Slingshot and Burp and Thunder and Lightning zigged around fire hydrants. They zagged around mailboxes. They charged down the bike lane on Main Street, past the Sinking Donut Coffee Shop and Slippery Larry’s Reptile Farm.

They zoomed up to Boots and Saddle Tack Shop, hopped off their rides, and tore through the front door. Mmm. Their noses filled with a cowboy’s favorite smells — leather, rope, and coffee.

“Whoa there, pardners,” said Big Jim with a grin. “Where’s the stampede?” Big Jim was a mountain of a man, with a broad, rugged face and a bushy, copper-colored beard.

“We’re going to the Boneyard,” said Slingshot.

“That so?”

“Tell us all about when you went there,” said Burp. “We want to find a skeleton. But it’s so big. And empty! We want to make sure we don’t get lost and, you know, that we look in the right place.”

The boys never knew for sure when Big Jim was sticking to the truth or stretching it, but one thing was certain: Big Jim was always good for an edge-of-your-seat story.

Big Jim handed each of the boys a mug of hot chocolate with a splash of real coffee in it.

“Mm-mmm!” said the boys after a sip. “Trail coffee.”

“Let’s see. Oh, I can tell you about the once upon a time I was out hunting up rattlesnake eggs for breakfast and stumbled upon Windy Tucker’s skeleton. That skeleton was stripped clean. Nothing left but bleached bones. Vultures and varmints had picked off every last speck of flesh.”

“Whoa,” said Slingshot, practically jumping out of his boots. “Who was Windy Tucker? Was he an outlaw?”

“Yep. And you know what else? When I found that old outlaw, he was still wearing his cowboy boots. His boots were hot-branded with the Flying W, Windy’s brand. That’s how I knew it was him.”

Big Jim looked up at the shelf hanging high on the wall behind the cash register, the one he called the Shelf of Honor. On it sat a worn and cracked leather saddle, an old six-shooter, and a pair of dusty, cracked boots. Only one boot still had its spur, now rusted.

“You mean . . . that’s them? Up there?” Slingshot pointed at the shelf. “Those are Windy’s boots?”

“Yep! Those are Windy’s boots and gear,” said Big Jim.

“Weren’t you scared when you found Windy’s bones?” asked Burp. “Were you worried his ghost might find you and haunt you at night?”

“Burp,” Slingshot interrupted, “are you cracked? A rattlesnake in his undies wouldn’t scare Big Jim! Would it, Jim?”

Big Jim tugged at his shirt collar. “Well, now, a rattlesnake . . .”

“Where exactly did you find Windy’s bones?” asked Slingshot. “Can you draw us a map?”

“Lookee here.” Big Jim lifted a replica of an old “wanted” poster that he kept in a stack on the counter. He flipped it over and hand-sketched a map as he spoke. “From your backyards, go a short ways in past the stone shelves to that big one-humped Camel Rock. See? That’s only about forty feet in.

“Go maybe a hundred feet more, past Dry Spring Gully, and you’ll see a stand of old dead trees. From there, you’re within spitting distance of the storm basin. That’s Skull Valley. You should find plenty of bones there!”

The boys each took a swallow of trail coffee.

“Don’t even think of going farther than that,” Big Jim added.

Burp choked on a swallow of his coffee before asking, “W-why not?”

“’Cause then you’d be at the twisted canyons of the flattop mesas. That’s . . . the Maze. That’s one mixed-up place! It’ll spin a compass cuckoo-crazy.”

“Whoa,” said Slingshot, leaning in.

Big Jim rubbed his beard. “’Course you might be interested to know, boys, that I only ever found half of Windy’s skeleton.”

“Half?” Burp repeated.

“Yep! The bottom half. The top half of him is still out in the Boneyard somewhere, crawling around, looking for his legs and his loot.”

“Loot? You never told us about any loot,” said Burp.

“Some secrets are best kept till the exact right time,” said Big Jim.

“Is this the exact right time?” asked Slingshot, cracking his knuckles.

Big Jim took a long slow sip of coffee and leaned forward in his chair. “You bet your spurs it is!”

“Tell us everything!” said Slingshot.

“It goes back to a time when Windy was suddenly tossing money around town like it was horse feed. Some thought that maybe he’d hit the mother lode of all gold mines. There was only one problem with that theory: Windy didn’t own a gold mine.”

“Did he have a rich uncle?” asked Burp.

“That’s exactly what Sheriff T-Bone Badger was going to ask him, but before he could, Windy lit out across the Boneyard on his white stallion, Avalanche. Next day, the sheriff got word that Windy was in fact the leader of the Tombstone Gang.”

“Wow! Was the Tombstone Gang a bunch of outlaws? Did they rob banks and stuff?” asked Slingshot.

“They robbed anything that had money. Banks. Trains. Stagecoaches. Candy stores. Little old ladies’ purses. You name it, they robbed it. And you know what, boys? Legend has it that Windy hid all that stolen loot in the Boneyard. It may be out there still.”

Slingshot stared up at the Shelf of Honor. “Nobody’s found the gang’s loot yet?”

“Nope! And nobody ever found Sheriff Badger, either. He went off looking for Windy and never made it back. Some say the Ghost Cat ate him.”

Burp gulped. “Ghost Cat?”

“Yep! Way I heard it, a nine-hundred-pound mountain lion snatched the sheriff right out of the saddle and ate him in three bites. Might have been the same cat what bit Windy in half.”

“Is that true?” asked Burp. “Or just a rumor?”

“Half of all rumors are true. The other half could be,” said Big Jim.

“Ghost Cat or not, Burp, we need to go look for that loot,” said Slingshot.

“But a Ghost Cat . . .” said Burp.

Big Jim reached under the counter and pulled out two ropes. “Take these lassos. Just in case, you know, one of your horses should fall into a devil’s slide —”

“A what?” Burp asked, bug-eyed.

“A devil’s slide: a sinkhole. It can swallow a horse up right fast. With these lassos, you can rope your horse and pull him out without falling in after him.”

“Wow! Real lassos,” breathed Slingshot.

“Still living the cowboy code I taught you?” Big Jim asked.

The cowboys nodded, raised their right hands, and recited: “A cowboy is always ready. A cowboy helps anyone in need. A cowboy never gives up.”

“Time for you cowboys to ride,” said Big Jim. “Take full canteens. It’s nothing but hot out there, and you can’t drink hot.”

“To the Boneyard!” Slingshot shouted.

“Loot, here we come,” Burp hollered, trying hard not to think about the Ghost Cat, the devil’s slide, or the other half of Windy crawling around in the desert, searching for his long-lost loot.