Noose Jumpers: A Mythological Western

by Trevor H. Cooley

  He pictured the snooty bounty hunter that had ridden into the Red Star Hideout and decided the name fit him. Tom felt a slight amount of guilt as he looked at the man’s credentials. Even if it had been an accident, he was the first man Tom had killed.

  His appearance had caught Tom by surprise. When he had heard the horse coming down the ravine, he had though it was Luke returning. Then the man had ridden in with rifle cocked and demanded his surrender. Tom had immediately been impressed with the bounty hunter’s aristocratic air and fine clothing. He told the man so and had pretended to acquiesce to the man’s demands, but disarmed him at the first chance.

  A struggle had ensued; the sort of fight that Tom excelled at. The man had thrown punches. Tom had grabbed his arm and thrown the bounty hunter over his shoulder. Poor Mr. Arbuckle Jr. had landed awkwardly, breaking his neck. It had been a fluke, but odd things seemed to happen when his talents and the Kid’s powers were working together.

  Sighing, Tom put the personal papers to the side and examined the bounty posters the man had been carrying. There were three of them. One for each member of the Red Star Gang.

  The first one read in big letters, Wanted: Sandy Tucker of the Red Star Gang for the robbery of the Bank of Puerta de la Muerte. $2,000. The sketch underneath the headline was more accurate than Sandy’s previous wanted poster. They hadn’t given him a full beard this time. Under that was smaller print. Reward to be Paid by the City of Puerta De La Muerte. Payment will be issued by Sheriff Jeb Wickee upon the live delivery of this outlaw and return of the stolen goods. Otherwise, bounty is void.

  Tom shook his head. He doubted that most of the men Jeb had sent out would bother reading such small print.

  He turned it over and looked at Luke’s. The sketch on this one seemed to have been drawn by a different artist than his original poster and it didn’t look as good. They had gotten his intense eyes right, but his skin was darker and absent his regular freckles. They had given him a strong jaw, too. This was a head that belonged on a large burly man.

  Finally, he turned that over and frowned as he looked at his own. Once again, his name read, Tomas Jefferson Dunn. That made no sense to him. Why use a man’s full name when no one knew him by it? His frown deepened as he looked at the sketch. The artist seemed to have used his original poster to draw from, but was none better. His eyes were slightly more crossed and his grin even wider. At least his bounty was the same as the others. He took another bite of the ration bar.

  Tom felt a tug on his jacket shoulder as the horse bit at him again. Luckily he had seen it coming this time and had moved so that the mean thing didn’t catch his flesh this time. Tom swatted it with the bounty posters and stood. “I said, stop it! Next time you do that I swear I’ll geld you myself!”

  “Uh, he might do more than bite you if you try that,” the Kid commented, his appearance filling the air with the smell of cloves.

  Tom spared his backer a brief glance. Today a sparse mustache topped the Kid’s lip. He was back to wearing a wide Mexican sombrero and his clothes were plain cowhand gear; a long-sleeved shirt with denim pants and chaps. Also, he was hanging upside down from the side of the dead man’s horse, his legs hooked over the saddle.

  There was a time when such antics would have gotten a laugh out of Tom, but not today. “I ain’t talking to you.”

  “So you been telling me the last two days. Every time you do it, you use your mouth,” the Kid pointed out, folding his arms. “I call that talking.”

  This time Tom didn’t reply. He kicked at the specter instead. The Kid disappeared without protest. Tom then placed the papers back inside the saddlebags and popped the last bite of the oat bar into his mouth. Chewing fiercely, he mounted up and continued his journey.

  It wasn’t long before the Kid reappeared. He rode up next to Tom on a palomino horse identical to his own. The Kid was sitting backwards in the saddle, reclining against the horse’s mane. Grinning cheekily, he waved at Tom with an arm that had a hook for a hand. The missing hand was hanging out the side of the horse’s mouth.

  “Good one, right?” the Kid laughed.

  Tom’s reply was a dull glare.

  “Okay,” the Kid said. “I like a challenge.”

