Noose Jumpers: A Mythological Western

by Trevor H. Cooley

  “Is there even such a thing as a leader of the bears?” Sandy wondered.

  “This ain’t a damn bear hunt!” Marshal Blye said twisting in his saddle to glare back at them. “And Sheriff Wickee ain’t as secure in his power as you boys think. He’s made plenty of enemies both in town and in the area ’round about. Once we get the drop on him, they’ll be happy to turn on him.”

  “You got too much trust in these townsfolk,” Katie said. “Innocents in Puerta Muerte are few and far between. Callin’ it a bear den ain’t a bad comparison, though I’d be more likely to call it a pit of snakes.”

  “That’s what I meant,” Tom said, nodding in agreement. “This is like goin’ into a pit of snakes and tryin’ to capture the leader by tellin’ him he’s under arrest.”

  “Now I know for sure that snakes don’t have a leader,” said Deputy Garrett.

  “Halt!” Marshal Blye said, raising is fist into the air. The riders slowed to a stop and he turned his horse around to face them. His eyes were narrowed by the sun, his face wise and filled with righteous anger. “I want you to listen up and I want you to listen close. I was sheriff of Puerta Muerte for ten years. These folks are hurting.”

  Tom and Katie shared doubtful glances. In their experience, most of the regular townsfolk were content. There was a lot of money to be made in Puerta Muerte and if they paid the sheriff for his protection he made sure that the bandits didn’t rob them. Any of the real dissenters had either high-tailed it out of there or went “missing” years ago.

  Sandy shared their concerns, but he kept his expression neutral. He didn’t care too much whether the sheriff came quietly or not. He was going to shoot him either way.

  “Hey! Look me in my eyes while I’m talking, damn it!” Blye snapped. “I see your doubts, but I tell you I know this town and I know it’s people. Some of them have written letters to me begging me to come back. They want Jeb Wickee out of there, but he’s got them too scared to do anything about it. That changes today!”

  “Say what you will, that man can give a speech,” Pecos observed. The specter was right. The backs of the five deputies had stiffened with resolve. Sandy had to admit it was effective.

  “We’re the law!” Blye declared beating his chest. “This is why we exist! We will not let a bad man terrorize honest folk and let brigands and thieves run loose! What I need from all of you right now is a little faith.” He focused on Sandy and Tom. “Of all people, you boys should know how important faith is.”

  “He’s got a point, Tommy,” the Kid agreed. The specter turned his horse around to face the right direction. “Time to take this serious. We’re gonna be there soon.”

  Tom, surprised to hear those words from his backer, gave the marshal a hesitant nod. “I’ll give you what I can.”

  “Whatever you say, Marshal,” Sandy agreed, but there was only room in his heart for faith in one thing and that was his ability to shoot through Jeb’s power. He hoped that the Coyote had been successful with the writer in Las Vegas. Reporters didn’t make much money. $350 should have been enough to buy any kind of story he wanted.

  The next time Tom spoke, his question was more respectful. “Marshal Blye? You, uh, know anything more about Luke?”

  “Only that he ain’t moved since the last time you asked. I figure he’s either in jail or he’s hiding out,” Blye replied. “He ain’t dead, though. I can promise you that much.”

  Katie rolled her eyes. “You keep saying things like that. How could you possibly know the things you claim to know?”

  Blye chucked. “I got my ways, young lady. I got my ways.”

  Once they crossed the Texas border, things happened quickly. They crested the top of a large hill and found a man on horseback waiting at the bottom. A small green flag was attached to his saddle. He was a weaselly-looking man, thin, but for a tight potbelly. Both of his hands were curled and bandaged.

  “I was hoping he’d be gone by now,” Sandy said.

  “Howdy, Marshals!” cried the deputy. “I’m Deputy Willis. Sheriff Wickee asked me to come lead you in.”

  “That’s mighty neighborly of you, Deputy,” replied Chuck Blye.

  Willis approached them, holding the reins gingerly. It had been nearly three weeks since his injuries and though the wounds had closed, his hands still pained him something awful. Though the Doc had been optimistic about his recovery, Willis feared they may never be the same. Even worse, he was pretty sure the sheriff was planning to replace him.

