Noose Jumpers: A Mythological Western

by Trevor H. Cooley

  The Stranger looked back towards the outlaw camp. “They think you stole their money.”

  “Why would they think that?” he whispered.

  The Stranger merely arched an eyebrow in response.

  “Blast!” Of course. Luke couldn’t believe how stupid they had been not to think of something so simple. All the sheriff had to do was lie about it and keep anyone who knew the truth quiet. “They say anything else?”

  “Can’t hear ’em from here,” the specter replied.

  While he thought about what to do, Luke quietly rolled up his bedroll and tied it behind his saddle. The voices had grown silent. “They still up?”

  The Stranger walked out from the protection of the small hill and looked toward the camp. Luke could see the faint glimmer of their fire illuminating his form. “Two of ’em are lying down. One’s sitting by the fire.”

  “Alright. I’ll pay them a visit.” Luke decided. “I’ll climb over the top. Why don’t you head over and spook them for me?”

  The specter grinned and turned to mist.

  Luke left his horse tethered where it was and started up the hill carefully, trying not to make a sound. When he reached the top, he crept forward until he could see the camp site below. It was as the Stranger described.

  There were three men; two of them lying down on top of bedrolls trying to sleep, while one other sat on a rock near the fire, absently poking the burning wood with a stick. All three men were marked on the face with black spots.

  Luke waited for his backer to make his distraction. It didn’t take long. The Stranger appeared on the opposite side of the camp from Luke and, though the three men couldn’t see him, they felt his presence.

  The man at the fire shivered and looked out into the darkness. One of the men lying on his bedroll sat up. “There somethin’ out there?”

  “Somethin’,” replied the man at the fire, fear in his voice. “What do you think, Buck?”

  “Nothing, ya babies,” said the man still reclining. “Get some shuteye.”

  A low growl arose in the night and the three men jumped. The man called Buck sat up straight as an arrow. Luke drew his revolver with his left hand and edged down the hillside behind them.

  “Coyote maybe?” Buck suggested, climbing to his feet.

  The other two black spots stood as well and the one by the fire put his hand on the butt of his pistol. “That weren’t no coyote. It’s a wouser if I ever heard one.”

  Luke shook his head. Wousers were a local legend. Part man, part cougar, folks said they skulked through the prairies and mountains, killing livestock and any man stupid enough to challenge them. Luke had never seen one, but he had seen a mountain lion big enough to bring down a cow and that was scary enough. No need to make up anything else.

  “There ain’t no such thing, you jackass,” Buck replied, but he bent to grab the rifle that rested on the ground next to his bedroll.

  Luke frowned. The Stranger was overdoing it again. The point was to distract them, not alert them. He realized he’d better get the jump on them before they started firing off shots. He stepped into the firelight.

  “Howdy, boys,” Luke said.

  The three men turned towards him. Luke saw the one by the fire begin to draw his pistol and Luke was forced to fire a warning shot. Now Luke wasn’t quite the deadeye that Sandy was, but at this distance he didn’t miss. The bullet struck the barrel of the gun while it was halfway out of the holster, jerking the weapon out of the man’s hand.

  The sound was deafening in the quiet night air. One of their horses screamed and galloped off. Two of the men froze, while the one standing by the fire yelped and cradled his stinging hand to his chest.

  “I’m here for a reconnoiter,” Luke announced. “I recommend no one else tries anything.”

  “Why Luke Bassett,” said one of them with a lopsided grin. He had a greasy combover haircut and his black spot was a smear of coal dust on his left cheek. “We been looking for you.”

  Luke recognized him right away. The Red Stars had kept their distance from the Black Spots for the most part, but there had been a few run ins over the years. This one was a low man on their particular totem pole. “Paco, right?”

  “Marco,” the man corrected.

  “My damn hand! I think you broke it!” complained the man Luke had disarmed. His black spot was on his right cheek and not as smeared as Marco’s. He wore a long blue jacket with gunshot holes in the breast.

  “Doubt it. Might have sprained a couple fingers, but that’s about it,” Luke replied. He gestured to the man they had called Buck. “You. Back away from that rifle and all three of you, put those hands up. If anyone tries to draw iron again, my next bullet’s hitting something soft.”

