Beard vs Coyote 2: Of Flames and Damnation

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Beard vs Coyote 2: Of Flames and Damnation

Postby El Coyote » Tue Jun 25, 2013 2:40 pm

Beard vs Coyote 2: Of Flames and Damnation

A Thrilling Tale of the Old West in Three Exciting Parts

Written by JamesT, El Coyote, and JugularNotch
Edited by JamesT





CHAPTER ONE

In which memories are recalled and fires are started



James T. coughed again as the barrel dug into his back and his butt dug into the ground. His hand had finally stopped shaking, far too long after it would have done any good. El Coyote and his men were gone, leaving only hoof prints in the ground and the faint scent of blood in the air. With a small smile James thought of the shot he had gotten off. The piece of lead in the bandit's arm would bother him, for a while, but it wouldn't do any permanent damage; the wound was too shallow and Coyote was bound to have someone with enough medical knowledge to dig it out without crippling him.

El Coyote was gone and James T., bearded gunslinger with no home, was back where he had started. How had Coyote found him first? James had been so careful, following the trail crumb by crumb, sure to never use his name or to stay in any place too long. He was certain he'd catch Coyote unawares, and settle the score once and for all.

James ran a hand through his beard and closed his eyes.

---

After he'd left the Red Riders he had settled down with Sheila. Their farm wasn't huge but it was worth the money they put into it. She had been hesitant to use that money, more disgusted at what it represented than worried that the Riders would come after it, but James told her not to pay it any mind. All money was dirty, he told her.

He was probably only remembering the good times. But there were enough good times that the bad didn't matter. It was as close to idyllic as you could get in this rotten world. He imagined Sheila doing the laundry. It had taken two years of nagging for him to let her wash his pants. If they had been married just a year more maybe he would have let her wash his coat. She was an angel, with curly blond hair and an embarrassing speech impediment. He recalled her voice with pleasure.

"You don't BAAAAAA have to worry, James," she'd say. "It will be BAAAAAA all right."

The sound of her voice died off in his mind and hoof beats of damnation replaced the gentle song. They became louder and louder, accompanied by flames and some bad gas. That one night came back to him...

It was a cold night. And like most cold nights he was up to pee for the 5th time. That's when he heard the hoof beats. He didn't think anything of the sound and that fact ate at him. If it had been just two years earlier he would have jumped to get his revolver and rushed outside as soon as the first clop clop clop came echoing into their house. Instead he continued peeing.

A window shattered in their room, and the night suddenly got much hotter. Flames raged just behind him, licking at the support beam. If it had been just two years earlier he would have noticed a giant fire burning 5 feet behind him and the farm around him falling apart. Instead he continued peeing.

Sheila awoke and screamed, finally getting James's attention. A second later there came a loud crack, and a thunk, and the only sound that broke the night's silence was the crackling of fire. The moment he turned around it was obvious that all he would be rushing towards was a corpse. As he broke through the burning timber, tumbling outside, he knew who was behind it. He knew even before he caught the silhouette of a man with a wide sombrero galloping off on a horse into the moonlight, flanked by several men with torches.

And if there was one thing that hurt James T. as much as Sheila's death it was this: he had left his favorite hat in that farm. In hindsight it may have been a good thing. After all, when El Coyote and his gang came back they must have seen it and assumed he'd been burned alive. But it was a good hat. It was a hat that couldn't be replaced.

---

James came back to the present and poked a finger through the hole in his current hat.

"Damn..." he muttered.


CHAPTER TWO

In which fanciness is introduced and money is wasted



James staggered to his feet and tossed the now worthless hat to the ground. An angry determination welled up in his chest and he was steady again. The bandito would pay. For Sheila and for his hat, the bandito would pay with his life. James's steps kicked up dust on the way, steadily getting stronger as he regained that same mad fire that he thought he had lost long ago. By the time he got to his horse he was an inferno, ready to burn down heaven and earth. He was a spicy dinner ready to tear through the colon of God Himself. He saddled up, and got ready to ride.

