Noose Jumpers: A Mythological Western

by Trevor H. Cooley

  “Yeah,” Luke said with a sigh. He had just purchased the new one six months ago after their last big job. “But the reason I bought the new one in the first place was that the old one was plum near wore out.”

  Not to mention that the holster hung too high on the hip. He preferred the gun to sit a bit lower for a smoother draw. He hated the idea of getting rid of the better rig just because of one small faulty part.

  “Maybe I can just salvage the old buckle,” Luke said.

  “Depends on how it’s attached,” Tom offered.

  Grumbling, Luke trudged across the hideout. The three Red Stars had stocked the place well over the years. The shack they had built at the rear of the ravine was more than just a shelter with three cots in it. They had also packed it with dry foods and other trail necessities. The cliff faces on either side of the ravine were filled with little nooks and crannies where they had hidden various loot and equipment.

  Luke headed to one of those spots. He crouched at the base of the cliff and moved a rock out of the way, revealing a narrow crevice. He reached in and pulled out a canvas-wrapped bundle, hoping that nothing had been water damaged. Inside was his old gun belt and a worn pair of boots. To his relief, the canvas had protected them from moisture, but the belt was as weathered and cracked as he remembered.

  He examined the buckle and figured it would likely fit the new belt. Like his new one, the buckle was attached by a leather loop that had been sewn to the belt. He wrapped the boots back up and put them away, then stopped by the shack to retrieve a sewing kit before returning to the fireside.

  “You look like you swallowed a snake,” Tom said with amusement. While Luke had been gone, he had been adding dried beef and beans to the pot of boiling water on the fire.

  “I hate sewing,” Luke groused, shaking the belts at him. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how. His mother had made him mend his own clothing since he was ten and he’d loathed every moment of it. “You wanna fix this for me, Tom?”

  “Me?” Tom grinned while he stirred the pot. “Right. I’m terrible at that, which is why I bring all my mending to my mom. You’re the one with the nimble fingers.”

  Luke narrowed his eyes at him. Though it was true that he was the fastest draw between them, Tom was the nimble fingered one. The things he could do with a deck of cards were mesmerizing.

  Luke plopped down close to the fire to begin mending his belt and heard a soft popping sound. There was a flash of brass and he reached out instinctively, snatching the shining piece out of the air before it hit the ground. He looked down, irritated to find that it was the top button of his vest. “Blast it! Now I have to sew a button too.”

  “How’d that happen? You gain some weight?” Tom asked, holding back a smirk.

  “Shut up,” Luke growled. He placed the button in the vest pocket and drew his belt knife. He went to work on the leather strap that held the buckle, carefully cutting the old stitches.

  Tom dragged some coals out of the fire and piled them up, then sat the pot down on top of them to simmer. Then he moved closer to Luke and leaned back against a rock, chewing a twig in the corner of his mouth. “You know that idea I mentioned earlier? The one that Sandy screwed up by trotting off?”

  “Nope,” Luke said, concentrating on his work.

  “You know. About heading north and tripling our loot,” Tom replied suggestively.

  “Pretty sure you didn’t mention that,” Luke said, unfazed by the tripling talk. Tom always dreamed big.

  “Yeah, well I had the job worked out for the three of us, but I’ve been thinking it over and I think I can make it work just fine with just you and me.”

  “Hmph. Not sure right now’s the best time to start the next job,” Luke said.

  “It’s a big one, Luke,” Tom pressed. “The opportunity of our lives.”

  “With you, it’s always the opportunity of our lives,” Luke replied. He cut the last stitch and removed the broken buckle. Then he lifted the old gun belt and began repeating the process.

  “Well this time it really is,” Tom said, sitting up. He spat out the twig. “And if we’re gonna jump on it, we’ll need to decide quick.”

  “Go on, then. You’re obviously eager to tell me your fancy plan,” Luke said. The stitches on the old belt cut quicker as they were already threadbare.

  “You remember Teddy Snodgrass?” Tom asked. He pulled a deck of cards out of his jacket pocket and slid them out of the box.

  Luke paused in his work, blinking as he thought about it. “That swindler from Mesilla? The one who almost got you shot?”

