Bump-a-deedah bump, Happy trails

I heard the singing first, wafting along on the cool night air in the arroyo.
  “Leprosy! (the voice slurred in an obvious drunken haze) I've got parts fallin off'n meeeee…..I'm half the man I used to beeee, oh I've got leproseeee….” 
Seized by an irresistable curiosity about who would be this far out of town at night, I rolled out of my bedroll and threw a couple of pinon sticks on the campfire.  Sparks showered up in a sudden swirl, like fiery snakes atop medusa's head.  A horse snorted and hooves clattered nervously, drawing closer until finally the dim flicker of light from the fire revealed a man slumped over backwards in the saddle, his chin bumping occasionally and unceremoniously on the horses hindquarters.  The horse sidled up next to my pinto and tossed his head impatiently until I caught the reins and tied him to a nearby mesquite.  The rider was muttering un-intelligably to himself, and I could see he was in no condition to be a-horseback.
  “Come along bucky,” I said encouragingly, “let's get ya settled in for the night.”
 I hauled his rangy frame roughly from the saddle into an undignified heap on the ground.   The impact roused him anew, and he roared to his feet.
“Bastards!”
he shouted flailing about wildly with both arms.  I guided him gingerly to a seat near the fire, one hand hooked in his belt, the other firmly gripping his collar.
“The bastards cut my horses head off!” he slobbered.  “The only way I could get him to go was by stickin my hand in his windpipe and steering….”
With a slight chuckle, I tipped him over into his hat and covered him with a saddle blanket to shield him from the night air.  Morning was bound to bring some interesting conversation.

Re: Bump-a-deedah bump, Happy trails

ohmygod ohmygod, you are killing me Mudge! (obviously I'm up an kickin' but you know what I mean). Mega LOL.

The start with that song made my tonsils rock and then all the great detail about the fire and the horseman and everything… brilliant.
But then you give me the final death strike with that windpipe - a windpipe! Jesus Christ! Yeah bastards.

Mudge, please, let me hear the interesting conversation on the morning
PLEEEASSEEEEEE!!!!!!!!! I just want to hear it.

This was so funny and so piquant and spot on.

Not bad at all but you have to give me more, you just have to. This thing can go to so many places. And I am so curious about these caracters as well. Who are they?

More writing thank you.

Nono

Re: Bump-a-deedah bump, Happy trails

Dawn cracked like the whip of an oppressive taskmaster.  I jumped up quickly, and shook my bedroll to free it of any scorpions or the like it may have collected during the night. I beat at the trail dust with my hat but gave up with a shug after a whack or two.  I put my hat on for the little bit of shade I knew I was going to need against the building sun.  I looked over at Jubillee and noticed he hadn't moved from where I tipped him the night before.  You might have thought he was dead, except for the occasional snore and mumble leaking out from under his hat.  I took to rousing the fire from the sleeping embers and as soon as the mesquite was popping, put camp coffee on to heat.  I was just herding the last of my beans around in my tin cup using some hardtack, when the smell of  coffee worked its way over the top of Jubalee's mustache and up his hawklike nose, and through the rot-gut whiskey that soaked his brain.  He sat up with a grunt.
  Mornin Lee, I said.
 I didn't call him Jubillee, cause most folks with any sense soon discovered he was quite touchy about it.  His mother couldn't read or write, and right after he was born, she had the midwife open the family bible and point to a word at random.  They made a mark next to it and when the doctor arrived from town the next day, had him enter it on the birth certificate.  Jubillee learned to fight and later to shoot over that name.   He squared up his hat and grunted again.  I took that a sign he wanted some coffee.  Wrestling the coffee pot out of the grip of the fire, I poured boiling coffee over the bits of beans and molasses in the cup and handed it to him wordlessly.  There was no way Lee could be described as a handsome man.  Years of sun and trail dust were baked into his face, leaving him just lighter than the adobe on the pueblo.  Everywhere there were ridges and wrinkles from years of squinting into the daylight.  What hadn't been burnt by the sun was pickled by the whiskey.  The only thing Lee was touchier about than his name was his ears.  They stood out from his head like vanes on a windmill.  He could go up four sizes in a hat and still not have the brim touch his eyebrows.  If you could get him between you and the sun, they were good for shade. Whenever I looked at him I concentrated on his moustache, which hadn't been trimmed in about a year.  It hung pretty near to his chin. 
How's that coffee? I asked.
Lee just grunted.  I could see it was going to be a while before he got started.  I went and dug out some oats from my saddlebag and busied myself with tending the horses.  I came back and sat facing Lee from across the fire. 
Ya got a bean in yer mustache, I said.
He wiped at it with his steering hand.
Nah.  Ya missed it, I said.
He swiped at it again.
Nope.  Over there, I said pointing.
This time he worked his mustache furiously with his fist for about a minute. 
Damn. he said.
My tongue feels like it's been trampled by a herd of Bison and my hand smells like a horse turd.  he groused.  I musta been romancing Sioux City Sue last night.


