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Last time, we left our heroes in Death Pass, that rugged, jagged bit of geography punctuated by deep canyons with sheer walls, deathly precipices, narrow winding trails, and the bones of unfortunate travelers whose journeys were prematurely cut short. Coyote Cal, our fearless hero, heard a cry of distress around a blind corner. And so, doing what any self-respecting Hero for Hire would do, he lit out after the sound in hopes of finding a villain in the middle of some despicable behavior befitting a rogue.
"I do enjoy putting rogues in their place, you know," Cal halts his galloping steed just long enough to share this pithy bit of information with us. Then he kicks Thunder back into a gallop and veers around another sharp bend in the trail.
But then he fell off his horse. Because unbeknownst to him, that's where the trail ended.
Shaking his head to clear the stars circling round and round, he took a moment to survey his surroundings. The canyon walls—including the one he'd run into—soared high above him. The ground lay littered with sun-bleached skulls gaping in the dust.
"Say, this would be a perfect spot for an ambush," Cal mused. "Maybe even a massacre."
He searched for the source of the cry he'd heard, but there was no sign of anyone living. Then a twig snapped behind him, and he whirled around, drawing his gun.
"N-now hold on there, partner." A lanky black&white cowboy stood in the middle of the trail with two six-shooters in hand. He eyed Cal suspiciously. "I've got two guns here, a-and you've only got the one. I'd say that makes y-you outnumbered, mister."
Cal shrugged. "We'll see about that." He fired his Colt, palming back the hammer as he aimed at each of the black&white cowboy's shooters, dashed from the cowboy's grasp before he had time to realize what was happening.
"Say..." the cowboy gasped, staring at where his weapons had skittered into piles of bones. "Tha-that's some pretty f-fancy shootin' there. You wouldn't happen to be Coyote Cal, now would ya?"
"Yes. I would." Cal raised an eyebrow. "I'm the hero of this story, and I'm looking for a lady in distress."
The cowboy slapped his knee and laughed out loud until tears streamed down his cheeks. "There's no lady in distress!" he guffawed. "That was Jack's phonograph record!"
"Huh?"
Two lassos suddenly appeared, whipping around Cal's shoulders and cinching tightly, pinning his arms to his sides. His gun dropped to the ground as he struggled to free himself, but it was no use. He scowled at the two other black&white cowboys who appeared on the scene along with a shotgun-toting hound dog in a white forty-gallon hat.
"You!" Cal instantly recognized the old hound who'd frightened the poor townsfolk in that town he couldn't quite recall the name of.
The flabby-bellied dog rested back on his haunches and spat some tobacco juice at Coyote Cal's boots. "Yeah, it's me," he growled, his bloodshot eyes glaring up at the hero before him. "Are you colorized?"
"Not on your life, villainous hound. I'm a Technicolor hero." Cal raised his manly chin with pride. "None of that fake stuff for me."
"Hmmmm." The dog glanced at the two black&white cowboys who pulled their ropes tighter, causing Cal to grimace in spite of his bravado. "Technicolor, huh."
"W-what do you want us to do with him, Jack?" The lanky cowboy had recovered his shooters and now stood with both weapons trained on our hero.
The dog spat again at Cal's boots and wiped his chops with a paw.
"Would you quit that?" our hero snapped.
The dog rammed the butt of his shotgun into Cal's gut, causing our hero to double over. But he was quickly jerked upright by the cowboys at each end of their lassos.
"Let's get down to business, boys." The dog sat on the ground and started to scratch. "Dang them fleas!"
"Yeah, uh-I used to have fleas too," said one of the cowboys gripping his lasso.
"Shut up, Roy," said the other one.
Just then, a bird called from high above the canyon rim. As every easily distracted head turned to look, Coyote Cal took his chance. Bringing up his legs, he smashed the hound dog's forty-gallon hat down to his flabby, wrinkled knees. With a jerk to the left, Cal knocked Roy off-balance enough to charge the other lasso-wielder and give him a head-butt. Just as the lanky cowboy raised his six-shooters to fire, Big Yap rode up and knocked him to the ground.
"Well, that was quite an action-packed scene." Cal tugged off the ropes and swung his arms around like a swimmer to regain some much-needed circulation.
"Yes indeed, mayhaps the most exciting scene we've had in this story so far," Yap said with a nod. "Here you were gettin' pummeled by these here varmints, and I went ahead and gave our signature bird call, and then I rode up and saved your bacon just as—"
"Yeah, real exciting," boomed a sudden voice from high above, interrupting Big Yap's needless instant replay.
Every eye turned upward to see the dark silhouette of a towering figure. Muscular in build, he stood with arms crossed as he gazed down upon our heroes and Jack Jones's men. Other dark figures scrambled across the canyon rim, backlit by the sun as they aimed their rifles down into the perfect spot for an ambush. The large man in charge chuckled like rolling thunder, then roared with an evil-sounding laugh.
The hound dog pulled off his hat and stared, jaw sagging open. After a moment of awestruck horror, he let out a blood-curdling cry of terror:
"DET RENRUT!!!"
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TO BE CONTINUED...
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Whoa, Bertha!
Is this excitement?
Is this suspense?
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To find out, stay close to your eReader for the next installment of
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TROUBLE ON THE RANGE!
