Sandy Mary

The ball of fire stretches its many hairy arms behind the canyons ahead of the camp. Young lady Sandy is stretching her ghostly legs, the muscles of her face, yawning, dusting off the sand from her dark hair before she can tuck it back into her hat for the day. Old lady Mary is still asleep, lightly asleep like a good mare, using her stay apparatus to rest one of her back legs while the others endure. Sandy checks her boots for any possible creatures inside and, confirming it is safe, puts both feet in. She takes a noisy gulp from the Alabama stoneware ring-bottle, stolen from her family – as was the mare. Mary jumps at the sound, and so the ladies set out for breakfast.

East they walk, toward the canyons, across the Joshuas, talking the two of them. What do they talk about? They talk of the rodent holes, of the bait; the worms; they talk of the falcons circling above. They talk of how their boots are starting to wear off, and how it's about time some repair work is done on them. But yours are of better quality, Sandy says, you should be fine for quite a while still. Mary nickers, and Sandy says, Alright, we'll give them a polish anyway.

The ladies spend some time swinging worms on sticks over holes, but they have no luck this morning. The Kangaroo Rats are being all witty this morning, Sandy complains. The Antelope Squirrel is being too wise this morning, Mary whines.

East they continue walking, hoping they'll be more lucky on the way.

Suddenly Mary snorts and staggers. What have you found, my lady?

You've found a rattlesnake. That'll do.

And as she said it Sandy remembered the day, in her childhood, when she was playing wilderness survival with her brothers in the garden and one of them found a venomous green rattlesnake. That'll do, she said and went ahead, wanting to try the snake killing technique she'd read in a desert survival guide. But her mother, who was resting in the shade, overheard and ran quickly to stop her, and called the groundskeeper to get rid of it. Henceforth she was forbidden those violent role plays, which were not suited for her, her father agreed, and Why don't you write down these wild adventures instead, this way you won't risk hurting yourself. They gave her a little black notebook on which to write, but she protested, refused it, I don't want to invent no stories, I want to live them.

On that day she decided she would leave to the wilderness as soon as she became an adult. She didn't want no shelter, no chairs and tables, no cutlery, no groundskeeper, no private grounds even.

So when the time came she went, taking the mare and the ancient ring bottle with her against everyone's say, to live with no roof but the stars, no fence but the dry bushes, and nobody but Mary.

And, going, she was thinking the same thing she thought when she was forbidden those role plays. It's not violence, she thought, it's quite the opposite. My brothers tainted it, she thought, with their imaginary guns and bounties for criminals and the swearing and all. I am not cut of that cloth – I want nothing but the crudeness of the wild. She didn't take no knives with her. She'd spent years studying how to be an expert survivor, and a ghost of a human, a shadow in the wilderness.

Sandy wore heavy leathers to hide her feminine features, and her hair tucked into the hat, and spoke ghostly whenever she happened to encounter anyone. She didn't want to be him or her – not to mention the disadvantages she'd have as a she – this or that, only maybe it; a creature like the rest.

Now Sandy walks round the snake, letting the mare distract it. She laughs at the animals' four petrified eyes, and coming slowly from behind their new colleague she grabs its head in one precise move.

Beautiful one,

For your death my words!

And hits it with a rock.

But let us not stop just yet, Mary, I too am hungry, Mary, but it's almost noon and we shall reach that canyon before it's dark. If we're quick enough we'll cook our muscly pal here before it starts stinking.

So they went, fire ball above their heads, galloping the rocky terrain without a word or squeal for many an hour, as the landscape slowly began to change; become progressively less yellow and green, gradually more orange and red.

Then the same started happening to the colors of the sky, and that's when they reached the base of the first big rock and proceeded to climb it.

Atop the plainest of the plateaus, where no mountain lion could hide and surprise them, ladies Sandy and Mary stopped to set camp while the ball of fire dispersed into a vast straight line laying over the entire Earth like a giant bedsheet as far as their eyes could see.

And then the bedsheet was swallowed by the Earth, incorporated by it. And another bedsheet then rose, a yellowish white one, a more refreshing one, cooling their skins as Sandy gathered stones to encircle the dry sticks and wood which Mary carried on her sides for their fire pit.

Ghost lady Sandy was working on the ember, panting with hunger, as was her resting mare.

The rattlesnake didn't stink yet.

