Spurious Cowboy by Doug Donnan

Doug Donnan

Executive Editor/GTNW

donnan.doug@yahoo.com

goodtimesnewsweekly

"The Spurious Cowboy"

by

Doug Donnan

[ Thirty miles outside of Cheyenne Wyoming ]

"I'm begging you Miriam, please just bear with me on this long time boyhood dream of mine," he breathed out as he

fiddled with the nobs of the Jeep Wagoneer's radio. "I just want to visit a real western ghost town before they bury me up

on old Boot Hill. Now is 'that' too much to ask of you?"

William drove on undaunted by her nagging presence and pecking. He was determined to pull this thing off. He had already

invested a good deal of money into their weekend accommodations at the town's Rykerland Hotel. There was nothing

cheap about visiting a town with no 'real' citizens to speak of. Rykerland (according to the decidedly peculiar black and

gray foldout brochure) was assuredly not the place for the faint of heart or finances.

"I think you've lost your marbles William Taproote. That's what I think," she shook her preened and Pantened bowl of red hair

slightly as she stared out the passenger window at the empty sea of sand, sagebrush and towering saguaro cactus as they rode

on for his haunted dream town. "And just what am I supposed to do while you're walking around pretending to be

Wild Bill Hiccup... hmm?"

"Why don't you just try to get into the swing of the whole thing dear," he tried as he lifted his eyes slightly in dismay.

"It might just be fun for you as well."

She turned to him as he gave up on his musical efforts and cocked her head as might some curious, puzzled puppy or other

domestic pet. Her hooded hazel eyes were fixed and slightly dilated.

"Fun? I'm only doing this because you promised me a 'swing' trip, pun intended, to Vegas after we're finished with all this

ghostly folderol. "Remember Billy the Kid?"

He scrunched up his mouth at this caustic retort by his wife and then returned his fixation with the stick straight, sandswept

road. Then, just up ahead, a billboard sign: [ NEXT RIGHT-'BINGSTAR-3D' PRESENTS-RYKERLAND GHOST TOWN! ]

"Here we are then," he chimed up as they swept past the rather morose looking sign.

"Boy oh boy, how terribly droll," she sighed with rolling eyes.

"You can't judge a book by its cover dear," he tried as he flipped on his steering wheel's right turn signal. "Besides I'm sure they

constructed the sign like that to play up the mood and mystery of the whole place. I've read that the computer geeks at Bingstar-3D

can create illusional miracles. They're known as the masters of cyberspace ceremonies. Apparently they've invested a lot of time,

trouble and treasure to pull Rykerland off. 'Scare-Tactics' as they call it in the brochure." 

"Yeh, the apparitional ambiance... how frightfully clever of them. Whoever 'they' are," she followed up sarcastically.

*     *     *

[ Inside The Rykerland Hotel ]

"You can ring that bell till the cows come home hombre," she offered as they stood there at the registry desk,

"It doesn't look like anybody is home in this haunted Hilton. Maybe they're all out taking a siesta or some damn thing.

Why don't we just forget this whole--"

"Look!" he cut in. "On that peg board, there's a key with a tag dangling from it... [ Taproote /2nd Floor/#29 ].

"Great," she mocked his jubilant discovery.

"I'll just sign us in here in the big book and we'll grab the key and head on upstairs. I guess they must trust us or whatever."

"Yeh, 'whatever'. I guess we had better carry our own bags up too huh? If we leave them here some stagecoach spook

might happen on in and make off with them. You think kemosabee?"

"Yeh, we can manage. I'll come down later to the Wagoneer if we need anything else," he said matter-of-factly.

"Fine. How fitting and apropos that we arrive in this half-ass dustbowl town in our 'Wash Me' ol' Wagoneer," she sighed

with a wry smile.

So the two would be westerners hoisted their assorted satchels and made their way up the creaky-board and plank

stairway to their room. Miriam over emphasizing each grunt and groan to make her lugubrious point of displeasure.

