The posse lined the rim of the tunnel entrance (though not without the Sheriff shaking off the young girl mouse that insisted on joining), briefly wondering how the bank robbers could get it so deep and circular without any evidence of a misplaced pebble or even shoe print.
"Doesn't look like your run of the mill mole hole." the pit viper commented, startling the rest of the party with his clear tone. "If they'd taken the water with them, they would've struggled pretty bad. Ya know, constant modifying of the hole and trying to turn it sideways without it crushing 'em. This thing looks like it was mapped out."
"Truly?" the older gentlemanly owl (Ambrose if he wasn't mistaken) asked in an amused tone. The gambler had little experience with those beyond what he considered civilization and saw the mission as a learning experience.
"Varmints must've been planning this for a real long time." Beans spat with fire in her eyes, spurned on by the memory of water being carelessly dumped in the desert. If the crooks dared to do such with their water may they be drowned in rivers of fire. "Why only now?"
"I'd say the Sheriff. No offense to you sir, but you're arrival must've spooked these robbers into gear." Buford theorized, chomping on his ashy cigar.
"Ain't sucha bad ideer." the old hoatzin mumbled, playing with his unlit torch. "Probably thought it was their last chance."
"You'd think they'd have the common sense to fill it back up." Rango quipped thoughtfully, causing eyes to fall upon him. "I mean if I'd want to steal say an heiress's dowry, I'd make sure that no one could find me again. Or know that I was even there."
"They panic. Run without thought. If they have water they'd drink it by now." the crow stated clearly, a hint of fear in his voice.
"Best we not just stand here and chat then!" Rango exclaimed excitedly, plunging head first into the entrance with a loud "GEROMINO!" only to echo with a sore "Ow." upon hitting the bottom.
The posse followed behind quickly, lighting their torches (including the prospector lantern strapped to the Sheriff's hat) so that they weren't blind whilst underground. Peering over the side and briefly reconsidering his actions, the bounty hunter's mind was made up when his muscles gave way and plunged him right in after the party.
Jake fell into the tunnel with a loud comical smack!
Unperturbed by the sudden drop as long as he hadn't smushed anyone under his scales, he cautiously licked at the cool cavern air, just waiting for a stray mole to stumble through one of the many damn-near claustrophobic passages. Jake was situated at the rear of the posse as per the travel plan so that no possible assailants could ambush them from behind, though in truth the Sheriff had placed him there to stop sudden flights of cowardice from abandoning the party.
Rango squeezed uncomfortably through the tunnels, his soft pudgy flesh was proving to be an area of concern and the python anticipated himself getting stuck inside a narrower passage sooner or later. Jake seemed to be doing well, mostly because he was quite used to moving underground from years of burrowing and hiding in malleable sand.
A loud clang was heard as the Sheriff's forehead collided with a brass pipe.
Not from an assailant, but from above him.
"Would you look at that!"
"Like seein' the face of God!"
"Amen brother." Praise and admiration was poured onto the brass tube, the party briefly forgetting their mission for memories of a happier time.
"Must be a reason she quit on us." the grizzled bobcat growled in suspicion.
"Whatever the reason, somethin' is controlin' this here water." Beans affirmed, glaring at the pipe as it were a suspect.
"Every pipe's got a control point. Suppose if one with impure intentions were to find said control point." Jake muttered darkly, ignoring the looks of confusion from the posse as slithered past the pipe.
"What do ya think Sheriff?" Waffles asked the python lawman.
"Uuuhh..." Thinking quickly, Rango decided that purple prose would suffice as his answer "Clearly the robbers came from this direction. I say we track this pipe back to its hydraulic origin and apprehend the culprits behind this aquatic conundrum."
"What did he say?"
"I think he said follow the pipe."
"He said follow the pipe."
"Follow the pipe."
Moving cautiously down the system of tunnels and holes guided by the pipe, Jake briefly wondered why they couldn't just go topside? The moles were well able to dig tunnels that stretched over miles of land. If they got to the end of their path, they'd more than likely end up inside Pappy's powder room or die from lack of air.
