Noose Jumpers: A Mythological Western

by Trevor H. Cooley

  “You?” The Kid laughed. “If anybody asked your momma to describe you, her first words would be, ‘Well, he’s not a hunter.’”

  Tom glared at the specter. It was a running joke among Tom’s friends that he was a horrible shot. They weren’t inaccurate. It was the whole reason he carried two pistols instead of one. “Maybe not, but I ain’t stupid or helpless. I would’ve made it work. Used my luck. Never had a problem finding food before.”

  “Maybe. Shoot enough bullets, you’re bound to hit somethin’ sooner or later,” the Kid admitted. “But it would’ve slowed you down. Point is, you didn’t have to. You had somethin’ to eat, you got here quick, and all you had to suffer for it was a few bruises and maybe a scab or two. Now stop bellyachin’ and keep movin’. Town ain’t that far and you got lots to do once you get there.”

  “Yeah, well I ain’t gonna be nice about it.” Tom put his foot up in the stirrup. “Alright, ‘Bitey’, you got your treat. Now you’re carrying me the rest of the way, no matter how tired you are.”

  Las Vegas was far bigger than Tom had expected. Booming, thanks to the Santa Fe Trail and the imminent arrival of the railroad, it was much bigger than Mesilla. Tom rode his horse slowly into the city, his eyes wide. He had never been in a place with so many streets. And the streets were full. People of all races and types and appearances bustled about busily.

  Tom realized that after coming all this way, he had no idea where his destination was located within the city. All he knew was that it was called the Grande Hotel. “Got any ideas, Kid?”

  The specter appeared on the back of a wagon that was slowly moving past him. “I don’t know. But hey, you look like Hell! Why not stop in that barber shop and ask?”

  Tom reigned in his horse and looked at the storefront with its striped pole. Unlike many of the buildings around, it was freshly painted and looked inviting. Tom scratched at the stubble on his jaw and had to agree with the Kid. He was one of those unfortunate men who had never been able to grow a full beard. As his mother had once said, it was as sparse as trees on the prairie.

  He dismounted and walked Bitey up to the hitching post. He tied the stallion’s lead and, unwilling to leave $15,000 worth of cash and gold on the street, threw the saddlebags over his shoulder before walking up the front steps.

  There were three barbers inside and two of them already had men in chairs with faces lathered up. The third one, a gray-haired black man who was likely the owner from his demeanor, looked up from his newspaper and looked Tom over.

  “I need a shave and a haircut,” Tom said. “Oh, and also directions to the Grande Hotel.”

  “You need more than that, I’d say,” the man said, lowering his paper to his lap. “Looks like you’ve been on the road awhile.”

  “Week and a half,” Tom confirmed.

  “How about you get a bath first, huh? We got a tub in the back and hot water. Don’t want to dull my scissors on all that dirt.” He let out a whistle and a young boy came in from a back room. He looked like a miniature version of the barber, perhaps a grandson. “Benny Boy, take this man to the back and get him some water runnin’, hear?”

  “Yes sir! C’mon, mister,” the boy said, motioning him to the back.

  Tom followed. “Never been in a barbershop with baths before.”

  “Oh, yes sir. We’re a full service shop. Yes sir,” the boy said leading Tom past a steaming iron boiler and through a doorway where a brass tub sat next to a full mirror and a coat rack.

  The child grasped the end of a gutter that protruded from the wall and pulled it down to angle it above the tub. He then pulled a chain, opening a sluice gate that sent a steaming rush of hot water down into the tub. Tom set down his saddlebags and watched as the tub quickly filled.

  The boy then shut the sluice gate and raised the gutter back up. “There’s soap and clean towels in that cabinet.”

  “Thanks, kid,” Tom said and flipped the boy a coin.

  He caught it neatly. “Thank you, Sir. Knock loud on the wall if you need somethin’.”

  Tom had never been so eager to take a bath. He dipped his hand into the water and found it just a few degrees away from scalding. As soon as the child shut the door, he pulled off his clothes as quick as he could. He grabbed a bar of soap and groaned as he eased himself into the hot water. “Shoo, that feels good.”

