'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney.

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Though he had a definite preference for ocean vistas, even Jack Sparrow could appreciate the harsh beauty of the Badlands, of Billings County in North Dakota. This section of it actually bore resemblance to a stormy ocean; row after row of eroded sandstone forms, like frozen waves, striped with bleached reds, grays, and golds. But what impressed him most, at this moment, was the plethora of hiding places this landscape afforded. It was the morning of May 28, 1884, when that aspect happened to be of significance.

Sparrow was crouched behind a pair of boulders topping a bluff, poking binoculars through a gap to search the aforementioned landscape. From this crest, he had a panoramic view of the land adjacent to the narrow wagon track below, winding like a brown ribbon among the mounds. An opportune locale for a trap, indeed.

Vague movement caught his eye, from behind a similar cluster of rocks, crowning a furrowed knoll on the other side of the track. It was the bobbing of a human-made object; a wide-brimmed hat. Peering close to confirm, Jack spotted another hat in motion. “I think we’ve found ‘em!” he sent over his shoulder.

He continued watching ‘til he’d counted at least four heads. All, he knew, belonging to outlaws who’d decided the obviously-wealthy owner of nearby Elk Horn Ranch was worth seizing for ransom. They’d talked with an unwary employee there, who’d informed them ‘the Boss’ was planning to ride to Medora by himself today. What they probably didn’t know was what a pugnacious SOB that fellow could be. He’d give his attackers a fight, even at the risk of probably-fatal consequences.

Murphy’s People would prefer that didn’t happen.

Sparrow turned around, looking ten meters downslope to the booted, blue-jeaned figure holding the reins of their horses. The latter were two tough, fast, scruffy cow ponies; one brunette, the other dark blond.

“Confirmed! This spot’ll do.” His voice was just a little lower than usual- a normal speaking volume shouldn’t carry all the way to the knoll.

Meredith nodded, bending to place two picket pins to stake out their mounts. Jack, who kept a mental list of ways Mare was similar to, and dissimilar from, Elizabeth, added an item to the former category: they could both do a fair job of passing for a bloke. Mare was currently dressed in a loose Clint Eastwood-esque poncho, with her hair tucked under a brown ‘Boss of the Plains’ hat. Sparrow wore comparable garments, save for his curved-brimmed red-banded black Stetson.

Having given each horse a reassuring pat, Mare ascended the stony slope to join him, pulled out her own binoculars. She first examined the bushwhackers’ knoll, then turned the binoculars left, studying the wagon track. That end of it led to the Elk Horn ranch. As Mare settled to keep watch, she gathered the poncho above her waist, instantly compromising her resemblance to a man- it was most fortunate Jack was the only one in a position to see. Overall, Meredith was slightly less classically-beautiful than Liz, but certain of her features were superior. Notably that high, well-rounded...

“Eyes to the front, if you please, Mr. Sparrow.”

Jack obeyed, looking quite miffed. “So now you’ve got eyes on the back of yer head, in addition to yer esper abilities?”

“No need, when it's such a predictable behavior on your part.” Mare’s tone was dry as the landscape.

“Lass, if yer going ta pack that distinctly above-average backside inta tight denim, you must expect lads ta take notice. Anything else’d be unnatural.”

“It’s demeaning.”

“Not necessarily. ‘Could be pure esthetic appreciation, like enjoyin’ the sight of a full-bellied sail. Theer’s even a certain similarity of shape.”

Mare bestowed the same glower she’d use on a misbehaving little boy. “Is that how you’d explain it to James, if he was here?”

“Hardly! He ain’t got the kind of arse I care ta ogle- too manly in it's contours. Though, I'd expect you ta hold a differing view of it.”

“You really are incorrigible!”

“Certain past acquaintances have regarded that as part of my charm,” Jack smirked.

“And you have an answer for everything.”

“See response to above comment.”

“Switching to a more important subject, and just about every subject is... “ Mrs. Norrington's tone softened, as she resumed surveying the track, “I don’t know that I have any ‘esper abilities.’”