It was quite surprising to have it end only after a few minutes of careful wandering. The air had become strangely cooler and wet, enticing a few complaints from the older members of the posse while the Sheriff seemed to be unaware of the sudden change in humidity. In fact the green serpent seemed to breathe a sigh of relief at the moisture wetting his scales.
They found themselves inside a absolutely huge cavern, bone dry sandstone spires gnarled with dead roots hung from the ceiling like icicles, threatening to fall and impale intruders. An odd mist shrouded the bottom of the cave, more than likely protecting dew covered spires from detection.
"What is this place?" the horned toad whispered fearfully, not used to the height and dark.
"It's an Aquifer." Beans explained briefly, following after the Sheriff.
"What's an Aquifer?"
"Well it's fer aqua." Buford jokingly grumbled, patting Waffles' head.
Jake couldn't help feel a sense of being watched as they ventured further over a stony gapped bridge. He swore he saw a colossal yellow eye lazily blink at the party of dungeon crawlers, it's pupil alone holding all of them within it's gaze. He shrugged it off as a trick of the torch lights bouncing off the wet walls. Though he doubted his judgement when the old battered doctor took a swig of what was no doubt "medicinal" alcohol and remarked on it's size.
The trail ended abruptly when their brassy trail hit a solid rock wall.
"It's the end of the line."
"Don't go no further."
"Now that there is a pipe!"
As the posses continued to converse, and within a few verses argue, the outlaw noticed the Sheriff climb quite nimbly over the smooth metal of the pipe, staring upwards thoughtfully.
The larger snake was suddenly shoved aside as the argument amongst the posse had escalated into an all out fight between two older members. Before Jake could bare his fangs and rattle his gun, the Sheriff interrupted with an annoyed "Quite you savages! Stop your battlin'. You're effectin' my cogitation."
The fight ceased just as it had begun.
Straining to think, the python had an epiphany. "Ooh! Put your torches out." Extinguishing the flame in his hat-lantern.
Now what good would that do exactly? Then they would be underground, blind with no exit except to go back where we started.
Light peaked out from cracks in the deep roots, giving them a clear escape route.
"Smart thinkin' there feller." Spoons praised causally, clambering up onto the pipe with the others.
"One problem Sheriff." Jake commented after a minute of consideration.
"Yes?"
"How do you suppose we get up there without working limbs?" he asked angrily, wondering if the lawman had completely forgotten his species' capabilities.
He was shutted up when the Sheriff calmly wrapped his entire pudgy body around the roots, demonstrating flexibility that most desert serpents could only dream of. Hanging his head off the improvised roots like an acrobat, the python replied "Like this."
Slack-jawed the pit viper instantly shot back "I can't do that! 'Less you have a fancy crane or a giraffe, I ain't getting up there." His protest was cut short as the Sheriff coiled around Jake's lower body, effectively hoisting him up and with great difficulty, dragged him to the surface through a large hole in the topside roots.
"There! Now that wasn't so much of a problem." Rango chirped happily, waiting for the rest of the stunned posse to join him on ground level.
The outlaw stared daggers into the Sheriff's back, as if trying to bend the forces of the universe to strike him down with a thunderous bolt of divine retribution. How even dare he to make the feared bounty hunter look even a tiny bit inferior! He has dealt with enough of that from certain other reptiles.
Shaking himself out of murderous rage for the sake of the job, Jake noticed one creepy detail about the area.
There were dead cacti all around them.
The posse gasped at the chilling sight, the rings of dead or dying Spanish daggers went on for what seemed to be miles and miles, some just barely holding on even when they were completely toppled over.
"Poor things..." Beans whispered sadly, looking down at a cracked leaf in pity. "All they wanted was a drink of water."
"Cactus dying of thirst? It don't bode well." Furgus mumbled in a fearful tone.
The party took a quick look at their guide/outlaw/general nuisance, capturing a rare image of confusion on the terror's unflinching face.
This plain didn't make any sense to the sidewinder. He knew the Mayor had been extorting water from the townsfolk. But enough to kill cactuses? Really?