The sound of a small bell ringing in the distance gradually grew louder. James looked to the source of the sound and saw a cloud of dust growing in size and heading his way. He squinted as the dust began to sweep past him, and the stagecoach kicking it up pulled up alongside him. The window opened up, and inside was a tall, broad, and tan gentleman in a bowler hat with a monocle. He took the monocle in his fingers and held it out to examine the saloon, or whatever remained of it.

"Hey there, my friend,” the gentleman said. “What um... what happened here?"

The vagrant gunslinger made no move to reply, at first. For several long seconds he simply stared off into the distance. When he finally stopped thinking about breasts he hurriedly tried to think of something tough to say.

"Had a problem. It's not yours. Might as well leave." As if to accentuate this James gracefully fell off of his horse.

The gentleman smiled a bit, then opened the door and stepped out of the stagecoach. He was a lot bigger than he looked through the window, though he still had that fancy look that all good punching bags carried when they stepped out of coaches into Canyon's End.

Ignoring the bearded man, he continued, "Well, that's the thing, friend. Seems like these parts are a little rough. I'm hoping to convince some people—some influential, estimable people—that this town is a little more refined. They worry about whether people here keep on... how'd you put that? If they keep on having 'problems'. To put it politic-like."

The man examined the bullet holes punched through the walls from inside the saloon. He gave a little chuckle, then restored the monocle to his pocket. "Well, I suppose I can sell this as an 'authentic refacing' or something. Looks wild but isn't. I like that." He turned to finally face his companion. "The name's Benjamin Nearly, pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. ...”

James gave the fancy man a decidedly unfancy snort.

"*Snort* eh?” Mr. Nearly tried his best to accurately replicate the gross sound. He looked the bearded man over. An ancient looking revolver with the initials JT engraved in the handle stuck out. “That gun of yours looks terrible, I'm not gonna lie, Mr. *Snort*. I have a feeling it hasn't seen much action in a while." Mr. Nearly looked back to the saloon walls. "I mean... before today."

Mr. Nearly started walking back toward the stagecoach. He opened the door and said a few muffled words to the other occupant of the coach. When he emerged he was holding a brand new, beautiful Colt Walker revolver in his hand.

"Now Mr. *Snort*, I don't intend to trade you for your gun; clearly that's got some sentimental value to ya. I'm merely offering you the chance to get a hold of this nice piece in exchange for your name. Your REAL name, if you please."

James T. took the revolver in his hand and looked it over. It was nice… real nice. He could probably buy 2 horses for the same price as the gun. With a grunt James tossed it in the air and faster than Mr. Nearly could respond a shot was fired, James holstered his gun, and the shiny new revolver clattered onto the ground, now useless.

"James 'Wandering Kidney's' T., at your service."

Mr. Nearly gave James a little smile. "Well, look at you. That's some gun hand you got there." He regarded the revolver on the ground. "I ought to be insulted by that, but you know, it's your gun, Mr. T. Listen, I don't know what you're doing out here, and I mean it's none of my business surely.

“But I'm looking for someone with a little class and a good gun hand to help me out. Civilizing this place. Making it presentable for my friends.” Mr. Nearly got a good healthy look at James's eyes, and felt a stir of something. Maybe it was fear, maybe it was curiosity… maybe it was the 20 fajitas Mr. Nearly had eaten that afternoon. But there was something else about him— something Mr. Nearly couldn't just leave alone. He knew this was the one. "At least, perhaps, you can tell me where I can find someone with a little brutal grace, who would be interested in getting exceedingly wealthy under my employ. The job really isn't that complicated; a few ruffians need rounding up and, um... well taken care of, I guess. Just a handful of Mexicans working for a guy named El Coyote.”

The sound of El Coyote's name stopped James T. from turning away right then. He patted his gun, touched his bare head and thought about his laundry.

"How much do you know about that man?" James asked, stepping towards the coach.

Mr. Nearly smiled. Once again, he'd struck a good bargain. "Tell you what, Mr. T. I know only a little. But there's someone in here you ought to meet knows a little more than I do." He turned and extended a hand toward James. "What'll it be, T?"

