The Wildly Western Adventures of Pistol Brandisher and Tex Mecks

Theme Song: “Cowboys” by The Fugees off The Score

“Ole-eee, everyone wants to be a cowboy, grab your guns boy

Ole-eee, forty-five by my side, do he live? no the nigga die…”

Pistol Brandisher rears his horse, the Queen, to a stop at the edge of a craggy cliff overlooking an endless desert sunset. “Bloody hell! Where the bloomin’ darby are we?”

Tex Mecks spits in a nearby spittoon and squints into the sun. “This is the place I’ve been telling you about—Arizona Territories, Superstition Mountain. There’s a cave somewhere around here chockfull of gold.”

Pistol raises an eyebrow and twirls his curly mustache in piqued interest. “Is there?”

Just then a plump grizzled old prospector jumps out from behind a skinny cactus and jigs toward the pair. “That’s right, sonny. The Lost Dutchman’s Gold Mine. Seems a Dutchman had a gold mine, then he lost it. Some say he still roams this here desert, sayin’ things all Dutch-like. If ya ask me, it’s an old wives’ tale. But then again, I’m just a grizzled old prospector.”

He ambles back behind the cactus and disappears. Pistol raises a nose at the vanished miner. “Well, he was a stinky one wasn’t he?”

Tex nods and kicks his donkey, Oklahoma, into gear. “I say we start searchin’ round the base of this hill.”

The Queen trots behind Tex’s mule and Pistol stares at his Ass. “You don’t really expect me to take that muddy old man at his word. You mean to go on a treasure hunt like a couple of bloody pirates? I’m a nobleman of the highest order in Mother England. I’ve been sent on a mission by the King himself to find great quantities of gold to retrieve and return to His Highness and His Royal Court. I’ll most certainly not be seen mucking about in a cave for godknowswhat.”

Later that evening Pistol and Tex are seen mucking about in a cave for godknowswhat.

Pistol jumps up. “I do believe I’ve found a—oh, no that’s just a bottlecap. Have you found anything, then?”

Tex stands up with his findings in hand. “I got a boot.”

Pistol kicks the dust. “Well this was a wash. What’s say we make camp here and find a settlement nearby tomorrow’s morn? Make a fire?”

Ten minutes later both men run out of the cave coughing, smoke billowing into the night sky. Pistol clears his throat and stares at the swelling cloud. “Right, so no more indoor campfires.”

And with that the sky falls out and Pistol and Tex stare at each other miserably through sheets of thick rain.

A minute later both men are sitting Indian style under their respective steeds; Pistol sitting under the Queen smoking a pipe, Tex under Oklahoma smoking a loosely-rolled cigarette. Tex grins and cocks his head at Pistol. “You think it’ll rain if it stays like this?”

Pistol ignores him and sniffs with a disgusted expression on his face. “Smells like wet donkey.” His mustache hangs sadly and limply around his mouth as he stares down into the valley. A single light rises up from the void. Pistol bonks his head on the Queen’s underbelly trying to stand up too quickly. “Well I’ll be fraggled. There’s somebody down there!”

Tex nods. “Yup, that’s Highland Park.”

Pistol turns to Tex, his eyes darkening. “Then why the hell are we sitting under our damn damp equines when there’s a village ‘round the bloody bend?!”

Tex shrugs. “You’re the boss, chief.”

The horse and donkey trudge through the mud until they and their passengers arrive in the town square of Highland Park at the crack of midnight, soakin’ ringin’ wet. The rain has stopped and the town is silent and dead except for a figure sitting with its feet up on the front stoop of the Sheriff’s office, rocking gently, watching the two men standing under the spotlight of the single operating oil lamp.

Pistol steps off his steed. “Ho there, you sir. What say you?”

The sheriff saunters toward the pair after spitting in a nearby spittoon and steps into the spotlight in the middle of the square. “I say I’m not a sir, sir. I’m a Sheriff. Jessie Wallace. You can call me Sheriff Jessie. And who the hell are you? Bandits?”

Pistol responds. “No no, my dear lady, we are simple countrymen in search of a dry place to rest our weary bones. Might we spend the night in your quiet ghost town?”

Jessie scoffs. “It’s not a ghost town. We’ve just been having some trouble with a buncha outlaw gangs lately, they’ve scared the whole village up into the hills.”

Pistol puffs his chest out proudly. “Well madame, you’re in luck. For we’ve had our fair share of run-ins with various nefarious bandits and varmints.”

Tex looks confused. “No we have—”

Pistol claps a hand over Tex’s mouth. “Shh, hush Mr. Mecks. Now, Miss Sheriff, perhaps we could be of service to you in exchange for some…information.”

Jessie clasps the top button of her sheriff’s blouse shut, unsure as to whether Pistol wants information or “information.” But Pistol Brandisher is too stupid for sexual overtures, undertures or anything in between.

Pistol begins to pace and proudly begins his spiel. “You see, my fair lady. We have traveled across this great continent of America, near and far, high and nigh, to the ends of the earth for a mere globule of—”
Tex excitedly interrupts. “We’re searchin’ for the Lost Dutchman’s Gold Mine!”

Sheriff Jessie starts laughing hysterically. Short of rolling on the ground, she dries her eyes. “That Mine was looted two days ago by the James Gang, there wasn’t a stone left unturned. Talk about bad timing.”