  Buck scowled at him, but backed away towards the others. Luke hadn’t been able to see it clearly before, but this man’s black spot sat on his forehead and was perfectly round. It was probably a tattoo. That was a newer tradition, started by their current boss. El Cid liked a permanent mark.

  “So which one of you are in charge here?” Luke asked. “I know it’s not Paco because he’s not worth a turd.”

  Marco scowled, but said nothing.

  “That’d be me,” the tattooed man answered, puffing out his chest, and the other men didn’t disagree. Luke supposed it made sense. There wasn’t any sense in getting yourself tattooed unless you felt secure in your position.

  Luke focused his attention on the man. “Okay, Buck. Why is it that you three are looking for me?”

  “El Cid ain’t happy with you and your buddies,” Buck said. “You stole Black Spot money.”

  “Then there’s been a misunderstanding,” Luke replied. “The only money we touched in that bank was Sheriff Wickee’s. We left everything else where it was.”

  Marco snorted. “Like we’d believe you. Besides, the Sheriff’s offering a big fat reward for your return.”

  Luke ignored him. “What’s the reward, Buck?”

  “$2000 for each one of you Red Stars brought back to him with the loot you stole,” Buck said haughtily.

  “Well, that’s not happening, Buck. Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re gonna head right back to El Cid and tell him that the Sheriff’s lying to him. All Black Spot loot is still in that bank and if the Sheriff says otherwise it’s because he’s decided to keep it for himself.”

  Buck snorted in response and crossed his arms, “I don’t gotta do nothing you say.”

  A pillar of black mist appeared in the center of the camp and the Stranger walked out, stepping through the fire without even disturbing the coals. “Something’s wrong here, Luke. These boys are too uppity.”

  He was right. The Stranger’s presence had them shaking in their boots at first, but they had calmed down since Luke had made his entrance. Now they looked more resentful than afraid.

  “Better keep your hands up, Buck, if you don’t want your elbow shot off,” Luke threatened.

  “You ain’t gonna shoot me,” Buck said. He looked at his compadres. “He ain’t shooting any of us. He don’t know it yet, but we got him by the short and curlies.”

  “Shoot one of ’em,” the Sranger suggested. “Get their attention.”

  “What makes you so confident?” Luke wondered.

  “’Cause El Cid’s got everything you care about sitting right in his hands,” Buck said with a sneer.

  Luke tried to keep his expression calm, but his heart sank. Did they have Sandy? Had they somehow found the hideout and captured Tom while he was gone?

  “Here’s what you’re gonna do, Mister Luke Bassett,” Buck said, growing more confident with each word. “You’re gonna put that gun down and hold out your hands so we can tie you up. Then you’re gonna march us right to the rest of your buddies. Then we’ll all go back to El Cid and you three can try to convince him yourself. Thing is, he’ll probly just haul you back to Puerta Muerte for the reward.” He spat. “After he’s taken a souvenir for himself, of course.”

 
; “They got nothing,” said the Stranger, but Luke thought he heard trepidation in the specter’s voice. “Shoot before one of them goes for a gun.”

  So they didn’t have Tom and Sandy. That only left one possibility. “Where is El Cid right now?”

  Buck’s bravado was catching because Marco lowered his hands. “In Luna Gorda, of course. You think we all didn’t know where you was from?”

  “Shoot ’em!” demanded the Stranger. “Shoot ’em all!”

  “Keep those hands up unless you want me to drop all three of you!” Luke warned with a glare that caused Marco to stick his hands back up and give Buck an unsure look. The tattooed man licked his lips but didn’t uncross his arms. “You have nothing,” Luke said. “El Cid can sit in town all he wants. We’re not going back there.”

  “Yeah you will. Unless you want him having his way with your momma,” Buck threatened. “Hell, maybe he already is. Is your momma that pretty one? From that look in your eye, I bet she is. El Cid’s had his eye on her ever sinc-!”

  Luke’s pistol bucked. His bullet struck the grinning fool right in the center of his tattoo. Buck let out a strange sound and collapsed slowly, crumpling to the ground. The Black Spots stared at their fallen comrade.

