THE O-BITCH-UARY

THE O-BITCH-UARY

THE TALE OF THE FALLEN COWBOY WHO COULDN’T OUTRUN OR OUTGUN HIS PAST

By Caroline Smith

At high-noon on December fifteenth, famed cowboy and bandit Andres Leon was shot and killed during a stand-off in the town square. Andres had the average upbringing, here in the west. He was found as a boy in a ditch among tumbleweeds, not knowing where he was or how he got there. Only that he was Andres Leon.

The miners that found him sent him to go work in the gold mines. They told him, “It’ll be fun. You’ll get to explore the mines and do honorable work. The life of a miner is sought after and heroic. Go, go little boy, explore the mines and become the miner you were always meant to be!”

And so Andres was plopped into the gold mines. He would go into the smallest crawlspaces to look for gold. He would hunker down with a biscuit for lunch in the dark, damp corners of the mines. The boss of the mine, the 49er himself, the Prospector, wouldn’t let him out until he came back with gold. He would go days without seeing the sun, sleeping in a pile of rock dust and shavings. His only friend was the canary in the mine that kept whispering to him, telling him to run and escape while he still could.

He grew into a man in those mines, but still treated like the boy he once was. On one occasion, he stum bled upon some bones, much bigger than any rat or animal that could be in the mine. They were wet and splintered between stalagmites and he asked his boss, “Why, Mr. Prospector, why are these here bones so big? What are they doing here?”

And the prospector said with a chuckle, “Don’t you go ‘n worry about that.”

“But this one looks like it’s got one of our here mining picks in its bony hand. In fact, it’s got little over alls on over here. And little boots too,” Andres said, fearful at the area he further explored.

“Now see here, intern! You better hush up and do your job, or it’s back to the ditch with you! And you’ll become like little Timmy there,” and the Prospector went off with a huff.

Now, Andres had a decision to make. He couldn’t stay working for the old Prospector, not with these here working conditions. But he couldn’t go to the other miners for help either, they listened to whatever the Prospector told them, blind to the issues in front of them. They loved being miners.

Andres had decided to leave, knowing that he would be out of a job and forever be on the run from the miners and the Prospector. He made his escape from the mine and ran off into the darkness of the desert.

He knew of a town off in the East, but when the sun in the morning rose behind him, he knew he was lost. Without noticing it, a lone rider came up behind him. He wore all black and was cool as hell.

“What’re you doin’ out here, brother?” he asked. “I’ve run from the mines,” said Andres.

“Can ya ride a horse?” and Andres nodded, but he was lying. Regardless, the mysterious cowboy called for a horse and they rode off.

They had many adventures: wrangling cattle herds, protecting towns from bandits and picking up a posse of their own along the way. Andres’ posse was made up of westerners, artists, video producers, creative writing majors, Yuba city-ers, other ex-miners on the run from the Prospector and other people on the DSM-5.

There were many a time when Andres and his posse would have to escape the Prospector and his miner gang, who were relentless in trying to take ‘em down. The posse always got away, but the Prospector was not going to go away so easily.

That brings us to the final time that Andres and his posse stood off against the Prospector. They had been resting for some time at their ranch in Union City, spending their days in the saloon when they heard talk of big fancy carriages riding into town. Andres went to check it out; he met some big businessmen that demanded that their ranch and the rest of the town would be plowed over to make room for a new gold mine.

Before he could start arguing, Andres turned to see a gang gather behind him. It was the miners, blindly following the Prospector.

“I finally got you,” the Prospector said. “You got nowhere to run.”

Andres was surrounded, yet he still reached for his gun at his belt. But before he could fire, shots rang out on all sides of the circle around Andres, and business men and miners fell among the crowd.

Jumping out from windows and behind barrels, Andres’ posse came out to support him. Though outnumbered, their skill was unmatched and the posse drove through their enemy with ease. Andres was ready to join the fight, until he was shot in the back. As he turned around, he saw the Prospector, holding the gun, being taken down by Andres’ dearest friend, the cool and mysterious cowboy.

As Andres fell, the cowboy caught him. “Well shit,” Andres said, “I guess that’s the end of all this, then.” He looked over to Big Tex, also known as Jensen Puckett as she kicked some miner in the stomach. He called her over.

“Jensen,” Andres said, coughing up blood. “You’re the wildest cowgirl in the west, that’s for sure, but you got bones of steel and you must lead the posse from now on. Can you do that?”

“Shoot, does a rooster cock-a-doodle-doo each mornin’?” Jensen said in her Texan way.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” and Andres died just like that, staring up at the western sun.

He was given a proper funeral by his posse, chucked off the tallest cliff they could find, and was remembered as he lived, “One hell of a cowboy.”

On his gravestone, Andres is quoted, saying, “Nobody quite understands what it’s like to be the fool, but the fool understands what it’s like to be nobody.”