Noose Jumpers: A Mythological Western

by Trevor H. Cooley

  Sandy chuckled. “I guess your stubbornness finally paid off.”

  “Luke’s right-handed,” Tom said with a grin. “But he’s been shootin’ with his left for years tryin’ to make himself amphibious.”

  “Amply Texas,” said the Kid, appearing in a nearby cell.

  “Ambidextrous,” Luke corrected, shooting Tom a glare. “Hello, Tom. Give me my gun.”

  Tom blinked at him. “Sorry, Luke. I don’t got it. The Sheriff’s wearin’ it.”

  “Not Estrella’s gun. Mine. He’s got it in the gun cabinet behind his desk,” Luke replied.

  “Oh. Right. I’ll be right back,” said Tom and he disappeared back into the office.

  Luke groaned as he tried to stand. “Give me a hand?”

  “Can you walk?” Sandy asked, reaching out to help him up.

  “Sure. It’s been a couple of days since my last beating,” Luke replied. Sandy put Luke’s left arm around his shoulder and supported his friends weight as he pulled him to his feet. Luke groaned. “There. Much better.”

  Sandy frowned at how light his friend felt. He helped him out of the cell. “They been feeding you?”

  “They don’t feed you much in here,” Katie replied. “Bread and beans once a day.”

  “I got plenty to drink, though. If you call a cup of spit, ‘water’. Hey, Sandy-.” Luke faced his friend.

  This close, Sandy saw that the eye that was mostly swollen shut was half filled with blood. “Yeah?”

  Luke’s jaw trembled. “I . . . I’m sorry. I tried to save her. I . . . it was a woman. Bobby’s gun wouldn’t-.”

  “My pa saw everything. He says it wasn’t your fault,” Sandy assured him, though a frown creased his brow. “Truth is, I think we were all to blame for not thinking ahead. But at least you tried to stop it. You killed El Cid and the rest of those Black Spots. It’s more than I could do.”

  Hearing Sandy say that lifted a weight off of Luke, but it didn’t change what had happened. “I think you should have this.” Luke reached into his shirt and lifted out the small medicine bag that he still wore on a leather cord around his neck. The yellow cross that Elizabeth-Ann had painted on it had mostly faded away, but the items inside of it hadn’t been touched. “It . . . It’s part of her.”

  “You still have it, huh?” Sandy smiled sadly. He reached into his shirt and pulled out one very similar to it. “Keep it. I got my own.”

  Katie held the door open for them while they passed through into the office. “Well, he’s alive.”

  The Marshal looked up from a stack of letters he was thumbing through. “Barely, from the looks of him.” He sighed. “Well, boys, I’ve only been looking into these drawers for a minute and already I’ve found proof of two felonies committed by our good sheriff.”

  “That’s good, right?” Sandy asked.

  “No,” Blye replied. “This means he ain’t worried about being found out. It also means he knew the minute I made up that nonsense about a mandatory inspection that I’d find this.”

  “So he’s planning to kill us,” Tom said, looking through the sheriff’s gun cabinet. The bottom of it was packed with handguns and a tangle of gun belts.

  “Unless we’re lucky and he’s on a horse galloping out of town,” Blye replied.

  A gust of wind ruffled the papers on the sheriff’s desk. “He ain’t,” Pecos said. “They just finished lowerin’ Santos to the ground and now Jeb’s just standin’ there with the noose in his hands.”

  “Got it,” said Tom, pulling Luke’s gun belt out of the pile. “Found your shoulder holster too, but that one’s empty.”

  “Just hand me my pistol,” Luke replied.

  “You ain’t gonna just run out there shooting in your condition,” the Marshal said. “You’d be dead before you got two steps out the door.”

  “I’m not going to do anything stupid,” Luke replied, holding his hand out.

  “Doing this will not help your situation,” the Stranger warned, appearing next to him.

  Luke didn’t care to listen. Tom handed his pistol to him. Luke cocked it, then pointed it towards the floor and fired.

  Everyone in the room jumped at the sudden blast.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Tom yelped, lifting his foot in the air. A deep groove scored the outside edge of his boot and there was a hole in the wood floor where he had been standing. “You almost hit me!”