  He rode past the marshal to get a good look at the prisoners. “So there he is! The great Sandy Tucker returning to us in chains!”

  “This is rope,” Deputy Garrett corrected.

  “That’s what I meant,” Willis said, frowning.

  “Jeb ain’t gotten rid of you yet?” Sandy replied sweetly. “Well, don’t worry. I’m sure it won’t be long.”

  His frown turned into a snarl. “It’ll be a pleasure to see you hang.”

  “Keep away from the prisoners,” Blye’s chief deputy warned, his hand on the stock of the rifle holstered on his saddle.

  “He’s right, Willis,” Blye said. “Lead us if you’re gonna lead us.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Willis said bitterly, turning his horse back towards town.

  Deputy Willis led them through the hills towards the west side of town. Even before the town came into view they could hear the low roar of human voices and music. The procession entered Puerta Muerte at Station Street, Sheriff Wickee’s great folly. Blye looked at the largely unused buildings and shook his head. Why had the man been so certain the railroad would pass through here?

  As they neared Main Street, the sound of voices and music grew. Faces peered around the corner. Several banditos walked out into the street.

  “They’re here! The Red Stars return!” the men cried. Celebratory shouts followed their pronouncement and more riff-raff began spilling into the street after them.

  Willis shouted at them, shooing them out of the way to let the procession pass. Blye raised two fingers, signaling his men. The deputy marshals drew their rifles and kept them at the ready just in case things got out of hand.

  The moment they turned onto Main Street, Sandy knew that things were already out of hand. A party was underway. The street was lined on either side with outlaws, banditos, and desperadoes of every sort. The doors to every saloon and cantina in Puerta Muerte were open. Music and laughter filled the air as drinks were passed freely from hand-to-hand.

  “Damn,” said Pecos Bill. “You see any of those put-upon citizens the Marshal is relying on?” Sandy shook his head silently.

  “There you have it, Blye!” Katie declared loudly so that she could be heard over the jeers of the crowd. “We are knee deep in piss right now!”

  The Marshal didn’t need her declaration to understand the situation. This was not the town he remembered. It was many times worse than the hub of villainy it had been when he first arrived nearly thirty years ago. He didn’t let on any of his concerns, though. He kept his back straight, his face calm and unconcerned while his wise eyes searched the crowd for possible allies.

  They passed El Banco de Puerta de la Muerte where men stood on the roof jeering as they burned cloth banners with red stars painted on them. Tom’s shoulders slumped. “I really wasn’t ready to die today.”

  Blye continued his unintended parading of the condemned down the road that, to Sandy, seemed much longer than it had been before. Then they turned the corner and the gallows came into view, towering over the plaza below.

  The crowd here was thicker than anywhere else. Most of them were banditos wearing the sombreros and bandoleers full of bullets that were the signature of Santos’ men. To Sandy’s complete shock, hanging stiffly from the noose at the top of the gallows, his face purple and his tongue bulging, was Santos himself.

  Katie cursed. She had heard the two talking while she had been in Wickee’s jail. Santos had been Jeb’s only real competition in the area.

  “Ain’t
that a pretty sight?” said Willis with a chuckle.

  Standing on one side of the fat bandit chief’s slowly rotating body was Deputy Tweed. On the other side was Sheriff Jeb Wickee. He wore the same long dark coat and broad hat he had worn the day of the bank robbery. He had one arm draped across the shoulders of another bandito, a narrow and ugly man that Sandy recognized as “Cinco” Chavez, one of Santos’ top lieutenants.

  As Marshal Blye entered the plaza, the sheriff looked down at them and grinned in triumph. Tom swore angrily and it took a moment for Sandy to understand what Tom had seen. At the sheriff’s hip, sticking out of a black leather holster, was the familiar gleaming handle of Bobby Estrella’s custom Colt.

  Sandy leaned forward. “Marshal, he’s got Luke!”

  Jeb raised his arms and let out a shout. The assembled crowd grew quiet. “Marshal! You’re here with my prisoners!”