  “You know, I hadn’t planned on killing anybody when I walked over here, but Tattoo there was just plain rude,” Luke admonished, his face grim. He felt sick to his stomach. This wasn’t right. No one’s families were to be involved. There were rules.

  “Should’ve shot sooner,” the Stranger sighed. “Shouldn’t have listened.”

  Luke ignored him, keeping his focus on the two men. They still hadn’t responded to him and were standing there stunned.

  “Hey!” he barked. When their eyes were trained back on him, he added. “You hear me? You gonna be polite?”

  “You killed him,” said the man with the injured hand and his lip twitched with anger. “El Cid ain’t gonna forgive this, you son of a-.”

  Luke fired again and the man dropped. His injured arm fell into the fire as he hit the ground, but he didn’t so much as twitch. The new hole in his head had taken his capacity for pain.

  “How about you, Paco?” Luke asked, his gun trained on the last Black Spot living.

  “I’ll be as polite as hell,” Marco swore, his hands held straight up in the air. He now had the appropriate level of fear in his voice.

  “I can see in your face that you’re troubled, Luke,” said the Stranger, stepping over the nameless outlaw, whose jacket had now caught fire. “You didn’t shoot when I said and they went and punched you right in your weakness. Now you got worries. Worries weaken a man; make him do stupid things.”

  The Specter walked up behind the remaining outlaw and moved in close until his chin was level with the man’s ear. His gleaming eye stayed fastened to Luke’s. “I say you forget what that tattooed fool said and shoot this last one now. Do it before this man spits more poison in your ear.”

  “I don’t know,” said Luke.

  “W-what don’t you know?” said Marco, sweating as he saw the anxiety and confusion on Luke’s face.

  Part of Luke felt that his backer was right. Shoot the man. Hide the bodies. Head back to Tom and go on to their new job. The folks in Luna Gorda would be fine. Every outlaw in Southeast Texas knew the town was off limits and besides, Sheriff Dale had railroad security to back him up now. The Black Spots might strut around town and bluster a bit, but they wouldn’t dare touch anyone. Once they knew he and the other Red Stars weren’t gonna show, they would leave.

  Still, his finger hesitated on the trigger. What if things had changed? What if El Cid wasn’t playing by the rules?

  “This is a crucial moment, Luke,” the Stranger said. A lit cigar appeared in his hand and he reached around the man in front of him. There was a hissing sound as he put out the cigar in the center of Marco’s forehead. The outlaw didn’t flinch, unable to feel what the specter was showing Luke, but when the Stranger removed his hand there was a burn mark left behind. “Put the bullet right there.”

  Luke shook his head. He couldn’t just let it go like that. “Tell me what El Cid is doing.”

  “Uh, he don’t tell us everything, but . . .” Marco swallowed. “I-I don’t want you to shoot me.”

  “Then talk, Paco!” Luke shouted.

  “I don’t know what he’s doing right now!” Marco said, a tremor in his voice. “We rode up to Luna Gorda soon as the Sheriff told us about the bounties. We got there yesterday and El Cid sent a bunch of us out to look for you. He-he thought for sure you Red Stars couldn’t’ve gone far. We was told not to kill you, ’cause the bounty’s no good if you’re dead, but to tell you . . . you know, like what Buck said.”

  Luke clenched his teeth. “Yeah, but what is he really going to do? He’s not allowed to touch Luna Gorda.”

  Marco flinched. “He don’t think that rule applies no more. The Sheriff was so mad and all and El Cid said, well, he never liked that particular rule anyway and . . .”

  “And?” Luke pressed.

  “He said he was gonna take over the town and wait for y’all to show up. We was supposed to tell you that if you didn’t show soon . . . he was gonna start shootin’ everybody you know.” He squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced, waiting for Luke to shoot.

  “Idiot!” the Stranger growled. “Told you not to listen.”

  Luke fired again, this time into the air.

  Marco cried out and staggered back, reaching for his head, then checking his chest for holes. “That ain’t right, Luke Bassett.” He wheezed. “That ain’t right! Durn near pissed myself!”

