Hang ‘Em From the Cypress Tree

Standing on a hill overlooking the nearby valley, Brendan Sheehan and Creed Bonham study a herd of undernourished cattle. They wipe their brows, feeling the effects of the hundred-degree heat.

With wavy, jet-black hair and sculpted features, thirty-two-year-old Brandon is absurdly handsome, which suits his role as the heir apparent to the Shamrock Ranch, the biggest spread in Little Heaven, Arizona. Although he has a college education and is as tough as any cowhand, Brandon still has problems living up to the reputation of his uncompromising war hero father, Colonel Hercules Sheehan.

Creed belches, taking a swig from a bottle of rye. Blonde-haired and scruffy with harsh, pock-marked features, Creed sports an ever-present plug of chewing tobacco. The twenty-six-year-old cowboy’s narrow, wolfish, grey-eyed stare, and unpredictable nature promise trouble.

The pair watch intently as ranch hands Stubby Clapp and Plug Nichols make their way through the herd, carefully examining the brands on the cows.

Razor-thin, Percival “Stubby” Clapp gets his name from having lost two fingers on his left hand in a childhood farming accident. His bony facial features and twitchy nature add to the belief that the forty-one-year-old cowboy’s toughness is suspect.

Thirtyish Elgin “Plug” Nichols gets his nickname from his squat, unkempt stature. Rough and usually ill-tempered, his thick lips, squinty eyes, and fat cheeks paint him as a quiet, insensitive brute.

“They’ve acquired twice as many cows since the last time we checked,” Brandon notes.

Creed takes another healthy swig from the bottle. “Fortification for the job ahead.”

He hands the bottle to Brandon, who tips it back, grimacing as the rye burns a path down his throat.

Stubby and Plug ride up, rejoining Brandon and Creed.

“Well?” Brandon asks.

Plug shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Be easier if Little Pike was really rustling. We’d have the law on our side. Not one of those cows bear the mark of the Shamrock Ranch?”

“Nope.”

“We’re missing nearly sixty calves and cows,” Brandon says. “I’m willing to bet they have them stashed in a canyon somewhere.”

“He might have done us a favor by stealin’ ‘em,“ Creed notes. “With this drought, we barely got enough water for the cows we got left.”

Brandon takes another swig from the bottle. “We can remedy that. All we have to do is convince Little Pike to make a choice between his ranch or his life.”

“We ain’t really gonna string him up, are we?” Stubby asks.

“Of course not. But he doesn’t know that.”

“That’s good because Marshal Wright is already lookin’ sideways at us because of Pokey Houston’s death.”

Creed’s ire quickly rises. “For the last time, you quiverin’ bag of bones, he threw down first.”

“He was seventy, Creed.”

“I don’t care if he was Methusela hisself, he aimed to make me an angel.”

“Be unlikely you’d ever be let in the pearly gates, Creed,” Plug comments.

“The Marshal didn’t call for no trial, did he? And a fine help you was, Stubby. I didn’t see you even draw when the bullets was flyin’ like sketters. You even know how to use a gun?”

“That’s enough, you two,” Brandon commands. “Nobody thought Pokey Houston would turn squatter, refuse to leave, and then shoot it out with us. Marshal Wright concluded Pokey’s death was self-defense. Let’s hope his death serves as a lesson to everyone who thinks they can stop me and my father from expanding our ranch.”

“You thinkin’ that might include Pike McDonough?” Stubby asks.

Creed cuts in. “He’s an ornery little cuss. “But I ain’t met a man yet that survived danglin’ from the end of a rope.”

“It’s not going to come to that,” Brandon says forcefully. “We’re just going to scare him.”

“There’s gotta be a better way than fakin’ his hangin,” Stubby says, his voice quivering.

Brandon glares at Stubby, who mumbles, “…It ain’t right...”

“Whose name hangs next to the sign that says, ‘The Shamrock Ranch?’”

“Your father’s.”

“Who gives you more money than any outfit you’ve ever worked for?”

“Your father.”

“And who said come home with Little Pike’s signature or don’t come home at all?”

“Your father.”

“The twentieth century is only six years away boys, and by then the Shamrock will be the biggest ranch in Arizona. We can’t let grifters and sodbusters hold us back.”

“Your family already owns half the town and most of the ranches,” Subby says. “When is enough enough?”

