Author Topic: The Mexican Bandits Who got Lost and ended up in Kansas  (Read 2052 times)

Offline M.T. Chamber

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The Mexican Bandits Who got Lost and ended up in Kansas
« on: November 22, 2008, 07:56:25 PM »
The Life and Death of the Almost Legendary Outlaw, M.T. Chamber

Chapter 3
The Mexican Bandits who got Lost and ended up in Kansas


The M.T. Chamber Gang had pulled off the side of the trail to spend the night at an abandoned farm house somewhere between El Dorado and Wichita.  They weren’t sure where, although it looked familiar.  They had been over to El Dorado playin’ Bingo with some other legendary outlaws who planned to rob the bank the next mornin’.  M.T. wished he’d thought of robbin’ the El Dorado bank first, there was a lot of oil money in that town.  But, he didn’t and fair was fair.

The gang was standin’ outside the farmhouse havin’ a smoke when M.T. finally came walkin’ up.  He had a little red rooster tied to a rope following behind him.  The boys had actually been waitin’ at the farmhouse for quite a spell.  M.T. won a horse playin’ Bingo, but it ran away when he got off to take a pee.  He had walked the rest of the way from El Dorado.  He’d won the little red rooster playin’ Bingo as well.  Fortunately, he’d tied his rooster to a rope so he wouldn’t lose it in the dark.

The gang exchanged the usual amenities when he walked up.  “How ya doin’ boss?”  “What took you so long?”  “Where’s your new horse?”

“You boys been here long?” M.T. asked.

“Just a couple of hours,” Wyatt replied.

“You gonna stay out here all night?”

Wyatt nodded his head towards the abandoned farm house.  M.T. just stood there lookin’ at him so he nodded again a couple of times. 

“You got some kind of twitch or somethin’?” M.T. asked.

“There’s somebody in the farmhouse,” Wyatt replied.

“Did you tell them we was here first?”

“Actually, they were here first.  They were here when we rode up,” Wild Bill said.

“We were here just last week.  This is our hideout!  I’m goin’ up and tell’em they’re tresspassin’.”

“There’s quite a few of them,” Wild Bill said.

M.T. walked over to a window to take a look; now that he thought about it there was quite a bit of noise comin’ out of the farmhouse. 

“They appear to be Mexican bandits to me,” M.T. said, peering into the window.  “What do you think, Wyatt?”

Wyatt was the only member of the gang who had actually been to Mexico.  He’d spent some time at the Club Med in Tijuana with a lovely little senorita and a bottle of tequila.  He picked up some Spanish from the Senorita, among other things.

Wyatt walked over and looked into the window.  “Yep, they’s Mexican bandits alright.”

“What the heck are they doin’ in Kansas?” M.T. asked.

“Maybe they got lost,” Wyatt replied.

“If they’re bandits,” Jesse Jane said, “Maybe they’re here to rob a bank.  That tall with the red scarf is kinda cute!”

“What’s that ring in the middle of the room with the dancin’ chickens?” M.T. asked.

“Them ain’t dancin’ chickens’,” Wyatt said, “They’re havin’ a cock fight.”

“Those little spurs they’re wearin’ are to die for,” Jesse said, lookin’ through the window. 

“Who would want to watch a couple chickens fight?” M.T. asked.

“They fight for money,” Wyatt said, “You bet on which rooster is gonna win the fight.”

That gave M.T. an idea.  If he didn’t want to walk back to Wichita, he needed a horse.  The Mexican bandits had quite a few Pintos tied up outside the farmhouse, and a nice wagon, but it sat pretty low to the ground.  M.T. had been lucky at Bingo.  What if he entered his rooster in the cock fight?  His rooster was little but he had a lot of heart.  He didn’t want to do it to the little fella; he’d planned on using him as an alarm clock.  But, at this point in time he needed a horse more than he needed an alarm clock.

 “I’ve got an idea,”  he said.

M.T. walked up on to the porch of the abandoned farm house and knocked on the door.  The rest of the gang kind of stood back off the porch; wasn’t any sense in all of ‘em gettin’ killed.  It got real quiet inside, except for the sound of guns bein’ drawn and hammers being cocked.

The tall Mexican bandit with the red scarf answered the door, pistols drawn.

“Can I help you, Gringo?”

“What’s he sayin’ Wyatt?”

“Can I help you, Gringo?”

“Oh.  We noticed you boys was havin’ a friendly little cock fight and thought we might get in on a little of the action,” M.T. said.

“You got any money?”

“Sure,” M.T. said

 “American money?” the Mexican asked.

“Sure.” What other kind is there, M.T. wondered?

“Come on in.”