  “That’s the one,” Tom replied. He fanned out the cards, then began to shuffle them. “See, while you and Sandy were on the outs I went down to Mesilla and spent some time with old Teddy. He told me about this opportunity he was getting into.”

  “Why in the hell would you spend time with him after what he did?” Luke asked.

  “You can’t just go around leaning on grudges, Luke,” Tom said. “Like my momma says, ‘You never know when an akaintance will end up being useful’.”

  “I think you mean, ‘Acquaintance’, Tom,” Luke corrected. “And I think that’s a flawed saying. In my book, if someone’s worth having a grudge against, he isn’t worth staying acquainted with.”

  Tom’s lips tightened at his correction. “Well, that saying came in handy in this case. If I hadn’t let bygones get gone, I wouldn’t have heard about this opportunity. Besides, it was Teddy that let me practice breaking into all those safes.” He cracked a slight smile. “And anyway, if things go down the way I think they will, he’ll get his.”

  Luke grunted in approval, though his mind was already wandering back to the task in front of him. Having opened up the seam in the old belt, he removed the buckle and placed it in the new belt. The old buckle was slightly smaller than the broken one, but he was able to push the leather strap through the buckle and the center pin went right through the old hole. The fit was a bit tight, but it was going to work.

  “Well?” Tom said impatiently. He had stopped shuffling the cards and was giving Luke a frustrated look. “Ain’t you curious how I’m gonna triple our loot?”

  “Whose stopping you from talking? Go ahead and tell me already,” Luke replied and looked back down at the belt. He was able to line up the little holes from the stitches he had cut. Now it was just a matter of sewing it back together.

  “I’m talking about the LeGrande Coach Game,” Tom said.

  Luke picked a needle out of the sewing kit. “Uh-huh.”

  “From the way you’re not impressed, I take it you ain’t heard of it,” Tom said. “It’s only the greatest secret poker game in these United States.”

  “Oh, right. That secret one I’m supposed to have heard about.”

  Luke shook his head. Of course it had to do with cards. Tom had been obsessed since they were kids. It’s all he wanted to do. Not that Luke minded playing, necessarily. It was a fine enough way to pass the time when there was nothing else better to do. But Sandy had plum refused to keep playing with Tom.

  “The secret ain’t that the game exists,” Tom replied. “Any great card player’s heard of it. What’s kept secret is the time and place where it starts.”

  As Tom spoke he began to shuffle the cards again nervously, this time in more elaborate ways. Tom often did this when he was excited about something, and Luke had seen most of his tricks before, but every once in a while he threw in a few new ones.

  “It’s a small tournament; just five players, but the payout is so big that folks keep trying to rob the game. There were shootouts the first two years it was held, so Mr. LeGrande changed the rules. He built this fancy coach big enough to house all five players, and the table. The game starts in a different city every year and keeps moving as it goes. The route it takes is kept secret and the coach is surrounded by armed guards.”

  “So what you’re saying is that this game is like a bank on wheels,” Luke said.

  “Yeah,” Tom sai
d excitedly. “That’s why they take all the precautions.”

  “And the two of us are supposed to rob it alone?” Luke asked.

  “That’s the beautiful part of this plan,” Tom said, his grin spreading wider. “We probably don’t got to rob it at all. I’m gonna win the thing.”

  “Is that so?” Luke didn’t doubt Tom could do it. He always won at cards, no matter the game, which is why Sandy wouldn’t play with him anymore. Luke wasn’t sure why Tom was so good. He was either unable to keep himself from cheating or he was just that lucky. Luke tended to believe the former. “You got a way in to this exclusive game?”

  “I do,” Tom said with a nod. “The carriage leaves from Las Vegas in two weeks.”

  Las Vegas, New Mexico, was a town on the rise. Sitting right on the Santa Fe Trail, it was a prime stop for travelers and merchants and was swiftly becoming the most popular gambling spot in the territory. Though Luke hadn’t been there before himself, he was well aware of its reputation.

  “Isn’t that a bit of an obvious place to start?” he observed.