“When we own it all,” Brandon replies. “You’re a dinosaur, Stubby, a man of simple tastes from a simpler time. You’re a man who thinks a handshake is a binding contract instead of a deed. Those days are gone and they’re not coming back. So, you can go back to the ranch and tell my father that you’re a moral man, that what he’s doing is wrong, and you’re going to make all the decisions from now on. Let’s see how far that gets you, Mr. Percival Clapp. Or you can grow a backbone, see this through, and maybe wind up running Little Pike’s ranch for Sheehan Enterprises.”

Creed spits a stream of tobacco juice. “You’d think a man who lost two fingers and was wounded by Apaches would be able to stomach scarin’ a midget.”

“You ever seen a hangin’, Creed? It’s a cruel, sick way of killin’ someone.”

“You kiddin’? They’s fun! Hangins was the biggest attractions in Texas. One Saturday night in Mason City we pulled some half-breed outta his cell. I can’t remember if he was guilty or not. Didn’t matter. We stretched his neck all the way back to his tepee. He was kickin’ like a thirsty mule.”

Stubby frowns, mumbling, “…Animal… “

“What you say, old stick?”

“Nothin’. My Pa got hung for sellin’ stolen horses. He didn’t know they was stolen. He done it to feed us.”

“Another innocent sodbuster done wrong,” Creed sneers.

“He was, unlike your Pa,” Stubby continues. “But they didn’t do his hangin’ right… I’ll never forget the sound of him chokin’ for air. He was up there, fightin’ for his life, turnin’ blue for ten minutes before somebody showed him mercy and shot him.”

“Aw, I’m tearin’ up,” Creed replies.

“We’re not going to hang him,” Brandon insists. “Little Pike is tough but he’s not stupid. He’ll sell.”

The quartet prods their horses, riding toward the McDonough Ranch.

Creed looks over at Stubby. Giving him a tobacco-stained grin, Creed grabs his throat and gags, pretending he’s hanging.

Pike McDonough’s twenty-year-old stepdaughter, Ester Hemp, checks her bushy blonde hair in the mirror. Her once pretty features have been marred by hard times and alcohol, and her figure has gone doughy and soft, but she doesn’t regret her choices, and still manages to find girlish humor in her struggles.

Ester laughs to herself. “Another stinkin’ cowboy...”

She turns to face a dust-covered, drunken ranch hand. Seated at the dinner table, Oyster Burns licks his cracked lips.

Esther sticks out her hand. Burns drops three dollars in it. Esther puts the money on the nearby table, hiking up her skirt.

“You ready for the ride of your life, cowboy?”  

Burns unbuttons his trousers.

Holding back the urge to vomit, Esther straddles him.

The front door bursts open. Brendan and Creed enter, laughing at the compromised pair. Brendan yanks Esther off Burns’ lap.

Burns protests. “Hey, you’re messin’ up my poke! This is costin’ me three dollars!”

“Well, you’re overpaying by at least two,” Brandon retorts.

Brendan reaches in his jacket pocket. He hands Burns some coins.

“Here’s five dollars. Now get on your horse and tell your boss to take my father’s offer for his ranch.”

“…Crooked cattle baron, buyin’ up ever place in the valley,” Burns mutters.

Creed confronts Oyster. “You wanna say that louder, Oyster?  I’ll knock that last tooth out of that empty head of yours.”

Burns hurriedly buttons up his pants. Flashing a toothless smile, he leaves.

Esther raises her fist, intent on fighting back. Brandon shoves her back into a chair.

“Where’d you get the new cows from, Esther?” he asks.

“They’re strays.”

Creed lets out a phlegmy stream of laughter. “Strays? You always was a funny tottie, Esther. Ugly as a mud fence but amusin’.”

“You come across any of our cows in your search for strays?” Brandon asks.

“We don’t have none of your stock. That’d be rustlin’.”

Creed lets out another stream of disconcerting laughter. ” You ever think of joinin’ a travelin’ show, Esther? Oh, the yarns you can spin!”

“C’mon fellas. I know you’re liquored up and funnin’,” Ester says nervously. “This drought has made us all a little crazy. But we’re neighbors, friends.”

“And we’ve always helped you out whenever you needed it,” Brandon replies.

Narrowing his wolfen eyes, Creed says, “Maybe they decided to help themselves this time.”