With trepidation James took Mr.Nearly's hand. The contact gave him a sick feeling that he pushed away. He had learned to ignore that sick feeling back in San Antonio. As he got into the stagecoach he saw a glint of what looked like glass, a glimpse of a whip, and a pair of hard looking eyes. Mr. Nearly tossed James a clean hat and the coach started to move.


CHAPTER THREE
In which surgery is performed and a snake is lost



As the sun was beginning to set, El Coyote and his men were nearing their hideout, known to the locals as Bandit's Den. The rocky formation had always been used as a hiding spot for thieves and criminals, and now it was home to El Coyote's gang. La Manada, or The Pack, was a group of banditos that had already fame of its own. They worked in small groups on both sides of the frontier, and only joined together as a whole when El Coyote summoned them.

As the three riders neared a small path leading between the rocks, a man peaked from behind a boulder and yelled "¿Quién vive?"

Galeana raised his rifle in the air and yelled back "¡Coyote!"

The sentry signaled the previously unseen sharpshooters and they lowered their rifles. They were hidden amongst the cracks and crevices of the rocks. The expert marksmen then slipped back into their positions, now completely hidden from view.

El Coyote groaned in pain as he dismounted. He slumped in front of a campfire as one of his men came closer to examine the wound. The makeshift doctor shook his head upon further inspection.

"You really did it this time," said the doctor in Spanish. "The bullet is still lodged in your arm. We'll have to take it out. Did the gringo do this?"

"Yes, for a washed-up drunkard he still is a helluva shot!" El Coyote let out a weak chuckle followed by a groan.

The doctor took out some tweezers from his bag and handed Coyote a bullet. "You seem happy for a man that was just shot by a bearded vagrant."

"That's because our mission was a success! After weeks of tracking him down, now I know that the rumors were true. James is alive and I saw him with my own eyes. I thought he had died in the fire, but now I have the chance to shoot him myself." El Coyote bit on the bullet.

"I thought you killed him when you raided his ranch." The doctor proceeded to remove the bullet from El Coyote’s arm. After some fidgeting around, he took the bullet out and threw it away.

El Coyote spit the bullet in his mouth out and poured some tequila on his wound. "So did I, but the moment I heard the rumors of the lone gunslinger with the magnificent beard, I knew it was him. I don't know how he did it, but that bastard survived. But now that we found him, it's only a matter of time before we finish him. Now that he saw me again, he'll be tormented by the ghosts of his past. He's nothing more than a broken shell of a man. All the memories will come rushing into his head, and no amount of sarsaparilla will drown them out." He groaned as he started bandaging his arm with a dirty rag.

As the doctor cleaned the tweezers, he spoke with that sincere accent that characterizes the men from Sonora. "Coyote, you were wounded and Agustín was killed. You almost died back there. Why go through so much trouble? We could have sent a few men after him while he slept and killed him just as easily."

El Coyote's expression grew somber as he started talking, "Because I don't want to kill him, I want to end his life." The men suddenly stopped strumming their guitars and other conversations died down. They knew their boss well enough to know when he was truly angry.

El Coyote stood up and stared into the doctor's eyes. "Sending a few men to kill him won't do it. Why did I summon all of you? Why did we leave Mexico and come here? He survived last time didn't he? No, this time I won't be so clumsy. I went through all this trouble because I want to be the one to pull the trigger."

The doctor stepped back in fear of the wild man he had in front of him. El Coyote kept talking in a harsher voice. "We were once brothers, part of the same family. We took him in when the world turned its back on him, when nobody would give that poor bum a second look. The Red Riders breathed life into him. And because of him, it all ended. He walked out on us as I lay bleeding on the ground. He owes us; he owes me. We gave him his life back, so I only find it fair that I should be the one to take it from him."

Even though the doctor already knew El Coyote, he couldn't help but feel scared. His eyes set ablaze by the deep hatred he had for James would strike fear into any man. El Coyote wrapped himself in his serape and walked off to a secluded part of the camp.