  “You’d think so,” Tom replied. “But LeGrande has always avoided it before. He’s said quite loudly that he finds the town distasteful. Folks know that, so they won’t be looking there. It’s a smart set up, really.”

  “Sounds like you got this handled,” Luke said and went back to his stitching. “What would you need me for?”

  Tom chuckled. “Each player is allowed a servant. You know, in case I need a drink or something.”

  “Yeah, right,” Luke snorted. Just a few more stitches and he’d be done. Then he’d have to work on that stupid button. “You need me for fetching drinks. And what were you gonna have Sandy do? Shine your boots?”

  “Actually I was gonna have him follow from a distance. You know, in case everything went south and we had to rob the thing,” Tom explained. “Robbery is still my backup plan, though it will be a little more difficult with just the two of us.” He scratched his head, then added hesitantly, “Besides . . . there is that thing about the buy-in.”

  Luke stopped what he was doing. “I knew there was something more to it. How much?”

  “Fifteen thousand,” Tom said. “So, yes, I’ll need to use both our money, but the payout is seventy, so it’s more than worth it.”

  Luke nodded appreciatively at that figure. “That’s a bit more than triple, but . . . Hold on.” Luke’s eyes widened in sudden realization. He jumped to his feet, dropping the gun belt and thread to the ground. “Wait just a damn minute!”

  “What?” said Tom, his smile faltering.

  “This is what it’s all been about from the beginning,” Luke said, pointing an accusing finger. “Getting us all back together? Robbing the Sheriff! It wasn’t about getting revenge. It’s all been about getting you in that game.”

  “Whoa now.” Tom rose to his feet and raised one hand defensively. “It’s true that I needed a way to get the cash together, but-but I’ve been looking into a way to get back at Jeb Wickee for a long time. Things just came together right. Also, you know, I thought that two big scores in a row would keep the Red Star Gang together for good.” He placed his hand on Luke’s shoulder. “That’s the important part, ain’t it?”

  Luke shrugged off his hand. “You should’ve said so up front.”

  “Yeah?” Tom scoffed. “That might’ve worked with you. Maybe. But Sandy would’ve walked right out the door. I was waiting for the right time to tell both of you.”

  “Then you waited too long, because he’s gone,” Luke pointed out.

  “Yeah,” Tom admitted. “Luckily, the Sheriff had more money in that safe than I expected so we’re still in business.”

  “If I agree to let you use my share of the loot,” Luke said.

  “You will,” Tom assured him. “Seventy. Thousand. Dollars. Think about it. We have a few days before we’d have to leave.” He headed back to the bubbling pot and stirred it.

  “Wait, you told Sandy a week,” Luke said.

  “That was when I thought there’d be three of us. I’d like a couple extra days in Las Vegas to make sure things go as I think they will. Also, I forgot we were a horse short. That’ll slow us down a bit.”

  “Right,” Luke said as he sat back down to finish repairing his gun belt. He didn’t look forward to riding the whole way to Las Vegas with Tom sitting behind him. “If I decide to go.”

  Luke finished his mending work a short time later and the belt sat just as nicely on his hips as it had before. His work done, he bent his mind on dinner. He hadn’t eaten much while on the run the last two days and his stomach was rumbling.

  Tom had added a generous amount of salt and dried red pepper to the pot along with a dose of whiskey from one of the bottles he kept stashed in the shack. The beans took a long while to cook and while they were waiting, they polished off the bottle. The meal turned out surprisingly good. The beans were soft and the dried beef turned out quite tender.

  By the time they were finished eating, the sun had started to set. Tom decided to turn in early, his last two days of sleep having consisted of restless cat naps on the back of Sandy’s horse. He disappeared into the shack before the first stars twinkled overhead.

  Luke was just as tired, but his mind was restless. He sat down by the fire and unrolled his gun cleaning kit on the ground in front of him. He drew his Smith and Wesson revolver from its holster and placed it on the oil-stained leather, then drew his custom spare from his shoulder holster and set it beside the other one. Finally, he pulled Bobby Estrella’s Colt revolver from his coat pocket.