Brandon looms over Esther, pressing his tensed features close to hers. “Is Creed right? Is that what you’ve been doing, Esther?”

“‘Course not, Junior.”

Brandon pulls away from Esther. “All right, then. Maybe it’s all a misunderstanding. How about my father’s offer?”

Esther lets out a loud, bawdy laugh.

           “Sounds like no to me,” Creed says.

Ester chuckles. “You got a pretty good wit about ya, Junior. So that’s what all this ballyhoo is about? Some thirsty cows?  We been here nearly fifteen years, ever since my Ma was married to Little Pike, and I was a baby. We’ve laughed, cried, and our kin has died here. We’re stayin’.”

Brandon storms toward the door.

“We’ll see. And dammit, stop calling me Junior. Bring her, Creed.”

Creed grabs Esther by her hair. The more Esther fights the harder he pulls. Creed yanks her outside.

They meet up with Stubby and Plug. Plug has a rifle trained on Little Pike’s head. Stubby relieves Little Pike of his gun and knife, then ties up his wrists.

Barely five feet tall, forty-one-year-old “Little” Pike McDonough has a slight build and a game left leg. He hides his boyish features behind a bushy mustache, beady brown eyes, and a quick, resourceful mind.

“Okay, boys. I get the joke,” Little Pike says.

Plug grunts. “You see any of us laughin’?”

“I told you we’d never steal from ya. We got these cows from the Yaquis.”

Creed yanks Esther to his side. Little Pike grits his teeth, cursing under his breath.

“Don’t damage the goods, Creed! Ya’ll got some gall comin’ here to hassle us over some misplaced beeves.”

Brandon’s anger simmers. “Is that what you want to call it?  If you stole from the Indians, who you call friends, then you probably stole from us too. Rustling cows is still a hanging offense. Tie them up, Plug. We’ll take them out to the old cypress tree. They’ll stop laughing once they’re hanging from it.” 

Little Pike laughs. “Okay, you made your point, Junior.”

“Dammit, Pike. You call me Junior again and we’ll choke you out right here.”

“All right, Mr. Sheehan. I know what all this strong armin’ is about. You want the ranch, the water rights.”

“So, what’s your answer, Pike?”

“Our blood’s in this earth.”

“Well, I hope you’re ready to spill a lot more of it. Get that buckboard over there boys and put them in it.”

Stubby glances at Brandon with astonishment. As Creed and Plug force Little Pike and Esther into the buckboard, he pulls Brandon aside.

“This has gone pretty far south, boss. “

“We’re just going to scare them.”

“Well, you’re sure scarin’ me. Your daddy’s known Pike for a long time. Maybe he should talk to him.”

Brandon’s anger crests. He draws close to Stubby, staring him down.

“It’s time people respected me the same way they do my father. That includes you, Stubby.”

Brandon leads the procession to the cypress tree.

Creed and Stubby force their captives to their feet. Brandon throws a rope around a thick limb, fashioning a noose around Little Pike’s neck. He throws a second rope around Esther’s neck.

Creed flashes a satisfied, stained smile.

“You ready to dance, Little Pike?”

“Shut up, ya inbred saddle tramp. Your daddy won’t approve of you treatin’ his old friends so poorly, Junior.”

Ester laughs nervously. “C’mon, Brandon. I can barely keep my balance. These horses are too skittish. They might run off and me and Pike’ll die just so’s you can show your Pa you’re a man. I’ll give you a free poke. I’ll give you whatever you want, just let us down.”

“Time for talk’s over, you ugly sow,” Creed says. “You need to sign your ranch over, or I’m gonna show you how we entertained folks in Mason City on Saturday nights.”

Stubby looks up at Little Pike and Ester. Their writhing forms fade, replaced by a shadowy figure. The figure’s skin is blue from a lack of oxygen, and his parched tongue lolls around in his mouth. His eyes bulge out of his head, yet he sees nothing.

The others notice that Stubby is shivering in the sweltering heat.

“What’s with him?” Creed asks.

“Ghosts,” Plug replies.

Plug latches onto Stubby’s shoulders, shaking him.

“You’re seein’ your Pa, ain’t you?”

“Yes…Yes!”

Plug’s deep, commanding voice pulls Stubby back to reality.

“That ain’t your Pa. He’s gone. You think he’d make you to suffer?”

