Blue Sue

Strong Women of the West

I’d wanted to be a cowboy since I was about 8, but it wasn’t until after the war that I got my chance.  Everything and anything was expanding and there were plenty of jobs out west.  Fresh from a tour in the South Pacific, I made my way to the Texas Pan Handle and hired on running herds from meager pasture to meager pasture.  Of course, it wasn’t anything like the movies.  The work was harder even than soldiering. About the only resemblance it had to my dreams was I got to wear a big hat and a bandanna. We’d ride horses sometimes, but only on long runs in the back country. 

            The one bright spot was the cook who’d come along with us on those back country runs.  He was older than dirt, but still pretty spry.  Part nursemaid, part doctor and part chef, he’d been keeping cow hands fed and alive for about twice as long as I’d been alive.

            On quiet nights, when the cows dozed, dotting the landscape in black specks strewn across waves of moonlit waving grass, Cookie would always have a story to tell.  I’d listen, imagining a time when the fantasies of my youth were real.  One story in particular was my favorite �" the one about Blue Sue.

            “Blue Sue, they called her, on account of she didn’t stop wailing for 3 months after they shot her Pappy.”  Cookie would lean back against a rock and take a swig of whiskey out of an old enameled cup as he told the story yet again.  “She cried and cried, but when she was done, they say you never, ever saw her cry again.  No-one ever saw her smile, for that matter.  She cried out all her feelings, good and bad.

            “After that, she had one reason to stay alive �" to find and kill the men who shot her Pappy.  She didn’t care about the rumor that he’d deserved it for cheating at cards.  She was determined.  She practiced shooting with the rifle he’d left her, and picked up a pistol too.  She’d been a good shot before that �" most kids had to learn early �" but with a taste for revenge, she became a great one. 

            “The killers hadn’t wasted any time getting out of town. They were drifters, and smart enough to know there’d be no quarter for a couple of guys who shot a local farmer in a drunk bar fight. By the time Blue Sue had put away her mourning gown, they already had a 3 month head start.  Blue Sue put on her Pappy’s old wool poncho, his denim jeans, and his wide brimmed hat, then saddled up their old nag and rode on out of town.

            “It took her over a year to track them down outside of Cheyenne. The townsfolk had seen them come through, and there was talk they held the Widower Jensen hostage on his own homestead. Sue made haste on the dusty road leading west out of town

            “She found her vantage point on a bluff about 50 feet above the homestead and made camp.  She’d been patient for the past year and she could be patient again. For two days she waited for any sign of movement from the house.  The front door was clearly visible from between the cover of two granite boulders, and within shooting range of Pappy’s rifle. She could hear the neighing of a couple of horses off to the side of the house, but no sign of the men who’d killed her father. 

            “On the third morning, she sat again behind her boulder, rifle at the ready.  She’d kept her post since dawn, and when she heard men’s voices, she almost didn’t believe it.  She raised the rifle and sighted toward the front door, waiting for someone to emerge.  When he did, she took in his red hair and beard, piercing blue eyes, and knew it was the elder of the two brothers who’d taken her father. 

            “She took aim, and slowly squeezed the trigger.  She had one chance to get him, then one bullet left for his brother before she’d have to reload. The crack of the rifle caused the horses to whiney, shaking their harnesses.  She watched, satisfied, as a red stain covered the man’s shirt.  He looked down in disbelief before crumpling to the wood planks of the porch.

            “As expected, the noise of the rifle brought the younger brother to the door.  He wasn’t as striking �" mousy brown hair, plain face and plainer physique.  She was ready �" her strong arms held that rifle steady, like she’d practiced every day for the past year.

“No-one’s sure why her aim failed her in that moment.  She was a crack shot, and there was no reason for her to miss from a perfect vantage point.  Maybe it was nerves, or maybe elation �" she’d just got the first brother, after all.  At any rate, her shot went left, and barely grazed his shoulder.  He took a quick look at his brother, realized there wasn’t much to be done, and disappeared back into the cabin. Blue Sue reloaded as fast as she could, but he never came back in range �" she could hear the hoof beats speeding away on the other side of the cabin.

“Well, I’m sure you can imagine Sue’s anger after that.  Something made her want to check on the widower, though, him being old and alone in the world.  She pulled herself together and headed down the bluff to the cabin.  She checked �" only one horse left tied up, so not likely anyone left around except the widower.  She stepped over the red headed dead man, and went inside the cabin.  The one room was sparsely furnished, and there didn’t seem to be much of anywhere left to hide �" where was the Widower Jensen?  She didn’t figure an old man could have escaped the brothers.

            “Sue called out. ‘Hello? Is anybody here?  The brothers are gone. It’s safe to come out.’  She waited a moment, then heard a low creak from under the wooden table.  A trapdoor she hadn’t notice opened, and a figure emerged from the dimness.

            “He stood and dusted himself off. He must have been over six feet tall, and about the best built specimen of manhood Blue Sue had ever laid eyes on, with a flash of dark wavy hair, soft brown eyes, and muscled forearms.  He thanked her, breathing a little heavily from the climb, and presumably, the excitement of it all.

            “Well, as you might have suspected, the old widower Jensen wasn’t old at all.  His wife and baby had died in childbirth 2 years before, and none of the town girls had snatched him up yet.  The story goes that it was love at first sight for both of them, although it was Sue that made the first move.  She walked up to him and planted one right on his lips.  Must o’ been the heat of battle or something made her fiery hot.” Cookie raised an eyebrow and winked.

            “But there’s some say that’s not how it happened at all, and I for one agree.  I don’t think a woman who burned as hot for revenge as Blue Sue coulda let the younger brother get away.  For some time after that, there was a string of shootings from Boseman to Santa Fe.  The victims all had something in common. They all had non-descript brown hair, average builds �" average looking in every way.  There’s some that say Sue went crazy after that and spent the rest of her days tracking down the other brother.  But since he weren’t nothing to look at, she never felt quite sure she’d gotten the right man.”

            After this, Cookie would always set his cup of whiskey down beside him and looked off into the distance so meaningfully I’d have to work hard to keep from smiling.  I guess maybe I wouldn’t have been cut out for the old west after all, because I liked the romantic version better. Or maybe I’m just tired of herding cattle already.  I’m just hanging out here waiting for my own Blue Sue to plant one right on my lips.

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