most importantly, they didn’t have man’s best friend. The dog. Seriously? Okay, maybe, but I am talking here about the horse. Super fantastical transportation. Carries people or cargo. Goes all day long. Bigger than dogs and they got hooves. Tougher than dog feet.

Think on it a bit. A whole planet. 300 cowhands. Okay, a few are shopkeepers, saloon owners and whores, but more about them later.

Maybe a couple thousand horses. Also, cats and, yes. even dogs. Working cats and dogs. Livestock also. By the way of cows, goats, chickens, guineas, sheep and the like. Lots of wildlife everywhere. We got stills for whiskey, vodka and such. Explains the need for grains and taters. Grapes. Hops and barley. Now, that there is a party!

Come. Join us. As we explore the Rock.

"It’s our fuckin’ planet.

If you don’t like it,

go find your own."

-Anonymous

1 All in a Day’s Work

It is Indian summer. The sky is blue, with fluffy clouds floating whimsically in the high altitude breezes. The late green grass sprouts are emerging through the dead thatch of the fall frosts. The deer are browsing peacefully on the edge of the trees up ahead. The birds are singing of everlasting beauty or whatever it is birds tweet about. Musical in any case.

Then, things change.

‘Bang.’

The sound is behind me and too close. I lean forward and squeeze with my knees and calves. Deuce jumps both forelegs ahead into a lope. I look over my shoulder. Riders. Two of them. Rifles aimed towards me.

Son of a bitch, I say as I spur my mount, hoping he has a bit more speed for me. I look back again. They are catching up.

‘Bang. Bang. Bang.’

Run you lazy bastard, they’re shootin’.

Teaching a horse to ignore the sound of gunfire so he don’t spook and throw you off when you shoot yore personal piece is a good thing. But, when someone else is shooting, this might be the thanks you get. He thinks it’s okay. Of course, short of true monsters, running in general goes against the grain for Deuce. He is known for his easygoing disposition. I twist around again to look back at the shooters.

Who the hell are those guys?

Deuce doesn’t answer. He almost never does. His nonjudgmental libertarian nature leaves me the freedom to figure out my own life. It’d be nice if humans were more like horses.

Right now he is busy running his little horse heart out. Problem is, he is running out of wind.

I spot a brushy oak thicket up ahead, it is an opportunity to change my strategy.

Deuce and I run around the thicket to the right, putting us out of sight of our pursuers. I lay down tight against the saddle horn and move my rein hand a bit more to the right. Deuce turns in under some low branches which brush hard across my spine as we speed through. We then proceed to do some quick world-class zig zag work, avoiding brush, limbs and tree trunks as we whiz through the thicket. We work our way through the clump of oak, manzanita and granite boulders.

I pull my rein hand just a tad back toward my body, and relax my butt. Deuce slides in among a clump of taller oak trees and big granite rocks. This light mouthed horse not only has a great rein on him, he also has an awesome stop.

Good job, son, I say quietly, as I pat his neck and bail off.

I drop the reins, cut a leafy branch with my pocket knife and run out to brush over his hoofprints. I grab some loose sand and leaves and sprinkle them over the brush marks. Then I walk on rocks, careful to leave no boot prints, back to my little bay horse. He is about 15 hands, a nice little horse, with an offset blaze and two white socks behind.

I pull his head around tight against his side and give a push. He is quick to take the cue and lay down flat for me. I lie down across his neck to be sure he doesn’t change his mind.

Just need to get your breathing slowed to something quieter than a steam engine before them riders get in close, I say in a quiet, calming voice. His nostrils are flared full circle from the workout. His chest is pumping in all the air it can. His legs stick straight out to the side, still tense from the run. His eyes are big and round. The whites are showing with excitement. I pat his neck and scratch around his ears.

True, my heart is pounding a tad bit, too. Ka-thump, ka-thump like.

There now, easy boy, easy, I say to calm both me and him.