The gang went inside and headed straight for the toilet; they’d been waitin’ outside for quite a spell.  There was a little concession stand in the corner and Wyatt headed over and ordered a bean burrito and a shot of tequila.

“Want somethin’ M.T.?”

“What’s that you’re eatin’?”

“A burrito.”

“What’s in it.”

“Re-fried beans.”

“No thanks, I don’t eat leftovers.  I will have a shot of that Mexican whiskey.”

The boys proceeded to eat burritos, except for M.T., drink shots of tequila, and watch cocks fight for hours.  M.T. wanted to wait until most of the other roosters were either dead or wore out before he entered his little rooster in the fight.  In hindsight that might not have been the best strategy, natural selection being what it is.

M.T. inquired as to how a gang of Mexican bandits ended up in Kansas.  He thought maybe they’d come up to rob some of the local banks and was gonna ask them to head back down to Oklahoma if they was.  Turns out they had just gotten lost.  They crossed the river in El Paso, headed for L.A.  Instead of veerin’ off to the left they veered off to the right, up through Texas and Oklahoma, and finally into Kansas.

“Didn’t you guys have a map?” M.T. asked.

“We don’t need no stinkin’ map,” the tall Mexican said.

“Obviously you do,” Wyatt said.

“Why didn’t you ask someone for directions?’ Jesse asked.

“Why would we ask for directions?  We didn’t know we were going the wrong way.”

The guy at the concession stand gave last call and M.T. figured it was now or never.

“Which one of you boys has the Pinto tied up outside?”

Every Mexican in the joint raised his hand.

“Alright, alright.  Which one of you has the spotted one?"

Again, all the Mexicans raised their hands.

“Come on fellas, help me out here.  Who wants to put their rooster up against mine?”

For the third time every Mexican in the place raised his hand.

“Geez.  Let’s try this.  Anybody got a horse they wanna get rid of?”

This time only his gang raised their hands.

Finally, the tall Mexican with the red scarf asked, “What you want to play for Gringo”

“What’d he say Wyatt?’

“What you want to play for Gringo?”

“Oh.  I want to play for your horse.”

“Okay.  I’ll play you for pink slips, my horse against yours.”

“If I had a horse I wouldn’t need yours,” M.T. said.  These Mexicans are right nice folks, he thought, but that tall one with the red scarf ain’t the sharpest knife in the drawer.

“What you got then, Gringo?”

M.T. had to think about that for a minute.  All he had was the clothes on his back.  Everything else he owned was on the horse he won playin’ Bingo that ran off when he stopped to take a pee.  Then he remembered he had the pocket watch his dead daddy had given him in his pocket.  It had never worked, but he didn’t figure the Mexican would have any way of knowin’ that.

“I’ll bet you this gold watch my Daddy gave me.  My watch against your horse.”

The tall Mexican with the red scarf took the watch from M.T. and looked at it for a moment.

“How come it says five o’clock? It’s dark outside.”

“Five o’clock in the mornin’.  It says five in the mornin’.”

The tall Mexican looked at his own watch; he was wearing a Rolex.

“My watch says four-thirty.”

“That’s just some cheap watch you got South of the border, Pinto Bean.  You can’t expect it to keep the same time my watch does.  My watch is from China.  My Daddy won it from some guy workin’ on the railroad out West.  Give it to me after he died.”

“You sure this watch works?”

“Sure I’m sure.  My boys will vouch for it.  Won’t you boys?”

The boys knew the watch hadn’t worked as long as they'd known M.T., but they didn’t want him to get shot by the tall Mexican, so...they lied.

“Yeah, it works.”

“Great little time piece, tried to buy it from M.T. myself.”

“Okay,” the tall Mexican said, “Deal.  My horse against your watch.”

One of the other Mexicans loaned M.T. a little pair of spurs for his rooster.  M.T. was startin’ to have some doubts, the tall Mexican’s rooster was a lot bigger than his.  Even his own boys tried to bet against Lil’ Rooster, ‘cept nobody would take the bet.  He wished he hadn’t named the little fella.

Lil’ Rooster fought with all his heart and soul.  But, in the end, the bigger rooster won.

After the fight M.T.’s gang saddled up and headed on in to Wichita.  Wyatt gave the tall Mexican with the red scarf directions to L.A. in Spanish and the Mexicans saddled up and headed West.

M.T. stayed behind to give Lil’ Rooster a proper burial.  He dug a shallow grave and put his rooster in it.  He covered the grave and stuck a small cross in the loose dirt.  He said a little prayer over the grave then headed back to Wichita, on foot. 

M.T. had plenty of time to think on the long walk home.  Damn, he thought, I lost my horse, my rooster, and my dead daddy’s watch all in one night.  He vowed he would never play Bingo or lose his rooster a cock fight again.

 

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