Noose Jumpers: A Mythological Western

by Trevor H. Cooley

  Sandy paused in front of the horse. “I understand that. It’s just . . .” He frowned. “I don’t know that I want this anymore.”

  “This?” Luke sputtered. “We made a pact, you jackass! We’re going to become legends.”

  “That’s right. We’re the Red Star Gang,” Tom pressed. “We stick together.”

  Sandy sighed. “Look, I didn’t say I was hanging up my red star. Not just yet. But there’s other ways to become famous besides thieving and killing.”

  Luke blinked at him. “You’re talking crazy.”

  “Besides, I didn’t like the way my bullet bent around that Sheriff,” Sandy added.

  “Yeah, that was unearthly. I tell you it gave me the shivers,” Tom said. “But hey, weird stuff happens.”

  “Well I’m going to find out why,” Sandy said. He climbed up on his horse. “And then I’m going to find out how to beat him.”

  “Wait,” said Tom. “We’re not completely done dividing the loot. We’ve been ignoring this.” He picked up Bobby Estrella’s gun and drew it from its holster. The sunlight gleamed off of the polished nickel plating and the pearl handle. “Which of you wants it? I’d take it, but my guns are a matching set.”

  Sandy cocked his head at Tom, surprised that the man didn’t want it for himself. He was tempted. Bobby’s gun had become almost mythical to the three boys after that shootout in town. But he shook his head. “It’s a good Colt, but I like the one I got. Give it to Luke. He can replace that ugly spare of his.”

  Luke took it carefully from Tom and ran his fingers across barrel. “Well, I prefer a top break because they’re quicker to load, but . . .” He pulled it closer to his eyes. For the first time, he noticed that tiny stars were engraved all over the polished surface, including two that were carved into the pearl grips themselves. “You two are sure?”

  “If anyone needs a piece of Bobby as a reminder, it’s you,” Sandy said.

  Luke shot him a sideways glance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Sandy replied. He gave him an encouraging nod. “Just take it.”

  Luke looked back at the gun and nodded slowly. “Sandy, about that thing Jeb did . . . If you find out how to beat it, you tell me. I want a piece of him myself.”

  “Enough crazy talk,” said Tom. “We stirred that hornet’s nest up enough. Listen, we already got our revenge on Jeb Wickee. I don’t want to go anywhere near that place again and neither should you.”

  “Suit yourself,” said Sandy. He urged his horse forward.

  “Wait! Sandy!” Tom said. “You don’t need to go just yet. You haven’t even heard about my scheme!”

  Sandy didn’t reply. He spurred his horse towards the front of the ravine where he knew Pecos would be waiting.

  9: False Rumors and the Truthfulness of Birds

  “I’m gonna tell you what all outlaws eventually find out. There’s no such thing as ‘getting away with it’. There’s always consequences. Even if you don’t understand ’em right away,” – ‘Dangerous Dan’ Tucker, June 1882

  “Do not!” shouted Sheriff Jeb Wickee from the gallows platform high above the crowd. He pointed down at them. “Do not believe every rumor you have heard in the last three days! Rumor . . . is one of the tools of the devil! It is a tool he uses to deceive! To bring down great men!” He smiled down at them, his left eye twitching as it had ever since the Red Star Gang’s escape. “But you assembled here should know this, seeing as how you’re more closely acquainted with the devil’s ways than most.”

  A rumble of laughter passed through the ranks of Puerta Muerte’s citizens below him. Jeb chuckled, knowing that he now had their full attention. He felt the power around him surge and took a moment to glory in it.

  “No! Believe only the facts! Those facts are as follows:” He raised a stiff finger into the air. “One! The Red Star Gang did hold up our illustrious bank. They murdered our poor Clerk Clark and stole as much of our collective loot as they could carry off with them. Two! Seeing as how they did not have the means to take everything, they maliciously overturned the vault. Even tried to burn the bank down! Though they were unsuccessful in that endeavor.”

  He held up a third finger. “Three! During their desperate escape, they did shoot four of our good citizens, three of whom died of their injuries.” He removed his hat and held it sadly over his heart. “They maimed poor Deputy Willis.”