Pistol is still smiling as if he hasn’t quite heard the Sheriff, or it hasn’t fully registered yet. “How’s that then?”

Sheriff Jessie repeats herself. “The gold. It’s all gone. You missed it by two measly days.”

Pistol bites his tongue and his face flushes red. “So there’s not a scratch of gold left? Not even alittle fool’s gold? Silver? Bauxite? Anything?!”

Jessie fights back a guffaw. “Nope. Nothin’.”

Pistol throws down his ten-gallon in frustration and kicks the dust. “Bollocks! This is rubbish! This whole bloody adventure’s been a fat load of poppycock! I don’t even bloody know why I left bloody England!”

He storms off with the Queen to find a stable and Sheriff Jessie continues to speak with Tex.

“I was about to pack up and follow their trail early tomorrow morning. They’re probably settling down in California right now, getting comfortable.”

Tex raises his eyebrows, thinking quickly on his feet. “Ya know, we could get that gold back for you. You could just stick around here and make sure they don’t steal any of your…” Tex scans the town square, “…dirt.”

Jessie’s eyes sparkle. She puts a hand on Tex’s arm and his hairs stand on end. “You’re so sweet, Mr. Mecks. You’d really do that for me and my poor town?”

Tex nods eagerly. “Abso-lutely. I’d do anything for you—your town.”

Jessie grins. “I s’pose I’m lucky to have run into you gentlemen tonight. But I gotta warn you, the James Gang is pretty crafty. They’ll be tough to find.”

Tex waves his hand as if it’s nothing. “Pistol Brandisher’s an expert tracker.”

Jessie glances over at Pistol who’s swearing loudly to himself and kicking the Queen near the entrance to Highland Park. “That fruity guy with the mustache?”

Tex rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Yeah well, he’s British.”

Jessie nods as if this is enough of an excuse.

At that moment Pistol rides up on his Queen and whistles at Tex. “Outlaws! Fiendish outlaws on the horizon plotting danger! On your steed my good man, we must take action!”

Tex bounds onto his donkey and rides with Pistol to the town gates. There he stops as both men watch the approaching band of outlaws. Pistol motions Tex to a nearby bush. “We’ll hide here till this all blows over. You got a fag on ya?”
Tex stares at Pistol as he ties down the Queen and crawls on his hands and knees into the brush. “You coward. You’re not gonna stand and fight? You’re gonna let that nice lady take on all those bandits herself? And I’m plum out of cigarettes, you smoked the last one to start that fire in the cave.”

Pistol peeks his head out of the bush; his mustache has dried and curled back up to its normal form (if you can call that normal). “She seems the scrappy type. Besides we didn’t come here to fight fisticuffs with hooligans, we came to find gold. We’ll simply reason with the outlaws once they defeat that comely female constable. It’s merely the gold we covet. I thought you bought a whole pack of fags at the last General Store we stopped at.”

Tex joins him in the bush as the bandits storm by. “But Sheriff Jessie said there ain’t any gold left, it’s all gone. And don’t you remember? You used all our cash to buy that tin of mustache wax. Which you already finished, by the way.”

Pistol rolls his eyes as shots ring out from the town square. “Gold’s all gone; who are you gonna believe, a grizzled old prospector or a woman? And doesn’t my moustache look fantastic?”

Tex shrugs. “Well she is the Sheriff. And yes it does.”

Pistol nods and squints his eyes as blasts and shouts sound from the town within. “Yes that did strike me as a bit queer, as well. A lady constable. Maybe it’s a trap.”

He climbs out of the bush, begins to twirl his mustache between thumb and forefinger and starts to pace. “This must be an Amazonian-type village entirely made up of women. They probably worship some mother goddess and sacrifice goats to her on Pagan holidays. We can only assume there’s no moustache wax to be had. Or fags for that matter. Sheriff Jessie must be the leader of a clan of bloodthirsty scantily-clad sexually-frustrated and unsatisfied women.”

Tex nods. “Or maybe she’s just a good shot.”

Pistol laughs uproariously as an agonizing scream rings through the night. “Oh Texual Jefferson Mecks, you saucy knave, you are a delight. I thank the lucky stars I came across you when I did. Your prodigal wit lifts my spirits in such times of dour despair.”

Tex stares blankly. “What?”

A final shot sounds and then there’s silence. Pistol unties his Queen. “Right then. Shall we?”
The two ride back into the town square, Pistol coaching Tex along the way. “Now these outlaws are most likely quite disreputable fellows, but they’re not without reason. We may have to be a bit rough in tongue but I’m sure they’ll understand a fellow traveler’s quest. Now you should just shut—wa?”

Standing in the middle of a bloody town square surrounded by still bodies is Sheriff Jessie, rifle over her shoulder, tapping her foot impatiently. “Nice of y’all to join us.”

Pistol smiles sheepishly. “Yes, well. They, uh, gave us the slip, I’m afraid. You seemed to have it well under control then.”

Tex dismounts Oklahoma. “We hid in a bush.”

Jessie scowls at Pistol and Pistol clears his throat nervously. “That’s quite enough Tex. Now then, Miss “Sheriff”, what does Highland Park offer in terms of lodging?”

Jessie ignores Pistol’s misogynistic air quotes, turns and limps back to the Sheriff’s office. “There’s a barn over there. Plenty of hay if you’re hungry.”

Pistol stares devilishly at the retreating Sheriff, “Ooh, she’s a sassy lass.”