[ Room #29 ]

"I guess this is home," Mr. Taproote chimed up playfully. He inserted the old skeleton key in the lock and twisted it

gently until he got the desired click from the bolt.

"This is 'not' home, but right about now I would die for a hot shower and a cat nap," Miriam blew out lightly in

temporary defeat.

"Okay dear, but let's just try and take this thing one step at a time. I'd like to savor the entire ghost town experience.

Okay?"

"Whatever," she sighed with a shrug of her two powder blue samsonite bags.

"Hey, maybe I should carry you over the threshold or something," he tried playfully.

"That won't be necessary 'duke'," she answered with her best John Wayne imitation as she strode past him into the room.

"Just grab these two damn saddle bags cowboy."

"Yes dear," he succumbed to her droll sarcasm.

*     *     *

"This whole damn place gives me the creeps," she said to him as she gazed out the little room's smoke-stained, four

pane glass window. A rather large black crow was sitting on the outside sill. It appeared to be staring up at her with its

black marble eyes. It was the only 'real' sign of life she had noticed since they made their way into Rykerland.

"Okay, I get it," she shook her head at the gawking blackbird. "That's the town's official bird I guess. A scare 'crow' right?"

she forced a laugh as she stuck her thumb tips up to her ears and wiggled her fingers at the impassive creature. "Nevermore...

Nevermore," she chided.

"Now dear. It's just a big old blackbird."

"There's no people to be seen or heard from anywhere. There's no air conditioner, yet the room is downright as cold as a...

tomb," she skipped as she said this last word. "I guess we're supposed to put on these insane western period outfits here on

the damn bed. This is all just 'too' weird for me William."

"That's the whole idea behind Bingstar's Rykerland Miriam... I think," he answered as he tried on the white, ten gallon Stetson

hat. "This place is designed to creep out visiting folks just like us. Mysterious and enigmatic... it's a ghost town. Comprende-vu?"

"Si Pancho. I think I'm beginning to understand this place only too well and it's beginning to smell like you got ripped off way

out here in this nowheresville hodgepodge Dodge City of yours. And, in case you haven't noticed, we are the only 'folks'

around this place, visiting or otherwise."

"Come on and let's just give it a try," he asked pleadingly as he put on the silly, brass button leather vest. "Put on that crazy

yellow hoop dress and try on the Sunday bonnet. Please do it just for me. We'll take a stroll around town and see what's

happenin'.  Let's just give it an hour or two and if it doesn't pan out, so to speak, then we'll check out and head for Vegas.

Now how 'bout them apples missy mae?"

She rolled her eyes up at the eggshell painted hardwood ceiling in head shaking submission. "Okay, okay Tex," she sighed

as she slapped on the swooping, white ribbonish hat 'backwards' in revolt. "I'll give this deserted spooktacular town of yours

just two hours... max, and if something doesn't happen, and I mean 'anything at all', then we're off for Vegas. Okay?"

"Fair enough," he answered in childlike excitement. "Come on. Let's do this. It'll be a... hoot."

"A hoot," she repeated sarcastically as she studied the parachutish dress. "Maybe I'll wear this damn monstrosity to

Vegas. I betcha' I'll get me a few hoots and whistles out that-a-way in Sin City. Ya' think Wild Bill?"

He chortled at these playfull rejoinders by his wife and then holstered his (was it genuine?) pearl handled six shooter.

His wife had regretfully given in and he was now 'aiming' to take full advantage of it.

"I hope 'that' thing is loaded with blanks amigo," she said flatly as she watched him strike a proud pose in the dusty

full length floor mirror by the lone oaken dresser. "We wouldn't want to kill any of the ghostly citizens of Rykerland...

again."     

So they had donned all their layed out western garb and made off and out into the dusty street of Dry Gulch. 

The churlish, curious crow had left its #29 windowsill perch in kind.