We have worked together long enough that he trusts my judgment. My calming words work their magic and he slowly relaxes. His breath slows, his eyes return to normal. His legs relax down onto the ground. Deuce quiets even more and lays still. You are supposed to walk a horse and cool him out after hard exercise. This once, though, staying hidden is first priority. We just lie there and wait.

As I hear hoofbeats approaching and getting louder, I put my hand across Deuce’s nostrils hoping to forestall a nicker to the bad guy’s horses. I realize too that I have been holding my breath and let it slowly out. We lie quietly for what seems like forever. Finally though, the sound of the shooters hoofbeats fades as they pass us by.

Maybe we fooled ‘em, partner, I say to Deuce. I wait another long five minutes. Then, sliding off his neck, I let Deuce up. I tie him to a tree, just to be sure he doesn’t get antsy and decide to run out and join his equine brothers.

Climbing up into a cleft between the boulders, I doff my hat and set it atop a stick which poke up above the skyline. Nothing happens, so I pull it down and slowly poke my head up into the notch. I see a plume of dust that disappears out to the south in the distance and heave a sigh of relief.

I check my cinch and mount up. My cowpony and I continue our march, moving along just below the ridgetop. About an hour further on, Deuce stops suddenly and pricks up his ears. I hold my breath and listen as hard as I can.

Deuce is right. Voices. I can barely hear them. I slide off, tie Deuce to a tree and slowly stealth walk forward. As I come to the edge of the hill, I can hear them well enough to make out ta few words. I can’t see anything for the trees.

I tell you crystal …rock. I’m sure, says a male voice.

No way, we…Terrania. No fucking way we could…galaxy… Can you be sure? asks a female voice.

That little horse, bay…sure…crystal? he says.

We got bigger fish to fry, says she. Find the… rock…crystal. We gotta…two faced friend. Selfish fucker, sayin’ he’d share…ditchin’ us. How could…that? We was honest…

The man says, Mostly honest…hit the trail. He must be further ahead… Let’s get moving…lose him…

The voices sound familiar. I rack my memory cells. Did I hear them at the Short Branch? As their voices fade, I stick my head up for a peek. As they emerge from the trees, they are already too far away to identify.

Drop it, hisses a voice right behind me.

Fuck. I turn my head to see who it is.

Hold still, let loose that rifle and raise them hands, he says. Now.

Now look here, I start to say.

I said now! he hisses impatiently.

My piece is a’ antique, belonged to my grand pappy, I’m gonna lean over and set it carefully down. Okay? I ask.

Hurry up about it, he says. I slowly lean over and lovingly lay the rifle down.

I can hear the gunhand edging around me.

You just back up now so I can see what yore looking at, he says.

I take a step back and manage to get my boot tangled on a bush. I fall down on my butt.

Damn, I murmur, rubbing my ankle.

Get up. Quit screwing around, Annie, he says. He is now standing in the spot where I had been.

I sneak a look at him under my hat brim. He is a little guy wearing a vest and pocket watch. His pants are slick city fabric, not made for the wear and tear of riding. His sleeves are puffy. He has garters around his biceps. His shoes aren’t boots. He looks familiar. But I can’t place him.

He looks over his shoulder down the hill, quickly turning back to me.

You know me? I ask.

Shit. You don’t recognize me? he asks. He is edgy, looking quickly down again toward the voices, then back at me.

No. I say. They friends of yours?

Seriously? Man, what a stuck up bitch, he says shaking his head in disbelieve. All the time I waited on you, all the free drinks. Nothing?

Oh, on Hawaiia? Maybe? I ask.

Are you shitting me? I flirted with you. Chatted you up. You smiled, and was polite, but you looked right through me. I oughta kill ya just fer that alone, he says.

I am sorry. Um, what is yore name?

You know it. Billy, damn it, Billy Darby.

Billy? Hm. I still draw a blank.

Fuckin’ A. From the Short Branch.

Oh, um, are you the…

The bartender, he says, clearly disgruntled.

Oh, yeah, yore the bartender, I say. I’m purely sorry, I got a bad memory fer faces.