  “Put your gun down,” Blye said, his own pistol in his hand.

  Luke placed the revolver back on the desk. “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot off your little toe,” he said to Tom, glowering through his one open eye.

  The office’s front door burst open and Blye’s top deputy came in with gun at the ready. “You need me, Sir?”

  Blye scowled. “We’re fine.”

  “Yeah, well everyone heard that shot outside. Things are stirring up out there.”

  “Just keep buying time. If anyone asks, tell them it was an accidental discharge. I’ll be out there in a minute.” The door shut and he focused his anger back on Luke. “That was a fool thing to do. Our only advantage was time to come up with a plan and you might have just cut that short!”

  “I don’t give a fig about your plan,” Luke replied. He hesitated, looking at the man’s badge. “I’m sorry. Who are you, anyway?”

  “He’s the man that’s trying to get us out of here alive,” Sandy replied.

  “Yeah, and keeping you alive’s a long shot that just got longer,” Blye grumbled. He stood and began pacing, stroking his mustache while he thought.

  Constable Zed, who was sitting on the edge of the massive desk, frowned. “The only way out of this seems to be subterfuge.”

  Blye grunted. That was not his strong suit. Still, the empty train yard had given him an idea.

  “So why were you tryin’ to shoot me in the dag-gum foot?” Tom demanded. He was still holding his leg in the air.

  Luke’s bruised lip curled. “Because I promised myself I would the next time I saw you! It’s bad enough that you abandoned me to fight twenty Black Spots on my own, but why did you leave that dead bounty hunter in the shack for me to clean up?”

  “I didn’t know about the Black Spots when I left!” Tom said, then lowered his foot to the ground, a slight grin tilting his lips. “As for the bounty hunter, that was for leaving me, and the big job I set up, to rot while you ran off on a wild goose chase.”

  “That was diff- . . . Well, you’ve got a point,” Luke said with a shrug, wincing at the pain it caused his ribs. “But you didn’t have to strip him naked first.”

  Everyone’s focus shifted to Tom.

  “What? He had on some slick duds and I needed a nice getup for the job. They were better before that gun blew up on me.” Tom explained, pointing to the clothes he was wearing. His cheeks colored a bit. “Weren’t my fault the man wasn’t wearin’ nothin’ underneath.”

  Katie gave him a disgusted look. “You saw that and still put on his clothes?”

  “Hey! He was only a little sweaty,” Tom protested. “And besides, I’m wearing my underwear underneath it.”

  The door to the office opened and Deputy Miles leaned in. “Uh, Marshal? Something goin’ on out here. The Sheriff’s lining folks up facing us.”

  “You can do this, Chuck,” Zed assured him. “I’ll walk you through it. We’ve done it before.”

  Blye sighed and faced the rest of them. “It seems time has run out. You folks keep looking for something that could help us while I go out and talk to him. I have a couple cards to play. But if it doesn’t work . . .” Leaving the sentence unfinished, he turned back towards the door.

  “Marshal?” said Sandy. “Good luck.”

  Blye nodded and walked outside. On his way out, he grabbed the arm of the tall deputy. “Garrett, go back in there with them. Just in case they learn something I need to hear.”

  “Yes sir,” the narrow man answered, his expression relieved as he ducked back inside.

  Blye’s eyes swep
t across the plaza. Miles had been right to call him outside. The sheriff had cleared the center of the plaza and now a long line of banditos stood directly facing the sheriff’s door. Jeb Wickee was standing in front of them, a shotgun slung over one shoulder as he watched the marshal. His two deputies stood nearby. Blye glanced up at the gallows and noticed that the noose had been reset. He swore it seemed to be calling out to him.

  The Constable stood beside him. “Remember, you gotta twist his mind around.”

  Blye nodded. And if that failed, he just wanted to be close. The man might be able to bend bullets, but could he do it from point blank range?

  “Hold firm, men. I need to have a talk with our Sheriff friend,” he told his deputies and left them standing at the door. He approached the sheriff and his group of desperadoes and put on a smile. “Sheriff, I’ve got to say I’m impressed.”

  “Are you?” Jeb asked, confused by his tactic.