He leads Queen and Tex into the barn and Tex eyes the hay. “I am kinda hungry.”

Pistol awakes the next morning, spitting out hay as the Queen munches on it happily nearby. Pistol sits up and scratches his bony knees, stops and looks down quizzically at his bare legs.

“What the darby? Where are my bloomin’ bloomers? Tex!”

Pistol wanders outside—pantsless—to find Tex with his slacks and a sewing kit sitting backwards on Oklahoma who stares dumbly at Mr. Brandisher.

Jessie comes out with three mugs handing one to Tex, one to Pistol and chugging her own. Pistol takes a sip and gags. “No tea?”

Jessie stares at him and peeks down. “No pants?”

Pistol raises his nose and tries to stand as tall and straight as he possibly can. “It seems my good man Tex is mending a tear.”

Tex looks up beaming. “He ripped his butt crawling into that bush last night.”

Pistol jumps in. “Yes, well, all shrubberies aside I think it would be best if Tex and I began searching now for this Dutchman’s Lost Gold Mine.”

Jessie drops her mug and leans on the edge of a trough the Queen has begun drinking out of. “It’s not lost, the Dutchman was lost. The gold mine’s right over there.”

Jessie’s pointing to the cave the two men were digging through late last night. Tex spits in a nearby spittoon and tilts his hat back. “Well I’ll be goddamned.”

Jessie stands up and starts to wander towards it. “But don’t bother. Like I said last night, the James Gang cleaned that place out two days ago. They were on their way to California, probably livin’ pretty in San Francisco by now.”

Pistol’s hopping around on one leg trying to put his pants back on. “Then to California we must go, for there will we find our El Dorado!”

He finally pulls the slacks on and struggles to walk around, rubbing his butt and trying to bend his legs. “I believe you may have hemmed these a bit too tight, Texual.”

Tex shrugs and turns around on Oklahoma. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

Pistol jumps on the Queen’s back after great difficulty. “Well that’s the thing Tex, they are with these slacks in such disrepair…”

The two fade off into the sunrise, bickering, as Sheriff Jessie waves. “No goodbye?”

A day later Oklahoma and Queen are staggering through the heat. Waves are hazing the horizon line and the two men sway from side to side until their steeds come to a stop out of sheer exhaustion.

Tex and Pistol are in the middle of a flat barren desert with only a stray cactus or tumbleweed spotting the vast landscape. Tex dismounts Oklahoma, wipes off and spits dust and air in a nearby spittoon-mirage. “I don’t got no damn saliva left! I’m so dingdang thirsty!”

Pistol falls off the Queen and coughs. “We’re all thirsty. Where the hell are we?”

Tex puts his hands on his hips and pivots around for a landmark then nods. “The Badlands.”

Pistol gulps. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“Well we should be fine as long as we don’t run into any red—”

Just then a cloud of dust appears on the horizon followed by whoops and hoots and a thunder of hooves. Pistol stares wildeyed at Tex. “Natives?”

Tex squints and nods at the advancing cloud. “Injuns.”

The two men draw their revolvers then quickly holster them again and begin to chuckle weakly as the cloud dissipates and reveals a herd of buffalo standing and staring blankly back at the two men.

Pistol heaves a sigh of relief and yells at the bison. “Go on then, skedaddle, you fluffy…cow-things.”

The herd quickly turns about-face and storms back over the horizon. Pistol watches them triumphantly as they retreat and elbows his partner in the side. “That’s how it’s done Tex my good man. You just gotta speak their language. Those beasts won’t bother us again. I must admit I was a bit frightened there for a mo. I’m not quite in the mood for a scalping this early in the morning.”

As Pistol speaks a throat is cleared behind the two men and Tex and Pistol freeze. They slowly turn around to see some hundred and fifty Indian warriors, many on horses most on foot, the man in the front with a tickle in his throat standing roughly seven feet tall with a massive red and gold headdress making him another three feet taller. He has a glinting tomahawk in one hand and he’s tapping it repeatedly into the other, glaring at the cowboys.

Pistol makes a strange meek honking noise, hesitates, then steps forward. “Um, cheerio good chaps. We are weary travelers on a night’s journey from Highland Park just passing through. No need to scalp us. I don’t really even have that much scalp left, kinda thinning on top. Tex here keeps trying to convince me to use this balm? But, I dunno, I just don’t trust these snake oil salesmen. I mean why do you think they call them traveling salesmen? Because they travel from town to town, fleeing from the people they’ve ripped off. If they were selling quality merchandise maybe they could hold down a steady job. But who am I to talk? I’m traveling from town to town and I’m not even selling anything. But the way I figure it is I’m still a tourist until I settle down. If I keep moving around I can’t be considered an American, right?”

Tex elbows Pistol and he looks up from his confused mutterings to see the angry faces of his nonunderstanding audience. “Uh, we mean you no harm?”

The confused chief turns to one of his assistants and whispers in his ear. “Ungawa kurosawa cheerio?”

Pistol leans towards Tex and talks out the corner of his mouth. “What are they saying? Is it good?”

Tex whispers back. “Well, we’re not gonna get scalped.”

A day’s journey later, Pistol and Tex are tied up and twirling on a barbecue spit over a roaring fire while the Indians are dancing in a circle chanting a victory song. Pistol chokes on the smoke. “Why didn’t you tell me you could speak…Indianese?”