  The horse vanished out from under the specter, replaced by a large gray donkey with enormous testicles that bounced around as it trotted to keep up with Tom’s horse. The Kid, in an astounding feat of dexterity, stood on its haunches. Then he got down on his hands and knees and brayed. He grinned at Tom. “How about that one? Get what I’m doing?”

  “Jackassery.” Tom said with a scowl.

  “C’mon! I’ve put up with your moping for two days,” the Kid replied and the donkey vanished, replaced by the horse again. He sat sideways in the saddle, facing Tom. “Ain’t that enough for anybody?”

  “No. It’s not enough, damn it! I’m pissed at you! I’m also pissed at Luke and Sandy for leaving,” Tom griped. “I’m stuck doing the biggest job of my life without any backup.”

  “Well, in his defense, Sandy had no idea what your plans were,” the Kid pointed out. “You’re the one who decided not to tell him everything up front.”

  “You agreed that was best,” he replied, pointing an accusatory finger.

  The Kid ignored the accuracy of that statement. “And you shouldn’t be so mad with your buddy Luke either. He was pulled along by forces way the hell bigger than him.”

  “Yeah. You!” Tom snapped, surprised that the Kid was defending his friends. “He left because you broke your promise and kept messin’ with him!”

  “That was more like an agreed-upon guideline than a promise,” the Kid said, shrugging off the accusation. “Besides, it was fate more than me.”

  Tom rolled his eyes. The Kid blamed a lot of things on fate, but it had never made sense to Tom. “Luke didn’t run off because some bunch of beliefs clashed or whatever. He left because you kept messin’ with him!”

  “I had to! I felt the winds of fate shifting and I knew something was comin’. It was gonna take someone for a ride and I knew if I didn’t do somethin’ you’d be dragged right along in its wake,” the Kid said. “So, yes, I nudged him towards fate’s grasp and let it take him instead.”

  “You’re admitting you chased Luke off on purpose?” Tom said, flabbergasted.

  “Yes indeed! Couldn’t let you miss out on such a huge payout,” the specter boasted. “And, with a little witchery of my own, I got those same winds to bring that bounty hunter and his horse along. Thanks to me, you rode out of that storm with your butt in a saddle.”

  Tom put his face in his hands. “I don’t believe this.”

  “I had an inkling we wouldn’t need Luke’s quick draw skills anyway,” added the Kid. “This is a gambling operation. Not a shootout. You and me together? We got this licked.”

  “Don’t you see I would’ve rather had him along?” Tom said. “Both of ’em. Why couldn’t you have used that ‘witchery’ of yours to get them to stay?”

  “Why are you so eager to split the pot three ways after you did all the work?” The Kid snorted. “My oh my, Tommy. Sometimes you are a real head case.”

  “I planned this job for the Red Star Gang,” Tom insisted. “They’re my friends. I need ’em to have my back in case things go wrong.”

  The specter waved that idea away. “Bah! That’s a lousy way to think about it. It’s high time you had more faith in your own talent to see you through. Besides, you got me. Ain’t I your backer? Huh? Ain’t I your oldest friend in the world?”

  Tom couldn’t dispute that. “Oldest and most troublesome.”

  Tom had been born into a large and diverse family. His father, Benjamin Franklin Dunn, was of hardy frontier stock. Tom’s mother, Rosa, was a native Mexican who became a U.S. citizen by default at the end of the Mexican-American war. Together they had eight children. Tom was the seventh youngest after three older brothers and three sisters. His younger sister came along a year after he was born.

  The Du
nns were a hard working family by necessity. A ranch hand by trade, Benjamin was often gone months at a time. Despite his efforts, he didn’t bring enough to support his large brood. Rosa took in laundry to bring in extra money and all the older siblings helped. Even then, they were one of the poorest families in town.

  The result of this situation was that Tom often felt neglected as a young child. His brothers were all teenagers and too busy to have anything to do with him and while his mother tried her best to give him the attention he wanted, she was spread too thin. Rosa was not surprised when Tom began having conversations with an imaginary friend.

  The Kid had been there as long as Tom could remember. He was there to keep him company. To keep him amused when times were tough. The Kid clowned around. He played jokes on Tom’s older siblings or anyone else that treated Tom wrong. More importantly, he bolstered Tom’s stunted self-esteem.