  Tom washed his hair first. Then, as he scrubbed the dirt off of his body, he noticed that the Kid had appeared. The specter wasn’t saying anything. He was just leaning against the wall, his brow furrowed with concern.

  “Something looks to be prickin’ you,” Tom observed. He leaned back and closed his eyes, smiling contentedly as he let the hot water soak his body’s soreness away.

  “I’m pricked, alright,” the Kid said. “Somethin’ about this whole thing’s not sittin’ right with me. Feel like I ain’t got you prepared.”

  “How’s that?” Tom asked. “You seemed fine with it this morning.”

  “Can’t explain it,” the specter replied. “I been feel somethin’ though. Ever since we entered town. It’s raisin’ my hackles.”

  Tom opened his eyes and sat up, facing his backer. It wasn’t like the Kid to worry. “What is it? Another of those ‘fate wind’ things?”

  The Kid stared at the floor while rubbing the sparse hair on his chin. “Dunno. We’re missin’ somethin’. Our plan ain’t up to snuff.”

  “C’mon. It’s simple,” Tom assured him. “We get on the carriage and win the game. We may not have Sandy and Luke to back me up, but we don’t need ’em. My luck and your chaos should be enough. If not, we’ll go to our backup plan.”

  The plan was fairly straight forward. If one of the other gamblers had luck on their side or, more likely, cheated they would just cheat back. All the Kid had to do was look at the other player’s cards and tell Tom what to bet.

  “My melon says you’re right,” admitted the specter. He had helped Tom come up with the plan, after all. “It’s my talent that feels fuzzy about it. Chaos tells me there’s too many things out of balance.”

  Tom stood and stepped out of the tub. The soapy water he left behind was gray with dirt. “Well, just you keep an eye on that and let me know if you figure it out. I’m movin’ forward like planned.”

  Tom toweled off and frowned at the pile of trail-soiled clothes he had left on the floor. There was no way he was putting those things back on. He opened the saddlebags and rummaged through them to find his one clean pair of drawers. He pulled them out along with an undershirt that was only slightly soiled. He put them on, then removed the most important items from the saddlebags.

  Tom grinned as he shook out the clothes he had stolen off of the deceased bounty hunter. It was a fine dark-green suit with a blue and white striped shirt and an intricately patterned black and green vest. A silver pocket watch was attached to the front of the vest by a chain.

  Tom pulled the suit on and stood in front of the full-length mirror. It was a bit rumpled from being stuffed into the saddlebags, but he felt like he looked like quite the dapper gent. “What do you think, Kid? Ain’t I the picture of respectability?”

  “I don’t like it. I told you so when you stripped the suit off of the man,” the Kid replied with an uncharacteristic frown. “Maybe that’s what’s got my mind all hinky.”

  “What are you talkin’ about?” Tom said, preening in front of the mirror. “I think I come off as a rich gambler. I mean, I will after I get that shave, of course.”

  “You dead in the head?” the specter asked. “Ain’t you ever heard the sayin’? ‘Never do business in a dead man’s suit’.”

  Tom snorted. “That’s just a superstition. Ain’t no truth to it.”

  “Of course there is.” the Kid berated. “You ain’t listened to a single word I taught you. If somethin’s a superstition, then it’s because folks believe in it. Folks believin’ in things is what makes them come true.”

  “Well I don’t believe in this one,” Tom said. He had f
ound a cravat stuffed into the pants pockets and was trying to tie it properly. He was having difficulty getting the pin straight in the center. “You’re always tellin’ me to trust my luck. Well, I think my luck’s got this old superstition beat.”

  “Maybe so.” The Kid frowned again briefly, then shrugged. “You ain’t gonna listen to me anyway.” He vanished.

  Tom smiled and grabbed his hat. He slid it onto his head and thought the gambler-style Stetson looked perfect with his new getup. The red star on the side stood out beautifully. He shoved his old clothes back into the saddlebags and walked back through the door and into the barbershop proper ready for his shave and haircut.

  He exited a short time later with a clean jaw and properly-trimmed thin mustache feeling better than he had in weeks. He put the saddlebags back on the horse and rode it through town, following the barber’s directions to Earl LeGrande’s hotel.