Sparrow’s eyebrows arched towards his hat band. “Ya coulda fooled me! The way you picked apart that mendacious Prague countess...”

“I mean, I don’t know if they’re ‘extra sensory’ perceptions, or just especially reliable ‘ordinary sensory’ perceptions.” Her nails drummed the binoculars. “By the way: whatever it is, I did lose it once. When I was thirteen years old. I caught a fever- ran a high temperature for days. It was disconcerting... like suddenly losing ability to taste anything. But I got it back after the fever broke. James believes this is significant.”

Jack was well aware of the good Commodore’s efforts to discover just how Meredith managed to so accurately read other people’s intentions. “With all due respect ta Mr. Norrington, he’s somewhat prone ta disproportionate concern over matters with little, or no, practical application.”

“Don’t I know it! Though I can hardly fault him for having an active mind.” Mare gave her fellow Operative a sideways glance. “I guess I’m one notch down. I like to understand things well enough to have some idea how to repair them when they break down, but anything beyond that isn’t worth sweating over. You, on the other hand... as long as things work, you don’t seem to give any thought to how.”

“It saves a lot of frustration, fer someone of my admittedly limited mechanical aptitude,” the pirate replied amiably.

Mare suddenly stiffened, catching sight of movement on the track. Sparrow peered through his own binoculars to check. “Jus’ a coyote,” he sniffed.

Mare relaxed again. “In all honesty, Jack, it might be worth your while to develop greater curiosity. It’ll keep you aware of things. For example; have you ever wondered why Murphy’s People hire Operatives, instead of carrying out these Missions themselves?”

“’M just glad ta be reaping the benefits, luv.”

“That’s a basic difference between us, then. The first question I asked Murphy, when he explained who he was and what he wanted me to do, was why didn’t he take care of this task himself, if it was so important?”

“Understandable, considering the risk-endowed an' illegal- though not immoral- nature of said task. What was his answer?”

“He told me, his people couldn't do it because they aren’t native to this planet, or any other. If they get directly involved in events here, that produces a chafing effect on the timelines. Which we, the natives, do not.” Mare shifted on her perch. “Of course, we can only take his word on that.”

“'Have to do that a lot, dealin’ with these blighters.”

“But he gave me a second reason. If it was known who the murderer was, and known she’d died a deservedly ignominious death by drowning, the victim's relatives probably wouldn’t bother pursuing any further vengeance- none of them actually liked him, and they’d be happy about inheriting his estate. But if the killer was unknown, they might feel obliged to frame and execute some innocent for the crime, just so’s they could say they’d seen ‘justice’ done. I could certainly understa.... hey, I think that’s him!”

Jack swung up his binoculars. At the far left end of the track, a dun-colored horse had just trotted onto view. Both watchers studied the rider; a robust figure in a tan buckskin jacket and rancher’s hat, with sun glints on his face denoting eyeglasses. He rode at an energetic pace, projecting an aura of fitness and vigor even from this distance.

“Aye! That’s our protectee!” Sparrow declared.

Jack and Mare reached to their belts, drawing forth Colt 45 six-shooters. They braced these against the rocks, aiming just above the bushwhackers’ knoll. It was not feasible, or necessary, to gun down the outlaws; just to startle them into giving away their presence.

The unsuspecting rider had crossed half the distance to the knoll. Jack nodded to Mare. “On your mark, my lady.”

“At the count of three! One, two...!”

They pulled the triggers simultaneously, firing three round apiece in fast succession. The bunched shots echoed loudly among the land forms, as did the alarmed shouts of the hidden miscreants.

Down on the track, the rider halted, standing erect in his stirrups. But he remained where he was- though he could tell there were several ambushers ahead, this chap was not prone to backing away from fights.

Jack, glaring through binoculars, fairly sputtered. “C’mon, mate, don’t make a mockery of our efforts! You’ll have plentiful future opportunities ta display yer mettle- now’s the time ta give common sense it’s due!”

The git finally reached that same conclusion; he wheeled and galloped away, back towards the safety of his ranch. Jack punched the air triumphantly- with that head start, the thwarted abductors would have no chance of catching up with him.

