“That would be because I’m no longer tethered to this mortal form,” the woman replied.
“You’re a ghost?” Katie said. Her eyes were wide, but not with fear. It was a mix of awe and frustration.
The woman’s nose wrinkled with a frown. “More than that. Some would call me a specter. Others, a legend.” She pointed a finger at Katie. “And you have potential. Ain’t many womenfolk nowadays that hone their talent. If you mind me, I might take you on. Show you the ropes.”
“Who are you?” Katie asked.
“They call me Slue-Foot Sue.”
* * *
Two days later, the Red Star Gang returned to their hideout, exhausted and exhilarated. They still weren’t sure how to handle what had happened to Marshal Blye. There was some debate whether they should contact his office or not. They hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Katie or Deputy Garrett, so anything could have happened there.
Their main concern, however, was the fact that since leaving Puerta Muerte, none of them had seen their backers. They tried to tell themselves that this was understandable. After expending the vast amount of energy to perform the miracles they had done, it made sense that they might need to recover for a while.
At the same time, it was frustrating. Now that they all knew about each other’s legends, they had done a lot of talking on the trail the last two days and they had a lot of questions. This changed everything. Their imaginations were full of the things that the Red Star Gang could do working together with their backers. The silence was eerie.
When they rode down the ravine towards their campsite, they were surprised to find a fire already lit. They dismounted from their horses and found a pot of coffee already bubbling.
“What is this?” Tom wondered.
Luke, his body stiff and sore from two days riding, already had his pistol in hand.
“I’ll check the shack,” Sandy said, but before he reached the door, it opened.
Out stepped a man tall in stature with noble features. A studious man, but still hale of breast. He wore the clothes of an upper class gentleman, though a trusty sidearm hung on his hip.
“Stop right there,” Sandy said. “Who’re you?”
“Greetings,” the man said. “I am M.O.U.P III, Observer and Caretaker at your service.”
“What kind of name is Moup?” Tom asked.
“I apologize. Acronyms can be awkward. You may call me Milton,” he replied with a voice as musical as any bird.
“What’re you doing here?” Sandy asked.
The man cleared his throat. “I am here to inform you that you will not be seeing your backers for a while. Perhaps not ever again.”
“What?” Luke said. “Why? And what do you know about our backers?”
“I am an Observer and Caretaker,” he said. “It is our job to oversee the interactions between backers and their prospects. When a backer goes awry it is our job to bring them under review.”
“You mean when one breaks a law,” Sandy said. He had been afraid of this. The legends had known there might be repercussions.
“Indeed and several laws were broken. By all three of them. Grievously broken. An inquest is underway and possible punishments will be decided,” he replied.
“Do we get to testify?” Luke asked.
“That is doubtful,” the observer said. “These things are usually kept out of mortal hands.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Tom said.
“When will we know?” Sandy asked.
“When punishment is decided, we will contact you,” the Observer said. “In the meantime, I suggest you three ‘lie low’. After the amount of power that was used in Puerta de la Muerte, you gained a good deal of reputation. It is also known by many parties that you are currently not under the protection of a backer. Some may try to find you and you don’t want that.”
“Great,” said Tom. “I was looking forward to going back to Luna Gorda.”
The observer shrugged. “I am merely suggesting caution. I cannot forbid you to go if you wish to.”
“So what?” Luke asked. “You’re going to just stay with us until you get a verdict?”
“Oh, heavens no. I’m off. My message has been delivered. Enjoy the coffee.” With that, he vanished.
28: One Last Note
Greetings, dear readers. It is I, your storyteller, once more. I suppose that speaking directly to you has become somewhat of a habit for me. This is, in general, a very bad habit for a storyteller to have as it does take a reader out of the tale. It is an even worse habit for an Observer, since revealing ourselves to every day mortals is frowned upon. Revealing the secrets we see is even worse.
In fact, what I am doing right now would be considered a great crime among my colleagues and superiors were I not skating the very fine line of technicality. There are two aspects of this tale that should help me avoid dismissal and, perhaps, execution.
One of them is that the events of I write are in the distant past. There are none alive whose confidence I can break by telling this tale. At the very worst, some distant relative may learn something unexpected about their great-great grandfather.
The second aspect that should keep me from getting the axe, so to speak, is that I am couching this tale in the format of a novel. You may have even noticed the disclaimer at the beginning of this book that assured the seething mass of litigious lawyers out there that this is a work of fiction. Funny how a few short sentences of legalese can protect one from assailants both mortal and ever living.
Well, here we are, at the end of this volume of the Red Star Gang’s tale. For the most part, those of you who could be convinced have been, while those of you who haven’t been have either already demanded a refund, or have simply decided to enjoy the tale as the fiction I have couched it to be. Nevertheless, I feel a compulsion to try to persuade you one last time by explaining some of the possibly perceived flaws in the narrative. I understand that this is a self-indulgent exercise but, unfortunately, those are the types of exercises I am most prone to do.
Some of you are likely wondering why, if these events are true, have you never heard of them before? After all, Tom, Sandy, and Luke are noted figures of historical record. Surely such important parts of their journeys from obscurity to notoriety would not be left out.
It may make sense to you why “historians” would purge Sandy’s fantastical encounter with the Witch of the Rio Grande from the record. It might even be understandable how Tom Dunn’s winning and near-instant losing of a princely sum at a secret gambling tournament would be missed, despite the fact that he won it with what is likely the best blind hand in the history of poker.
But Luke’s tale? Oh, surely you must be scratching your heads over that one. A gunslinger of his caliber shooting down a score of bandits holding a town captive? How could we have missed that one, especially when it occurred during an era whose newspaper clippings have been preserved and pored over by generations of thirsty academics.