Tex laughs as they whirl about. “I’m dizzy!”

Pistol’s eyes fasten on the approaching chief and his wife. “Tell them about the gold.”

Tex laughs again. “Yeah, really.”

Pistol elbows him in the back. “I’m bloody serious and these savages are too, tell them about the sodding gold!”

Tex rolls his eyes, waits for the spit to turn him back to face the chief and begins to speak. “Asalam alaka mahala.”

The spit continues rotating and Pistol passes by the chief’s gaze, smiling. “Hello.”
Tex rolls back into view. “Pokum smokum weezum.”

Pistol appears again eyebrows raised and motions his eyes down toward the fire. “Smells good.”

Tex comes back into sight one more time, pleading. “Wiggum? Wiggum?”

The chief nods solemnly and motions his men to bring the cowboys down off the spit. Some of the Indians moan despondently but they oblige their chief and soon Pistol and Tex are enjoying a humanless barbecue feast in Chief Wahoo’s hut, discussing the Lost Dutchman’s Gold. Chief Wahoo yammers on in Indian and Pistol zones out until Tex translates.

“He says he wants to send a man with us to San Francisco so we don’t cheat them out of their share of the gold.”

Pistol scoffs at the demand. “Poppycock! We will not have some filthy cannibal accompanying us into civilization. We’ll be shunned from every five star hotel and eatery in the city. We’ll be the laughingstock of California! Tell him No.”
Tex pulls Pistol aside and whispers in his ear. “We don’t have a choice, man. These guys’ll put us right back on that rotisserie. If we leave we’re leaving with a guide.”

Pistol crosses his arms and slumps into his chair, dejected, with a resounding “Harumph!”

The next morning Pistol and Tex groggily emerge from the guest teepee to see most of the Indians are already awake and busy. A young native in buckskin slacks, a bow slinged across his back, holds his hand out to greet the two cowboys. Tex goes for the hand but Pistol bumps him aside and shakes vigorously.

“Jolly good to meet you old chap! I’m the Right Honourable Pistol Brandisher and this here is the Valiant Tex Mecks, my deputy if you will. It seems you’ll be joining us on our journey to California. I’m sure you know the terrain better than us, being a native and all. We’ll let you lead the way, though I must take charge once we reach the city. I know how to treat ne’erdowells and carpetbaggers. Now then, I’ve most ungraciously forgotten to allow you to introduce yourself. As you already know I’m Pistol, this here is Tex, and you might be?”

The native blinks and turns from Pistol to Tex and back. “Shazam?”

Pistol nods and fingers his mustache curls. “Shazam, an interesting moniker.”

Tex speaks to the native and translates to Pistol. “His name’s Chinkachgook, he’s Chief Wahoo’s finest warrior.”

Pistol squints. “Does he have a nickname?”

Tex confers with Chinkachgook. “That is his nickname.”

The three men mount their horses/donkey and make out for the territory of California as the sun rises high above the Arizona Plains.

As the sun begins to set that night on a rather, uneventful day’s journey a piercing shriek nearly knocks Pistol off the Queen. “What the Devil!”

Chinkachgook holds his hand up for quiet and when the scream comes again he kicks his horse, Whitey, into a steady sprint and they disappear over a hill.

Pistol throws a hand up weakly in Chinkachgook’s direction. “Well there he goes. Didn’t last a day, the poor sod.”

Tex stares at the hill over which he vanished. “Musta seen a jackalope. Should we follow him?”

Pistol nods. “Better than sitting out here exposed, being coyote fodder.”

Tex hates the way Pistol pronounces it ‘ky-oat.’

Once the two men get to the top of the hill they observe a small village of log cabins with white people running all over the place being chased by brown people. Chinkachgook has whipped out his tomahawk and he’s slicin’ up the attackers left and right. It’s over before it began and the white people gather around to thank the noble savage. He steps down off Whitey and Tex asks him what happened. Pistol is impatient for the translation. “What happened? Who was that, a rival tribe?”

Tex nods. “Those were the bad Indians.”

Pistol stares at Tex skeptically. “And who were the lot that almost ate us? The good Indians?”

A graying man with a full beard steps forward from the thankful crowd of villagers. He holds out his hand and warmly greets Pistol and Tex. “My name is William Bushton. I welcome you great men to our humble town—Bushtown. We owe you so much for our near defeat. I’m afraid we have little to offer you in return for your bravery, but anything you want or desire can be yours.”

Pistol sneers sinisterly and scopes the crowd. “Anything, eh?”

Tex rolls his eyes as Pistol elbows William and points to a short fair-haired girl smiling at the front of the group. “How ‘bout her ol’ Billy Boy? I’d like to give her the old roger in the codger.”

Tex squints at Pistol. “Who’s Roger?”

William Bushton stomps his foot down in the dust. “I’ll have you know that girl is my daughter. And I will not stand here and have her codger insulted with lude comments…that, that was a lude comment, right?”

Pistol holds his hat in his hands. “Yes I’m afraid so, sir.”

William continues. “Right, I will not have her insulted with lude comments from a Queen-loving stranger such as yourself!”

“That was just the one time and how’d you know my horse’s name?”

Bushton continues. “If you will kindly leave my village so as not to cause any more psychological harm to myself and my family.”

The men mount their horses again and Pistol sticks his tongue out at William and the Bushtown clan as the cowboys leave.