*     *     *

They ambled their way up the very center of Mainstreet dodging rolling wheels of tumbleweed and spidery floppy

fences of sagebrush as they went. A few desolate shop shutters and open wooden doors creaked and squeaked in

the lightly blowing wind. Eventually a lithe black cat (was it a cougar or puma of some sort?) nonchalantly padded

across the dusty road, apparently indifferent to the two adventuresome, spurious western Taprootes .

"Oh terrific," Miriam almost yelped in dismay. "That's just 'all' we need right now. What's next... a damn witch on

a broomstick?"

"Well, I have to admit 'that' seems a bit over the top if it's designed to scare us somehow," William agreed for once

with his skittish wife. "Come on lets try our luck up here at the feed store... Graftons. Maybe we can scare up a soda or

some bottled water. I'm parched," he finished as he felt at the handle of his holstered, authentic looking Colt.

"Now 'that there pardner' is the best idea you've had yet," she almost giggled as she grabbed at the voluminous frills

and fluffs and hoisted up the hoop dress. "Maybe they've got some cold bottles of sarsaparilla. Come on Tex. Last one

to Graftons is ghost bait."

"Yeh, and ifn' they're not there. Maybe we'll just go on and help ourselves," he smiled at her giddiness and lit out after her.

*     *     *

"Halloo!" Miriam tried as she popped her head inside the hand painted glass door of ['GRAFTONS FEED & SALOON'].

"Is anybody home?"

There was no answer, but at this juncture neither one of the prowling Taprootes really expected anybody to come running

out smiling and waving at them. There was no soda or anything of that sort anywhere to be found, but they did manage to

discover a rather rudimentary water pump with an arching iron handle just behind the block wood service counter. William

found a stack of glasses on a shelf and he pumped away till he had two of them filled.

"Well, it's not exactly Diet Coke, but it is remarkably cold and refreshing. Wouldn't you say dear?"

"Oh yeh and I can only assume that all of it we can pump up is totally free. Hell I wish that somebody, anybody, would pop

in boo-like and charge us for these. I mean, seriously, what the hell is going on in this crazy ghost town of yours William?

There's no people 'anywhere' to be seen or heard. Just some dry, rolling ass tumbleweeds, a curious crow and a big black

cat or whatever that damn thing was. That's it. Other than that zilch, nada, nothing! I think we had just better--"

"What was 'that'?" William cut in with a slightly dipping crouch as he shot a look over at the two swinging wood slat gate

doors that lead into the inside connecting saloon.

"I don't know Dead-Eye, but I'll betcha' it wasn't human," she almost whispered with something more than just her

usual flippant sarcasm. She was now more than a bit frightened in fact.

"Come on. We'll just have us a look see. Maybe we'll run into the bartender or somebody," William reached for her hand.

"Yeh, or some 'thing'," she finished faintly.

*     *     *

The two tentative but tenacious Taprootes tiptoed through the swinging doors and into the dimly lantern lighted and completely

disheveled saloon. Barrels and kegs, were strewn about everywhere. The floor sawdust  and dust was every bit of an inch thick.

There was a lingering, acrid smell of sudden death and smoke (was it gunsmoke?) everywhere. It was as if they had been some-

how transported back in time to a spot of sordid infamy and deadly altercation.

"What in heaven's name went on in here?" Miriam whispered as she sided up closer to her hesitant husband.

"I don't know," he declared as he inched them both forward approaching a back room around the end of the long wooden

bartop. "But if we're gonna' play the game the way it seems to be layed out for us in this crazy ghost town, I aim to find out.

Come on... let's see this through."

"Heaven help us," is all Miriam could come up with as she shook her bonneted-red head.

*     *     *

At first glance they saw nothing amiss or unusual about the room, but as they scanned around they noticed some ever so slight

movement... vertical movement.