  The gun shone even more spectacularly by firelight. Its polished nickel surface reflected the flames as if it were on fire itself and the pearl handle glowed with a soft light of its own. Luke shook his head, still in awe that he was holding the gun that had brought down so many outlaws back in the day.

  He opened the chamber and spun the cylinder. It was a much older model Colt than Sandy’s, but evidently Bobby had found some cunning gunsmith that was able to alter it to fire metal cartridges instead of the old cap and ball. The sheriff had kept it loaded. Luke unloaded the gun, smiling. It had been modified to take .38 ammunition, just like his Smith and Wesson.

  He had the urge to test fire it, but it wasn’t a good time. Not with the sheriff’s outlaws looking for them. He dry-fired it instead and was happy with the smooth action. Jeb had taken good care of it. Not a speck of rust.

  His smile withered as he thought about it. The bastard had betrayed his friend and kept this gun for himself like a trophy. Twelve years in a case. He wondered how often Jeb took it out and oiled it. Did he feel any guilt?

  Luke placed the gun down beside the others and began cleaning them. Once he had finished, he put the Smith and Wesson back in its holster and looked at the other two. He had never been all that fond of his old spare. He picked up Estrella’s gun and placed it in the shoulder holster under his left arm. The barrel was longer than the other gun and it was a bit snug, but he was confident he could modify the holster to work better.

  He pulled the revolver back out and held it in his hands, running his fingers over the tiny stars engraved into the metal. He thought back to what the Stranger had told him about Jeb Wickee’s powers.

  “Hey, I need to talk to you.” Luke said aloud.

  A glowing eye opened up in the darkness and the Stranger appeared. His clothes were such a deep black they almost succeeded in absorbing the fire light. The specter pulled a cigar out of the air and licked the end, his saliva lighting it on fire. He placed it in the corner on his mouth. “Questions?”

  “You’ve been quiet all day,” Luke said.

  “Took a lot of energy to scare off those bandits that were chasing you,” the specter replied.

  Fear was the Stranger’s most potent power. It had taken Luke some time to understand how it worked. The specter could cause a surge of dread in the most stout-hearted of individuals. This made him an ideal backer for a gunslinger like Luke. Unfortunatel
y, using that power took a lot out of him. If the specter pushed himself, he wasn’t able to manifest for a while. Still, even if he was invisible, Luke knew that he was always nearby watching.

  “I assume you heard Tom’s scheme?” Luke asked.

  “It’s not bad. Much better than I’ve come to expect from him,” the Stranger observed.

  Luke cocked his head. “You’re serious?”

  “He had a long-term scheme in place to get the money together. It actually worked. He got you here.” The specter pulled on his cigar and let the smoke slowly roll from his mouth in lazy circling patterns. “And he picked a job that uses his skill nicely.”

  “You mean cheating at cards?” Luke said.

  “I mean luck,” the Stranger replied. “It’s a talent he was born with and he knows it. So he’s puttin’ it to use.”

  Luke snorted. “So now luck is a talent.”

  “It’s a talent, same as your quick reflexes. Or scaring the bejeezus out of folks.” The Stranger looked right at him, his one good eye glowing softly through the haze of his smoke. “Or being able to deflect bullets. If a man knows his talent; believes in it; trains it; it can become a power every bit as strong as mine or Jeb’s.”

  Luke’s grip on Estrella’s Colt tightened with the mention of the sheriff’s bullet-bending ability. “What about the Sheriff’s other power? You said it didn’t belong to him. You said it was Estrella’s.”

  The Stranger grunted. “Felt like Bobby for sure. Could feel it in my core; familiar as hell. When Bobby spoke, he made people wanna obey. That was his talent. But the way Jeb used it . . .” He exhaled thoughtfully and the smoke took on the shape of gray flames crawling up his face. “I tell you, somehow Jeb stole Bobby’s talent and made it stronger.”

  “How?” Luke asked.

  “Dunno,” the specter replied. “Some sort of witchery. Maybe if he had something important of Bobby’s? Got some witch to curse it?”

  A theory built in Luke’s mind. He held Estrella’s revolver out to the specter. “Do you think this had something to do with it?”