Queen of the Cowboys

An Audience with the Queen

The trio made their way through the night, with only the light of the moon to guide them. Without Okala leading the way, Buchanan was not sure if he would have been able to find his way through the unfamiliar terrain, even if he had a lamp to provide some light.

Buchanan strained his ears, still wary of possible pursuit by the sizable police force Andrew Langstrum had boasted about, but he didn't hear a thing aside from the clopping of hooves and the breathing of the men. Gunshots are not a rare sound to behold, what with wolves and Indians to look out for, but surely the women of the house would've rushed to the police station as soon as they could. Perhaps they thought they could rush Andrew to the infirmary, but with a point-blank shot to the chest, there was little hope of survival, and they would be wasting their time, giving Buchanan a greater chance at escape. But women were fickle creatures.

"How much longer until we arrive?" Buchanan asked. The silence pressed loudly against his ears, threatening to drive him to insanity. "Surely we've gone the two miles north that Burnshire said her camp was."

Okala glanced back at Davis before the pair broke out in laughter. Buchanan almost preferred the silence.

"You really think," Okala said, gasping for breath, "that the Queen would give away the location of her camp? To you, of all people? No, Thompson, you just killed the mayor, a man beloved by all. You're a wanted man now, maybe for the first time in your life. And Burnshire wouldn't just let a criminal into her camp. She has people to protect."

"But she made me do it!"

"She didn't make you do a thing," Davis said. "Burnshire don't work that way. Sure, she can display her might, but ultimately you're responsible for your own actions."

"How does she work, then, if not by simply brandishing her guns to threaten people into doing her bidding as she did with me?"

Davis sighed, slowing his words and raising his voice as if Buchanan had cotton stuffed in his ears. "Burnshire does not use fear to control people."

"Fear is a weak tool used by fragile men who have nothing to offer their followers," Okala cut in. Their form looked like it was flickering in and out of the darkness, solid as a rock then transparent as mist.

"Exactly," Davis continued. "Instead, she garners respect. She deals in favors, helping folks in exchange for loyalty. Everyone ends up happy.. The real reason you carried out the Queen's orders is that you want something, and you know that she's the only person who can help you get it."

That was getting too close to the truth for Buchanan's comfort. For once that night, the darkness did him a favor, concealing his face and any expressions that might have betrayed what he was truly thinking.

"But what is it she wants?" he asked. He stared into the darkness ahead of him, trying to make out anything that would indicate where they were and where they were going.

"That is not for me to answer."

"Well then, what is it that you want?" Buchanan turned toward Davis, careful not to lose his balance. Riding with his wrists and ankles bound was a challenge he didn't foresee himself facing. "What is Burnshire helping you to get?"

Okala kept their eyes forward, so Buchanan was not sure if they were ignoring him or just did not hear the question. Davis, on the other hand, was more than happy to share, quickly becoming comfortable with the likely all-too-rare conversation Buchanan was providing. He could not imagine the immeasurable silence punctuated with demeaning remarks that must come from working with Okala, if this brief interaction was anything to go by.

"Security, and through that, freedom," Davis said, voice becoming distant for a moment as he spoke to himself and the moon. He turned to him. "I made mistakes when I was younger, and the world don't like to give people like me second chances. Even minor things, like petty theft and truancy, coulda completely derailed my life. But it is what I had to do to survive. I had a sick mother, a dead father, and three younger sisters to take care of.

"Then I met someone. Beautiful, ambitious, wealthy. An opportunity to truly change my life, my family's lives. The situation worked for a while, but sometimes good things have trouble sticking to 'em, and this was one of those things. It crumbled. He lost his fortune and blamed it on me, and when he realized his words couldna hurt me, he used his fists—"

Davis's story broke off with a sudden sniffle from the man. Okala, still silent on their steed, slowed until they were right next to him, offering a handkerchief. Rather than empathizing with the man, Buchanan was caught in confusion, first that he was seemingly in a relationship with a man, but also that someone would be able to overpower a man of Davis's stature.

Once the sniffling subsided, Buchanan glanced sideways at the larger man and saw him staring straight ahead, moonlight glinting off hard eyes. "No matter how powerful someone is, no one is immortal. And big fists can't protect you from a locked door and a house fire. I got my family out safe, but the fire spread. Ended up taking down a whole city block. With nowhere else to go, I took our remaining money and took us West. Met Burnshire not long after, and here I am today. My family is safe out here, no police looking for them and I can send them money, keep them taken care of and myself busy. Nothing much more I need than that."

"Why didn't you fight back?" Buchanan asked.

Davis barked a humorless laugh. "Hard to defend myself when it's the chief of police causing the harm. They protect their own."

"Enough," Okala said. "We are here."

Buchanan dragged his attention away from Davis, taking in the sight before him. Police reports and his own estimates placed Burnshire's gang of cowboys and criminals at around fifty people, one of the largest gangs to spring up since the beginning of the westward expansion. But those estimates were entirely incorrect.

Set against the backdrop of the foothills he had seen from the town laid Burnshire's army. There was no better word to describe the hundreds of campfires, tents, horses, and people milling about. For a moment, Buchanan thought Okala must be mistaken, and they accidentally wandered into another boomtown, but upon closer inspection of the passing tents, Buchanan noticed the Queen's crown marking it all as her property.

He felt like cattle as Okala and Davis paraded him through the middle of the camp toward the big tent in the center. Eyes were torn away from their tasks to stare up at him, conversations stopped mid-sentence, the only sounds those of the howling wind and crackling fires. Buchanan determined to demand more money when he finally brought Burnshire in, given the Queen's wealth and the other criminals in her gang that he would turn in to the police as well. It was only fair.

Before he knew it, they were in front of Burnshire's tent and Davis was lifting him off his horse. He did not realize his legs had gone numb from the ride and the odd angle until his feet hit the ground, followed a second later by his knees, chest, and face. He barely managed to pull himself upright when Burnshire exited the tent with a flourish of the tent flaps.

Wordlessly, she waved her hands at the horses and men came to take them away. She pointed at him and Davis helped him fully to his feet, steady hands preventing him from toppling over again. A nod and Okala approached her, whispering in her ear for a moment before standing at the ready by her side.

Finally, when the silence stretched on so long Buchanan was afraid it would snap, she spoke.

"I heard you successfully completed your task," she said. "The mayor is dead?"

Remembering Davis's words from earlier, about Burnshire opting for respect and not fear, Buchanan bit back the harsh words on the tip of his tongue. They would get him nothing but a bullet in the gut. "Yes, ma'am."

"And my gun?"

"Dropped as I was fleeing, ma'am. But it wasn't my fault! I was being shot at and—"

"You were the one holding the gun, yes? You were the one I entrusted with my weapon?"

"Well, yes...but, but I—" Buchanan stuttered out. Burnshire raised her hand, cutting off any explanation he could have provided. He swore Okala was almost smiling at the tumultuous exchange.

"I will be taking your horse as a forfeit. You better not disappoint me again, you have very few possessions left." She turned to Okala. "Get Mr. Thompson set up with a tent. Y'all should have a few hours of sleep before we set off. We leave before sunrise." Without waiting for a response, Burnshire swept back into her tent.