Billy is still glancing over his shoulder, down the hill.

You got no problem remembering Spud.

Well, yeah, he and I…

Shut it, Billy Darby says, then his voice turns whiny. That bastard takes everything from me. I run for sheriff, name on the ballot, all legal like. Spud is writ in. Fucker won by a landslide. I see you first, chat you up. He gets you. You never pay me no mind. All smiles, no action. Fucking cock-teaser.

Those your friends down there? I ask again.

They’ll be gone in a minute, he says.

He glances back again.

And Charley. She don’t do no more than order me around. She never, ever puts out. And even without that, I deserve a damn pay raise. Hell, I been loyal. I work my ass off for Charley. I should own half that place. But, hey, I got it all worked out now. I heard that fancy pants Lord and that floozy Michael talking about them maps. I know you are all up to something. And that Injin. You’re all in on it. Damn it, I want my cut, too.

He looks back. He is sweating and looking like he is tired of being a nobody loser. His trigger finger has started to twitch.

He waves his revolver toward the talkers down the hill, Bartenders hear what everyone is up to. I know that those two will pay me plenty for what I know.

He glances down toward them again.

It occurs to me that he might be waiting for the riders to get far enough away so they don’t hear the shot when he kills me. In an abundance of caution, I pull my arm back and let fly.

My boot shiv chunks right in between his ribs. Billy drops and lays jerking on the ground.

I rush over. Billy. Billy. Hang on, Billy.

He jerks once more and is gone.

Do you know how hard it is to make a fatal throw with a damn boot shiv? Damn my throwing arm’s killer instincts. Shit, I had questions.

Billy got no answers now.

Damn it Billy, wasn’t in the cards, sorry. You could’ve at least lived long enough to tell me yore horse’s name. Poor sucker gotta learn a new one now.

I take his holster belt and gun. A few piasters in his pocket. Nothing else is worth saving. Damn little short people clothes. Hell with it, they are city duds anyway. Useless.

I look down the hill and see no sign of the riders.

I head over to Joe, grabbing his reins and the reins on Billy’s bay. I hang Billy's gunbelt over the horn and strap it down with the saddle strings. We sneak quietly down the hill away from the talkers. Were they chasing Billy? Was he chasing them? Was it all a trap to catch me? Shit.

The horses and I move slowly. I am listening. Don’t want to be surprised by any more jeezly cocksuckers today.

Three motherfuckers in one morning trying to harsh my buzz. Shit.

I goose Deuce up into a nice comfy trot. We are now running late for our meeting with Wolf and Mose. I’ll have to hurry to make it to the spike camp at Rio Rojo.

Rock’s a big planet. Let’s hope we never hear those two sharp shootin’ assholes butt ugly voices again, I tell Deuce. He flicks an ear and nods his head in agreement.

2 Pass

A day and a half later Deuce, Billy’s horse and I are near the meeting place. I decide to call Billy’s horse Dutch. Good name.

I hear a noise and look back.

Shit, I whisper.

Did I hear something? Is someone following me, again? I pull into some trees and wait until they pass. I wait a mite less than patiently. I chew on some pemmican and dried fruit to pass the time.

After I can no longer hear hoofbeats I head out again, threading my way through the trees toward the trail. As I duck under the last low branch something lands on my back. A hand covers my mouth and we both fall to the ground. We grapple for a bit, then I feel a blade at my throat.

Hold still, stay quiet, a manly sounding voice says.

Still holding the knife, he pulls his piggin string and lashes my hands together.

Okay, he says. Let’s stand up. Slowly.

I climb to my feet. He reaches up and stuffs a gag in my mouth. Then he ties a scarf around my face to hold it in.

He leads me by the hands over to my horse. He helps me back on and lashes my wrists to the saddlehorn. He takes the reins and leads Deuce and Dutch over to a tall black and white blanket appaloosa horse, which he mounts. He takes us on up the trail towards Rio Rojo.

As we ride along, I work my tongue around until it is sore from the exercise, but finally I get the damn rag out of my mouth.

