A Fistful of Oboloi

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A Fistful of Oboloi

by Erin Halfelven

Trail boss Ulysses “Lee” MacDonough surveyed the herd from the little rise where he could see all of the narrow green valley. Most of the cattle were spread among the shade of the red oaks along the Little Burnie River, taking a break from the heat in the middle of the day. His drovers rested too, some of them standing stiff-legged, their heads braced against trees, taking a nap standing up.

Let them, he thought. The outfit had been on the trail seven days with ninety or more to go before they reached Sedalia. Out of the herd of 2200 longhorns they’d left Fort Worth with, they had lost only two, by his most recent count. There was always some fool steer that did something to get itself killed, and at least, they could eat the beef themselves.

Lee glanced toward where Charlie Fugate, the trail cook, had set up his chuckwagon under a particularly tall and wide coffeeberry tree and now leaned against it, poking his corncob pipe with the pricey Kentucky leaf he favored. The older fella nodded toward Lee, looking satisfied. A whiff of something tasty drifted on the breeze. Charlie was making coffee, bacon and beans for lunch, same as he did most days.

The outfit’s ramrod, Phyllis Denmark, came toward him but she was smiling under her big Mexican-style hat, so it wasn’t to report some problem among the animals or the girls. He watched her with some appreciation, her blonde mane contrasting nicely with her golden chestnut flanks. He had even more appreciation for the globes on her chest that jiggled enticingly as she trotted up.

“I’m hearing things out in the scrub, boss,” she said, still smiling.

He grunted. They’d been expecting this. “Blue Duck and his crew?” he asked.

She nodded, turning a bit to look back the way she had come and to give him the benefit of her awesome profile. “I figure they’ll come out of the draws they’re hiding in about the time Charlie serves up the noon coffee and beans.”

He grunted again, smiling. Blue Duck was known for showing up at meal times to negotiate passage of herds through his tribe’s lands. He’d probably want an obol per head, or the equivalent. Not that anyone on the Frontier had much in the way of real coin, brass or silver. Lee had already made his plans for what to offer and what sort of counteroffer to expect Duck to make and what the final upshot was likely to be.

He stamped his hooves, pleased to be getting the deal making over this soon. It would cost a few head, four to ten he judged, and a flitch or two of bacon or a bag of coffee beans maybe. Different from when the Duck was a young colt and had a herd of bachelor troublemakers behind him. Now that he was chief he had mares and foals to feed and collecting his tolls in blood and excitement was not as appealing.

“Go wake up the rest of the fillies, be sure they’re ready,” he told Phyllis. “Charlie will be ringing the dinner bell when he finishes his pipe. That will bring Blue Duck and his people too. But he’s a civilized centaur these days, he’ll just want to eat and tell stories for an hour or two before we make a deal.”

“Right, boss,” she agreed. She trotted off, her blonde tail swinging across her lovely round golden haunches. Lee whistled, low and suggestively, letting her know that he knew she knew he was watching. Being the stallion on a cattle drive had some perks that came with the job, he reflected.

* * *

Blue Duck hadn’t changed much over the years. A tall centaur for one of what the whites called “pony tribes,” he stood eye to eye with Lee and with a similar bulk of muscle. His mane and tail were black as night and his coat was steely gray with black stripes over his shoulder, down the middle of his back, and crosswise on his lower legs. A blue dun or grullo as the Mexicans called that color pattern, he was an extraordinarily handsome fella and he knew it.

Lee himself was a blood bay, his mane and tail black like Duck’s along with his lower legs, but his coat was as red as any sorrel and he had blue eyes, not uncommon among the people known as Black Irish.

They were both watching as the girls Duck had brought with him, some of his daughters, played polo with some of the drovers. Five-on-five, the girls were enjoying themselves greatly. A lively game with a lot of leaping, running, shouting and squealing and it interested both of the stallions, in a word, hugely. Even a casual observer could tell that.

“Two of mine for one of yours,” The Duck suddenly offered.

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Comments

Hmm...

Daphne Xu's picture

Centaurs and ancient Greek currency driving Texas Longhorns in Texas?

-- Daphne Xu

-- Try saying freefloating three times rapidly.

Ulysses and Co.

erin's picture

This was part of a dream I had that was a retelling of the Odyssey with centaurs in the Old West. It made more sense than the whole dream and seemed self-contained, so I wrote it down and now I've posted it. :)

Blue Duck was borrowed from Larry McMurty but I had to promise to give him back in original condition.

Hugs,
Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

plus...

getting away in a MANEger.

{I'll get me coat}

Pan Handled

joannebarbarella's picture

Got my goat.

Centaurs like bacon?

Snarfles's picture

Always believed they were herbivorous, just like horses, but who's to say. I do know though, that there are far more preferred leaves, over tobacco... when given a choice, every horse I made offer to, chose the 'other' smokable; tobacco being viewed as medicinal when eaten( fights gastro-intestinal parasites ). Napping while standing? not uncommon for equestrians.

Looking forward to seeing where this goes, if it does. Probably to Iowa, 4 corn fields and a gas station at the crossroads....

What centaurs eat

In Narnia, centaurs have a man stomach and a horse stomach.

Interesting. I suppose it

Rose's picture

Interesting. I suppose it would make driving a herd easier than hanging onto the reigns while trying to throw a lasso.

Would be interesting to see them in a rodeo, but I suppose trying for 8 seconds would be kind of strange.

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Hugs!
Rosemary

This was unique

Descriptions were good. Took me a bit to understand. And the concept of the globes on her chest took some thinking but kind of made sense when one considered centaurs not being vegetarians. Cute, thanks for sharing the weirdness.

>>> Kay

Horsing Around

Wandering Witch's picture

Fun story :)