"You 'kay there Angel-Eyes? You look pretty shaken." the lawman asked quietly, addressing the outlaw with the title of a famous Western villain (though it was likely that The Good, the Bad and the Ugly didn't exist in this world).
"This ain't a normal drought Sheriff. Some cactuses die in the dry season sure but not..." he paused taking in the gravity of death and bone-dryness around him. "...this many. Especially all at once in the same place."
"Sheriff! Come over here!" the portly owl screeched, pointing to something he found whilst examining the hill side.
Lo and behold a certain bushy tailed banker was lying back first on the burning sand, dead as a doornail with his eyes stuck in a state of half closure.
"It's Mr Merrimack from the bank!"
"What is he doing here?"
"Everybody stand back!"
"Looks like them vermins shot him in the back."
"All right. Lemme see." Doc hopped over, placing his good ear to the cadaver's chest. Only to hear and feel a suspicious squelch coming from the chest cavity. "This man wasn't shot. He was drowned!"
"Drowned?"
"In the desert?"
"What a way to go."
"Hey now, who's footprints are those?" the old bobcat questioned. Closer inspection around the body showed a strange red sand print of a boot.
Touching it with his snout, the Sheriff concluded "It's still wet."
"Couldn't of been moles." Jake commented, staring intensely at the print. "They only got a few shoes per burrow, you think they'd sully them by getting 'em wet?"
"If they were found out just maybe." the python shrugged, allowing an awkward silence to fall amongst the mourners.
"Suppose we should bury him." Beans said, emotionally tired from seeing death plague those close to her.
"Dunno. Birds gotta eat too." Elgin looked upwards, expecting a hawk or whatever to carry the corpse off with little complaint, backed up with Waffles' cheerful "Circle of life!"
As the party lowered their hats in respect (Jake surprisingly included), Spoons tugged on the lawman's vest. "Sheriff will you say a few words?"
Trying to remember if he'd ever watched an eulogy scene, Rango was able to salvage a few choice phrases. "We are gathered here today to honor this man, Mr. Merrimack. You have the right to remain silent. Speak now or forever hold your peace. Amen."
The group were accepting of the odd speech and none less placed their hats back onto their heads.
"Hey what's that dad-gum Indian doing?" Buford pointed to Wounded Bird, who was currently looking over a hill whilst scattering his chest feathers.
"I see you're consulting with the spirits." Rango said interested in the stoic crow's customs. Jake stood off to the side, feeling second-hand embarrassment on the green snake's part.
"No. I'm moulting. Means I'm ready to mate."
"Oh! I'll keep that in mind."
The bird stabbed at a pink piece of food on the ground with his staff and raised it to the Sheriff's eye level. "Cactus fruit."
"Ah yes the ancient cactus fruit. I believe your people use it as seasoning when preparing your native dishes." He plopped to entire fruit into his mouth, only to get a crucial detail on the snack moments later.
"Also natural laxative." Wounded Bird smirked as the Sheriff spat out the fruit, not wanting to acquire the runs any time soon. "Shh, pick up trail! Three men, heading west. One blind, one with...enlarged prostate, riding sidesaddle."
"What he say?"
"They're ridin' sidesaddle!"
"Shh, we're whispering!"
"What'd he say?"
"Someone's got a bad valve!"
"Alright, which one of you fellas needs a checkup?" Doc stepped forward, snapping a rubber glove onto his finger, misinterpreting the squabble and causing an uncomfortable silence.
"Awkward." the crow coughed.
"What... exactly do we do now?" the dimwitted horned toad asked.
"Now we ride!" the Sheriff burst forward dramatically, looking expectantly over to the quartet of burrowing owls ("Have they been with us the whole time?" Jake asked the others lowly). "It means we are riding now! This second."
The mariachi music burst into life.
/X\
Jake was confused about a lot of things these past few hours. Not just because the unnatural drought, not just because that banker feller ended up dead, not just because the moles likely had nothing to do with it, but because apparently the mariachi band had brought their steeds, supplies and appropriate music for the situation. Confusing indeed.
