The Cowgirls Get Their Due
Posted by Archer2 on December 20, 2004 at 11:38:13:
The Cowgirls Get Their Due
by Archer(2)
Prologue
Omar Bigg was worried, and when the president of the ACME Corporation
was worried, it was usually the little guys who lost their jobs.
And Louie Archer was worried -- that was because he was one of the
little guys. Louie had heard that ACME's biggest customer, a
recluse known as Mr. Coyote, was closing his lucrative pest control
business and moving to Maine to become a gentleman potato farmer.
There were rumors that legislators in the Congress were about to give
protection to Mr. Coyote's specialty, the infernal road runner.
Rather than fight, Mr. Coyote decided to cash in his chips and change
professions. Now Louie was right to be worried, for he was one of
a thousand people employed in ACME's bird control program. But
Louie noticed that fellow employee Sarah McMurton was smiling.
When she saw Louie looking, she mouthed the words "It's going to be all
right."
Mr. Bigg started to speak. Everyone got quiet. "As you know, the
customer who carries this division is retiring so I regret to inform
you that..." Well not everyone. Sarah interrupted his
speech.
"Mr. Bigg, I have a suggestion. Here. Look at this."
She handed him the front page of a small-town Western newspaper.
Mr. Bigg was stunned. No one ever interrupted him before.
Not knowing what to do, he read the headline: "Cherokee Jill offers
bounty to cowgirls for dead injuns (sic)". He looked at
Sarah, still unsure.
Sarah explained. "Well, all our bird traps could be used as
Indian traps. And with thousands of cowgirls looking to make a
quick buck to whiskey and whores, we'll easily do triple the business
that that flea-bagged old fart Coyote could give us!"
Louie spoke up... "But Sarah, all our stuff is defective..."
"Oh, Louie, you're such a pessimist! We'll be doing the West a
favor..."
Mr. Bigg smiled. "Louie, you're fired. Sarah, you're now
Vice President in charge of the Indian Trapping Division.
As a Vice President, you can call me Omar."
Sarah was flattered. "Oh thank you Mr. Omar... er... just
Omar. But may I offer a suggestion?"
"But of course!"
"We'll need to hire Louie back -- he's the Chief Design
Engineer..."
"Done!" There was no evidence in his demeanor that Mr. Bigg gave
even a passing thought to rehiring an engineer who designed a product
which rarely worked.
The Proposal
"Whoo-ee!" Mudslinging Marsha shouted. "Did you read this?"
She handed Slippery Susan the newspaper.
"Now, Marsha, you know I can't read. Much rather spend my money
on a shot of whiskey or a whore than a stupid old newspaper..."
Marsha gave out an audible sigh, and read the article. According
to the article, famed Injun Killer Cherokee Jill was offering a $1.00
bounty for each Injun killed and brought in to Cherokee Jill's Genereal
(sic) Store. She was only offering the bounty to cowgirls.
"Wow!" Susan exclaimed. "One buck is ten shots of whiskey or four
whores. I didn't know an Injun was worth that much." Her
excited look changed as she started to think. (Thinking was
pretty painful for average cowgirls like Susan.) "But it ain't
like the Injuns are just gonna come up to us and let us shoot 'em..."
"That's where this comes into play," she said, pointing to an ad that
she offered to Susan. It took a moment for Marsha to remember
that Susan was illiterate. "It says the ACME Corporation is
offering Injun Trapping kits to cowgirls for fifty cents apiece."
Susan scratched her head. "ACME? I think I heard o'
them, but I can't put my finger on it. They're one o' them big
Eastern muninational (sic) corroberations (sic)."
"You mean 'multinational corporations'."
"Ain't that what I said, smarty-pants?"
Battle on Red Rock Ridge
Marsha and Susan had recruiting a baker's dozen of their cowgirl
friends to join them on the expedition. Since none of them could
read, the two had taken five ACME Luckie Louie ® Injun Trapping
Kits and divided them up into thirteen pokes and resold them to their
compatriots for seventy-five cents apiece. (Naturally Marsha was
the only one of these cowgirls who could read.) The way she
explained it to them was "a profit of one whore or two and a half shots
of whiskey for the first dead Injun". When Sputterin' Sally said
"But there ain't no bar gonna give me a half a shot a (sic)
whiskey", Marsha charged Sally an extra five cents. Sally was
pleased with the deal.
The cowgirls settled on Red Rock Ridge as the ideal location for their
Injun trapping expedition. What they hadn't counted on was the
fact that fifty-seven other cowgirls had decided that Red Rock Ridge
was the ideal place for Injun Trapping. But fortunately Marsha
and her cohorts were first to arrive. A rifle battle ensued, but
there was no way of taking Red Rock Ridge from below. After the
smoke settled, Marsha and Susan's party emerged unscathed and the other
cowgirls emerged dead.
"Strip 'em," Marsha ordered.
"But Cherokee Jill ain't gonna pay no bounty for dead cowgirls,"
Jumping Georgina objected.
"Yeah," Horrible Harriet chirped in. "We're s'posed to be killin'
Injuns..."
Marsha shook her head. "You idiots! We can use their guns,
clothes, supplies, horses, and their Luckie Louie ® Injun Trapping
Kits. So hurry up and strip 'em."
"What're we gonna do with the bodied?" It was Itchy Irene who
offered this query.
"Leave 'em for the buzzards!" Susan chimed in. "Now Marsha's the
brains of this outfit so just do what she says."
"Oh yeah? Who says?" It was Illegal Lizzie who spoke
up this time.
Two shots in the head, one from each of Susan's pistols, brought Lizzie
down. Susan held up the pistol in her right hand. "Well Joe
here says." Then she held up the pistol on the right. "And
George here also says."