  Once he came to the right street, it was a hard building to miss. The Grande Saloon and Hotel was three stories tall and made of red brick. People flowed in and out and the sound from the band inside filled the street with music. It was just the type of establishment Tom had dreamed of owning someday. Smiling broadly, he dismounted and walked Bitey around to the back of the hotel where he left the horse with the stableman.

  The interior of the place was larger than any similar establishment he had seen. The ground floor housed the bar and tables that were waited on by women gussied up in fancy but revealing dress. The walls were lined by faro and poker tables with uniformed dealers at attention. The ceiling in the center rose all three stories high and housed an enormous chandelier.

  Rising from the center of the floor was a grand staircase leading up to the hotel’s rooms on the second and third stories. People stood on the balconies that encircled the room and chatted, some of them looking down to watch the band play.

  Tom wanted nothing more than to join in the revelry, but he was on a mission. He walked up to the bar and said he was looking for a room. Minutes later, he was walking up the staircase to the second floor, key in hand.

  The room was spacious and luxuriously accommodated, with a large bed and a set of cushioned chairs and a couch. He dropped the saddlebags on the floor and stared at the bed longingly. It seemed like years since he’d had a good night’s sleep. He walked up to it and sat, sighing at the spongy softness.

  “Keep on task, Tommy,” the Kid reminded. This time he appeared wearing a fancy brown pinstripe suit with a top hat and cane. “Things to do.”

  Tom grabbed one of the pillows from the bed and removed the pillowcase. Then he filled it with the bags of gold and cash from his saddlebags. He threw the heavy pillowcase over his shoulder. “Shall we conduct our business, then, good sir?”

  “Indeed,” said the Kid with a pompous chuckle.

  Tom left the room and headed up the staircase towards the third floor. This is where Tom had heard that Earl LeGrande stayed when he was in town. Two rough men looking totally out of place in their fine suits saw Tom’s approach and met him at the top of the stairs. One of them, a tall, burly man with a wide jaw and menacing brow spoke to him.

  “Do you have a third floor key?” he asked with dull tone.

  “I do not,” Tom said politely. “I do, however, have a reason to come up here. I’m here to see the owner, Mister Earl LeGrande.”

  The two men glanced at each other and the burly one said, “Even if he was here, Mister LeGrande doesn’t take visitors.”

  “Nor would I if I was in his position,” Tom replied. “However, I am here on business. I assure you he’ll want to see me. I’m here regarding one of his special guests.”

  “I’m not assured,” the man replied stiffly.

  “Don’t back down,” the Kid advised.

  Tom didn’t need the help. His smile didn’t falter. “I’ll be happy to wait while you check and see if he’ll be willing to see me. Tell him it is a matter worth $70,000.”

  The burly man blinked, but if he was impressed, his facial expression didn’t show it. He nodded to the other man, who left and entered one of the rooms nearby. Tom stood there for several uncomfortable minutes under the watchful gaze of the expressionless tough before the other man returned.

  They shared a brief glance and the burly man nodded to Tom. He stuck out his hands. “No weapons on the third floor.”

  “Of course,” Tom said.

  He put the pillowcase down and handed over his two revolvers and his belt knife. Unsatisfied, the man patted him down in an uncomfortably thorough manner before pointing to Tom’s sack. Wordlessly, Tom held it open.

  If the man was impressed by the contents, his face didn’t show it. “Follow me.”

  The man led Tom down the balcony a short distance and through a door into a lavish office space. The walls, ceiling and floor were lined in dark wood that was polished and intricately carved. Paintings of scantily clad women in fields of flowers were hung at two foot intervals along the walls. At the back of the room in front of one large window stood a massive desk.

  Standing in front of the desk was a narrow man with a narrow face and a thick mustache that only covered the center of his upper lip. He wore a gray suit with a gold pocket watch and sucked absently on a brass pipe and was frowning at a newspaper that was spread out on the desk in front of him. He looked up and raised a thin eyebrow at Tom’s approach.

  “Hello, Sir. I am Tom Dunn. Nice to meet you,” Tom said, sticking out his hand. The man didn’t shake it.

  “I am Earl LaGrande,” the man said, accenting his first name as if it were a real title.

