Noose Jumpers: A Mythological Western

by Trevor H. Cooley

  “Wherever you want,” the Kid said, grinning.

  Tom set off and the specter walked beside him in a faux march. They headed past Luke’s house towards the trail to the cemetery, but when they got there, he saw the baker’s wife walking up the trail in front of him.

  “Maybe we won’t go that way,” Tom said. Now that he thought about it, what kind of treasure was he going to find in the cemetery? What was he going to do, dig up a grave? “Any ideas?”

  “I am staying neutral, Sir!” The Kid said with a salute. A rifle with bayonet had appeared in his hand and he held it by the butt, balancing it on his shoulder.

  “You’re really stuck on this soldier thing today, ain’t you?” Tom observed.

  “Just make a choice and go with it, Tommy,” the Kid said, then stood at attention again. “Sir!”

  Tom chuckled and started walking again. He decided to head towards the town’s spring and the grove of trees that surrounded it. “I’ve missed this, you know. Me and you, hunting treasure. My momma thinks that you were always just part of my mangation.”

  “Huh?” said the Kid.

  “My mangation. You know. In my head,” Tom explained.

  “I think you mean igmanation,” the Kid corrected. He snorted. “So your momma thinks your igmanation taught you cards?”

  “She don’t know about that part,” Tom said. He took a few more steps. “Wait. Igmanation? That don’t sound right. Hmm. But what I said don’t sound quite right either. Mangation? Igmanation?”

  “It don’t matter. Keep walking,” the Kid suggested.

  They made it to the tree line and Tom stopped. He looked down at his pie. There was still a third of it left, but he was stuffed. “You want the rest of this?”

  The Kid shrugged. “Naw. I’m savin’ my energy.”

  “I don’t understand you sometimes,” Tom said. He looked at the last of the pie again. Seemed like a sacrilege to throw it away, though. He shrugged. “I guess it’s only my birthday once a year.”

  Tom decided not to go into the trees. He walked parallel to them while he finished the pie. It was rich and thick and most of the crust was gone, so at this point, he was just lifting handfuls of cold berries to his mouth. His stomach hurt. Each bite became a challenge.

  Finally, he was done. He had an empty pie pan in one hand and the other was coated with purple stickiness. He stopped walking and groaned.

  “Eat too much? That was a pretty big pie,” the Kid observed.

  “Yeah,” Tom said with a grimace. He wiped his hand on his pants knowing his mother would scold him for it, but he really didn’t feel like licking his hand clean at this point.

  “So . . . any idea where you wanna go from here?” the Kid asked impatiently.

  “Um, no.” Tom said. His hand was still sticky. He was irritated that he had to keep holding the pie pan. But he couldn’t leave it anywhere. His mother would need it back. “Into the hills, I guess.”

  The trail that led southward out of Luna Gorda was just ahead. Tom had gone that way with his friends a few times hunting for rabbits. It was really hilly. Lots of hiding spots.

  “Lead away,” the Kid said.

  “I’m really gonna find treasure today?” Tom said, suddenly feeling ill. He was losing his enthusiasm.

  The specter grinned. “Has your luck ever let you down?”

  Tom could think of countless times. His luck helped with cards, but in most other situations it seemed to miss the mark. He didn’t feel like arguing the point, though. He started up the trail.

  He didn’t get very far before he started to sweat. He wasn’t sure why. It was in the fall, so it wasn’t all that hot. Maybe it was just his belly.

  “Gotta take a break,” he said and stepped off of the trail. There was a wide flat rock just up the slope from him that seemed inviting. He climbed up and sat on it, placing the pie pan next to him.

  “You look miserable,” the Kid said.

  “Yeah,” he groaned.

  The Kid rubbed his neck. “I didn’t wanna mention it earlier, but when you were eating that last bit I saw a butterfly land in your pie.”

  “I didn’t see it,” Tom said.

  “You ate it,” the Kid added.

  “No way,” Tom said, looking green.

  “Maybe that’s why you’re sick,” he suggested. “It was a big one, too. Fat and yellow. Looked juicy.”