  “How many men did he bring?” Luke asked, his mind working on a possible solution.

  “I didn’t count,” he said and from the look on his face, Luke wondered if he could count. “But he brought near half the gang. He sent some of us out looking for y’all while the rest was gonna cover the town.”

  Luke chewed his lip. Half the gang was a hefty number. The Black Spots were one of the oldest and most prolific outlaw bands in the Southwest. Their numbers at one time had swelled to as many as sixty, but Luke was pretty sure that after El Cid’s bloody takeover of the gang, they were down to forty or so.

  “At least twenty men,” the Stranger said, coming up with the same numbers Luke had.

  “Minus two,” Luke reminded him and narrowed his eyes at Marco. “He sent you three this way. How many others did he send out?”

  The Black Spot’s brow wrinkled in thought. “Sent two towards Mesilla. Two up Albuquerque way.”

  That left at least thirteen men in the town. Luke nodded. “Alright, Paco. This is what you’re going to do. You get on your horse and hightail it back to Luna Gorda and you tell El Cid that the Red Stars are coming like he wants,” Luke said. “But you tell him what I told you about how we didn’t steal any Black Spot money. Understand?”

  A look of relief passed over Marco’s face and he nodded eagerly. He started backing towards his horse.

  “One other thing,” Luke warned. “You tell El Cid that if he harms any of our family in Luna Gorda, and that includes taking one of his souvenirs, the deal’s off. We will disappear and spend every last cent of our loot buying up ads in papers telling the law about every Black Spot hideout we know.”

  The Black Spot’s eyes widened, but he nodded. “I-I will. I’ll tell him.”

  “Then get!” Luke snapped.

  Shooting back uneasy glances at Luke, the man mounted one of the horses. Then, as a hesitant parting shot, he announced, “My name’s Marco.” Before Luke could reply, he galloped off.

  “You ain’t really gonna turn yourself in,” the Stranger said and, though he stated it as fact, there was a hint of question in his voice.

  “Of course not,” Luke replied and with a tone deadly serious added, “Tom and I are going to come up with a plan and gun El Cid down.”

  His backer grunted. “I thought that’s what you would say.”

  The sky had brightened; the sun abou
t to peek over the horizon. Luke looked at the bodies of the two dead men. The man whose arm had fallen in the fire was smoldering and giving off an awful stench.

  Luke briefly considered dragging them around to the other side of the hill where they wouldn’t be seen from the road, but he didn’t want to take the time. He settled for kicking dirt onto the fire and putting it out. Then he grabbed the reigns of the last remaining horse. It was skinny and the saddle was in terrible condition, but it was better than nothing. At least Tom had a ride now.

  He retrieved his horse from the other side of the hill and headed off, the Black Spot’s horse in tow. It took three solid hours to get back to the Red Star hideout and by the time he reached the entrance of the ravine, the sun was high and the sky was cloudless. The day was looking to be a real roaster.

  He galloped down the ravine towards their hideout. “Tom!”

  There was no answer. He jumped down from his horse and ran to the shack. He threw open the door and came to a lurching halt. There was a dead man lying on the floor of the shack, between two of the cots. He was stark naked.

  Luke checked him over quickly. He looked unfamiliar. His black hair had been slicked back and a neatly trimmed mustache adorned his upper lip. There were no apparent gunshot wounds, but from the way the man’s head lolled oddly as Luke moved him, his neck had been broken.

  Luke exited the shack. “There’s a dead man in there.”

  The Stranger was standing by the fire pit. “The ash is cold. He couldn’t have started a fire last night.”

  Luke swore and rushed to the side of the ravine to the cliff face where he and Tom had hidden their gold. He pulled aside the dirt that Tom had piled over the opening of the small cave and peered in. Groaning, he pulled out the folded sheet of paper that was the only thing inside.

  “Gone!” he said, brandishing the paper at the Stranger. He opened it and squinted at Tom’s barely legible handwriting.

  Luke,

  Sorry. Couldn’t wait. Needed your gold. If you get back in time, catch up with me in that place I told you.

  Tom