This story takes you into the vivid imagination of two young country boys forming an outlaw gang, pulling off a bank robbery, and evading discovery by a passing car. Huh?The Killer Kid GangIssue 019Welcome to Issue No. 018 of Short Stories by J Mel, entitled, The Killer Kid GangWhen Joe and I were growing up in ranch country on the Rolling Plains of West Texas, we read and watched stories about notorious outlaws on the western frontier. Tales abounded of hard-riding infamous criminals who robbed banks, trains, and stagecoaches with guns blazing and made daring escapes into the rugged badlands of Indian Territory. Their glamorized escapades always involved fast horses and secret hide-outs. Larger than life, especially in death, these unscrupulous cowboys portrayed a lifestyle of unlimited excitement and unbridled passion lived in excess, though short in duration. As kids with real horses, large expanses of native rangeland, gullies, and vivid imaginations, we became those infamous outlaws. This is the story of one of our many adventures about how two infamous outlaws met and formed a little-known gang known as The Killer Kid Gang.Ring. Ring. Ring. “Hello.” Joe said in his slow Texas drawl.For some reason, as he spoke, my seven-year-old brain made an association between Joe, a young boy of my age, and a baby Horned Toad. The baby Horned Toad is an exact miniature replica of an adult who hasn’t changed much in the last hundred years. By comparison, Joe was a miniature tall lanky cowboy from the 1880 era. And cowpokes like them still existed to a large measure when we were kids. They worked on the large cattle ranches common to our area back in the day. They still existed when we were kids on huge spreads of land like the 6666 Ranch, Pitchfork Ranch, and the Matador Land & Cattle Company.Joe was the spitting image of his father and older brother and effortlessly brandished their Texas drawl. He always, and I mean always, wore a Stetson hat, cowboy boots, long-sleeved western-cut shirt, Levi’s, and a leather belt. He unabashedly displayed more admiration and fondness towards horses and hunting dogs than most people. In proof of that fact, after reaching adulthood, and this is a “true fact,” as some West Texas folks would say, his wife gave him a choice between her and his equine and canine friends. She was not his choice.Anyway, I shook the thought off, and asked, “You want to spend the day ridin?”Without hesitation, Joe replied, “Sure. I’ll meet you at the northeast corner of our place. O.K.?” I whispered, “Bring plenty of ammo.”I hurried into the kitchen and began packing a lunch for the trail. Mom watched silently and then inquired, “You runnin’ away?”I replied matter-of-factly. “Me and Joe are gonna be ridin’ the pastures today n I thought we might need some grub.”She snapped back with a subtle smile and a shake of her head, “Joe and I, (emphasizing the “I”) are going to be riding…” How many states or territories do you expect to explore on your ‘ride?’ and don’t you think you should get permission first?”I responded with my head in the refrigerator, “Don’t we have any of those apricot preserves you made last year?”“Yes. They are in the basement” she retorted and then emphasized “That does not answer my question, young man!”Sensing the ominous tone of her voice, I looked up at her and replied, “We plan to meet at the corner of Joe’s place and spend the day in that general area in the pastures and creeks, if that’s O.K. Joe’ll ride Blonde and I’ll be on Judy.” Judy was our part-Shetland pony.Mom replied, “Stay clear of the East Afton highway unless you go up to Joe’s house and don’t pester any rattlers or bother anyone’s cattle.”That was clearance for the day’s activity in my mind. As I rushed from the kitchen to the toy playroom where the basement door was, I said “We won’t rustle any cattle or rope any cars, Mom.”I wasn’t worried about parental clearance since Joe and I had in the past explored an area that stretched all the way from our land to the South Pease River in the past and frequently rode our horses on each other’s pastures. This was no big deal to our parents.The basement was not my favorite place. It’s entrance was a floor door that had a handle on one of its long sides used to pull it up on its hinges exposing a dark, foreboding staircase that descended into an earthen hole under our house. The light switch was inconveniently located inside the basement on a 2 x 4 board attached vertically to the second or third step down into the basement. Entrance to that depth was creepy because it was dark and the light from above exposed spider webs and the ambient air was very cool which made it feel like you were entering into another dimension.I carefully descended the to third step where I could see the dark outline of wooden shelves on the left side of the staircase. Finding the light switch,...
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