  With that last comment, Tom retched. There was no stopping it after that. He bent over the edge of the rock and vomited repeatedly, regurgitating his birthday present onto the slope.

  “You know, that ain’t a part of living that I miss,” the specter observed.

  “You knew that would happen,” Tom accused and retched again. There was nothing coming up now but mucus. He spat. “Jerk!”

  He leaned back onto the rock and it shifted unexpectedly. Tom let out a curse as the rock began sliding down the slope. He rode it down the slope, the rock gliding through his pie until it came to rest just next to the trail. Tom got off of the rock and stumbled away, grateful that it hadn’t flipped over on top of him.

  As it was, he had ruined his mother’s pie pan. It had fallen off the front of the rock during the slide and had been nearly folded in half. He glared up at the Kid, who was still standing up the slope where the slide had started.

  “Tommy, take a gander at this,” the Kid said, waving him over excitedly.

  Tom trudged up the hill towards him, sidestepping the remains of his pie. At least it was over. His belly still protested, but he felt a lot better now.

  “You realize I could’ve died just now,” Tom reminded him.

  “Nonsense. Look at this. I knew you were just about ready,” the Kid enthused, pointing at the depression in the slope where the rock had been.

  Poking out of the hillside was the corner of something wooden. Tom forgot his discomfort. “What do you think it is?”

  “I say you uncover it and find out,” the specter replied.

  Bending over, Tom began pulling the dirt and small rocks away from the wood. As more of it was exposed, Tom realized that it was a box or chest of some kind. “I’ll be damned. Honest to goodness treasure.”

  Tom retrieved the bent pie pan and used it to help him scrape away more dirt from around it. The work took some time and the sun was on its downward slope by the time he had enough of it uncovered to know what it was. He stopped and wiped his brow. “It’s a coffin.”

  “Well?” said the Kid. “Don’t you want to see what’s inside?”

  “An old dusty skeleton?” Tom suggested.

  “Trust me,” the Kid urged. “And trust your luck.”

  A few minutes later he had the lid completely cleared off. Tom’s next question was how he was supposed to open it. Coffin lids were usually nailed shut, but he discovered that this one sat on a hinge. He slid aside a latch and was able to pop it open. Tom’s eyes widened.

  There were guns inside. Two rifles and three pistols. There were also a few boxes of paper cartridges, a length of stout rope, a couple knives, and a keg of black powder.

  “This is someone’s stash,” he realized. These weapons had likely belonged to real outlaws. He laughed out loud as the possibilities came to him. “This is what the Red Star Gang needs!”

  The Kid laughed along with him. “It’s a start for sure. You know why you found all this, Tommy?”

  “Luck,” Tom said. “You said I had it and here’s proof.”

  “Indeed, you’re right,” the Kid agreed. “but it was more than just your luck alone that helped you find this spot.”

  “Like what?” Tom asked. He was already trying to figure out what to do with this stuff. He needed to get Luke and Sandy over here. That was for sure. But how were they supposed to keep something like this hidden?

  “Chaos,” said the specter.

  “Oh,” Tom replied. They would probably have to take it somewhere and rebury it. Then they needed to find a place to practice their shooting. It would have to be far enoug
h away that people from town wouldn’t come to investigate.

  The Kid reached out and flicked Tom’s ear. “Hey! Tommy, listen up. I’m tellin’ you somethin’ important.”

  Tom winced, rubbing his ear. He had never liked it when the Kid did that. “Oww. You do know that no one calls me Tommy anymore, right?”

  “Focus,” the Kid said.

  Tom had to smile despite his still stinging ear. “That’s what Luke’s mom always says in class.”

  “Don’t compare me to that steely-eyed wowser,” the specter protested. “I’m tryin’ to explain my powers, here.”

  “Really?” Now the Kid had Tom’s interest.

  The specter nodded. “When I was growin’ up I had a talent just like you do. I didn’t understand it at first, but the thing is somebody came along to teach me how to use it. He was like I am now, somebody who ain’t alive or dead. He became my backer.”

  “Who was he?” Tom asked.

