Howdy pod'ner. Yuh look a might tuckered from th' trail. C'mon in an' set a spell . . . I'll pour yuh a glass o' my world-famous rotgut an' yell yuh a story. Yuh ever heer'd tell o' Lucas Fontaine?

"Lucky Luke," they called 'im, an' he was knowed far 'n' wide -- well, mebbe only in these parts hereabouts -- as whut's knowed as a bounty hunter. Yeah, I know. 'Tain't nothin' outta, the ord'nary, right? But that's jest it: "Lucky Luke" Fontaine WUZ outta the ord'nary. He wuz somethin' special fer sure. An' 't'weren't jest bendied 'bout that he allus got 'is man.

Well, Fontaine wuz ridin' hard on the trail o' the Viper-in-the-Hole Gang, the meanest buncha varmints west o' the Pecos, led by Rattlesnake Jake hisself. Now, "Jake the Snake," as he wuz offen called, any other hombre woulda been plum loco ta go after 'im -- fer he wuz jest 'bout the meanest rascal yuh ever did set eyes 'pon: he stood nearly seven feet tall, with slitted eyes an' scaly skin -- an' them fangs. Yet 't'were his TAIL yuh really hadda watch out fer. He had lassooed an' crushed many a man with its knobby end, an' even bashed several other t'pulp with that thick foot-an'-a-half club. An' he wuz a helluva shot wih an iron, too, a cold-blooded killer thru-an'-thru.

Now wait, fella, I ain't jest funnin' yuh! S'all true, I swear . . . may Gawd plug me fulla holes iffen I'm a-lyin to yuh! Y'see, Jake the Snake weren't HUMAN . . . he wuz one o' them serpent-men yuh heer tll o' in them Injun legends. He an' his buncha rascals served some kinda snake-god name o' Yig, or somethin'. Biggest, meanest snake in all tarnation!

Anyway, usually them snake-men stayed hidden, in caves, like them real snakes hidin' under rcoks'n all. But Rattlesnake Jake wuz diff'rent. He was uppity, guess he figgered the world o' us humans owed 'im, or somethin'. So he says: "Hidin' be damned, I'm gonna go an' get me some!"

Yup, folks 'round here wuz plenty scairt when they first laid eyes on ole Jake the Snake an' his gang. Some o' them city-folk even come outta the east, to try'n study ole Jake an' his kin. But ole Jake the Snake din't cotton to that idea, an' gave 'em a reason t'go a-runnin' with their tails 'tween their legs!

Well, 't'weren't long 'fore the WANTED posters wuz tacked up, an' . . . an' . . . say, waitaminnit: Yuh ain't no greenhorn, are yuh? Yore after ole Jake yerself, an'tcha? Yup, I knowed it! Well, then yuh'd better listen up t'my story good, cuz yuh got some mighty big boots t'fill!

Anyways, t'make a long story shorter, Lucky Luke had dogged Rattlesnake Jake's trail for nearly three months straight thru, an' finally caught up with 'im atop Mesa Verde -- that's 'Green Mountain' case yuh din't knowed that.

Well, that night wuz the summer solstice -- whut they call's May's Eve -- an' whut Fotaine din't know wuz that Jake an' the Viper-in-the-Hole Gang -- an'a whole mess o' Injuns an' snake-men too! -- was fixin' t'hold a cel'bration o' some kind; a sacr'fice ta that devil-god name o' Yig!

Well, Lucky Luke an' his posse busted right in on that brouhaha -- guns a-blazin' an' fists a-flyin' in grand ole form. Yet with all them rascals o' Jake an' them Injuns -- yeah, an' a pile o' them snake-varmints too -- they wuz sorely outnumbered. Weren't too long 'fore jest Luke Fontaine wuz left alive.

Guess yuh knowed he lived t'tell his tale, an' told his tale t'me -- since I'm able t'be tellin' it t'yuh right now, huh? Yup, he weren't called "Lucky Luke" fer nothin,' y'know!

Y'see, they wuz a-fixin' to sacr'fice ole Fontaine ta the head honcho hisself -- YIG!

Darkness descended an' lightnin' flared in th' sky as that bunch o' heathens called out ta their god. An' with a mighty belchin' roar like a whole pack o' wildcats in heat the snake-demon burrowed ta th' surface o' th' shakin' an' a-quiverin' earth!

Fontaine done told me later how he wuz sure he wuz done fer right then an' there, an' he prepared t'make his peace with th' Almighty.

But it soon b'came clear to them all there that Yig held a grudge. The snake-god din't cotton ta Jake the Snake an' his bunch a-turnin' their backs on his worship -- only a-doin' the rit'als when it seemed convenient fer them. The snake-monster took one slit-eyed gander at ole Fontaine a-lashed ta that post an' turned, an' with a pow'ful swipe o' its tail it battered th' post down an' set ole Lucky Luke free.

Then it turned full 'pon its charges an' -- well, Fontaine weren't 'xactly sure -- he wuz busy high-tailin' outta there like Ole Scratch hisself were after 'im! But he said he'd heer'd the screams o' the dyin' long inta th' deep, dark night.

Well, as yuh kin guess, Rattlesnake Jake survived it all somehow -- an' soon turned ta his wicked ways all over 'gain.

Whut 'bout Lucky Luke, yuh might be askin'? Well, he made it t'town here an' belted out his story ta Doc Sargent -- an' me, course. Yuh knowed I wuz the Doc's brother, right? Anyways, after he finished a-tellin' his story he died the very next day -- from fright, th' Doc said. Damn LUCKY that Lucky Luke, iffen yuh ask me . . . after whut he'd been thru . . .

Anyways, if yore goin' after ole Jake the Snake I figgered I'd better warn yuh, tell yuh whut fer. Yuh better be real good, mister!

Hey! Y'see that there rat a-runnin' 'long th' baseboard there? Why'ncha try'n stick it with yer throwin' knife? Lemme see whut yuh kin do!

Dang! That sure was a good shot!

No, no, yuh danged tinhorn! Yuh don' wanna . . . touch that . . . UGH! . . . yore no fixin' ta EAT THAT, are yuh? Oh Gawd, think I'm gonna be sick . . .

Okay, yuh must be some kinda hoodoo man. That there must be some sort o' queer trick or somethin'. I mean, yuh din't actually EAT that filthy thing -- did yuh?

An' I jest noticed yer eyes too. Yuh ever blink, do yuh? An' the way yuh et that rat -- jest like a gawdamm SNAKE!

Uh, waitaminnit. Y'ain't no Pinkerton man -- hell, yuh ain't even a MAN!

Yuh been sent by Yig, ain'tcha? That big snake-demon really does know how t'hold a grudge, don' he? Well, far be it from me t'be prej'diced . . . hope yuh ketch ole Rattlesnake Jake!

Damn! Never noticed how tall y'all wuz. Uh, guess I know too much, huh? Don' s'pose yuh'd lemme mosey on outta here iffen I swore t'stop a-runnin' my mouth off? Naw . . . din't think so.

Oh shit . . .

© 1998 by James Ambuehl

Return to Contents Page
Return to Mythos Tales of the Weird West
Return to Innsmouth

This page hosted by Get your own Free Home Page