What the fuck? I ask.

Shut up, bitch, he says.

Hey, I am just ridin’ down the trail mindin’ my own bees wax. Not botherin’ nary a fly. Who the fuck do you think you are blindsidin’ me?

I heared about you, he says. You that lady been runnin’ around spyin’ on folks. Got some rock name. What is it?

This is not good news. Oh shit. This might be bad. Real bad.

Rock name? It ain’t me. I am Annie Talks To Horses. No rock names. Who the hell are you? I ask.

Name’s Tang, he says, looking me up and down. If I am wrong, I will apologize. But, I ain’t never wrong, so don’t hold yer breath.

He is a fit looking guy, real dark skin, curly black hair, past shoulder length. Keeps it in dreadlocks. He is wearing a flashy gold shirt, real shiny. Brand new boots and jeans. He is also sporting a long, bright red scarf for a hatband. His belt is a turquoise scarf. His medium frame revolver, maybe a 9mm, is stuffed in a shoulder holster.

It is always the same. I laugh.

What you laughing about? he asks.

Nothin’.

"Tell me or I’ll gag you again.

Short guy, tall horse. Always seems to be that way.

Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me? he says. I got the drop on you and you say that?

You asked.

He climbs down and redoes the gag.

After another hour of riding, we pull up over the last little rise into the Rio Rojo drainage. Soon, I can see Wolf and Mose’ pack horses, unpacked and loose, grazing across the valley. The smoke from their fire rises above a copse of trees.

About twenty minutes later, as we head down the hill, a wild looking bare chested Injin steps out from behind a bush right in front of us, pistol pointing at Tang.

Tang has his pistol in hand already, too. Pointing at Wolf.

Hey, you must be Wolf, he says, jumping to the ground and holstering his pistol. What? Who the fuck is this guy?

Wolf nods and shakes his hand. He looks stern, not friendly, but he also holsters his pistol.

Wolf is painted up and dressed in his Spirit Quest wardrobe. There are sacred symbols in his designs to guide us and help the spirits recognize our journey for the importance it has to our lives. Actually I am just guessing, when I asked Wolf about them once, he just grunted. In any case, he looks awesome.

You Poon? asks Wolf.

No, man. It’s Tang. he replies.

What you got here? Wolf asks, pointing his chin toward me.

Caught me a criminal. This heah the gal they been lookin’ fer. She and her pard, I think they the ones Pap havin’ troubles with.

Wolf looks at me blandly, as if I am a stranger and not his Spirit Quest cuddle bunny.

I make some unintelligible sounds under the gag.

We go to camp. Talk, says Wolf. He turns and walks off.

Tang remounts and leads us on into camp.

We ride around some trees and see a nice fire with bedrolls laid out nearby. All the panniers and tack are neatly arranged. No one is in sight.

Tang stops the horses and looks around. Then he dismounts, eying Wolf. Tang walks over and unties my hands from the horn, leaving them tied together and helps me down, too quickly. I hit the ground hard but I survive the fall and look at Wolf.

Coffee? Wolf asks Tang, ignoring me.

Sho’, been a long ride. says Tang.

She want coffee? Wolf asks, nodding toward me.

I nod vigorously.

Maybe take gag off? asks Wolf.

Whea is he? asks Tang, ignoring Wolf and looking around.

Heah ah is, Mose steps out of the bushes. What you doin’ heah, boy?

Pap, I come to help, says Tang. I heared on Pi that they was some going’s on here. Some gang come over lookin’ fer treasure. Hell, I caught the gal, right heah. We get the story from her.

Boy, you ever think that they might be more than one gal on this planet? This gal is mah friend, says Mose. You loose her or I cut a switch.

I’m growed now Pap, you cain’t be cuttin’ no switch, says Tang.

Now look heah, son, bettah a switch den a bullet, says Mose.

While Tang is distracted with Mose, Wolf walks over to me. He holds a finger to his lips and takes off the gag. He also unties my hands and walks with me out into the trees.