That night the three men are eating beans around a campfire and Pistol is playing the harmonica…horribly. Tex takes the harmonica and throws it into the fire. It creates a lovely melody as the fire and wind whip through the reeds. Pistol points at the melting instrument and glares at Tex. “Oy!”

Tex spits in a nearby spittoon and turns back to Pistol. “Your little bout of cockiness back there cost us a warm bed and a roof over our head for the night.”

Pistol peeks at Tex out of the corner of his eyes. “Were we—we were gonna share the same bed?”

Chinkachgook chimes in angrily in his own language. Pistol leans back on his pack and the Queen nibbles on his thinning hair. “What’s the Indian word for ‘shove it’?”

Tex gets up, puts his hat on Oklahoma’s head and storms off into the dark night leaving Pistol and Chinkachgook sitting uncomfortably across from each other. Pistol raises his eyebrows and nods his head, not knowing what to say or how to say it. “So…”

Chinkachgook nods. “Wampum?”

The Indian takes out a paper, rolls a cigarette and lights it.

Pistol props himself up on his elbow. “You roll your own fags?”

Chinkachgook looks up, doesn’t comment, takes a big puff and begins to sing a song in his native tongue, passing the cigarette to Pistol who hums along with Chinkachgook and begins to sing an old English folksong to the same beat.

The two men drink Chinkachgook’s firewater and sing some more before passing out on the cold desert floor, the fire still burning between them.

The next morning Pistol wakes up as Tex pulls his pack out from under him and Pistol’s head slams into the dust. “Oy! Wanker!”

Pistol stands up and wipes his face off with his neckerchief. Chinkachgook is already up, chasing around a jackalope with a spear he built hours earlier. Tex is packing up the horses and he yells at Chinkachgook. “Ungawa! Ungawa!” Chinkachgook waves and returns to the campsite, mounting Whitey. The jackalope hops away quickly, antlers glinting in the early morning sun.

The three men are on the California border and they begin to make their way toward the coast and the sprawling port city of San Francisco, where the James Gang and the Lost Dutchman’s Gold may lie.

Pistol pulls up beside Tex. “Terribly sorry about last night, Texual. I suppose I may have been a dash out of line, hitting on the gentleman’s daughter and all. But you have to admit, she was quite smashing.”

Tex hints at a smile. “More smashing then Sheriff Jessie?

Pistol nervously ignores the question. “Pardon?”

Tex questions. “So what’re your plans once we get into the city? We can’t take on an entire gang with two guns.”

Pistol stares ahead. “Lest we forget our noble guide? You saw what he did with those savages back in Bushtown. Just let him polish that tomahawk and the gold is as good as ours.”

Pistol hollers up to Chinkachgook. “Oy, Red! Polish your tomahawk!”

Chinkachgook turns Whitey around on Pistol with a ferocity and raises a fist in Brandisher’s direction before Tex jumps in. He turns to Pistol with his brow lowered. “That doesn’t mean that in their language.”

Pistol’s knuckles are white holding the Queen’s bridle tight. “He’s a tad miffed, in’t he?”

By noon Pistol, Tex and Chinkachgook stand on a hill overlooking the city. Pistol grins. “Ah, San Francisco, the Windy City!” Tex ignores this and looks down to the streets below, bustling with San Franciscans. Chinkachgook is taken with the wondrous beauty of it all to the point that he stretches both arms wide into the sky and bellows a cry that stops all traffic below. Everyone in the city peers up at the figures high on the hill and Pistol clears his throat and waves at the cityfolk. “Sorry! Carry on then!”

He pulls Tex aside and whispers harshly in his ear. “Shut this nut up! The James Gang is going to hear us coming a mile away.”
Tex shrugs. “He’s happy. Probably never been to the city before.”

Pistol kicks the Queen and she trots forward as he points a finger at Chinkachgook. “You’re on notice.”

The three men walk down Main Street to the confused looks of the cityfolk. They probably cut an odd gash in the minds of the San Franciscans. The differences are glaring between the dust-caked adventurers and the well-quaffed cityslickers.

“What a gay city this is!” Pistol exclaims. “Look at all the happy smiling people!”

Tex’s eyebrows raise as he glances at the cityfolk glaring at them from both sides of the road.

They pass the San Francisco City Hall and the rotund Mayor Elton Towers comes bounding down the front steps, his pudgy arms outstretched. “Welcome! Welcome gentlemen to my fair city. Come in! Come in!”

The wanderers dismount their steeds and accompany the Mayor into his sprawling top-floor office overlooking the downtown area. The Mayor passes out cigars and reclines back in his looming leather desk chair. He takes a huge puff and smiles at his dusty guests. “So, what brings you fellas to my city by the bay?”

Tex nearly jumps out of his seat as the smoke escapes his mouth. “Gold!”

The Mayor’s eyes light up, but Pistol holds Tex back and grins. “We’re Rangers. Texas Rangers in breathless pursuit of a nasty gang of ne’erdowells in possession of a cache of stolen federal kugerans they pilfered from a U.S. government train convoy in the Adirondacks. We’ve trailed them across the country and we believe we’ve cornered them here in the Silver City.”

An old man sitting in the corner that the boys didn’t notice upon entering the office shouts at Pistol Brandisher. “Rangers?! I ain’t ever hearda no Ranger with a faggy British accent.”