A tug on Sparrow’s elbow, plus a growing babble of angry voices and hoof beats, reminded him their own position was a lot more precarious.

“Jack, I think somebody’s mad at us!”

“I concur with yer assessment, lass- let’s scarper!”

The two scrambled down the rocky slope, climbed aboard their mounts and took off, fringed ponchos flapping. Mare surged to the front, Jack didn’t contest it- the wench had probably made more profitable study of the topo maps.

They raced down the bluff, into a maze of furrowed rock formations, zigzagging with apparent randomness. Neither spared any glance behind- they could tell from the sounds that the desperadoes had followed them into the maze. “Bugger!” Jack snarled. Their pursuers must be riding similarly sure-footed steeds.

“Yah! Yah!” barked Mare, spurring her mount to greater speed across a relatively open stretch. Sparrow did likewise- the horses could move faster here, but there was greater danger of someone getting a bead on them. As if to confirm, there was a zing of bullet striking boulder, disturbingly close to their starboard side. The horses wisely kept up the pace, as they sped across the open ground and into another rock-lined passage.

Seconds later, Meredith gestured frantically with her left arm- just in time, Jack realized her meaning. Next instant she’d reined her horse hard to port, into the mouth of a nearly invisible draw; Sparrow almost collided as he followed. They raced up the narrow way- at the first bend Mare raised a palm, bringing them both to a halt. The horses snorted fiercely as they were reined about. Jack and Meredith drew their half-empty revolvers, aiming back the way they’d come, towards the thunder of nearing hooves...

An equine shape darkened the draw entrance, for just an instant- the hunched rider never glanced their way. A second shape followed, equally fleet and oblivious, and a third, and forth. The pounding hoof beats, and the dust billows wafting up the draw, quickly faded to insignificance.

Mare grinned broadly. “They can’t tell the echoes of their own galloping from ours!”

Relieved, the two holstered their guns, leaned to give each other high-fives. The celebrating cow ponies threw their heads about.

Coaxing their hard-breathing mounts to a walk, Jack and Mare continued up the narrow draw. “That was an admirable maneuver, lass!”

“A risk that paid off! I was concerned you wouldn't be able to make that sharp turn.”

Jack affected a hurt expression. “Didn’t I mention I used to work cattle on the Pampas? Had ta learn that very move, ta cut cows from the herd.”

“You did mention it, but even I have trouble telling which of your yarns are factual and which are exaggerated, or outright fabrications. I think you’re not always sure yourself.”

“Always knew Norrington’d never fall for a featherbrain,” Jack grumbled under his breath.

A few minutes of leisurely riding brought them out of the draw and onto another bluff. This also commanded a fine view of eroded monoliths, though from a lower angle.

The horses halted again, shaking their brown and yellow manes. Jack unslung his binoculars, twisting the instrument to disconnect it’s two cylinders. “Ready to go?”

“Give me a minute.” Mare was taking in the colorful vista, a warm breeze tugging her poncho. “This really is an impressive place. I can understand why he wanted to preserve it... or will want to.” She nodded in the general direction of the ranch.

“He’ll live ta see it done! History remembers that gentleman as a rough-riding adventurer, not a damn fool. He’ll bring an armed escort along, next time he takes that route inta town.”

“Another ‘fait accompli’, then.” The lass turned her willing horse. “Okay; I’m ready.”

Jack smashed the binocular lenses together, threw both pieces towards open air. A wide glowing timenet unfolded, in it’s usual soundless manner. The horses, trained to be familiar with that sight, whinnied eagerly- they knew their home pastures waited on the further side.

Jack and Mare took a last glance around the distinctive landscape- soon to be declared Theodore Roosevelt National Park- before cantering through.

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FINIS

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The Badlands are a picturesquely eroded drylands region of southwest North Dakota, so called because the irregular topography and lack of water makes the region unsuitable for farming. Theodore Roosevelt- perhaps the most physically active man to ever achieve the presidency- ran a cattle operation there, from 1884 to 1885. His ranch, the Elk Horn, is now a part of the National Park named after him.