Sadly, I must inform you that such events are glossed over all too often. In Luke’s case, it was because of politics. The shootout in Luna Gorda was big news of the day. The locals talked about it for years and the tales of Luke’s success over impossible odds were shared by word of mouth throughout the territory. However, the true version of events was not what made the papers.
Luna Gorda’s mayor saw the attack as a black eye on the town’s reputation. The railroad had been there only for a short time and he didn’t want to see Luna Gorda’s growth retarded by a blow to the town’s image. He used the town’s railroad-swollen coffers to pull a few strings. The newspapers both in town and in the rest of the territory printed a much different version of events.
If you look up the articles for that date, you will find mention of a much smaller group of bandits that entered Luna Gorda to claim hostages, but were thwarted by the local law enforcement, led by Sheriff Hubert Dale and bolstered by Federal Marshals. Elizabeth-Ann’s death is but a small footnote and her ob
ituary notice, lovingly written by her surviving husband, was only printed in Luna Gorda and Santa Fe.
There was outrage among the locals. Some of them quite unfairly blaming Sheriff Dale. But the outrage of one day tends to lose steam, quickly replaced by the next day’s outrage and such was the case here. Perhaps this will help you to understand how events, no matter how large, can be lost to history.
As for the near cataclysmic destruction that happened in Puerta Muerte, it didn’t even make the news. The majority of people involved were unimportant riff raff. The deaths of Chief Marshal Chuck Blye and his band of deputies was reported as an attack by bandits. The Red Star’s involvement was not mentioned at all, though their pardons did go into effect and their bounties were expunged.
As for Deputy Marshal Pat Garrett, he went on to become one of the most celebrated and denigrated lawmen of the era. I’m sure you can look him up at your leisure. Even though I do caution you, his tale has also been heavily modified by “historians” over the years.
There. I shan’t take up anymore of your time, except perhaps to make clear why I have decided to share this bit of history with you. This particular series of events, though they may appear minor in the big scheme of things to those who are not in the know, was a crucial defining moment. The near-destruction of Puerta de la Muerte and the trial of the legends that followed was the “shot heard around the world” so to speak. In a very real way this was the true beginning of the Noose Jumper Era.
I believe I shall close on one last quote. This one came from my father.
“One thing human belief cannot do is change the past. It can, however, change the way the past affects the future.”
Best regards,
Your host, M.O.U.P. III, Observer and Caretaker
Author’s Note
Years ago, before I had published any books, I had started a humor blog. It’s still out there if you’re morbidly curious, (edgewriter.wordpress.com). Anyway, I wrote this article about the history of extreme sports and I had this one-off joke about an early version of bungie jumping in the Old West called “Noose Jumping”. The idea was that people were committing crimes, trying to get hung as some sort of an adrenaline rush. I made myself laugh and afterwards that kernel of a thought always sat in my mind.
A little over a year ago, my brother, Jared Cooley, told me he wanted to collaborate on a short film. I would write it and we would develop the idea together and possibly turn it into a television show. So I brought up the old Noose Jumpers idea, except instead of an extreme sport, it would be a competition between outlaws trying to become famous.
The idea expanded into becoming much more fantastical, evolving into something almost like an American version of the old Greek tales, full of gods, demigods, and their champions, but all set in the late 1800’s during the Wild West. It ended up being a perfect period to set it in, because you could look at the late 1800’s and all the famous lawmen and gunslingers and gamblers that achieved fame and notoriety and believe that some strange competition was behind it all.
Between writing the Ogre Apprentice and the Troll King, I wrote an additional script that could be used as a pilot script for television or perhaps a feature film. While preparing for it, I watched a ton of Westerns, focusing mainly on Sergio Leone’s films and other Spaghetti Westerns. I enjoyed it so much that I decided I wanted to write a series.
It’s funny. I never really thought of myself as much of a “Western Guy”. I spetd most of my school years in Utah, I spent two more years in New Mexico. I always preferred the lush greenery of the east. It wasn’t until I started preparing for this book that I realized how many Westerns I had seen and how much they had influenced my life. I probably have my father to thank for that. There are so many I love, from the Man With No Name trilogy, to Blazing Saddles, to Silverado or Tombstone or Young Guns. It is a rich genre and I felt it was just begging for a fantasy treatment.
Last summer, Jared filmed the Noose Jumpers concept short film from my original script. On a shoestring budget, he was able to put together an amazing cast and crew. (Don’t you think J LaRose would make an amazing Coyote?) My brother and father both made a cameo. You can watch it for free on Youtube. (And television producers? CALL ME.)
https://youtu.be/tB5xfXhQa2g
(A quick note: The short film is not canon. Of course, Sandy never faced off against the Stranger, though the character of Deadeye Slim may make an appearance in the future. It is mainly a concept piece to show the idea of what a television show might look like.)
I hope you have enjoyed the book and I am looking forward to returning to this world. Also, please check out my other series, The Bowl of Souls, if you haven’t already. It begins as more of a traditional fantasy, but quickly branches out with a broad range of unique characters and cultures.
Thank you,
Trevor H. Cooley, July 15 2016
The Noose Jumpers series will continue with
The Hangin’ Tree
Summer 2017
In the meantime, check out The Bowl of Souls Series, a fantasy series by this same author, the 11th book of which will be released in the fall of 2016
Keep an eye on the Trevor H. Cooley Facebook page, Twitter @edgewriter, and trevorhcooley.com for updates.
Please keep the comments coming and tell your friends.
Book reviews are always welcome.
Noose Jumpers: A Mythological Western Page 40