He thought boredly of many things whilst inside of the covered two-hog-driven wagon he shared with the Sheriff. Most of the posse had brought roadrunners but for creatures of a...grander girth, a few javelinas were required to lug them around. Plus the runners wouldn't be held down by the supplies currently taking up room in the wagon. The Sheriff was happily holding onto the reins of the hogs and with a few encouraging pointers from Miss Beans, was soon controlling them like a pro.
By the time their breadcrumb trail of cactus fruit had begun to thin, night had already fallen, casting an inky black cover over the desert.
The party had decided to camp out near a rocky incline which to Jake's memory of the area, left them about an hour's ride from the mole's burrowing grounds.
The fire was lit, the sleeping mats were laid out, the food and snacks were unpacked for roasting. As thin cuts of marbled fatback (brought for the meat eaters in the group) sizzled away on a frying pan and shishkabops of fried tomatoes, onion and peppers stuck out of the fire like a crown, Rango wondered where Jake had run off to. Hopefully the outlaw was merely 'doing his business' or grabbing firewood and surely wasn't preying upon a stray desert wanderer.
It had taken a few whiffs of cooked fat to remind the python that he hadn't eaten in a real long time. His owners had seen it fit to feed him a mouse at least once a week (as per normal for a snake his size). Often the routine would fall out of use if the snake became stressed, improperly contained or some owners just plum didn't care. He would three-week gaps of hunger per owner or in the worst case when he was but a teen : an entire month due to a very loud handsy child owner.
Being offered a strip by Elgin, the old bobcat nearly lost his fingers to the starving serpentine Sheriff, who also took a rather large bite out of an unusually sized bean being past around. Although the felling of hunger still swelled, he left most of the food to the others.
After most of the pans had been put away and the last giant bean was passed around the circle, Waffles pulled out a bag full of pink and white marshmallows. Skewering them on sticks he passed around to everybody, staring at his own while it roasted a bit too close to the fire.
"Marshmallows remind me when I used to go camping with my daddy. I could eat them all night long!" His stick caught fire, leaving him to stare at it sadly as it was stolen by Buford's sticky tongue. "Course he did make me cough 'em back up again for breakfast."
"This one time I ate a whole Dalmatian." the barkeep boasted.
The bobcat was wringing out his socks into his cup (waste not, want not) and exchanged "That ain't nothin'. I coughed up a whole tribe of pygmies. They started lookin' at me weird."
"I remember them they was quite friendly." Furgus recalled thoughtfully, scratching his wrist.
"I found a human spinal column in my fecal matter once."
The camp had suddenly become silent at Spoon's comment. Sergeant Turley leaned over and suggested "You might want to get that looked at."
"Heh heh. Pass the bean Beans." Doc nervously asked, taking the large purple bean from the iguana.
Spoons spoke up once more, now hopefully not about bodily functions. "Mr Rango, can you tell us about the Spirit of the West?"
"That is if you know any." Doc corrected, mindful that his patient had likely never even spent a night outside before.
Mumbles of agreement rumbled through the group and the snake found himself obligated to make a nice yarn for them. Grabbing a glowing skewer and tracing pictures with the embers, he mapped out what he thought the other side was like.
"Ah yes! The...Spirit of the West. The eternally unobtainable idea. They say he rides in an alabaster carriage with golden guardians to protect him. But he only appears to those who have undertaken an epic quest... and have made it to the other side."
Of course the "other side" depicted in fire and smoke held a t-rex, TIE-fighters, a big X followed by dots and a myriad of strange and confusing images.
"Uh...the other side of what?"
"It's a metaphor." he replied leaning on the stick before it broke under his weight. "Pardon."
"Sheriff what are you going to do about..." Ambrose whispered as if the person in question had ears everywhere. "Rattlesnake Jake?"
A rattling noise from Spoons' signature instrument startled everyone. The mouse sheepishly putting them away with a "Sorry about that. Word is, you come against him once or twice before."
"Oh! Yeah. You mean as my co-worker. We met when we were employed together to protect a bank, a high profile job given to use by the town's Mayor." Now that wasn't entirely a lie now was it? Even if he's omitting which exact town.