  “Indeed I am,” Blye said, hoping to set the man at ease. “Your jail is clean, the cells well cared for. And your office is top notch. Nicest I’ve seen in a while. Wish I had one like it.”

  “I put a lot of my own money into it,” Jeb said, still willing to act cautious. “Didn’t want to use taxpayer funds just to improve my comfort.”

  “Commendable,” Blye said with an approving nod.

  Zed walked behind the sheriff so that he could look into his prospect’s eyes. “Get him away from his thugs.”

  “But there are a couple things I should mention,” Blye continued. He leaned in closer and whispered. “Could we step aside and talk about this part? Not in front of these citizens?”

  Wickee shrugged and followed the marshal over to stand at the base of the gallows. “What things?”

  “Listen, I wanna be clear with you,” Blye said. “I’m not actually here for a prisoner transport. The governor sent me personally because he wanted me to check a couple things. He’d been hearing some rumors about the goings on here in Puerta Muerte and he was concerned.”

  “About what?” Jeb said cautiously, his hand tightening on the stock of his gun.

  “There was mention of a land grab and under the table development deals. That sort of thing. Especially where the railroad was concerned,” Blye said, keeping an eye on the shotgun in the Sheriff’s hand. If he raised it, Blye was prepared to fire.

  “There was nothing untoward. The company decided to go a different route,” said Jeb.

  “How you got the railroad to consider you the first time is none of my concern. I’m more worried about getting them to consider you a second time,” the marshal hinted.

  “Mention the governor again,” the Constable suggested, puffing on his pipe. “If this don’t work, we want him convinced that hell could rain down on him if something happens to you.”

  Blye continued, “If someone in a position such as mine was to go back to my friend, Governor Hubbard, and tell him that these rumors he heard about you were wrong, we could get the spotlight off your back.”

  “Oh?” Blye could tell that Jeb was still hesitating to believe, but his interest had been piqued.

  “You got the lasso under his feet,” the Constable observed. “Time to haul him in.”

  “I did some listening on the way down here and the railroad ain’t too happy with Luna Gorda right now. Especially with that Black Spot fiasco. Now when I came into town I saw the new street you built and that sparkling station just going to waste.” He put a hand on his chest. “It hurt my soul. It really did. I wondered if I couldn’t put in a word, get the Governor’s support behind it and get the rails routed down through here where they belong.”

  Jeb took a step back, cocking his head. “You’re fooling with me.”

  “I’m serious as a sailor,” Blye said. He was getting closer now. His talent told him he almost had the man convinced.

  “And what would you want out of it?” Jeb asked.

  “A piece of the action. Nothing big. Just a small portion. What I really want is that big building right across from the station. It’d make a fine saloon.”

  “That it would,” Jeb replied. “And that’s all?”

  Blye nodded. “I miss this town. I’d like a place of my own where I can hear the dice rattle and hear the sound of ladies plying their wares. What do you say?”

  A smile spread across the sheriff’s face. “Wow, you’re convincing. I really want to believe you, but it’s hard for me imagine the great lawman Chuck Blye willing to return and live in this den of thieves quietly.”

  “He’s teetering,” the Constable warned and the marshal knew it.

  “You didn’t hear all that went down back then,” Blye said with a chuckle. “Besides, that was a younger me. Believe me when I say I’m tired of the law. This deal is only a handshake away,” Blye prodded, sticking out his hand. “Of course no deeds need exchange hands unless I can really change the railroad’s mind.”

  “That sounds like a fine deal,” Jeb admitted, but he paused just before touching the marshal’s hand. “There’s something else isn’t there? You said you weren’t here for a prisoner transfer. What did you mean by that?”

  Zed wrinkled his nose. “You got no choice now, son. Gotta go for it.”

  “Well, you might not like this part. And I don’t blame you,” Blye added. “But when the Governor sent me he gave me pardons for those three Red Star boys.” Jeb’s smile faded and Blye pressed on. “I don’t claim to understand it, but it’s a publicity thing. One of the boys’ mothers sent a letter to the Governor, pleading for her son to be forgiven and-.”

  “I knew this was fishy,” Jeb said, barking out a laugh. “You came in here all cocky like. Then you found out you were in over your head and now you just wanna leave. That ain’t happening.”