  The Kid opened his mouth to reply, but no sound came out. He cocked his head in confusion and a look of sadness passed through his eyes, but that quickly passed and his familiar grin returned. “I don’t remember all the details no more, but that don’t matter. Thing is, I started out as a nobody, but he taught me to use my talent and it grew and grew until it was somethin’ impressive. Eventually everybody knew who I was.”

  “So you’re tellin’ me you’re lucky too?” Tom said.

  “No. Like I said before, chaos,” the Kid replied. “Listen, here. The world around us is full of possibilities and I can feel ’em. So many things could happen at any time. Most of it’s boring stuff; a branch could break loose from a tree or somebody could trip on a rock. But when I use my talent I can make those possibilities wilder.”

  He looked at Tom expectantly and Tom frowned, trying to grasp the concept. He thought of all the crazy things that seemed to happen when the Kid was around and began to understand. “You make random stuff happen.”

  “You’re gettin’ close, Tommy,” the specter said proudly, smacking his shoulder. “Think of it like this. My power sets things off balance. Now one of the things my backer taught me is that sometimes, if I bend my mind to it, I can push things in a certain direction.” He licked his lips as he tried to think of a good example. “Remember that time your brother stole that dollar coin you found?”

  “Yeah,” Tom replied. That hadn’t been a lucky day for him.

  “Well, I didn’t like that one bit. Remember what happened afterwards?”

  Tom smiled. “When he fell off the porch?”

  “Yup,” the Kid said with a nod. “That board was already kinda loose, but my talent made it looser. Then, when I focused on it, I made it give way.”

  “Broke his tailbone,” Tom remembered.

  “Couldn’t sit for a month!” the Kid laughed.

  Tom chuckled too, but not as enthusiastically. He remembered how hard it was around the house while his brother recovered. “Never did get that dollar back from him.”

  “No, but then Sandy’s dad came over and fixed the porch,” the Kid reminded him.

  Tom nodded. “Brought over some of Sandy’s old clothes for me to wear.”

  “Exactly! You see now how our talents work together?” the Kid said. “I searched for a prospect like you for decades. Felt your luck when you were just a baby. Took a while for it to mature. But today we put it to the test. I pushed my power to the limit and let you do the walking.” He pointed at the coffin. “And look what it got us.”

  Tom was both excited and unnerved by this development. He frowned. “Wait. You made me puke up my birthday pie?”

  “Hold on, now. Even if it was funny, I didn’t try to make you puke,” the Kid promised. “I’m not sure if it was my chaos or your luck that did that part, but think of it this way. Would you have found this treasure if you hadn’t climbed up to this rock?”

  Tom blinked as he thought about it. A lot of things had to come together just right to make this happen. He had to choose the right path. He had to eat the whole pie by himself . . . “So your powers set things off kilter and my luck made ’em fall my way?”

  “We make the perfect team!” the Kid said, his grin broadening.

  Tom folded his arms. “Why do you care? What do you get out of this?”

  “Because I like you, Tommy!” the Kid replied, reaching out to tousle Tom’s hair. “Also me and the other legends have a little competition goin’ on. But that ain’t the important thing. I’m gonna be your backer and together, we’re gonna make you a legend as big as anyone!”

  “What about Luke and Sandy?” Tom asked.

  “They’re members of your gang, ain’t they? You become a legend, you drag ’em right along with you.”

  “I guess that sounds pretty good,” Tom said with a nod. He looked down at the coffin and then out towards town. The sun was getting a bit low on the horizon. “I need to go get Luke and Sandy before it gets too late.”

  “Wait just a minute before you go,” the Kid said. He unbuttoned his Union Army jacket and reached inside. He pulled out a yellowed scroll. “What do you say we make it official?”

  21: Doing Business in a Dead Man’s Suit

  An excerpt from the Tale of Tom Dunn

  “Each thing in its own time. You can’t grow pickles or harvest a cake,” – One of Rosa Maria Dunn’s favorite sayings. Usually told to her youngest son, who was always eager to skip steps.