It was a tall, dark, rather fearsome figure wearing what appeared to be a creased black Stetson hat. It wore two six guns at its

hips and was neither smiling nor sneering. It was just staring at them with the very same blank, piercing black eyes that the

leering crow had back outside on the casement window of their hotel room.

Then...

"I see you've come back then Shane," with a thin, fiendish whisper. "Perhaps you had second thoughts about whether you

had killed me dead or just winged me... hmm?"

"Huh?" from the now owl-eyed William Taproote. "Shane? I think... you've got me... mixed up with... some one else... ... uh,

'mister'?" he gulped.

"You had better step away missy," the figure directed this at the deathly frightened Miriam without taking its steely eyes off

the shaky, stuttering, spurious cowboy. "This is not the time or place for a lady."

"What... time would... 'that' be?" Miriam hesitatingly tried, feeling as if she might faint at any given moment.

"Time to die," said it in soft, cavalier reply as it appeared to square off to face the tenderfoot William Taproote. Its long, wispy

hands were dark leather gloved and it held them down just to the sides of the two jutting Colt six guns at its sides.

"Hey I get it now," William lightened as though he had just caught on to this, seemingly, fantastic dangerous game. "You're

Jack Wilson right... from the movie Shane?" William searched quickly searched through his copious western movie memory

bank. "So you're Jack Wilson. I've heard about you," he recited as though he were reading a script for some acting part or role.

"What have you heard Shane.?"

"I've heard you're a low down yankee liar," Texas Taproote fired back with a playful, undaunted confidence as he positioned his

pistol's pearly grip just between the wrist and elbow as the gunfighter Shane would have done.

"WILLIAM!" Miriam shouted out in a panic. "Let's just get the hell out of here. Now!"

"Prove it," was wry reply from the holographic man in black as the pixels of his person began to disassemble and fade away.

As the fearless, sperious cowboy fumbled to draw his side arm to make his play the challenging apparition had magically disappeared

right before their very eyes.

"That does it!" Miriam yelped with disgusted finality as she grabbed him by his outrigger left arm and pulled for all she was worth.

"Drop that damn gun. We're outa here cowboy."

And at that she yanked him across the floor and eventually blasted out the front door. She tossed her bonnet disgustedly into the

street and they made off directly back to the Rykerland Hotel to gather up their gear and ride off out of the bizarre little ghost

town in their dusty white Jeep Wagoneer.

Vegas bound.

*     *     *

[ Bingstar 3D Enterprizes Headquarters/Owned by Microsoft/Bellevue Washington/BS3d 'Scare Tactics' Division ]

"Did you see the damn look on that broad's face when we poofed the pixels and laser-phased out freakin' Wilson?" the chubby

technician boy chuckled out loud from his computerized control cubicle. "Man that chick almost crapped in her costume corset!"

A gaggle of the other Rykerland Tech Team had gathered around his work station as he manipulated his duet of joy sticks. His

triptych of mini-video monitors was alive and well. His number three aerial crow-drone-cam had zeroed in on the two fleeing

Taproote 'guests' as they ran for their lives and their vehicle.

"Yeh I think they got what they were looking for alright," a be-spectacled blonde girl in a long white lab smock chimed in. "That

damn Jimmy the Crow is on those two like glaze on a cop's donut."

"I think the on-sight crow and cougar drone team were both spot on with their surreptitious surveillance operations. The black

cat might be just a bit over-the-top, but I think its a nice added touch to give Rykerland the believability were after," the assistant

director of 'Animation & Robotics' declared with a perspicacious assuredness.

The browsing brood of Bingstar 3D Scare-Tacticians Technicians smiled with mission-accomplished satisfaction as they studied the

video monitor showing the two spurious Texas Taprootes high-tailing it off for Vegas in their speeding Wagoneer.

"Good job everyone," came from over an inner-office speaker system. "Break for lunch and in hour we'll start preparations for the

next 'guests' arrival at Rykerville. Let's all keep up the good work here at Bingstar 3D."

_____ The End _____