After we are out of earshot of the camp, he stops. We sit on a log with a fair view back toward camp and wait for Tang and Mose to talk it out. Wolf has us set up where we can see the two. I guess Wolf wants to watch in case Mose needs help. Mose and Tang certainly don’t seem to be on very good terms.

After a while, Mose calls us to come in. We walk down, he is alone.

Set heah, says Mose.

He looks at me and explains, Tang, is mah son. Raised by his mama on Pi. She doan like me. She taught him the same. Relations atween us could be bettah.

No shit, I say.

Mose smiles and says, He caught you and brought you in expectin’ a reward. Young and stupid, that’s mah son.

He will learn, says Wolf.

Nah, been waitin’ fer him to learn fer ages. Boy is 33 year old now. Guess he ain’t so young no more, air he? Maybe he never learn. I sent him on his way.

We watch tonight? asks Wolf.

Yessir, we do’ says Mose. We watch extry careful, ‘case dat boy come back.

Mose shakes his head sadly.

3 Huzzah

We are a hardy trio, with our pack string trailing out in a long line ahead of us. We are headed cross country. All is going well, the weather is warm and sunny. They leaves are dazzling us with their autumn colors. We are living our most awesome dreams.

Wow, it's like I died and went to Heaven.

You been dere? asks Mose.

No, but that planet gets great reviews.

Yeah, I heered dat too. Never met no one dat's been dere.

They say it's over in the Archenon Galaxy.

I heered it's got harps and fairies.

Hmm, maybe Michael knows about it, he's gay, I say.

Not dat kinda fairy, da kind wit’ wings and a wand, says Mose.

Michael would look nice in wings and a wand. I can picture it, I say and smile at the mental image. Not a lot to do on a long day’s ride but chat and daydream. And share lies, of course.

Mose is resplendent in a crusty old trapper way. He is wearing new buckskins to start the fall season. They are already getting greasy and worn. The fringes, the antler buttons, the newly beaded pouch on his shoulder and his white striped skunk fur hat all bespeak his love of ancient ways. His soft elk leather moccasin boots look perfect for walking the cricks and hollows.

You make all your kit? I ask.

Yes’m, I did. Hooves to hat, only thangs I dint make was the horse and guns.

The saddle also?

Oh yeah. It oak with pine bars. Ah cut the trees, axed, carved and dried, covered it wit’ rawhide. Carved the leather. Steam bent the stirrups, too. Heck yeah. Lotsa fun. Beaded dis heah horn too and dese heah saddlebags. And dis fine hog sticker. He pulls a honkin’ big knife with an elk antler handle out of its beaded and fringed sheath. "Yep, traded fer the steel blank, but ground and shaped her blade myse’f.

His entire self-made wardrobe is a testament to his choice of a primitive life on the Rock.

Oh, hey. Damn loose packs, says Mose. He shakes his reins and trots up to fix a lopsided load on one of the packhorses, before it rolls under the gelding’s belly. He dismounts and adjusts the balance of the load. Next, he tightens the cinch and redoes the diamond hitch.

We are riding across a wide grassy park with conifers around the edge and willow brush by the stream that runs down the middle. It is fall, so the grass and wildflowers have gone to seed and turned brown. The seed stalks stick up high above the leaves. Lots of nutritious biomass here. In fact, like I mentioned earlier, think paradise.

Oh, guess you might confuse that with the planet called Paradise. This paradise is on the Rock, a wilderness paradise. No cities at all. Just the one town. Pardon my braggin’.

Huzzah! hails a distant voice.

We look back to see a rider approaching at a ground covering lope. He is too far away to identify.

Stew, says Wolf.

Okay. Too far away for me to identify.

He pulls Mose’ looking glass, which he has borrowed for scouting, out of his possibles bag and looks at the magnified view. I look at a closer view.