Just as Sandy sparkles the first little hands of fire, she hears, meddled with the sounds of burning dry rattleweed, Mary squealing so high it makes her jump. And as she turns her head there is a loud sound like a crack, and then something like a big heavy object falling on the ground. The light from the fire slowly illuminates the place where Mary is standing. When she then sees the mare she is surprised to see also a human body laying next to her lady equine.

The crack on that man's head had clearly been made by Mary's boots – Mary who, startled by the man's clear attempt to steal her, had a very quick response straight from her light standing-up sleep.

Well, I'm glad you've done it, Mary, Sandy remarks, noticing the pistol on the man's belt, because it would've been difficult for me to compete with this tool here. You see, on a man's hollow head a small stone will hardly do, Mary.

But why, now, was this man trying to steal my mare, this I'll have to find out.

Investigating all the pockets in the man's clothes, looking for documents or anything, she finds a little black notebook, which, when the brings it closer to the fire pit to examine, she discovers to be exactly like the one she'd once refused as a gift from her parents. Hmph, that is odd, isn't it Mary.

And bringing the book even closer to the fire she opens it to find out its contents; its one content: tucked in between the black leather cover and the first, hard page, there's a piece of paper ripped from a newspaper, and in it a photograph of a man's face, and below it many numbers; $20,000: a bounty it is. Mary, is this a cowboy you've just killed, God forbid! The mare skirts round the body with a whinny.

And returning to look at the dead cowboy's face, Sandy recognizes in it the man in the photo.

Oh, sandy Mary.

Mary, you're a rich mare!

We're rich, Mary!

Sandy Mary Mare!

That night the two ladies ate the cooked rattlesnake under a dazzling sky, saw comets and slept with their stomachs full and their minds empty like the desert – not empty, really.

In the morning they began their way back down, in the direction of the nearest town where they could hand in their accidental bounty.

The dead man had to be sat in front of Sandy, on Mary's back. It was not a very pleasant ride.

Arriving in a remote town at dusk, the three were watched with horror. This is the 21st century, Mary, you see. This ain't a common view round here no more. Only they don't know we're no cowboy on a horse, but a lady on a mare, and this bounty was caught crude, with boots. Your boots!

They had to stop and ask a benumbed old woman for the town hall, who gave them the directions as though she was speaking to a ghost.

And so they went inside the town hall. Mary had to wait outside.

Sandy walked out with the heavy wad of cash in her hands, looked at Mary and said, Well, what do you think? I have no idea! We shall have a think – we'll have to spend the night here, Mary.

They were told of an inn just around the corner, upstairs of a bar where they could celebrate, said the man who handed Sandy her prize. I know, Mary, don't look at me like I'm stupid. They won't allow you in there. It's no good for us. Let us see if we can find some barn where to sleep in.

So they were put in someone's barn, were given some food and pillows. That night the mare was relaxed enough to lay down on the hay to sleep. And they slept soundly.

In the morning they were given more food and also a newspaper. They sat comfortably in the barn, enjoying the yellow hairy arms of fire coming through the wooden roof and petting their heads, thinking about what to to next. Sandy never liked newspapers, but because she was in a light mood she decided to have look through it. Soon she came across the real estate ads.

Sandy Mary, how expensive houses are, she said. This is abominable!

Then she saw an ad for a ten acre piece of land for sale at the cost of half of their new fortune, and she thought, That'll do. She ripped the ad from the newspapers, tucked it into the bounty's little black notebook and went with Mary to ask for someone's phone to make a call.

The two ladies entered the bar upstairs of which was the inn and went straight to the balcony. Men and women watched them still as if they watched ghosts. May I use your phone, sir? said Sandy.

And she called the number on the ad.

They're saying we need a bank account, Mary, and proof of some fixed income and other things which I cannot comprehend, Mary. We are doomed in this world, Mary. We better return to the desert, Mary, and bury this money in a Cactus Deermouse's hole.

The bartender, who was overhearing it, a young man of gentle features and a kind voice, interfered. My lady, I might be able to help you with that. Might you? said Sandy, hopeless. Yes, he said, and made a call, and then more calls, while Sandy and Mary sat looking at each other dumbly.

It's sorted, said the sympathetic young man. If you just come with me, we have here in the corner a money trade agency, and you'll be able to transfer the amount straight to the land seller.

So they followed him, trusting for they had a good feeling of people's characters but not unprepared for any overturn – have your boots ready for anything, Mary.

And they talked to agents, and had all the information confirmed with the seller through the same number on the ad, and that was done. The grounds were done.

Now it was walls, roofs, and chairs and tables, and even cutlery – she noted it down on the bounty book.