Pistol ogles the outspoken elder with surprised bemusement. “I may smoke the occasional fag but I certainly do not have a faggy voice.”

Tex puts a hand on Pistol’s sleeve and whispers out of the corner of his mouth. “Just stop…talking.”

Mayor Towers stands up at his desk and points at the old man. “Dad, if you can’t behave yourself then get the hell outta here.”

Old Man Towers waves his hands on the way out. “I’m goin’, I’m goin’.”

The Mayor turns back to the three men. “I’m sorry for that. Now who is it you’ve been chasing all the way to California?”

“The James Gang,” responds Tex.

The Mayor rocks in his chair for a bit, then shakes his head. “Don’t know about any James Gang. I know about The Rockin’ James Band.”

“The Rockin’ James Band?” Pistol glances over at Tex who nods knowingly.

“Yeah, The Rockin’ James Band. They’ve just opened a riverboat casino down on the docks. Really somethin’. Helluva show.”

Tex moves to the edge of his seat. “This Band. How long have they been in town?”

The Mayor strokes his chin inquisitively. “Oh, let’s see. About two days, I’d say. You fellas want tickets?”

Pistol scoffs. “To see some rubbish American rock band? Everyone knows the best rock comes from East London.”

Tex cuts Pistol off. “We’d love to get some tickets Mr. Mayor. It’d be nice to take our minds off the grind for a night.”

The Mayor smiles kindly and hands Tex an envelope, sending the “Rangers” on their way. “Try the bacon cheddar cheese fries!”

Pistol and Tex walk down the City Hall front steps and unhook their horse/donkey as Chinkachgook sits on Whitey chewing a blade of sweetgrass. Tex tucks the envelope into his left breast pocket and Pistol hops up onto the Queen. “I don’t know why you accepted those tickets Texual. That Mayor seemed alittle loony if you ask me. We should be nuzzling into every last nook and cranny in this city for those dastardly villains, not sitting on our fannies tapping our toes to some “Rockin’ Band.””

Tex gets up onto Oklahoma and stares incredulously at Pistol. “Don’t you get it? The Rockin’ James Band is the James Gang. They’ve been here for two days. The James Gang was ahead of us by two days. All that gold, they probably bought the riverboat and the instruments to set up a cover and live happily ever after.”
Pistol tries to spit in a nearby spittoon but misses as Chinkachgook and Whitey follow behind the two cowboys. “Well all I know is, if I had pilfered a caveful of gold doubloons I would go into hiding and live comfortably away from the public’s eye. I most certainly would not be shaking my outlaw fanny on stage.”

Tex holds up his hand. “Let’s just find this riverboat and check out the show. Maybe then you’ll change your tune. And stop saying ‘fanny.’”

Pistol hollers at a passing San Franciscan in a pink frock and a feathered hat. “Excuse me there young man. Which way will we find the Rocking James Band Riverboat Casino?”

The Franciscan smiles coyly. “Right straight down this road, sailor. You need some company for the ride?”

Pistol shakes his head. “No, we’re on a mission. But thank you for the directions. Cheerio! Oh, and consequently, I’m not a pirate. I’m a cowboy.”
He turns back to Tex as they continue on. “What a gay young gentleman. If it wasn’t for that damned speech impediment I’m sure he’d be quite the ladies’ man.”

The three men reach the docks and the outskirts of town where the Riverboat Casino rises above the rest of the boats in the harbor. It’s red with gilded gold trimmings and a big black smokestack with ‘Rockin’ James Band’ painted on the side.

Chinkachgook gets on his hands and knees and listens to the dockboards intently before looking up at Tex and saying, “Doobum.”

Pistol, confused as usual, turns to Tex. “What’s he doing?”
Tex looks embarrassed. “He says we’re close.”

Pistol stares dumbfounded at the noble savage as he gets up and wipes his knees and hands off smiling. “Are you still sure he’s the best warrior Chief Wahoo had, or just the most expendable?”

Tex shrugs and Pistol snatches the tickets out of Tex’s pocket and scampers ahead to hand them to the hulking bouncer standing in front of the plank leading onto the riverboat. Inside, a thumping beat is accompanied by shouts and cries from the excited casinogoers.

The bouncer ignores the group of men handing him their tickets and mumbles off the practiced greeting. “Welcome to The Rockin’ James Band Riverboat Casino. Come in and have a rockin’ good time.”

Pistol and Tex enter, then the bouncer drops his arm down in front of Chinkachgook’s chest, turning back to Pistol. “He can’t come in here. No redskins allowed, see the sign?”

Pistol glances at the sign that, sure enough, says ‘No Redskins Allowed.’ He trots up to face the bouncer, though his face only comes up to the man’s chin. “I’ll have you know that gentleman you so disdainfully refer to as a redskin is a Texas Ranger, as are we. And he is no more an Indian than you are Chinese.”

“I am Chinese, I’m not allowed in there either. See the other sign?”

Pistol fingers his mustache while reading. “‘No Chinese Allowed.’ Fascinating. Anyway this ‘redskin’ as you call him is Ranger Rick Williams and he is merely donning a clever Injun disguise in order to infiltrate the dastardly tribes surrounding this city you call home. Now if you would kindly take your hands off Ranger Rick, we would like to come in and enjoy a night off in your fine establishment.”

The bouncer drops his arm and glares at Chinkachgook. “Next time leave the Pocahontas disguise at home.”