  The sheriff patted the bandito on the shoulder and headed down the stairs, his large deputy following behind him. He approached the marshal’s horse, his hand extended upwards. “Good to meet you, Marshal Blye. I’m Sheriff Jeb Wickee.”

  Blye didn’t bend down to shake his hand, “Chief Marshal Chuck Blye. You seem to have a bloodthirsty crowd gathered. I must admit it raises my hackles.”

  “Chief, you say?” The marshal had left his title off of their previous correspondence. As legendary as Blye had been in his youth, not many knew the role he had assumed in his later years. There was a flutter of concern behind the Sheriff’s eyes, but that quickly passed. “Well, Chief, I understand your concern. But what you see around you is just a group of excited citizens of our fair town, happy to be liberated from a local horror.”

  Jeb grinned broadly. “Let me explain. You happened to arrive at just the right time. This is a momentous day. That man you see dangling from the end of my noose is none other than Santos Alvarez, the leader of the largest gang of banditos north of Mexico!”

  Blye’s intractable gaze was betrayed by the shock in his voice. The Marshal Service had been wanting to hunt down that pirate for years. “You got Santos himself? Why didn’t I hear of this?”

  “My deputies and I captured Santos three days ago, not long after we last talked via the telegraph,” Jeb explained. “And, since the evidence was overwhelming, the Judge returned with an easy verdict. I felt it was best to hang him quick before his men could stage a rescue.”

  “Is that so?” Blye said. “And who is that man you were standing next to up there?”

  Jeb turned and looked up at the gallows. “Oh, he’s the concerned citizen that tipped us off to Santos’ whereabouts. I rewarded him with the best seat in the house.” He turned back and ran his eyes down the rest of the riders. When his eyes met Sandy’s they narrowed with promise. “Why don’t y’all come down from those horses? Join the celebration of a great evil defeated!”

  Blye glanced back at his men and nodded. The deputies climbed down from their horses, their wary eyes watching the crowd as they helped Tom and Sandy down.

  “Bring my guns,” Sandy whispered into Deputy Miles’ ear.

  Blye hopped down spryly for a man his age. “Congratulations on your capture, Sheriff, but I’m not here for a celebration. I’m here to fill out the transfer papers and see that justice gets done.”

  The sheriff nodded and walked past him to Katie. “Well, Katie, you did it. You brought my fugitives back. I am surprised, but pleased. Did you bring back the stolen goods as well? That was part of the bounty agreement, if you remember.”

  Katie licked her lips, but Blye responded for her, “I think you’ll find that everything is in order. Where is your jailhouse? It’s been a long time since I was last here and it’s not where it used to be.”

  “Right there, Chief Marshal,” Jeb said, pointing across the plaza to the sign that said, Sheriff. “The jail extends the length of the building, but you’ll need to go through my office to get to it. Why don’t you hand the prisoners over to my men and we’ll go over the proper paperwork together?”

  Blye’s jaw clenched briefly. “I’m sorry, Sheriff, but it is my custom to deliver my prisoners to their cells personally.” He jerked his head towards his men and they started leading Tom and Sandy past the crowd of hostile men and towards the door to the sheriff’s office.

  Blye walked behind them, still talking to Jeb. “As Chief Federal Marshal, it is also my responsibility to conduct inspections while I am visiting remote jurisdictions. Is there anyone else in your jail today?”

  Jeb’s eyes narrowed. “There is one prisoner. He’s the companion of the men you brought me today, a Mister Luke Bassett.”

  The deputies, having tied their horses to the hitching post, opened the office door and led Tom and Sandy inside. Miles carried a saddle bag containing the Red Stars’ gun belts. Blye reached out a hand to stop Jeb from following. “I’m afraid I must conduct my inspections unobserved. I’ll ask you to stand outside until I’m ready for you. One of my deputies will let you know.”

  There was no remaining trace of humor in the Sheriff’s face. “You’ll let me know when I can enter my own office?”

  “That’s U.S. Government policy, Sheriff,” Blye lied, patting Jeb’s shoulder. “While you’re waiting, it would probably be a good idea to get that man down from the noose. In my experience the fat ones tend to spoil quick.”