Marsha took over. "Does anyone have any questions for Joe or
George." After a moment of silence. "You can strip Lizzie
too. It's more profit for the rest of us."
Injuns (sic)
The commotion on and around drew the attention of Chief
Running-Dog-Lackey. He sent a scout to investigate. Being
nearsighted, tribe librarian Falcon-Who Sees-Many-Inches wasn't really
a scout, but Chief Running was about to endanger a useful brave.
After the incidents with Cherokee Jill, the Indians tended to avoid
crossing the paths of cowgirls. But Falcon was the best choice --
as the only one in the tribe who could read English, he immediately
recognized the ACME trademark on the traps that the cowgirls were
attempting to assemble. He could see well enough to determine
that one of the cowgirls could read, but that even she was having
trouble with the instructions. He didn't know that part of the
problem was because of missing parts in the repackaged kits that Marsha
and Susan had resold to the rest of their party.
Near the body of one of the dead cowgirls. he found a complete kit with
instructions. He was able to determine that there was no way of
making a trap out of these surplus road runner trap parts. His
bigger worry was the women's guns. His tomahawk wouldn't be of
much use and his limited clothing offered him little protection.
To top off his worries, the naked bodies of the dead cowgirls were
distracting him -- a loincloth wasn't the best clothing to wear for
this kind of distraction...
Falcon stayed hidden but continued to watch from below as the cowgirls
continued to try to make sense of the Injun Trap assembly
instructions. He noted that with each shot of whiskey, their
determination grew but their coordination got worse. Shortly
after nightfall, Marsha called a halt. The women paired off into
tents and fell asleep in each other's arms.
Falcon now quietly ascended Red Rock Ridge. Since he had done so
even as a child, he was very familiar with the territory. He
first needed a rifle -- the women had left them in holsters on the
horses. He approached one of the horses taking care not to upset
it. He patted it gently and fed it some grass. When he had
gained its confidence, he freed the horses from the makeshift hitching
post, mounted the friendly horse, and started a stampede as he rode
behind a boulder to hide from the camp.
One of the tents was in the path of the stampede and its occupants were
bloodied beyond recognition. Falcon watched as
The-One-Who-Can-Read and The-One-Who-Names-Her-Pistols emerged from
their tent. "Shit, shit, shit!" Marsha shouted.
As the horses disappeared, the others came out of their tents.
"Damn. My rifle!" Sally cried.
Knowing that this was one of those moments where her leadership would
be tested, Marsha thought quickly. "Sally and Irene, you were
supposed to tether the horses."
"What?" they asked in unison.
Unwilling to allow her boss to be questioned, Susan shot them both in
the head. (A shot from Joe took Irene and one frome George slew
Sally, just in case you were wonderin' (sic).) Susan then
fired four shots, one in each nipple. "Damn, she's good!"
Blubberin' Bertha remarked.
From his hiding spot, Falcon nodded in agreement, taking care to
massage the horse so it remained quiet. Sally's guns were
six-shooters, so he guessed that she still had six bullets loaded in
her pistols' chambers.
Out of habit, Marsha gave the order: "Strip 'em and leave 'em for the
buzzards."
Not thinking, Bertha spoke up again. "Whaddya mean strip
'em. They're already nekkid."
Susan took her down with four shots, one in the head, one in each
nipple, and one in the navel. (Using cowgirl arithmetic, that's
only three shots. I mention this only because it's an important
plot point.)
"What did you kill Bertha for?" demanded Bertha's tentmate Rasslin'
Retha. Retha went down with a shot to the head and a second shot
(for good measure) which entered her in a place normally reserved for
men and sex toys.
At this point Falcon emerged from behind the rock.
"An Injun!" the survivors said in unison. Bertha aimed her
pistols at Falcon's manhood.
"You're out of ammo," Falcon said triumphantly.
The cowgirls laughed. "She's got one bullet left you dingbat
Injun," Marsha explained. "Cantcha count?" (Marsha could
read, and her arithmetic skills were better than the average cowgirl,
but she didn't quite understand the subtleties of counting.)
Susan fired Joe and George, but they responded with a click. A
proverbial eternity passed as the cowgirls tried to determine what
happed to the twelfth bullet. Falcon was ready with the rifle as
the cowgirls tried to rush him. His aim was true and all but
Marsha were now dead. Marsha surrendered, hands up in the
air. Marsha was fairly sure that he was out of bullets, but with
the prior failure of her counting skills, she thought it best to simply
surrender.
Epilogue
When Falcon returned with the prisoner, the dead bodies, and the
provisions, the tribal council immediately elevated him to Chief.
When Chief Running-Dog-Lackey objected, pointing out rightly that the
tribe already had a chief, the tribal council fired him. (The
former chief made good, however, by selling his likeness to a
cigar company.)
Marsha wasn't so lucky. With all the settlers moving in, there
was holiday season turkey shortage. Falcon decided that she would
be the tribe's turkey this year. He vetoed her suggestion that
one of the dead cowgirls be used for that purpose. As the tribe's
librarian, he was an avid reader and he was well aware of the dangers
of unrefrigerated meat.
A few years later, Cherokee Jill went to Red Rock Ridge to determine
why no cowgirl ever collected the bounty. She became the tribal
turkey that year. ACME Corporation went bankrupt a few months
later. Louie Archer started a publishing firm which failed after
two months. ACME's Exceutive Vice President in Charge of
Everything Sarah McMurton was mistaken for Billie the Kidd and
hanged. Omar Bigg was hired by a Mr. Coyote to handle Mr.
Coyote's Irish potato farming operations.