Chinkachgook nods at the bouncer as he enters. “Wigwam.”

Inside, the riverboat is alive with lights, noise and motion. On stage, The Rockin’ James Band is, well, rockin’. The lead singer’s belting out their hit song “Gold Rush” as the rest of the band behind him dances to the beat. There’s a man on a standup bass, a drummer with hands and sticks ablur, and a lead guitarist kicking his feet across the stage. On the sidestage, a man on a soapbox is blowing a jug and tapping his feet. Pistol, Tex and Chinkachgook take a seat right in front of the stage to the surprised looks of the well-dressed patrons around them. Tex scans the stage and leans over to talk to Pistol. “Five men, just like in the James Gang. This is definitely them.”

Pistol stares at the band. “They don’t look all that tough. The one on the jug looks like a bender.”

Tex leans back in his seat. “So do you.”

Pistol twirls his mustache self-consciously. “Shut up.”

Tex chuckles and Pistol reaches for his gun. “We should nab them at the end of this song. Clear out the riverboat. Should we stick with the Texas Ranger facade?”

Tex shrugs. “Got us this far.”

The Band finishes with a rousing flourish and a loud applause. The lead singer bows deeply and the room goes silent. When he leans back up, he’s staring down the barrel of Pistol Brandisher’s brandished pistol, Tex Mecks’ .45 revolver on his left and Chinkachgook’s bow and arrow on his right. Pistol raises an eyebrow in proud confidence as the last patron bolts out the front door. “Mr. James, I’m terribly sorry but I’m afraid the jig is up. You and your ‘Band’ are under arrest for the theft of one metric ton of federal gold from a cave reserve in Highland Park, Arizona Territories.”

The band leader leans on his mic stand, staring confounded at the three ‘Rangers.’ Then a voice from behind the three men laughs gruffly. “You Queen-kissing idiot, they’re not the James Gang, we’re the James Gang!”

Pistol, Tex and Chinkachgook turn around to face a dozen men with rifles trained on their once-proud chests. Pistol whispers to Tex. “I thought you said there were five of them. And why does everybody out here know about me and my horse? What have you been saying?”

When Pistol Brandisher wakes up, Chinkachgook is fanning him with his own hat while Tex is busy chatting up Sheriff Jessie who’s sitting on the stage sipping a glass of whiskey. They’re both laughing and Pistol grimaces with pain as he gets up and scans the room. The bartender’s sweeping the empty floor and in a corner near the fire exit is a pile of men Pistol can only assume was once The James Gang. He smiles and swaggers/staggers towards Tex Mecks and Sheriff Jessie Wallace with a cocky grin. “Well, I guess we gave them the old what-for, eh?”

Tex gets up and pats a bag of ice against the back of Pistol’s head. “You’ve got a knot back here from when you passed out.”

Pistol smiles weakly at Sheriff Jessie. “Alright now, that’s enough of that.”

Tex laughs harder. “I mean you missed the gunfight and everything! It was awesome!”

Pistol snatches the ice bag out of Tex’s hands and nudges him out of the way. “That’s enough Texual!”

He reverts his face to a calm smile, saunters to the stage and gingerly lifts himself up to sit down next to Sheriff Jessie. “So Miss Jessie, you simply could not resist my—”

Just as Pistol settles in, Sheriff Jessie gets up, straightens her rawhide hat and nods to Tex and Chinkachgook. “Thanks for the help. I’m gonna throw these guys in the back of the paddywagon and head on back to Highland Park.”

Pistol jumps off the stage and winces with every quickening step towards the Sheriff. “Now wait just one minute Miss Sheriff, it’s dusk! You cannot just go roughriding back to the Arizona Territories in the blinding dark. And what about the ruddy gold?! We’ve traveled all the way to the bloody Pacific Ocean looking for those doubloons and you’re gonna turn around and throw them back in that filthy Welshman’s cave?”

Jessie hogties the unconscious bandits and glances back at Pistol. “It was a Dutchman and that gold is the legal property of Highland Park.”

She turns to leave and Pistol grabs her arm, panicky; desperately watching all that gold slip between his fingers. “But I want it!”

Sheriff Jessie jerks her arm away and straightens her vest. “I advise that you let me leave this riverboat casino lest I have to involve the Feds and inform them to the fact that you and your cohorts posed as Texas Rangers when you’re clearly nothing of the sort. Now, good day Mr. Pistol Brandisher.”

Pistol backs away and claps his hands together. “Very well then! Texual if you and Chinkachgook will gather our things, we’ll be off!”

Sheriff Jessie loads up the paddywagon and kicks her horses into gear. Tex watches her leave and holds a hand up in her direction, staring desperately at Pistol. “Where are we going? Where can we go? We gotta get that gold Pistol!”

Pistol shrugs. “You heard what the Sheriff said, Tex. It’s the Territories’ gold, we’ve got no call.”

Tex grabs Pistol’s lapels and pulls him out of earshot of Chinkachgook who’s sharpening his tomahawk on a flint and eyeing the two men suspiciously. Pistol pushes Tex’s hands off. “Easy Texual, you’ll uncurl my moustache.”

“If we don’t get that gold, Chinkachgook’s gonna uncurl a lot more than your mustache.”

Pistol raises his eyebrows, intrigued but confused. “How’s this then?”

Tex throws his arms up exasperated. “Don’t you remember Chief Wahoo? Chinkachgook was sent with us to get his tribe’s share of the gold. If we don’t get the gold, the tribe gets us.”