  “You’re wrong,” Blye said.

  “I’m willing to be,” the sheriff said, stepping back and bringing up his shotgun.

  Back in his youth, Chuck Blye had been a quick draw. He was older now, but still fast. Blye’s revolver was up and firing before Jeb had even brought his gun to bear. The old marshal got off three shots before the sheriff fired. Blye’s shots bent around the man.

  Jeb’s shotgun blast caught the legendary lawman dead center in the chest. His once stout heart was shredded. Blye fell backwards and into the arms of his long-time backer and companion.

  Zed lowered him to the ground, bending close to his dying ears. “You did your best, lad. I’ll see you around.”

  The deputies saw their leader go down and opened up fire. Jeb paid no heed to the bullets whizzing around him. He shouted out to the bandits, using part of the power El Estrangular had stolen from Santos.

  “Shoot them down!”

  26: A Lot of Explaining to Do

  An excerpt from the Tale of the Red Star Gang

  “‘How’d you find me? I rode deep into Mexico, then waited three whole months before sailing back. Told nobody I was doin’ it. But here you are, waitin’ for me at the docks!’

  ‘The how doesn’t matter, lad. All you need to know is I’m like a dog with a bone. Once I set my mind to something, I don’t let go.’” – Escaped convict, Carl Tanner, speaking to Bounty Hunter Zed O’Malley, New Orleans, Louisiana, 1832.

  The atmosphere inside the sheriff’s office was tense as they awaited the Chief Marshal’s return. While the Red Stars went through the sheriff’s things looking for information, Sandy spent the time catching Luke up on how they had ended up coming to Puerta Muerte to rescue him. Luke was particularly surprised when he learned who the marshal was.

  “No. That man is the Chuck Blye?” he said as he leaned back in the sheriff’s cushy chair, his unswollen eye wide. “What’s he doing helping us?”

  “Oh, we’re just lucky,” Tom said sarcastically, pausing his search through the sheriff’s gun racks to stomp the ground with his bullet-gouged boot. “You know my toe still stings?”

  “Good,” said Sandy in irritation. “Blye’s helping us because he sees it as a way for him
to take down Sheriff Wickee.”

  “What? Put him in jail?” Luke scoffed. He grabbed his Smith and Wesson off of the desk with his right hand and spun it in his fingers. “I don’t think so.”

  “Shh!” Sandy said, glancing back at Deputy Garrett, who stood next to the door, his back against the wall as he waited anxiously. Sandy leaned towards his friend. “And no, you don’t get to shoot him. That bullet’s mine! I just need my rifle. Miles didn’t bring it in. Hey, Garrett! Tell Miles to bring my rifle.”

  Deputy Garrett frowned and shook his head. “Not till the Chief gets back. Don’t want to mess things up.”

  Luke scoffed. “How come you get to shoot him? He’s spent the last . . . I honestly don’t know how many days, beating me.” He lifted his left hand, each finger held ramrod straight in a splint. “He broke five of my fingers!”

  “It’s his fault my momma’s dead!” Sandy said with a growl. Somewhere deep inside him Sandy knew that Jeb’s involvement was indirect, but there was no one else alive to blame and he wasn’t willing to cast that anger on his friends.

  “I guess you got a point,” Luke said with a sigh, placing his gun back on the desk beside him. “But if you ain’t around and I got a shot, I’m taking it. For both of us.”

  “You do realize he still can’t be hit by bullets,” Tom reminded them.

  “Don’t you believe that,” Sandy replied. “The more you keep thinking it, the more you make it true.”

  Katie, who had been fidgeting by the window as she watched the marshal talk to Jeb Wickee, spun around and stormed over to them. She slammed her hand down on the desk. “What is wrong with the three of you?”

  The Red Stars looked at each other.

  “What?” Tom said.

  “You’re over here talkin’ calm as day while, outside of this office, are hundreds of folks waiting to kill us! I don’t know what Blye is telling the sheriff, but the most likely thing that’s gonna happen is we’re all gonna die!”

  “Not so!” said the tall marshal waiting by the door. “Chief Blye will take care of this. You’ll see.”

  Luke looked at Tom. “How many bullets do we got?”