  Tom had left the hideout two days earlier than planned, hoping to get to Las Vegas early and it was a good thing he did because the journey took longer than expected. Tom had never made the trip before and, though he had acquired a detailed map and, with the Kid’s guidance, had planned out the most efficient route he could, there were several factors he hadn’t considered.

  As he headed to the Pecos River and followed it north, he discovered that the road that had looked so straight on the map was really a twisting and winding mess. It took him up and down mesas and forced him to ford rivers and wide streams not on the map. On top of that, an unseasonable rain storm hit the third day and he and his irritable horse were bogged in mud.

  Fearing that he would miss the designated time for the tournament, he pushed hard, riding fast and for long hours. Stops during the day were brief and done only when he feared the horse might not be able to take it. At night he would often push on if the moon was bright enough that he could risk it. His persistence paid off.

  That last night, as he had camped, Tom had been able to make out the lights of the town far in the distance. Excited to see his destination so close, he had risen early that morning and forced the horse to high speeds. It worked up a real lather and the Kid warned him that he was pushing the beast too hard. With just a mile to go, Tom was forced to climb down and lead it into town.

  Giving the horse a short breather, he reached into a bag tied to its saddle. Sighing, he retrieved the last of the dead bounty hunter’s grain and molasses trail rations. They had been a life saver over the last week of hard riding, especially once he discovered that they turned into a tasty gruel when boiled in a little water.

  “So glad this is almost over. I can’t wait to get me a real meal,” Tom said and just before he bit into the bar, the horse bit his arm hard.

  Tom swore and jerked out of the horse’s reach. After all this time with that ornery horse, he shouldn’t have let his guard down. He rubbed his arm and looked down at his sleeve, surprised there wasn’t any blood soaking through it.

  “That’s it, you evil thing!” Tom snapped. “The minute I get my winnings, I’m dropping you off at the nearest slaughter house and once I’m done eating you, I’m buying me a new horse.”

  “You shouldn’t threaten stuff like that,” the Kid rebuked, appearing in front of Tom amidst an aromatic mist. He rubbed the horse’s neck. “No man worth his salt would hurt such a good mount.”

  “Who’s threatening?” Tom replied. “After all the time he’s spent chewing on me, I plan on chewing back,” He scowled at th
e beast. “Don’t think I’m bluffin’. One thing about bein’ poor, my momma cooked whatever meat she could get. I’ve eaten horse before.”

  “No you haven’t,” the specter corrected. “That was mutton. Your brothers were just pullin’ your leg.”

  “You never told me that before,” Tom replied, his eyed narrowed. This wasn’t the first time that the specter had let him go on believing something untrue. “But that don’t matter. Even if I haven’t eaten horse before, I figure this is a good time to start.”

  “Don’t listen to him. He’s just mean tempered,” the Kid said sweetly as he patted the horse’s shoulder. “You’re a good horse. Ain’t you, Bitey?”

  “A good horse that you just named Bitey?” Tom scoffed.

  “Don’t be ungrateful. Bitey’s a great horse! He carried your smelly carcass all the way across the territory, didn’t he?” the Kid pointed out. “Riding more miles a day than any horse should have to ride. He took you through rain and mud, sometimes day and night. And he did all of this after you killed his master in cold blood right in front of him.” The specter cocked his head at Tom. “After all that, you’re gonna begrudge him a few nibbles?”

  Tom rolled his eyes at the unfairness of his backer’s diatribe. “A few? I got bruises all over from that thing. I’m probably gonna have scars in some places.”

  “Well, it’s your fault for teasing him,” the Kid replied. “I’d bite you too if you stole my treats and ate them in front of me.”

  “What are you talking abou-?”

  Tom’s eyes widened. He looked down at the last remaining ration bar, still clutched in his hand. Now that he thought about it, the horse only seemed to bite when he was eating. Frowning, he held it out to the horse. The horse snatched the bar neatly from his fingers and began chewing it contentedly.

  His hands clenched into fists. “You knew this the whole damn time and didn’t tell me ’till now?”

  “You were hungry and they were edible,” the Kid said with a shrug. “You didn’t think to any bring other food with you.”

  “I would have found some!” Tom protested. “I could have hunted along the way.”