"Did he ever bite you?" the elderly shop keep asked amazed.
"If he did I don't think you'd find the evidence after the number the hawk did on me."
"Doesn't included future bites now does it?"
The crisp voice of the sidewinder startled them all, wondering how long the outlaw had been listening in. They at least had a fair idea what the snake was up to. His face was scratched up and his scales were lightly crushed.
The posse hoped that he'd already eaten but their prayers went unanswered when a dead feral rat was lifted from his coils and hung limply from his fanged mouth.
"Oh dear lord!"
"The...ugh!"
"Seriously you couldn't have eaten that alone?"
"Jake!" the Sheriff disciplined the bounty hunter. "Not at the campfire."
"Mm mmhm mm M-hm Mh!"
"Don't talk with your mouth full either."
"Wants to share with Sheriff." Wounded Bird explained bluntly, picking up the rattlesnake's body language.
"Really?"
"Mh."
Thinking over the consciences of eating a freshly killed (and likely envenomed) rodent with a dangerous criminal, Rango followed after him with a hungry "Okay!". Leaving the party to conduct their own postprandial grace to the Spirit of the West.
Rango could hear them asking each other to stand and hold hands from behind the rock where he and Jake were splitting the meal (Jake got head and chest, Rango the belly and rump) and swallowing them whole without problem.
Slithering back to the campsite, the Sheriff was at least able to join in the speech delivered by Spoons (who to Rango's knowledge was deeply religious) while Jake stood well away from the circle.
"Ain't always spoken rightly to you, Spirit of the West, but tonight I wanna thank you for bringing Sheriff Rango into our lives. It's a hard life we got. Sometimes I don't know how we're gonna make it, but somehow Sheriff Rango makes me think we will. We needed a brave man and you sent us one. As for Rattlesnake Jake well, I even believe that the Sheriff can set him straight. Nice to have someone to believe in again. Thank you, Spirit of the West. Amen."
"Amen." chorused through the group. Jake huffed but decided to let the "set straight" comment fly for now.
As the others prepared to settle down for the night, the fire was put out by kicked sand, the licked-clean dishes were re-packed, ratty old blankets were laid down, and the Sheriff was subjected to Doc rubbing antiseptic into his not-so healed wounds before he could turn in.
Rattlesnake Jake didn't sleep well out in the open. Never has. Stuffing himself back inside the covered wagon, he observed how his "charges" were now fast asleep in his presence, placing their absolute trust in their Sheriff protecting them from any bullet or venom related assault. It felt odd to say the least.
Just as he was about to head off into sleep, the sidewinder got a glimpse of the Sheriff removing himself from a sleeping mat and slither over to a still Miss Beans. He could see that the girl was more than worried about the state of both the town and the land around it. The python was soothing her concerns with words of hope and aspiration, promising to bring back or at least find the lost water.
So full of misguided hope. Just like the scores of young cocky settlers that tried to tame this wild land. All of them ending up dead or tied to a factory job and a nine-child family to feed with no taming in sight. Even if he stared with his big happy yellow eyes and smiled his adorable fanged smile, there was little hope that the hardened Miss Beans would be entirely convinced into excitement.
"Wait a minute 'adorable'?" the outlaw scolded his narrative thoughts.
Placing a platonic peck on the rancher's cheek, he Sheriff slithered off towards the wagon. Instantly noticing that it's occupant was awake, he leaned against the driver's seat and said in an apologetic tone. "Hope you aren't too mad about today."
Jake silently raised his head in questioning.
"I mean I don't even rightly know if these moles are even connected to our conundrum and we might be sacrificing supplies, time, and your loner reputation if we're wrong."
Jake rolled his eyes tiredly.
"Even if they did rob the bank, you said yourself, they'd would'tve normally used those methods nor would they have left boot prints. And that still leaves the question of why the town has been drying up and-"
Jake dragged the mouthy Sheriff into the wagon and mumbles between fields of consciousness "Just go the fuck to sleep."
And sleep they do.