Noose Jumpers: A Mythological Western

by Trevor H. Cooley

  Luke veered off the road and back into the hills taking the path that led to the old cemetery. He slowed down and dismounted just before reaching the gate. The Stranger had told him that two more of the Black Spots had been stationed near Bobby Estrella’s tombstone. Evidently, El Cid had done his research and figured that the Red Stars might visit their inspiration on the way to turn themselves in. Luke rolled his eyes at the thought.

  They had left the gate open. He crept into the cemetery and up the hill, using the few tombstones large enough for cover. He didn’t see the men at first, but he heard their voices. They had left their posts after hearing the gunshots and were standing at the edge of the cemetery hill looking down at the town. They were debating heading back to the schoolhouse.

  Luke used Bobby’s tombstone as the last bit of cover. The moment he crouched behind it, his nose was overcome by the strong smell of urine. His foot sank into fresh mud. “Bastards!” he whispered, his anger flaring at their disrespect.

  Luke stood and walked towards the men. Their backs were to him, and he could see them clearly enough for a shot, but he wanted them to see their deaths coming. For a moment he considered using Bobby’s gun to do the deed, but he felt more comfortable with his old gun.

  He drew the Smith and Wesson and pointed it at them before saying aloud, “Pissing on graves?”

  The two men turned and their guns were half way out of their holsters before he fired off two quick shots. Both men clutched their torn chests and sank to their knees before falling over.

  He looked down at them and the dark smudges on their cheeks and shook his head. One thing about black spots was that they stood out. That mark was easy to make out even at night. That would make things easier when he got into town and might have to pick them out of a crowd of innocents.

  That thought gave him an idea. He turned to rush back to his horse and saw the Stranger crouched next to Estrella’s grave. The glow of his cigar illuminated a pensive look on the specter’s scarred face.

  Luke approached him. “Sixteen to go.”

  “First time I seen this,” the Stranger replied, nodding towards the tombstone. He pulled the cigar from his mouth and as he held it out, flame flared from the burnt tip. “Wonder who did it.”

  Luke stopped in his tracks. The front of the tombstone was different. A large mosaic of a red star had been cemented into the face of it. The pieces of red glass that made up the mosaic glittered in the Stranger’s spectral light. It lent the grave a feeling of importance.

  “I-I don’t know.” Could Sandy or Tom have done it? The mosaic was well crafted and neither of them had any artistic talent that he was aware of. “But I like it.”

  “Hmm,” the specter said and stood. “You should get going. Men are coming up the trail.”

  “Black Spots?” Luke asked, tearing his eyes away from the red star.

  “I’ll find out,” the Stranger replied.

  “Give them a good scare,” Luke said. “Slow them down for me.”

  The specter grunted and disappeared into dark mist. Luke ran down the hill and retrieved his horse. He grasped its reins and led it back up the hill past Bobby’s tombstone and the two dead men. Luke grinned as he brought the horse to the steep slope at the cemetery’s edge. These Black Spots had no chance if they thought they could pin him down in his own home town.

  Just beyond the last small grave, disguised by sagebrush, was a narrow and seldom-used path that led down to the town below. Luke, Sandy, and Tom used to come visit Estrella’s grave often. Many of their plans for their gang were discussed in this place and they used to take this particular trail as a shortcut from the schoolhouse. He had never led a horse down it before but, if his memory was correct, it would be safe enough.

  Just as he started down it, he heard frantic whinnying and curses coming from the darkness at the other end of the cemetery.

  “Three of ’em,” said the Stranger, reappearing nearby, his satisfied smile revealed by the gleam of his cigar. “One just lost his horse. They’re wondering if the gunfire they heard was their own men shooting at wolves.”

  “Pedro! Ned!” a man yelled from the cemetery gate.

  “Just three?” Luke said. He retrieved the rifle from his mare’s back and crept back to the top of the trail. He lay down in the dirt and steadied the barrel on a rock, waiting for the three men to come towards him.

