Gray Sage
Beware the JubJub Bird
The Wild West: where traitors die, and cattle roam.
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Realistic or Modern Western
Gray Sage
Beware the JubJub Bird
Maria flipped her wet hair up so it slapped against her back. Her breath puffing in the chilly morning air, the freshness of the little stream gave her new life after traveling in the desert for so long. She wiped her face again, rubbing her eyes and letting the cold water drift down her neck, taking the dust of her travels with it.
Frida neighed beside her, as if rolling her eyes at Maria’s dramatic washing habits.
“Oh shut up.” Maria splashed some water at the horse. “We should make it to the city today, and we have to make a good impression. It would be really nice to have his help on this one.” She finished more to herself. She wondered what she would do if he said no. She couldn’t afford to lose a case. Not with the way her last few cases had gone. Maybe she was losing her touch?
She threw her bandana down into the water to wash it, the running water paining her joints as she scrubbed the fabric. Despite the cool morning, she wanted to bathe and wash her clothes before she got into town where it would cost something to get clean. She was running low on funds, maybe another month of traveling left in her pocket, and with her losing streak she didn’t want to risk gambling. Of course… she did know how to pickpocket…
She slapped the handkerchief in the water again at the thought. She didn’t like that she entertained thoughts like that, but she wasn’t about to be desperate. She shivered after awhile, hanging her wet clothes on the branch of a barren looking tree, hoping the breeze would dry them before noon. She reached into her pack, grabbing a small comb and a bruised apple for breakfast. She combed through her wet tangled mop of hair pulling it into two long braids, draped over her shoulders. Whenever she wore her hair like this she felt it brought out the Indian in her features.
Maria munched on her apple while Frida sought out whatever grass she could find, as the landscape was slowly morphing from desert to greener terrain. She anxiously pondered the results of this meeting. How he would receive her, given their last encounter? She shifted uncomfortably in the dirt. Still, from what she could remember, he was never one to decline a challenge, or a handsome reward. Though, she would likely have to pledge her left hand to him that she wouldn’t steal part of his cut this time.
The morning dragged on and the sun grew warmer. By her account, they would reach the city by the evening. Her efforts to clean would probably have a coat of dust on them by then, but it wasn’t a week’s worth at least. Her trousers, tunic, socks, bandana, and undergarments were dried, and she pulled out her chewstick and pine needles to clean her teeth, a habit strictly observed by her tribe that she had never forgotten. She even took the time to clean her rifle and percussion revolver. She refilled her canteens with water from the brook and laced Frida with her pack and supplies. Finally, topping her head with her hat, strapping her rifle to her back and revolver at her hip, she turned to Frida.
“Are you ready for this?” She asked. The horse stayed silent, looking at Maria with her shiny black eyes. “Yeah, me either.” Maria mounted the mare and gently kicked her spurs to set her on course. They took off in a spry gallop, running south, straight for the snow capped mountains that surrounded Salt Lake City.
Frida neighed beside her, as if rolling her eyes at Maria’s dramatic washing habits.
“Oh shut up.” Maria splashed some water at the horse. “We should make it to the city today, and we have to make a good impression. It would be really nice to have his help on this one.” She finished more to herself. She wondered what she would do if he said no. She couldn’t afford to lose a case. Not with the way her last few cases had gone. Maybe she was losing her touch?
She threw her bandana down into the water to wash it, the running water paining her joints as she scrubbed the fabric. Despite the cool morning, she wanted to bathe and wash her clothes before she got into town where it would cost something to get clean. She was running low on funds, maybe another month of traveling left in her pocket, and with her losing streak she didn’t want to risk gambling. Of course… she did know how to pickpocket…
She slapped the handkerchief in the water again at the thought. She didn’t like that she entertained thoughts like that, but she wasn’t about to be desperate. She shivered after awhile, hanging her wet clothes on the branch of a barren looking tree, hoping the breeze would dry them before noon. She reached into her pack, grabbing a small comb and a bruised apple for breakfast. She combed through her wet tangled mop of hair pulling it into two long braids, draped over her shoulders. Whenever she wore her hair like this she felt it brought out the Indian in her features.
Maria munched on her apple while Frida sought out whatever grass she could find, as the landscape was slowly morphing from desert to greener terrain. She anxiously pondered the results of this meeting. How he would receive her, given their last encounter? She shifted uncomfortably in the dirt. Still, from what she could remember, he was never one to decline a challenge, or a handsome reward. Though, she would likely have to pledge her left hand to him that she wouldn’t steal part of his cut this time.
The morning dragged on and the sun grew warmer. By her account, they would reach the city by the evening. Her efforts to clean would probably have a coat of dust on them by then, but it wasn’t a week’s worth at least. Her trousers, tunic, socks, bandana, and undergarments were dried, and she pulled out her chewstick and pine needles to clean her teeth, a habit strictly observed by her tribe that she had never forgotten. She even took the time to clean her rifle and percussion revolver. She refilled her canteens with water from the brook and laced Frida with her pack and supplies. Finally, topping her head with her hat, strapping her rifle to her back and revolver at her hip, she turned to Frida.
“Are you ready for this?” She asked. The horse stayed silent, looking at Maria with her shiny black eyes. “Yeah, me either.” Maria mounted the mare and gently kicked her spurs to set her on course. They took off in a spry gallop, running south, straight for the snow capped mountains that surrounded Salt Lake City.