As he was walking away, he called out, "Cascabel! Cascabel! Has anyone seen my rattlesnake?" He looked around and saw one of his men, Edgar. "You! Cabrera! Leave that armadillo alone and go find Cascabel. And don't come back without her." Noticing his boss’s anger Cabrera quickly ran to his horse and went off to find the rattlesnake.

El Coyote sat down and leaned against a boulder. As he was falling asleep he could hear the men playing a corrido, a ballad of sorts, around the campfire. The song brought back so many memories: his hometown, his brothers, his childhood, and his dreams. Back then, he never would have thought he'd end up as a wanted criminal on a foreign country. He never thought he'd hunt down someone he once would have taken a bullet for.

But all of that is now in the past he thought to himself as he slipped into the world of dreams.


The End... ?
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The Second Part of the Western Epic by El Coyote and JamesT
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Re: Beard vs Coyote 2: Of Flames and Damnation

Postby Marcuse » Tue Jun 25, 2013 2:43 pm

Coyote, Notch, JamesT

Bravo.
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Re: Beard vs Coyote 2: Of Flames and Damnation

Postby JamesT » Tue Jun 25, 2013 2:49 pm

This one was a doozy! And don't worry, Part 3 hopefully won't take as long to get out. ;)
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Re: Beard vs Coyote 2: Of Flames and Damnation

Postby LaChaise » Tue Jun 25, 2013 3:07 pm



Well done.
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Re: Beard vs Coyote 2: Of Flames and Damnation

Postby Kate » Tue Jun 25, 2013 4:22 pm

Notch! Post here so I can thumb you up! This was another amazing installment, everyone!
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Re: Beard vs Coyote 2: Of Flames and Damnation

Postby Tablo » Tue Jun 25, 2013 10:28 pm

Kate wrote:Notch! Post here so I can thumb you up! This was another amazing installment, everyone!

Just rate him, thats what im going to do.
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Re: Beard vs Coyote 2: Of Flames and Damnation

Postby JamesT » Wed Jun 26, 2013 1:48 pm

Just to give a hint for what to expect, the next entry will have appearances by Glassjaw Girl and Typical Michael!
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Re: Beard vs Coyote 2: Of Flames and Damnation

Postby Tablo » Wed Jun 26, 2013 7:41 pm

To murder list
Steve
That douche in room next to me in the asylum
The dick monster
Glassjaw Girl (new)
Typical Michael (new)
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OrangeEyebrows wrote:Tablo, the resident shrink
Will cure all your ills in a blink
(If you're weird or you're lazy:
If actually crazy
You're better off turning to drink)

My therapy thread
Nothing to see here keep moving ,you signature looking looker.
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Re: Beard vs Coyote 2: Of Flames and Damnation

Postby Kate » Wed Jun 26, 2013 9:09 pm

Tablo wrote:
Kate wrote:Notch! Post here so I can thumb you up! This was another amazing installment, everyone!

Just rate him, thats what im going to do.

You don't understand, I already rate Notch on a regular basis XD I need to rate him extra!
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Re: Beard vs Coyote 2: Of Flames and Damnation

Postby Rebo » Thu Jun 27, 2013 4:03 am

Image
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Re: Beard vs Coyote 2: Of Flames and Damnation

Postby NisiOptimum » Thu Jun 27, 2013 11:15 pm

This was so awesome I actually started reading it while sipping a mocha chai latte in a little organic coffeshop and by the time I was done I was downing shots of Mescal while haggling over pemmican in Dodge City.
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Re: Beard vs Coyote 2: Of Flames and Damnation

Postby Matthew Notch » Fri Jun 28, 2013 12:16 am

It's kind of weird, because the settings are pretty different, but I imagined my character as Billy Zane channeling this guy:



Apparently there's not a decent video of his scenes anywhere else on the YouTubes. Also the last names are purely coincidence, I promise.

THERE KATE. I POSTED. NOW YOU CAN THUMB ME>
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