  They paused at the cemetery gate, arguing amongst each other. Finally, one of them lit a torch and the three men edged up the hill. Two of them held rifles in their hands and the one with the torch brandished a pistol. “Pedro, you up there?”

  Luke shook his head. A torch might help to scare off wolves, but in this case, they were just playing into his hands. Not only could he see the three of them clearly, they had just ruined their night sight. He waited until they were halfway up the hill, trying to decide who to shoot first.

  The man on the right was taller than the others and looked less frightened. Of course this could have been an illusion since his black spot covered half his face. Luke’s shot struck his forehead, emptying his skull and knocking off his hat in the process.

  His two companions swore and by the time Luke had used the Winchester’s lever-action to chamber the next bullet, they were firing blindly into the darkness. Luke reassessed his earlier praise of the rifle. It had a nice range and held a lot of ammunition, but he preferred the faster rate of fire his pistol provided.

  He aimed at the other rifle-wielding Black Spot. His shot was a bit hurried and the bullet he had intended for the man’s heart struck him in the belly instead. The man cried out and dove to the side, taking cover behind a short tombstone.

  The remaining bandit realized how easy of a target he was. He tossed his torch to the ground and kept firing his pistol in what he assumed was Luke’s direction while he ran for cover. One of the bullets came remarkably close to striking him, smacking into the dirt a few feet away.

  Luke chambered another cartridge. The torch guttered in the dirt, but still illuminated the two men. He could see the gut shot bandit’s legs squirming as he tried to stay behind cover, but there wasn’t a clear shot.

  The pistol-wielding man, on the other hand, was hunched behind a narrow tree, trying to make himself look small while he reloaded his gun. Luke’s next shot struck him in the side, piercing his ribcage and both lungs. He collapsed, his pistol bullets spilling to the ground next to him.

  Luke peered down at the gut shot man. He still didn’t have a clear shot. He considered going down to finish the bandit off. His first shot had probably been fatal, but if the man was unlucky, it could take him hours to die. It was bad form to leave a man to that fate.

  The Stranger knew what he was thinking. “You got no time for mercy, boy. Remember, there’s still thirteen to go.”

  Biting his lip, Luke nodded and pushed any guilty feelings away. His backer was probably right. Besides, if he went down there, the torch light would expose him. The bandit might be mortally wounded, but he could still fire his gun. Luke climbed to his feet and stowed the rifle away, then went back to leading his horse down the narrow path.

  He was immediately grateful that the moon hadn’t yet risen. His memories of the trail hadn’t included the fact of how exposed it was to the town. He could see the light from the oil lamps that lit the streets below.

  Of particular concern was the schoolhouse. Men were coming in and out of the front door, shouting things to each other. The place had been lit up like there was a dance going on, but if anyone stepped into the shadows and looked up at the hillside, they would see him easily. Luke paused about halfway down the trail and listened intently, trying to make out what was being said.

  “Keep movin’,” said the Stranger. “They’re talking about you. They found the bodies at your house and are sending five more men up to the graveyard. With all the shots fired, they think all three of you are in town.”

  Luke watched as a group of men climbed on horses and galloped towards the trail
entrance. He continued down, leading his horse, slowed by the constant switchbacks. Seven men dead. Five on the move. That left eight whose whereabouts were unknown. He didn’t dare make a move on the schoolhouse yet.

  “Stranger,” he whispered. “I want you to go around town again. Locate every one of those Black Spots. Tell me where they are.”

  The Stranger grunted in response and dissipated. Moving with a swiftness that only the ethereal undead can apply, he searched. They weren’t bothering to cover all the town’s entrances anymore. Four of them were posted as lookouts in different parts of the town. They had orders not to engage, but report back to their leader if any Red Stars were sighted.

  The Stranger touched each bandit he passed. His spectral presence left a deep chill in their bones. One of them, staring down at the bodies of the men found at Luke’s house, snapped. He ran to a rain barrel and washed the soot off of his face, then climbed his horse and fled town, abandoning his band.