  He gestured to Willis, who stood on the gallows’ edge at the top of the stairs, looking glum with both hands heavily bandaged. Doc said that the man might never regain full movement in both hands. Jeb was already on the lookout for a new deputy.

  “And! They attempted to kill me.” He grinned and spread his arms wide. “’Course, as you know, I am immune to bullets. So they failed!”

  His eye twitched again. It was those damned splinters. The left side of his face was peppered with angry red scabs where the doctor had removed the wood from his flesh. The biggest one had been right under his eye, leaving a long jagged wound that Doc had needed to sew shut. Most irritating, though, had been the tiny slivers that had been lodged in the white of his eye. The Doc claimed he had got them all, but Jeb was certain that there was at least one more in there somewhere.

  He paced in front of the noose. “Fact number four. They led you on a merry chase. That’s right. They rode through your own hills and valleys and you could not find them. They got away! This is not acceptable!”

  There was a low rumble of discontent at this remark, though no one dared shout back. That was fine with Jeb. Let them be irritated that he pointed out their incompetence. Truth be told, he was glad that the Red Stars hadn’t been captured right away. He had been so filled with rage on that day that he would have killed them outright. Now he had a better plan in mind.

  “Number five!” he shouted. “I want them caught! The City of Puerta de la Muerte is offering a bounty reward of two thousand dollars for each member of the Red Star Gang brought in alive!”

  He stopped his pacing and faced them, letting that announcement sink in. The rumble of discontent was gone, replaced by a sea of interested grunts.

  “I also expect all loot found to be returned to the bank. If I find any reason to believe that one of you fine folk has taken some of that money for yourself, I will be filled with righteous anger! And you will find yourself hanged.”

  “How much we get if they’re dead?” asked Rodrigo “El Cid” Ramirez, the new leader of the Black Spots. He was a bear of a man with a penchant for torture. He wore knives strapped to each limb and a shotgun was holstered behind his back. A perfect black circle had been tattooed on the right cheek of his face and he wore a necklace of souvenirs from previous victims of his anger.

  “Nothing!” Jeb snapped. “I don’t want ’em dead! Hurt as hell, yes! Go ahead and beat them all you want. Wanna carve yourself a keepsake out of their skin? Fine!” he said, nodding to “El Cid” and the hideous fleshy necklace that hung from the man’s neck.

  Jeb reached up and grabbed the noose that dangled above him. He could feel the hum of the artifact’s power whisper to him. He gave the taut loop a tug. “Just bring them back alive enough for me to introduce them to El Estrangular here. You hear me?”

  The assembled outlaws and bounty hunters let out a hoot of approval.

  “One last thing,” he announced, leaning out over the edge of the platform, his body anchored by the noose in his hand. He pulled energy from the artifact as he loomed over the crowd and when he spoke again it was with power. Each one of them found themselves rapt with attention.

  “These fugitives stole more than just your money. They stole something precious to me! It’s an heirloom of mine. A shining revolver with pearl handles engraved with stars.” People had heard tales of Bobby Estrella’s gun. Several heads were nodding knowingly, especially among the older outlaws. “Bring it back to me and receive a thousand-dollar bonus! Now get going!”

  He leaned back onto the platform and released
the power he had harnessed, easing the tension in the crowd below. They erupted in a cheer and began to disperse, many of them heading for horses. The Red Star Gang would have a difficult time steering clear of this group. Any of the outlaws that they considered allies would turn on them and the bounty hunters would follow them anywhere they went.

  Jeb felt a twinge of pain as he let go of the noose and looked down at his hand. His palm was smeared with blood. That sometimes happened when he pulled power from El Estrangular. There was no visible wound, but he wasn’t sure if the blood was his or belonged to one of the noose’s many victims. It didn’t really matter. The power worked like it was supposed to and he had never suffered any lasting ill effects from the process.

  He took a bandana out of his coat pocket and wiped off his hand, then brushed past Deputy Willis on the way down the stairs. There was still more to do and it started with the man that was waiting for him at the bottom.

