Queen of the Cowboys

Moving with Armies

The next morning, Buchanan woke up to the sound of rustling tarps and clanking tins. A moment later, Okala appeared, entering his tent without his approval.

"Good, you're awake," they said by way of greeting. "We ride in five minutes."

"Wait," Buchanan said as Okala turned to leave, reaching for their arm. With a sneer, they jerked their arm away, and the forward momentum toppled Buchanan into the dirt. Already off to a great start, he thought. Aloud, he said, "What am I supposed to ride? Burnshire commandeered my horse."

Okala took a few deep breaths, hands itching toward the gun at their side. Then, slowly and deliberately, as if Buchanan were a child who asked a dumb question, they said, "You will still ride your horse, the Queen just owns him now and you are riding him at her discretion. You now have four minutes." They left without another word.

Buchanan rushed to deconstruct his tent and tie up his bedroll. Although he was allowed to ride his own horse, Okala failed to mention where he was being kept. He stumbled upon Davis somewhere toward the southern end of the camp who pointed him in the right direction. Buchanan made it to his horse right as the others around him began to ride north. He could just make out the fire whip of Burnshire's hair leading the procession, letting out a whoop that echoed back to him and bounced off the surrounding hills. A quick once-over of the contents of his saddlebags to determine that nothing was missing, and he was off, taking up the rear of the stampede.

Buchanan had traveled alone for months. The quiet solitude of riding was peaceful, it gave him time to think and reminisce and plan for the future. Riding with Burnshire's gang was decidedly not that. The thunderous sound of hundreds, if not thousands, of hooves beating the ground, the power of the horses, the wild, almost intoxicating feeling of the wind ripping through his clothes and hair. It was exhilarating. Buchanan understood the freedom that Davis had talked about the previous night. He felt unstoppable.

He urged his horse on faster, maintaining that feeling but not missing the opportunity to start getting closer to Burnshire. As great as it felt, he had a goal to achieve, and he would not return home empty-handed.

By midday, Burnshire stopped her cowboys at a river to water the horses. It was almost impossible to edge his way through the throng of bodies as they were riding, but now there was a clear path. Buchanan found Burnshire, Okala, and a girl that looked vaguely familiar hunched over a makeshift table.

"Thistleton is a few miles east of here," Burnshire said. "More focused on farming than mining."

"I can take a small group to restock supplies," the girl said. "Food, ropes, kerosene. I last checked our inventory a few days before we got to Lanore Hills, but I'll ask around."

"Thank you, Jess. Buy if you can, steal if you must. Take Davis in the group with you for muscle, you know how his size can be intimidating. If you encounter any resistance, remind them who owns the town. You have an hour before we set off. If you do not make it back in time, rendezvous here." Buchanan could not see which town she was pointing at, just that it was northeast of their current position.

"I'll take a splinter group to scout ahead while they look for supplies," Okala said. "The terrain will be flat and open, but if I remember correctly, there is a forest that we can use for cover for camp tonight."

"Thank you, Okala. You both have your tasks, dismissed."

The others left Burnshire to the map, Okala giving Buchanan a withering look as they passed him. Buchanan cleared his throat.

"Yes, Mr. Thompson? What can I do for you?" she said, not raising her head from the map she was studying. Now that he had a clearer view, he could see it was a map of the wild west, faint lines marking state lines, Indian territories, and areas of Mexican and French influence, all overlaid with a jumble of dark lines and dots which Buchanan could not begin to understand.

"I was hoping to make a better introduction," he said. He had brainstormed various ideas for conversations he could use to get closer to Burnshire. Hopefully, the simplest one would prove to be the best. "I am afraid the first two impressions of me were rather lackluster. So, hello, my name is Buchanan Oliver Thompson. It's a pleasure to meet you."

At that, she looked up, focusing on him with a bemused gaze and shaking his outstretched hand. "Kristine Burnshire. Do you always introduce yourself with your middle name, Mr. Thompson?"

"Please, call me Buchanan. And yes, I do. It was my grandfather's name, and I am proud to bear it."

Buchanan thought he saw the ghost of a smile on her lips, but it was gone the next second. "Well then, if that was all, I should be getting back—"

"Of course, of course. Is there anything I can do to help? I have traveled around a lot, so I have some familiarity with the area."

"I will send someone to fetch you should I require your expertise. Good day, Buchanan." 

Albeit not explicit, Buchanan knew a dismissal when he heard one. He walked his horse to the river with the other men under Burnshire's command. A few minutes later, Okala appeared at his side.

"The Queen asked me to take you on the scouting trip. Apparently, she thinks your expertise," they choked through the word, "will be of use. Meet at the fork in the river in five." They left without waiting for Buchanan's acceptance of the invitation.

Five minutes later, Buchanan found himself riding northeast with Okala and three other cowboys, the sun high above beating down on them. Never one for silence, Buchanan thought to use this time to learn more about Okala. Someone with their knowledge of the land and skill with weapons shouldn't need someone like Burnshire to get what they want.

"So, Okala," he started. Okala glanced at him in acknowledgment before shifting their eyes away. He'll take it. "I've been meaning to ask, and if you would please pardon the confusion, are you a man or a woman?" He chuckled through the awkward question. Without sparing him a second look, Okala said, "No."

"No, you aren't a man? Or no you aren't a woman?"

Okala sighed. Buchanan noted that they did that a lot when they talked to him. "I am neither. I fulfill a different role in my tribe than those performed by the men and by the women."

"Apologies, but I don't understand." Buchanan was not dull, but what Okala explained made no sense. There were men and there were women, everyone in the world fit into one of those categories.

"You would not. Europeans only think in dichotomies. Black-and-white thinking that limits your worldview. And the white man has forced those worldviews on my people and culture under the guise of 'saving us.'" Okala scoffed, a harsh sound that cut off the rising volume of their voice. "The only saving we need is from your Christian God. That you may not understand either."

Okala fell silent, staring ahead with their mouth in a tight line. Buchanan knew better than to attempt to resurrect the conversation, so he fell into the uncomfortable silence as well, squinting forward through the sunlight and listening to the rush of wind in his ears. Belatedly, he realized that none of the others had tried to converse with Okala. They knew it was better to not play with fire.