Pistol sighs dramatically and nods. “Yes I seem to have forgotten that little bargaining chip. Damn, but those redskins are brilliant negotiators.”

“Bullrun?”

Pistol jumps and huddles close to Tex. “What did he say?”

Tex pushes Pistol away. “He asked if everything’s okay.” He shouts back to Chinkachgook. “Sweegum beegum!”

Tex turns back to Pistol, puts on his hat and heads for Oklahoma and the Queen, waiting patiently outside the riverboat. “We’re goin’ back to Highland Park.”

Pistol pulls his hat brim down low. “Oh bugger.”

The three men kick Oklahoma, Whitey and the Queen into high gear as they speed through the pitchblack night. By dawn and the first sign of sunrise the two cowboys and an Indian once again find themselves at the entrance to Highland Park in the Arizona Territories. Pistol leads the way into the town square but there is no sign of either Sheriff Jessie Wallace or her James Gang-filled two-horse paddywagon. Pistol leaps down off the Queen and lets him wander. Tex and Chinkachgook join him under the same oil lamp where they first met Sheriff Jessie days earlier. Pistol throws his arms up in exasperated frustration. “Well gentlemen, I’m afraid we’ve been had.”

Chinkachgook looks confused. “Hadum?”

Tex twirls around, scanning the empty village. “How could everybody have up and left like that?”

Pistol shoves Tex and knocks on his head. “Don’t you see Tex? There never was a village. This shill Jessie Wallace, if that is her real name, simply found a ghost town and set up shop waiting for a couple of brazen, bold, boyishly-handsome adventurers such as ourselves to arrive in the dead of night and lead her to the gold. Once she got it, she up and left. She’s probably in the bloody Canadian Territories by now.”

Tex rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that’s probably it. Then she followed us and singlehandedly defeated the gang and took the gold back that she already had days earlier in that cave over there.”

Pistol snaps his fingers. “The James Gang was probably in on it! That’s probably her Gang!”

Tex looks at Pistol confounded while Chinkachgook quietly watches the two men argue. “We watched her shoot them all dead. How would she fake the deaths of a dozen gangmembers right in front of us?”

Pistol smirks. “Ever heard of blanks? Besides, I never saw it happen.”
Tex laughs. “That’s because you fainted, you British idiot. Chinkachgook and I were still conscious enough to see them all die.”

Pistol slowly backs away from Tex Mecks, struggles to gulp a swallow and points wildly. “You’re in on it! You’re both in on it! You’re all in on it!”

Pistol backs into a pair of horses who neigh at the contact and he spins around to see a confused Sheriff Jessie Wallace sitting at the top of her paddywagon with whip in hand. “In on what?”

Pistol laughs nervously and holds his hands up hesitantly. “Surprise,” he mutters.

As Chinkachgook helps the Sheriff throw the deceased Gang members in the town furnace, Pistol attempts to explain himself. “And you see, this gentleman here with the large tomahawk is going to scalp us or worse if we don’t get this gold. We don’t even need all of it since Chief Wahoo doesn’t know how much there is. Maybe just…half?”

Jessie laughs as she throws another body in the fire. “Are you nuts? That gold’s the only wealth this small town holds. Without that cave we might as well pack up and head back east.”

Pistol rolls his eyes. “C’mon Jessie, we know your game. Where is this village you speak so highly of?”

“I sent them to stay with our friendly neighbors in Bushtown because of all the bandits coming through town.”

Pistol glances at Tex in nervous shock. “Uh oh, your townspeople don’t happen to be brown do they?”

Jessie stares at the strange mustachioed Englishman. “No…”

“Oh, phew. Close one.”

Just then a steady beeping comes from the Sheriff’s office and Jessie runs to her desk where the telegraph is printing off a message from Bushtown. Pistol stares at the lines of Morse code and looks up at Jessie. “What is this gobbledygook?”

Jessie looks distressed and helpless as she stares at the three men. “The Bushtownians are being attacked by that same Indian tribe that your friend here slaughtered a couple days ago.”

Pistol shakes his head. “Jesus, how many of these Indian people are there?”

Tex, thinking quickly again, jumps in. “If we’re able to safely secure your people and bring them back from Bushtown, you give us a share of the gold to bring back to Chief Wahoo and save our heads and asses. Deal?”
Jessie looks pained but she then plops down in her deskchair in defeat. “Deal. But you better bring them back in one piece.”

Pistol looks baffled and slightly flattered. “Our asses?”

Jessie doesn’t even look up. “My people.”

Pistol puts his hat back on and tips his mustache at Sheriff Jessie. “We’ll be back by dusk with your brown people in tow.”

Jessie shuts off her telegraph and stares at Pistol. “They’re not brown!”
Pistol stops at the door. “Are you sure?”

An hour later the three men are behind the hill where they first saw Chinkachgook disappear only to find him butchering the “bad” Indians mere days ago.

Pistol tightens his harnesses, turns to Tex and Chinkachgook and sighs. “Well, here goes nothing mates.”

The three men charge over the hill screaming bloody murder but stop dead in their tracks at the peak and stare down at the village below in silent horror. Every building is now a smoking husk and there are dozens of bodies strewn about the dusty Arizona desert floor.

Pistol Brandisher can do nothing but muster a timid, “Ooh.”