  “You got a special talent, Tommy,” the specter used to say. “You’ve got luck. Yes indeed. Sure, it’s small right now, but that’s just ’cause you’re small. Once you get a little bigger, you’ll be a right lucky charm. And one day that’s gonna make you rich and famous.”

  Little Tom had found that hard to believe at first. After all, nothing seemed to go his way. It wasn’t until the Kid took him on his first treasure hunt that Tom began to understand.

  “I’m gonna tell you a little secret that no one talks about,” said the specter as he led Tom down the main street of town. “This world you live in is full of treasure.”

  Tom looked around to make sure no one was watching him before he responded. At this point he was well aware that he was the only one who could see the Kid. It seemed to upset people when they saw him talking to the specter. “What kind?”

  “Food. Gold. Anything that has value is treasure.” He led Tom inside the general store. “Look on the counter of the store and you’ll see it shine. Hell, everybody you see walking ’round likely has some of it in their pockets. Right now you might have nothin’, Tommy. But there it is, waitin’ for you to snatch it up for yourself.”

  Little Tom’s cheeks reddened and he shook his head. “That’s stealing.”

  The Kid laughed. “You don’t always have to take it away from people. Sometimes you’ll find it buried in the ground. Sometimes it’s lying around for just anyone to go and pick up. Sometimes folks just give it away.”

  “They do?” Tom said.

  “Sure. See that lady?” he asked, pointing out a woman in refined garb who was perusing the shelves. He told Tom what to say.

  Tom walked up to the woman and tugged on her skirt. “Hello.”

  She looked down at him in surprise. She had large beautiful eyes. “Why hello, Little One.”

  “I’m hungry,” Tom said, trying to look pitiful like the Kid had coached him.

  The woman looked around, then crouched down next to him. “Is your mother here?”

  “No,” he said truthfully. She was at home scrubbing clothes and probably wouldn’t notice that he was missing for a while.

  She cocked her head. “Aren’t you Rosa’s boy?”

  Tom’s face colored and he nodded hesitantly. “But don’t tell her. I’ll get a whoopin’.”

  The woman chuckled and held out her hand. It was covered by a lace glove. “I’m Elizabeth-Ann. What’s your name?”

  “Tom,” he replied, reaching out to take the hand she proffered.

  “Well, Tom, let’s get you something to eat,” she said and called over to her son who was on the other side of the store, picking out a bag of drop candies. He approached them, trying not to let on that he had already snuck one into his mouth. “Sandy, this is Tom. Will you watch over him while I pay?”

  “Okay,” the boy said, handing her his bag. Sandy was two years older than Tom. He was taller and able to do more things. Usually this meant that Tom would be ignored. But Sandy didn’t look down on Tom like the other kids. While his mother went up to pay, he held out a lemon drop that he had hidden in his hand. “Here. But be quiet about it.”

  It was a successful treasure hunt. Elizabeth-Ann brought Tom back to her house for pie. When Sandy took him back home a short time later, he had a full belly and it was still two whole hours before dinner time.

  “You know why that worked?” the Kid asked him later. “It’s ’cause you’re lucky, Tommy. You watch. We’ll go find you somethin’ else tomorrow.”

  It was the beginning of a new pastime. The Kid took him on a new treasure hunt almost every day and Tom always found something. Sometimes people would give him things. Sometimes he would find things that had been abandoned. Often, the treasures were food, but other times it was something more fun.

  He found belt buckles and knives and Indian arrowheads. He even found a gold dollar under the porch in front of the Cloverleaf hotel once, though one of his older brothers took it away from him. What he learned from all this was that there was always a way to get something for nothing.

  One day, Tom was walking behind the saloon when a woman stormed out the back. She threw something angrily on the ground. Her husband ran out after her, trying to calm her down. After a prolonged argument, they left and Tom went to see what it was she had thrown. A deck of cards was scattered in the dirt. The backs had a checkerboard pattern on them and the faces were hand-painted.

  “Ooh, now that’s somethin’ special, Tommy,” the Kid had said, appearing behind with an excited smile. “You wanna learn how to play?”