Creed spits a streak of tobacco juice near Stubby’s boots. “He’s a dinosaur for sure, Mr. Sheehan. Nothin’ but a bag of bones without any grit to hold them together.”

Heading back from church. Marshal Donal Wright and his family notice the scene unfolding in the valley below them.

With close-cropped brown hair and a waxed mustache, the thirty-year-old Marshal looks and acts sure of himself. His red-haired wife, Katherine, is wispy and raw-boned, and their two freckled boys take after her. Since coming to Little Heaven two months ago, Donal has already had several run-ins with Brandon and his men, notably a drunken Creed, who he knocked out with the butt end of his pistol and jailed for a week.

Donal stops the buggy. Following on his horse, Seth, the Wright’s oldest boy, pulls his horse to a halt.

Reaching next to his seat, Donal grabs his rifle.

“Sweet Jesus, Donal. Are they serious?” Katherine asks.

“Doesn’t get any more serious than a rope.”

“You should get help.”

“They’ll be dead by the time I get to town and back. The Colonel and Brandon need to learn they can’t just take what they want from people, not if it’s outside of the law. You and the boys head home. Seth, I’m gonna need your horse.”

“Be careful with my horse, Pa,” Seth says, his expression lined with worry.

Donal walks to the precipice of the hill. He fires two shots in the air as a warning.

In the valley, the buckboard shifts as the horses react to the loud report of Donal’s rifle.

“Who’s doin’ that shootin’?” Creed asks.

“Looks like Marshal Wright,” Stubby yells. “He’s got the high ground. He’ll cut us down like clay pigeons if we stay here!”

Little Pike and Esther gasp for air as the horse’s buck, tightening the nooses around their necks.

Another shot rings out. Brandon and Stubby duck behind the wide expanse of the tree. Creed and Plug run to their horses, reaching for their rifles.

“Creed! You and Plug get up there and weed out that yahoo before he kills us!” Brandon orders.

“Cover me,” Plug says.

Creed fires off a series of shots. Plug rushes up the hill, seeking cover in a clump of desert scrub.

Little Pike and Ester struggle to free themselves as the skittish horses snort and buck.

“Get us down from here! We’re chokin’!” Ester gasps.

“Stop that shootin’, you idiots!” Pike yells “You’re spookin’ the horses!”  

Rising from his hiding place, Plug fires at Donal, but his shots are off-target. The Marshal quickly responds, hitting Plug in the stomach with two shots from his rife. Plug falls face-first into the bushes, groaning as he dies.

Jumping on his son’s horse, Donal charges down the hill at Creed, who is so surprised at the lawman’s grit that his first shots go awry. Taking aim, he fires again.

The horse is hit and dies in a dive that kicks up tall grass and clumps of dirt. Donal rolls to safety behind a cluster of weeds and bushes.

“Dang tin star nuisance! I hope you like the taste of dirt,” Creed yells.

Creed retreats, quickly mounting his horse.

“You can’t run out on me, Creed!” Brandon shouts. “Where are you going?”

“Texas!”

Creed jabs his horse with his spurs and the horse speeds off, leaving Brandon and Stubby still pinned behind the tree.

Little Pike and Ester continue to struggle, the ropes tightening as the horses whinny and buck.

“Brandon, let us down!” Little Pike gasps.

“We have to get out of here,” Brandon says to Stubby. “Go on, make a run for it.”

“Me?”

“That’s an order, Stubby.”

“I quit.”

“I’m going to inherit an empire, you coward. What are you going to have?”

“A clear conscience, once I cut Pike and Ester down.”

Crouching, Brandon pulls out his revolver. Running for his horse, he blindly fires at Donal.

A rifle shot echoes. Brandon freezes as the bullet tears into his side. A second bullet hits him in the neck. Cursing, Brandon topples over, whispering, “…Damn fools. we had it all….” as he dies.                         The horses buck. The wagon’s axel splinters and the horses free themselves, galloping off. Both Little Pike and Esther let out a ghastly, choking sound.

It takes a moment for Stubby to realize what he’s hearing.

Donal rushes to the cypress tree, stripping Stubby of his gun.

Stunned, the two men turn to look up at Little Pike and Ester.

Little Pike is already dead. Esther’s body spasms wildly as she chokes to death.

“Looks like you’ll be joinin’ them soon, Stubby.”