Wolf is bare chested, as he is in most weather, and sleekly muscular. He has a nice straight nose, a strong chin, good cheekbones, awesome dimples and eyes that crinkle at the corners when he smiles. His hog sticker is in a belt scabbard. His rifle is a .243 lever action, just like mine. His .32-20 revolver is out of sight under his fringed deerskin loincloth. The loincloth shows off his personal equipment in great style. The yellow of the hide is a fine contrast to his bronze skin, which glistens in the sunlight. He has feathers entwined in long black hair, which flows loose around his shoulders. The thick locks reach almost to his elbows.

Stew? For supper? I ask.

Wolf smiles, chuckles and says, Yep, eyes not need glass. Horse, Stew.

Really? I ask and squint at the dot. He does look like a sorrel. But damn! He is not too much more than a speck.

Good eyes, I say.

Great eyes, counters Wolf with a grin and hands me the looking glass.

Smarty pants, I say.

After many minutes, Stew arrives with his owner, Sir Jacob in the saddle. He has auburn hair, clean cut features and an aristocratic nose. The man that is, not the horse. Handsome, one might say. He is a Brit lord of some sort, usually nattily dressed in fancy, frilly Brit duds. Today, however, he is sporting a cowboy theme. He has a wide brimmed tan hat with a feather hatband, a tan neck scarf, a piped royal blue shirt, russet shotgun chaps, fine black boots and awesome Californio style big rowel spurs. His .44-40 revolver is somewhere out of sight, my guess is in an SOB, a small of the back holster. He has a large bore rifle, a .45-70, in his saddle scabbard. Good buffalo gun.

Ho, Sir Jacob, how is it you come? asks Wolf.

By horse, says Sir Jacob, then he chuckles. I say Wolf, have you spotted your spirit animals?

None yet, Wolf replies.

What about Coati and the kids? Aren’t you helping them? I ask.

Not anymore. Coati said, ‘Injin not need English White Eyes’. Said it with a straight face too, says his Lordship with a fond smile. So, I went to town to visit friends. Sky found me there and showed me an envelope. We decided it must be for Wolf. It is a message. I have, in fact, brought word from Proxima Pi.

Across space? I ask. Not sure how that works. Maybe a spaceship brought it in? Oh, yeah, he said Sky. The spaceship pilot. I led a sheltered life on Triassic, just hicks, not in the space traveling class. Started traveling as an adult, first two flights didn’t go so well. Almost died, both times. Been spooked about the whole space travel deal ever since.

Not a lot of traveling happens in and out of the Rock either. It is sparsely populated, 300 souls more or less. Many consider it an empty, impoverished, generally desolate planet. Suits me. Proxima Pi, on the other hand is a demon filled city. Yikes!

Yes. It seems that our dear Spud has found a spot of trouble. Says Sir Jacob. He might need help, hard to say. The message is cryptic.

Cryptic? I ask.

Him mean short, Annie, says Wolf.

I know what it means, I was tryin’ to get him to reiterate.

Mm, says Wolf.

It also appears to be coded, says Sir Jacob.

At this point, I see that Mose has spotted his Lordship and circled back. He lopes up, skids to a stop, and hops off his horse.

Greetin’s, your Lordship! Y’awls a sight fer sore eyes, says Mose looking up at Sir Jacob and gripping his leg, Been with these heathens for what seems like weeks. Ah could use some dignified company.

Greetings, Sir Steven, a true pleasure to convene with a man of gravid thoughts and nobly acquired wisdom, says Sir Jacob, jumping down for a bear hug and numerous hearty pats on the back.

Wolf looks at me and says, They mean old guys.

Yeah, like we ain’t full growed adults. Yeesh.

Mose, is always addressed as Sir Steven by Sir Jacob. The Sir Club, I guess it is. Mose squints over at me and says, Okay, missy adult, how old you is?

Twenty-one.

Mose and Sir Jacob seem to find this funny.

Quite. says Sir Jacob. And Wolf is just an instant or two older.

Childrens, they is, agrees Mose.

Will no one ever take us seriously as adults? I wonder why. I look over at Wolf thinking he will protest, but he has that mysterious Injin look goin’ for him. Lord knows what he is thinking.

