Bill & Sue Ride Again

“Dang it, Sue! I've asked ya' a thousand times not to call me when I'm workin',” Bill yelled in the general direction of his cell phone. Widow Maker snorted his dissatisfaction and galloped steadily ahead.

Sue was having none of it. “Don't start with me, ya' bowlegged, mangy old cuss! Workin'? Is that what ya' call galavantin' across the country on that fleabag, lookin' fer new ways to get in trouble?”

The insult, of course, brought another snort from the flared nostrils of Bill's legendary horse. Obviously, bouncing around on her bustle after he'd thrown her all those years ago hadn't earned him the respect he was due!

“Ya' think I don't know what yer up to, headin' towards the Gulf? Even if ya' manage to find another twister, you ain't got the eyesight ta lasso it. And ya' shore ain't gonna ride it out over the water, then halfway across the country to put out them fires in Californy!”

Bill opened his mouth to retort, but his wife wasn't done yet.

“Now, let's say ya' git lucky and actually git there. Yer gonna' cause even more panic with yer tornado, and even after it's all said and done, nobody in their right mind is gonna' admit they saw an old cowboy steerin' it. Only thing that's gonna' do is git 'em a pat down to find whatever they been swallerin' or smokin'.”

Bill's first reaction was to wonder, again, how in the heck she always knew where he was. He still hadn't located the GPS tracker she'd hidden on the back side of the star he wore, pinned to the crown of his dilapidated old hat. Cowboys had no use for fancy gadgets. She'd had to threaten to make him cook and clean for himself, to get him to carry the phone she bought him.

His next reaction was to realize that she might also, somehow, be aware that he'd rode by the drive-up ATM to withdraw about half their life savings to finance his plans to join in the rescue effort. The dozens of smart phone cameras pointed his way when he rode into the bank parking lot should have been a clue. Bill wasn't up to speed on social media and didn't care much for watching the “idjit box”, so he had no idea that he'd gone viral and made the news on all the major networks.

Reading his mind as she always did, Sluefoot Sue couldn't completely hold back the sarcastic tone, saying, “Ya' looked a little outa' place there at the bank, Pecos.”

“Tarnation, woman! Whattaya' got, spies there, too? A man ain't got not one shred a privacy these days! An' all I'm tryna' do is help folks in need! Where's the harm in that?”

Despite the need to bring her husband to his senses, Sue couldn't argue with his logic. Worse, she'd fallen for him because of his kind heart and brave stature in the first place. And now, here she was, belittling him for the qualities she loved the most.

If that wasn't enough, his plan oozed serendipity. The Gulf of Mexico wouldn't exist at all, if not for his heroism in bringing the waters from the Rio Grande and the storm clouds to Texas. He had saved the hard-working souls of the Lone Star State then, and now, elsewhere, others needed saving. In his eyes, he was the one that needed to step up, along with his equally brave and dedicated steed.

Bill, wondering about his wife's silence, had slowed Widow Maker to a walk, then stopped beside a small stream and dismounted to allow his horse a moment's rest and refreshment. He and Sue rarely said a cross word to one another and he needed to collect his thoughts. Among them were no thoughts of fame or glory. He hadn't set out to become a legend. It had simply been thrust on him by fate when a need arose that he could fill.

Wouldn't any cowboy have done what he did? Then again, times were different. People were different.

For Bill, one of the hardest things about being a legend was having such a long life span. As long as the stories are told, legends live. And legends don't change. They are who they are, instinctively and permanently, regardless of the situation. People, however, change and they change their world. Sometimes, the changes were for the better. Sometimes, not.

“Bill?” Sue's voice came softly over the still-connected phone. Neither of them had wanted to sever the connection, though the conversation had stalled.

“I'm here, honey. Just been thinkin'. I guess maybe I was kinda' goin' off half-cocked out here.”

“No, no, you're right! Yer not doin' any harm. Yer doing what ya' were meant to do, and I love ya' fer it. The thing is, though, honey, Californy's already got help. Lots and lots of help, from folks all over the place. And the fires are almost all under control. They're gonna' be okay.”

“So, people don't need us anymore?”

“Oh, they need us, hon. We're their inspiration. They write stories about us, and read 'em to their kids. People get better at bein' people by learnin' about what we did. Those folks helpin' in Californy? They learned how from readin' about us. 'Morals', they call it.”

Sue had always had a way of making the world make more sense to Bill. He sat there by the stream for a minute, letting her words soak in. Widow Maker's gentle nudge on his shoulder brought him back to reality.

“So, what now?” he asked.

“Well,” came the answer from his wife, who'd been patiently waiting, again, “I got a nice pot a stew on the stove. Why don't you and Widow Maker come on home? Ya' can rub him down and give him some oats. We can have a nice dinner, and then maybe ride out and watch the sunset.”

Bill thought that sounded like a good plan. “Yer on!” he said, and started to bring up the navigator app on his phone. A quiet snicker from his horse, who was already facing homeward, caught his attention.

“Yer right, as usual, my friend!” Swinging up into the saddle, he chuckled and said, “Let's go home.”

***

The legend of Pecos Bill and Sluefoot Sue might be a little too obscure for some readers to recognize. If you haven't heard of these two, Google them. You'll find some pretty entertaining stories!