  Santos Alvarez, the leader of the local banditos, was an imposing man. He wasn’t tall in stature like “El Cid”, but he was just as wide, with broad shoulders and a thick belly. He had a face that telegraphed trouble. His brow was heavy, his eyebrows bristling, and his eyes were dull and brown. Of course, that was just part of his facade.

  “I am worried about you, my friend,” said the bandito chief, his grin showing the glint of gold crowns.

  He spoke slowly with a heavy Mexican accent, but Jeb knew not to be deceived into thinking that was a sign of low intelligence. Santos had been highly educated in his youth and had an eloquent grasp of the English language. The bandito made a game of hiding it, but his education came out sometimes, usually when Santos knew he had the upper hand.

  “Follow me. We can talk in my office,” Jeb said, unwilling to speak further where prying ears would hear. He led the bandito across the plaza to the door of the sheriff’s office at the front end of the jailhouse.

  The interior of his office was spacious and looked more like the living room of a congressman than the office of a local sheriff. Jeb had commandeered the furniture from the previous town mayor. The gun racks and cabinets were made of fine polished wood and his desk was massive and darkly stained. His chair, which sat on a lush rug, was heavily cushioned and covered in oiled leather.

  Jeb took off his duster and hung it on the coat stand by the door. He pointed to one of the high backed chairs in front of the desk. “Would you like to sit?”

  “No,” said Santos. “A chair like that is much too soft and nice for a man like me. I have some questions to ask you is all. It won’t take too long.”

  Jeb leaned up against his desk. “Questions?”

  “You know,” the bandito said with a soft laugh. “It’s about those false rumors you were dismissing so quickly up on your stage up there.”

  “And which rumors are you alluding to?” Jeb asked.

  “Well first of all, I heard you got shot,” Santos said, nodding towards the sheriff’s face.

  Jeb’s lip curled. That was perhaps the most dangerous rumor of all. If the people stopped believing in his ability, the base of his power could crumble. He pointed at the puckered stitches near his eye. “Does this look like a bullet wound to you?”

  Santos leaned forward to give the wound a close look. Then he leaned back and gave Jeb a sly shrug. “Maybe they grazed you. Maybe this witchery of yours, whatever it is, is getting weaker.”

  “You know better than that, Santos. If anyone could have shot me, it would have been you.” The old bandito had tried more than once over the years. Jeb walked to the gun cabinet behind his desk and removed his shotgun. He showed Santos the destroyed stock of the gun. “Wood shards.”

  “What an interesting thing,” the Mexican said, folding his arms. “He couldn’t shoot you, so he shot the thing closest to your face.” He chuckled. “The boy who did that is pretty smart, huh?”

  Jeb grit his teeth, aware that he had just confirmed a flaw in his protection to a part-time enemy. But perhaps there was a way he could turn this revelation to his favor. “The one who did it was Sandy Tucker. He’s a good shot. In fact, I’ve heard some say he’s better than you.”

  “Tucker, huh?” The bandito grunted. “I’ve seen him around. He’s not that good. No one is better than Santos.”

  Jeb mentally seized the power within himself and forced a surge of suggestive authority into his voice. “If you’re so sure of that, then go capture him and prove it. Just don’t kill him if you’re wanting the reward money.”

  If the power had any effect on him, the wily bandito didn’t show it. Santos scratched at the scruff of hair on his neck. “I have to decide, huh? I can have two thousand dollars or I get to kill the boy? It depends on his attitude when I find him.”

  When Jeb released the power, he felt a wave of dizziness hit him. This was a side effect of using the suggestive power so often. A couple times a day was usually okay, but he should have known better than to try it again so soon after using the power on a whole crowd of minds. He clutched the edge of the desk with one hand, trying to steady himself. The weakness would pass in a few minutes, but he couldn’t allow the bandito to see it.

  “Well! It is good we spoke, then,” he said. “You have your options, Santos. If any more of these rumors reach your ears, let me know.”

  “There is another one,” Santos replied. “This one worries me more than the other one.”

  Jeb licked his lips and tried to focus his eyes on the bandito’s. It was difficult to do when his vision was swimming. “Oh?”