How the heck old are you guys? I ask, curious.

Old as dem stars, says Mose, pointing theatrically at the sky with his buffalo rifle.

You say so.

I ponder on that ‘un too. They don’t look that old. Just not young no more. Maybe fiftyish? Who can tell? Old folks all look pretty much alike to me.

Soon I forget what it is I was thinking. Other than what great muscles Wolf has, that is. I love a bare chested man. I am also still enjoying the loincloth deal he has going on today, covering those other important parts. Uh huh. Did I mention this earlier? Bears repeating.

Actually, I don’t look too bad myself today. In honor of the Spirit Quest and also due to the fact that my old duds were down to the more holes than cloth point in life, I have new duds. I am resplendent in new blue jeans, underneath my angora goat chaps, and my piped shirt is bright red. I love snap shirts, they are easy to scramble out of in moments of intense passion.

I am also wearing a well broke in wide brimmed, dark brown hat. My red boots have a colorful swirly stitch. My silver spurs are Californio’s similar to Sir Jacob’s, but a different pattern and well work worn. Mine have jingle bobs, because I personally like spurs that jingle jangle jingle. Though, if I have to sneak around, I must remember to take them off. I am clumsy enough that I trip over my own spurs whist walking fairly often, anyway. So taking them off after I dismount is always prudent. The spurs also match my high port, long shank, copper roller bit. I prefer this bit because I ride with a light hand and have a responsive horse. My antler handled .45 Long Colt revolver rides low on my hip. I like the 8 barrel for its accuracy. The 12 would be better, but is just too unwieldy for a quick draw hip gun. My rifle, just like Wolf’s, has a 20" barrel and shoots the .243, a great varmint shell. It does a very accurate job and covers the longer distances. It should be just fine for this trip.

While I am busy admiring myself and Wolf, Mose and Sir Jacob are gabbing.

Isn’t that right Annie?

Um…uh. I stutter.

Yep, adult, says Mose. They all three laugh, while I turn red enough to just about match my shirt.

Mose and his Lordship remount their horses. We all shake up the reins and our horses start walking once again across the prairie. It is late in the day. The sky is too dark to signal Sky, so we head to the nearest water to make camp.

‘Bout that message from Spud? I ask.

Well, it is a bit confounding, you see. The envelope has no…a moment, says Sir Jacob as he looks down and reaches into his horn bag.

Ah, here we are, he says, as he passes an envelope to Wolf. As you can see there is only a drawing of a wolf on the envelope, nothing else.

Aren’t envelopes usually addressed with words and letters? I ask.

Wolf looks at the drawing, nods, then carefully opens the flap and pulls out something. He unwraps it to reveal a thin slab of slate.

Wolf scrutinizes the rock, turning it over to look closely at both sides.

Well? I ask.

Hmm, says Wolf.

Figures, Wolf is a secretive sucker.

He uncrumples the paper, It is wrapped around a rock.

He reads, Here is a rock from Proxima Pi for your all planets collection. Love, Mack.

Mack? asks Sir Jacob.

Brother Spud enigma sometimes, says Wolf. "Use code, in case message is seized by Centrists.

What? I ask leaning over to look more closely.

Wolf playfully moves the rock out of my reach. He smiles and says, Maybe not lady cowgirl business.

Oh, I thought Spud was my honey. In any case, he is our pardner so o’ course I care about him. I say. ‘Sides, Sir Jacob said code, don’t sound okay to me.

Mm-hm, okay, you read, says Wolf and passes it over.

There is a carving in the surface of the rock.

What the hell? I ask. Who sends a fuckin’ rock when they’re in trouble?

Oh, golly, did I say fuck?

That bothers some folks. Especially when a girl says it. We must remember that the words themselves are innocent, it is the context that makes them good or bad.

You may say that you don’t cuss. I gotta pal who runs in a crowd that ain’t allowed to cuss. So she says ‘Crap!’ instead of all the stronger words. Still