  From then on, Tom spent every free chance he had playing cards with the Kid. He had to do all of this in secret because he knew his mother would take his cards away, but that was okay. He had already become an expert at sneaking around.

  By the time he was seven, Tom knew the ins and out of poker and faro and 21. The Kid had a seemingly endless amount of knowledge when it came to gambling. He even knew the best ways to cheat. But Tom soon understood that with his luck, he usually wouldn’t have to.

  Tom soon started school and his friendship with Luke and Sandy bloomed. Playing with them meant he had less time to spend with the Kid, but the specter didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he encouraged their friendship. Over the ensuing months, Tom saw the Kid less and less. By the time he reached the age of nine, he rarely saw him at all.

  Years passed. Bobby Estrella died. The boys began setting out their plans for the Red Star Gang. They were going to represent all the great aspects they saw in Estrella. They would be valiant and charming and rich and deadly and they would have the biggest bounties ever seen in the west. But all of this was just a dream; empty boyhood plans. They had no way to carry it out.

  By the time Tom’s fourteenth birthday came, reality had begun to set in. Tom spent the majority of day stuck at home with his mother, scrubbing the dirty clothes of people with more money than him. Oh how he loathed washing clothes. It was a lot harder to sneak away now than it used to be. His two oldest brothers had gone off to join their father doing ranch work and his oldest sister had recently married and moved away. That meant less hands to help with the work.

  He got away as soon as possible, carrying his birthday present with him. This year his mother had baked him a large blackberry pie and she wasn’t going to make him share it with his siblings. Blackberry was one of her specialties and his favorite.

  He headed over to Luke’s house, thinking he could share it with him and Sandy. If his luck was as good as usual, Elizabeth-Ann would have purchased a present for him. Halfway there, as he was cutting through a field, he was overcome by the familiar smell of cloves.

  “Hey there, Tommy. Fancy a treasure hunt?”

  Tom spun around and nearly dropped the pie, so surprised was he to see the Kid standing there in the middle of the tall grass. He let out a laugh. “Where’ve you been?”

  “Around,” the Kid replied. He looked the same as Tom remembered him; short and with a deceptively boyish face. But his clothes were different. The Kid was dressed for war, though it looked like he hadn’t been able to choose a side. He
wore a Union Army uniform and a Confederate Army cap. “I noticed that you and your friends have been walking in circles.”

  Tom’s grin broadened. It was good to see his old friend again. “What do you mean?”

  “Y’all are full of plans, but going nowhere.” The Kid stood at attention. “Thus, I propose a treasure hunt!” Then he slouched, a fork appearing in his hand. “But first I want a bite of that pie.”

  “It’s my birthday pie,” Tom said in half protest, but he held it out and watched with interest as the Kid stabbed in his fork and pulled out a crusty bite. “You can eat now? That’s new.”

  The Kid closed his eyes and groaned as he chewed. “Wow, that is da-gum good. And no, it’s not new. You just never seen me doin’ it before. It takes a lot of energy for me to taste food.” The fork disappeared from his hand and he scratched his head. “I’m not sure I really am eating it, though. I don’t have to eat. I just like to. Tell you the truth, I’m not sure where the food goes when I do eat. I don’t poop or anything. Anyway, ready to go?”

  “Uh, okay,” Tom said, his plan to find his friends seemed unimportant at this point. “Where are we going?”

  “Well, we’re gonna try somethin’ different. You’re a bit older now. Your talent’s matured some. Let’s see where it leads us.” He smacked Tom on the back. “We’ll go for somethin’ big this time.”

  “Sure,” Tom said, his interest piqued. “So what direction from here?”

  “You tell me. We’ll follow your nose.”

  Tom looked down at the hole in his pie. “Guess I’m not sharing this.”

  He wasn’t about to waste it though. Shrugging, he reached in with his bare hand and lifted a chunk of the deep purple goodness to his mouth, thinking as he chewed. In the old days he would simply stroll through town, but at his age people would find it a bit strange if he should walk down Main Street eating a pie by hand while talking to himself.

  “How about we head towards the cemetery?” he suggested around a mouthful of sugary sweetness.