  This amusing event encouraged the Stranger to use more of his carefully conserved power and he sped over to check on the men that had been dispatched to the cemetery. The five men had found their other dead bandmates and the gut shot man, still clinging to life, swore to them that he had been surrounded by the whole Red Star Gang, maybe even more.

  The lurking specter fed their fears. Their blood ran cold. Some of them swore they saw movement in the darkness. They abandoned the dying man and galloped back down the trail. Pleased, he approached the schoolhouse itself. This is where his amusement ended.

  Luke had reached the bottom of the trail by that point. He had sought cover behind a barn and was reloading his pistol when the Stranger caught up to him.

  “It won’t be as simple as we expected,” the specter said, stepping out of dark mist.

  Luke frowned. “Were our numbers off?”

  “No. In fact, we have one less to deal with,” he replied, producing a cigar from the darkness.

  “Then there are twelve?”

  “Three are in town keeping watch. The rest are on their way back to the schoolhouse,” the specter said. “That’s where your problem lies.”

  He nodded. Nine men were too many for a head-on assault. But that alone didn’t explain the Stranger’s disquiet. “What is it?”

  He held the cigar up and blue flames sprouted from the tip. “El Cid has a backer.”

  Luke’s eyes widened. “Since when?”

  “It must’ve happened recently. He wasn’t there the last time you met the man,” the Stranger replied. Luke had last seen the bandit leader three months ago and that hadn’t been an enjoyable meeting.

  “Anyone you know?” Luke asked. He didn’t completely understand the way things worked between backers, but they seemed to be in competition with each other. The Stranger had pointed some out to him before, but they had usually kept their distance.

  “Timmy Red-Vein.” the Stranger said. “Remember what I told you about him?”

  Luke froze. How could he forget? After all, he had killed that particular specter’s last prospect. “Damn.”

  “You understand the difficulty?” his backer prodded.

  “He’s probably urging El Cid to kill me instead of turning me in for the bounty,” Luke said and that was only part of the problem.

  Timmy Red-Vein had gained his fame from a vengeful killing spree in the 1860’s; a trail of vengeance that stretched across the frontier. He had hunted down the ten men that had left him for dead, killing them and any with them with a knife he had forged himself. He had a talent for distraction and each kill had come from behind his victim.

  “That ain’t all,” the Stranger added. “If I sensed him, he sensed me.”

  “So El Cid knows I have a backer,” Luke said, unsure how that knowledge could change the outcome. It wasn’t good news for sure. “Does he know I’m alone?”

  “Didn’t stick around long enough to hear.”

  Luke hesitated to ask his last question. “Is . . . everyone still alive?”

  “They ain’t happy, but no one’s dead,” the Stranger assured him.

  Luke nodded, aware that the Stranger wasn’t telling him everything, but he pushed away his concerns. “This don’t change my plans much. You say there’s three of them posted in town?”

  “Two outside the Tucker place. One outside Tom’s. They’re keeping to the shadows.”

  “Good,” he said and mounted his horse. It was time to implement the idea he had earlier.

  He returned to his parent’s house. He had to search around for a while. They didn’t have any coal handy but he finally found Jeremy’s can of homemade boot black. Luke smeared a roundish glob on his cheek and looked in his mother’s mirror. It was a bit shiny to be mistaken for coal dust, but good enough as long as he stayed out of direct light.

  When he left the house, he saw that the moon had cleared the horizon. It was a three quarter moon, large and bright. It was going to be harder to stay hidden from here on out.

  He took the familiar path to Sandy’s house, entering Luna Gorda proper. The butcher shop was on the main street and Sandy’s parents still lived above it. One Black Spot was positioned across the street out front. The other one was in the rear.

  Luke left his horse in the darkness between buildings and continued, sneaking around back. There were two outbuildings behind the shop and a small pen where Alberto kept animals waiting for slaughter. The glow of the Stranger’s cigar appeared in the shadowed doorway of the slaughterhouse, telling Luke where one of the Black Spots was stationed.