  Santos ran a finger along the polished surface of the desk. “Si. This little birdy came up to my ear and said the strangest thing. But birdies lie, you know. They sometimes say things hoping to be fed.”

  “What was this bird? A parrot?” Jeb asked, impatiently waiting for the dizziness to subside. “Did you get it from a pirate?”

  Santos let out a guffaw. “That was funny! I didn’t know you could make jokes like that, Sheriff.” He smacked the top of the desk. “I liked the way you took the menacing metaphor I used and turned it around. Pirates?” He laughed again. Then the humor left his voice. “If only the rumor wasn’t so serious.”

  “Then say it,” Jeb said.

  “I heard that the Red Stars didn’t touch any of the money in the vault. I heard that the only person those boys robbed was you,” the bandito said.

  Jeb managed not to let his dread show. If Santos started spreading that particular truth around, there would be real trouble. Who had talked? There were very few people that knew the truth.

  He snorted. “That’s a new one. You’ve seen my safe, Santos. Hell, you’re the one that sold it to me. You know there’s no way they got in there. Why would they even try when there was all that cash and gold so easy to get at?”

  “No way. huh?” The bandito raised his eyebrows. “Then how did they get your pretty gun?”

  “I didn’t keep it in the safe,” the sheriff said, coming up with the lie quickly. “It was in a case on top of it.”

  “And the deeds they burned?” Santos asked. “They didn’t come from your safe?”

  Jeb’s jaw worked. So that narrowed the list of possible talkers. Not many knew exactly what had been burned in the fire. “They were in the case with the gun,” he said unconvincingly.

  The loss of the deeds had been particularly injurious. Many of them had been signed over to him directly by the owners and hadn’t been registered with the government yet. This meant that they couldn’t be replaced through legitimate channels. In that one small fire he had lost the rights to half the town.

  The bandito chuckled. He patted Jeb on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, amigo. I can keep a secret. Just don’t try to claim any of my loot was stolen. If anything is missing, I’ll know who really took it.”

  Jeb repressed a groan. Santos wasn’t going to forget this. He would want to use it for leverage later which meant that Jeb would likely have to shoot him. He forced a smile.

  “Luckily for you, none of your g
ang’s loot was taken anyway,” he said, which was true, though finding it would be a chore.

  All the tags on the loot had been switched. The filing system in the bank had been put together by Clerk Clark and with him dead, it was difficult to sort out what items belonged to which group. The only other person who knew how to find things was their part-time clerk and she was still trying to figure it all out.

  “This is good,” Santos said. “I am glad we had this little talk. It has put my mind at ease.” He patted Jeb’s shoulder again and turned to leave.

  “Santos, before you go,” said the sheriff, thinking of one last card he could use. The old bandito looked back at him and Jeb said, “I have long been suspicious that you might know the location of a few outlaws that have . . . been on my bad side in the past. Some of whom I have sworn to hang?”

  “Oh no, my friend. I would not hide such things from you,” said Santos. “But, uh . . . if I were to come across such persons?”

  “I’d appreciate it if you would give them a message for me,” Jeb said. “Tell them that anyone who aids in the capture of these Red Star fugitives will have my personal forgiveness.”

  “You would give such men a pardon?” Santos asked, his eyes widening.

  The sheriff shrugged. “It would only be good within city limits. I can’t speak for the rest of the State of Texas.”

  The old bandito smiled broadly. “You are a smart man, Mister Sheriff. I’ll see if I can’t find a way to get your promise in the right ears. I have a feeling those Red Stars won’t be able to hide for long.” Santos patted Jeb’s shoulder one last time and moseyed out of the office door into the hot sun.

  As soon as the door shut behind the man the sheriff let out a sigh, his body slumping. His vision was no longer swimming, but he felt exhausted. Santos was a problem that had plagued him ever since he’d taken the sheriff job. The only reason he hadn’t set the bandito chief up with a date with El Estrangular yet was the knowledge that Santos’ followers wouldn’t stand for it and there were enough of them that Jeb would have a hard time putting down the resulting uprising.