  Before the marshal could shut the door behind him, Jeb cleared his throat. “Uh, there’s one thing you should know for your inspection, Chief Marshal. When the boys brought Mister Bassett in, he put up quite a fight. I’m afraid they had no choice but to rough him up something awful. I sent the Doc in to patch him up but he ain’t in good shape.” He chuckled good-naturedly. “Frankly I was just happy they didn’t kill him. It’s important to me that the criminals I capture live long enough to see trial.”

  Blye smiled, meeting Jeb’s eyes. “We are of the same mind.”

  Blye walked in and shut the door behind him. “Deputies, I need you all at attention. Ned, Curly, Jonah, and Garrett, you head outside and stand at the door. Make sure we are not disturbed.” Once the men had left, he placed his hand on the shoulder of his head deputy. “Miles, I’m not gonna lie to you. We need to tread carefully. There is a very real possibility for disaster here. I need you to head out there and stand with the other men. Be stalwart. Be firm. I’m gonna figure out a way to get us all out alive. Understand me?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Miles said. He placed the Red Stars’ weapons on the ground and headed outside with the others.

  The moment the door shut behind him, Blye spun around to face the others. The confidence had left his face. “Hell’s blazes, people. I couldn’t believe this place was so far gone, but you were right and . . . what kind of sheriff’s office is this?” He looked around the large room with its extravagant furniture and plush rugs. “I really hate this guy.”

  “I told you,” said Tom, holding out his hands. “Can you untie me now?”

  “Right,” said Blye moving to work on his bonds. “Katie, can you get Sandy’s?”

  “Can you see now that you’ve killed us?” Katie asked. She took one look at the complicated knot and pulled out her knife to cut the rope instead. “I don’t see how we can bluff our way out now. Especially when he sees I don’t have the twenty thousand in cash and gold we’re supposed to be returnin’.”

  “We ain’t dead yet,” Blye assured her, picking apart the knot with practiced ease. The rope fell to the floor. “I just need to sit back and ponder on it awhile.”

  While Sandy and Tom belted on their gun belts, he settled into the sheriff’s cushioned leather chair. He waved them towards the door to the jail. “Your friend Luke should be in a cell back there.”

  Tom and Sandy headed into the jail and Katie went after them, grabbing a keyring off of a peg by the door. Blye began opening the desk drawers looking for evidence.

  His backer appeared with a puff of pipe smoke and spoke with a thick Irish drawl, “Not a good situation you find yourself in, la
d.”

  “It’s hell,” Blye agreed.

  “Are you prepared for this to be the end of your tale?” Zed wondered.

  Blye paused. “I’m not willing to go that far yet. I really wanted to clean this town up first, but right now I’d settle for getting my men and these boys out alive.”

  Zed nodded thoughtfully. He peered into the open drawers. “Well, let’s see what we can do about that.”

  The interior of the jail was dim, the only lighting coming from small barred windows at the top of each cell. It was essentially one long room, divided only by floor to ceiling iron bars. There were three large cells on either side, separated by a corridor down the center.

  Luke was in the last cell on the left. He was lying down on a thin cot and looked up as they entered. “Somehow, when I heard that party starting up, I knew you’d be joining in. How’d you get here anyway?”

  “We took the long way ’round,” Sandy said as they walked down the hall towards their friend. “Wow, they did a number on you, didn’t they?”

  That was an understatement. Luke’s face was a mess of bruises, some of them fading to yellow, while others were still dark purple. There was a long gash on his forehead that had been stitched up and his right eye was swollen almost completely shut.

  “They love me here,” Luke replied with a smile and a wince. “This is all the result of passionate embraces.”

  Katie snorted. “At least you’re alive.” She tossed the key to Tom, who caught it and unlocked the cell door.

  Sandy stepped into the cell. “They busted up your hand, too.”

  Luke lifted his left hand up, wincing again. Each finger was bound in a splint. “Doc told Jeb another beating might kill me. Since I still wouldn’t tell him where you were, he started breaking one of them a day.”

  “I hear he sometimes does that to a man’s shooting hand,” Katie said.

  Luke looked at her askance, unsure why the woman from the bank robbery was with the rest of them. He grunted. “Yeah. Well this is one time that my left-handed gun belt came in handy.”