  Luke reached into his pocket and palmed one of the tiny single-shot pistols. Then he approached the man, walking out in the moonlight. “Hey,” he whispered, making sure that the man saw his hand was nowhere near his holster. “El Cid want’s you.”

  The man shushed him and stepped forward to meet him. He was wearing a bowler-style hat and a long jacket. “What did he sa-?”

  The man’s eyes widened as he realized that Luke wasn’t one of his bandmates. He reached for his gun, but Luke was too quick. He shoved the small pistol just left of the man’s sternum and pulled the trigger.

  The small gun let out a muffled report, more of a loud pop than the explosive crack of most pistols. The man wheezed and slumped to the ground. Luke quickly took the man’s hat and stripped him of his jacket. Luckily, the man had been similar in size to him.

  Luke took his own hat and duster off and put on the dead man’s. He then ran around to the front of the building. He was met just outside the alleyway by the second Black Spot.

  “Clyde, what was that sound?” the man asked.

  Luke already had a second Derringer in his hand and before the man realized that he wasn’t his friend, shoved the small weapon against the man’s chest and pulled the trigger.

  Click.

  Luke and the Black Spot stared at each other for a brief moment in stunned silence. A dud. Luke, for all his over preparedness, hadn’t bothered to check the ammunition in the little pistols.

  The man raised his gun, but Luke was faster. He grasped the man’s wrist, shoved the gun out wide, and brought his knee up into the man’s groin. The Black Spot doubled over. Luke tore the revolver from his hand and stepped back.

  The man looked up at him. His black spot was a circular tattoo just under his right eye. “El Cid’s gonna kill you.”

  Luke shot the man with his own gun, then dropped it on his body.

  A quick look up and down the street told him that Sheriff Dale had done his job clearing the streets and protecting Luna Gorda’s citizens. Hank’s Saloon was the only place on the old main street that seemed active. Luke could see shadows moving around beyond the saloon doors, but no one came out to investigate the shots.

  Grinning, he ran back behind the butcher shop to retrieve his hat and duster. Then he returned to the alleyway where he had left his horse. He decided to put his hat and duster away. Perhaps the dead Black Spot’s gear would continue to serve him this night.

  He shut the saddleba
g and stopped for a moment, breathing heavily. A sudden weariness staggered him. He grabbed the horse to steady himself, his hand resting on the warmth of his mare’s neck. He could feel her heartbeat under his fingers. Luke felt a wave of emotion roll over him.

  He had killed nine men so far and intended to kill ten more. An eerie thought rose unexpectedly in his mind. Maybe Sandy had been right about him. His left hand began to tremble.

  The Stranger appeared beside him. “Hey! Keep your mind focused. I don’t know exactly what he’s doing, but Timmy Red-Vein is somewhere nearby. I don’t see him, but he’s working his witchery on you. I should’ve known he’d come searching for you as soon as he sensed me.”

  Luke glared at his trembling hand and forced it into a fist. So that was how the power of El Cid’s backer worked. He turned his thoughts to his parents and the rest of El Cid’s hostages, many of whom felt more like family to him than his mother and stepfather. He wasn’t doing this because he enjoyed it. He was doing it for them.

  The feelings of doubt faded. Along with them came another realization. If the specter was trying to distract him, something else was going on.

  He turned just in time to see movement in the darkness. Luke ducked down and rolled under his horse just in time to avoid the slash of a knife.

  A sinister chuckle rippled through the night. “You are a fast one, Luke Basset,” said Rodrigo “El Cid” Ramirez.

  Luke could just make out his form; tall and wide and menacing. So the Black Spot’s leader had decided not to wait for him at the schoolhouse. Likely, his backer had told him where Luke was. Luke wondered how many more Black Spots were surrounding him.

  “You’re big and slow, Rodrigo,” Luke said.

  “While you’ve been killing my men, I collected a new souvenir,” El Cid jeered. “An ear. Do you want to guess whose?”