  “It’s a lovely place you have here. Why I have never seen another hotel better,” Tom said.

  “Yes, well it’s fine enough. I plan to build two more elsewhere in the city once that damned railroad finally decides to grace us with its presence,” LeGrande said with slight irritation, slapping his hand down on the newspaper. “You claim to have a matter of utmost importance to bring to my attention, Mister Dunn?”

  “Indeed I have,” Tom replied. “I am here to secure a spot on the LeGrande Coach Game.”

  “You’re going too quick,” the Kid warned.

  “If you know of this game, then you know you are wasting your time. The time as well as the starting place are a tightly kept secret,” LeGrande replied.

  “True,” said Tom. “However, I happen to know that the place is here and the time is tomorrow.” LeGrande frowned.

  “And you didn’t listen,” the Kid sighed.

  Tom felt large hands clamp on his shoulders. Quickly, he added, “I know that all the positions are filled, but you should know that one of the players is cheating you.”

  LeGrande raised a hand and the men let go. “Does this player have a name.”

  “Yes Sir,” Tom said with a smile. “His name is Teddy Snodgrass and I happen to know for a fact that he paid his entrance fee with faked bank notes.”

  LeGrande’s narrow face reddened, but his voice was controlled. “Lucian, is Mister Snodgrass in his room?”

  “He hasn’t left,” the burly man replied.

  “Send for him,” LeGrande said. “Take a seat, Mister Dunn.” Tom sat in a leather backed chair next to the desk and the narrow man said, “Richard.”

  A small owlish man that Tom hadn’t noticed before stepped back from a small desk in the corner. He wore thick spectacles that made his eyes seem overlarge. “Yes?”

  “Would you fetch Theodore Snodgrass’ entrance fee and examine it, please. We have a claim of counterfeit.”

  “It’s fake,” Tom clarified. “You can tell because the signatures on all the notes are exactly the same.”

  At that moment the door opened and Teddy Snodgrass was dragged in. The old confidence man was dressed in high finery, including a silk waistcoat that strained at his belly. He was protesting his handling most heartily until he saw Tom sitting there. Then his face fell. The two men grasping his arms had to hold him up to keep him from slumping to the floor.

&n
bsp; “Mister Snodgrass,” said LeGrande calmly, though the redness in his cheeks had deepened. “This man claims that you have paid your entrance fee with forged bank notes.”

  “Hi, Teddy,” Tom said, flashing the man a toothy smile. It felt nice to see the man get his comeuppance.

  Teddy sputtered and straightened his back. “Why-why that’s preposterous! This man is a-a notorious flimflam man with a personal grudge against me.”

  “Teddy here’s got a big mouth when he’s been drinking,” Tom replied. “He told me how he had greased certain palms to get his name moved up to the top of the list to get into the game and how he was going to pay his fee by making duplicates of a single $1,000 bank note. All he had to do was alter the certificate numbers to make them seem like they were in order.”

  “Nicely worded,” said the Kid, clapping appreciatively.

  “Good Lord, sir. He’s correct,” said the owlish man, who was peering at the stack of counterfeit notes, comparing them side-by-side. “I-I’m so sorry I did not notice this before.”

  “That’s why Teddy arrived here at the last minute,” Tom added. “So you wouldn’t have time to check with the bank.”

  “You bastard!” Teddy snarled.

  “Don’t you dare say that,” Tom said with a broad smile. “My momma is a saint.”

  “I don’t think they make lady saints, Tommy,” said the Kid. “I think they call ’em Dames.”

  Tom kept his smile steady, hoping no one else noted his slip up. He wasn’t Catholic. How was he supposed to know? Tom hated being caught using the wrong words. Of course, it was usually the Kid’s fault; feeding him the wrong thing to say.

  To his relief, no one said anything.

  Earl LeGrande’s face had turned a reddish purple and a vein pulsed on his temple as he pulled a short-barreled Derringer pistol from the pocket of his waistcoat. He pointed it at the old confidence man. “No one pulls the wool over my eyes and gets away with it!”

  “Are you sure you want to do that, sir?” asked one of LeGrande’s men who was holding Teddy’s arms. “People will hear. You could be charged with murder.”