Ride with the Furies

“Wanna buy a saddle?” Marty asked,openin’ the tack room door.
There she was, draped on’na sawhorse, big, rich, brown-tooled leather, inset with lot’sa silver.
“Naw, I don’t ride western.”
He shook his head, “Ya gotta’ try… She’d be perfect for your big ole Clydesdale.”
“How much?”
“$300, and you saddle up”
“Lem’me give it a go, and then decide.”

It was long dark by the time I rode out the barn, but there was plenty o’ moonlight. The saddle felt right comfortable, just needed to adjust my style a tad…this horse and me have gone a lotta of rounds together an’ it don’t take much to know each other’s mind. By the time we was half-way down the road I had her doin’ a nice rollin’ canter-I kid you not, you could balance a mug o’suds on her croup and never spill a drop. We was one harmonious body flying through the night. And, fly we did I swear on my Daddy’s grave.

There ain’t much ground in these parts I haven’t covered , but the scene slippin’ by was plain unfamiliar. The range seemed regular ‘nough, but those grazing beasts were straight out’ta a drinkin man’s delirium .Fer one thing they all seemed of the female persuasion, judgin’ from those dangles on their fronts. First I’m thinkin’ lamas judgin’ by their general shape, ’till one turned around and showed herself to be a kind’a female centaur.
Now I’m right known by most as a fair judge of women and horse flesh, and I can tell you these err… ‘gals’ had some of the finest lines of both.
So I is flyin’ along at a pretty fair clip, when four of them all of a sudden broke loose from the pack and come ridin head-on towards us. I reined in a little figuring I’d give them a polite acknowledgement, but they just came a-thunderin, seeming hell-bent on riding us right off the trail. Right at the last second they skidded their hindquarters to a grinding stop, raising such a cloud o’dust I dang near hacked my fool head off. When I come to my senses, there I was staring eyeball to eyeball with all four of them lined up facing me no more’en a foot away.

“Cowboy, we dunno where you come from”, announced the one appearin’ to be the leader, “but this here is woman’s space, and seems to us you got yourself two choices. One being to turn your sorry self around and ride back where you come from. The other being to take our neighborly semi-transformational tour, dependin’ if your up to it, and then skedaddle outta here.” Well this set me to thinkin… there’s one thing for sure I would have one hell of a story to tell back home if I took’em up on their invitation…
Seems they right read my mind as the tall one on the end spoke up again, “Sees as we might be spendin a little time together some introductions otta’ be made.” I started to open my mouth, but they all put up their hooves indicatin’ me to stay quiet. ‘Parently, talking ain’t appart of male privileges here abouts.

“This here”, pointing to the black horse-gal to her immediate left, “is ‘Plenty’, back there ya might have heard o’ her evil twin ‘Famine’.
and right next to her, this fine red horse-gal, we call ‘Peace’, she being the entire opposite of the sucker your people call ‘War’.”
“There on the end is ‘Life’, our pale-horse counterpart of your villain ‘Death’. That leaves me”, she gestured towards her white-horse self, ” ‘The Conquerer from Within’.”
Right about then the hairs on the back of my neck stood right up at attention…realizing I am about to be ambushed by the Four Horsewomen of the Hypocryphal. Now, for the most parts, I’m as brave as the next cowpoke, but my momma, she taught me well….
“You’ll always be out drawn son, when wimmin hold all a the cards.”
So I turned tail and rode faster than I could, not sparin the whip or lookin’ behind.

“Wanna buy the saddle?” Marty asked, still standing inside the tack room door.
“Naw, forgit it man…I doan ride western.”