 

Re: Bump-a-deedah bump, Happy trails

“I dunno about that,” I replied, “but you sure was romancing a jug of Oh-be-joyful afore ya got here.  And yer horse keeps eyein ya funny and layin his ears back some.”
Lee shrugged. 
“Leastwise I aint been shot.  That's somethin at least.” 
He looked down at his vest to see if there were any new bullet holes he might have missed. 
What's the plan, Perdition?  Lee asked.
“First, I'm gonna thin the leftover browngargle with some water from my canteen, and scrape my day-old back some.  Then I'm gonna reckon fer a bit.”
“Okay.” Lee said.
He usually let me do most of the reckoning. Things went smoother that way.  Not only was he not the handsome one, but he was a mite short on brains too.  What he lacked in some areas he made up for in just plain old mean and miserable. 
Ma used to say, “if that boy wuz a judge, he'd give hisself six months when he got up in the morning.” 
I, on the other hand, was known for bamboozling my way in and out of scrapes in high style.  Always on the alert, sneakin up on me is like catchin a weasel asleep.  Jubillee and I had the same mother, but there was doubts around Father's Day.  You wouldn't take us for kin at first glance.  I stood a bit taller, a rangy cayuse with a shock of black hair poking out from under my hat.  We had the same eyes, an indigo shade same as the indians wove into their blankets.  The womenfolk fussed some over me in the saloon, but I figgered that was mostly to drum up some business. I got my name much the same way as Jubillee, only Ma sat up in bed and shouted “PERDITION!!” just as I was born.  Somehow the name stuck.  I figgered it was fittin a monikker as any, because Perdition was likely where I was headed after a lifetime of hijinks.  

 

Re: Bump-a-deedah bump, Happy trails

Thank you! for continuing this story, it just gets better and better. But what, if I may ask, is it doing here in Truly Bad? Because I can't think of even one thing that's bad about it.

The dialogue feels very real, and the descriptive details are shown so effectively, I feel like I'm there at the camp. Like

Wrestling the coffee pot out of the grip of the fire

and especially this description of Lee:

Years of sun and trail dust were baked into his face, leaving him just lighter than the adobe on the pueblo.  Everywhere there were ridges and wrinkles from years of squinting into the daylight.  What hadn't been burnt by the sun was pickled by the whiskey.  The only thing Lee was touchier about than his name was his ears.  They stood out from his head like vanes on a windmill.  He could go up four sizes in a hat and still not have the brim touch his eyebrows.  If you could get him between you and the sun, they were good for shade.

Yup, I can see him just as clear as day.

Just a delightful read.



Oh, and then to find these characters not only know each other (I didn't see that coming in the first part), but are brothers (3rd installment), or perhaps only half-brothers (Jubillee and I had the same mother, but there was doubts around Father's Day — I like the roundabout way that's stated). The names are priceless—Jubillee and Perdition—as is the haphazard (if that's the right word) way they got them.

In this third part I like especially:

…sneakin up on me is like catchin a weasel asleep

and

We had the same eyes, an indigo shade same as the indians wove into their blankets.

Dare I hope there's more?

Ruth

Re: Bump-a-deedah bump, Happy trails

Be careful what you ask for, you might just get it.   ;-]

Re: Bump-a-deedah bump, Happy trails

“I reckon” I said, throwing my saddle and blanket on old Lightning.  I threw my knee up just short of his ribs so's I could finish tightening the cinch.  Lightning could figger more ways to get out of going down the trail than a parson had sunday prayers.  One of his favorites was to “belly up” when I was saddlin and then as we were going out through the cactus, give a long blow and act surprised when the saddle slipped offn his back and under his belly.  Often as not, he found the cussedest places to do that.  I never tried to break him of it because of the hoss thieves. If they could get him to go, they deserved all the misery Ol Lightnin could think up.  My horse has two speeds, slow and grazing.  That's mostly why I named him Lightning.  But he could take that slow and spread it out over places what would kill an ordinary horse.  We come to an understanding, Lightnin and me.  I let him have some of his ways, and he lets me think I'm in charge from time to time.
“Whachya reckon, Perdition?” Lee asked.
“I reckon we aughta git down the river to Truth or Consequences.”  “Ma sent word up the stagecoach line, we aught to stop in and see her.”
Lee ducked his head.  I could tell from his sudden quiet he weren't too keen on the idea.  There was one person on the face of the earth Jubillee feared, and that was Ma.
“Jubillee Jesus James!” she'd say in that voice.  She'd fix ya with that one good eye, and you could hear the four horsemen from hell coming to get you pell mell fer leather. Lee's middle name wasn't really Jesus, but Ma fancied sayin it for emphasis whenever she was riled up.  Mostly, she stayed riled up over one thing or another.  She only stood up just past our belt buckles, but all of us James's would rather ride into a gang of Apache than to cross her.  
 

Re: Bump-a-deedah bump, Happy trails

Oh, Phil
This is just getting better and better. You have a way to treat us girls, huh?

I just loved the way you describe ol Lightning. Those two speeds of his. LOL

This family gets more and more enchanting. A mom who gives names like no else and having only one good eye! Gosh.
I don't know man, are you able to keeping on going with this manner I sure will be able to keep on goin' readin' it.

xo 

Re: Bump-a-deedah bump, Happy trails

CAREFUL???

HA

We are indeed asking for more… this is a treat, arigato gosai mas.
And ditto to what Ruth said.

Re: Bump-a-deedah bump, Happy trails

I keep checking back, hoping there might be a new installment or two awaitin fer us to peruse at our leisure.  Each time I come back, I read it from top to bottom, and love it all over again. 

“What hadnt been burnt by the sun was pickled by the whiskey”

For a minute there, I thought you might have been serious.  I wanna run into these two fellas the next time I happen to find myself out where no woman outta be … the way you weave this story without regard to language or punctuation (or more appropriately, without regard to the RULES of language or punctuation) … that's the way to live a life.  Natural-like.  Without the frills.  ou throw in plenty of details to paint the picture, and then you whallup us with unexpected bits of poke-ya-in-yer-gut funny.  This stuff is great.  Wish I could write like that.  Makes me want to experiment with a whole nuther kind of writing. 

Mostly makes me want to read more of this particular brand of Mudge-podge. 

Re: Bump-a-deedah bump, Happy trails

There are rules?  punchoo ayshun?  If I keep writing on this it might turn into somethin.  We can't have that.

Re: Bump-a-deedah bump, Happy trails

Doesn't have to turn into somethin. Could turn into nuthin', but a lot more of it. I'd be happy with that.

:)