The Devil's Comic

By Greg Minster

Give the devil his due...
...He deserves it!

The devil named Big Red loved his newly possessed souls. The happy and broad smiles across their misty faces thrilled him. He’d tired of the gloomy and frowning souls who’d dropped into his lair over previous years. He much preferred the most recent arrivals, who’d come to him smiling and happy!

Big Red served as the devil beneath Ghost Gulch, boomtown of the Wyoming Territory, in the year 1880. Conveniently posted in a cavernous, fire-lit lair directly below the town’s gallows, souls dropped down to the devil within seconds of each capital punishment as served by the hangman's rope. Each soul, appearing simply as see through faces, represented another captured possession of Big Red.

But the devil quickly became enthralled with the happier souls, and desperately wanted the ‘miserable’ to be happy also!

Enter the hangman, George Mathews--hired about a year prior, to be the town's executioner. To calm his nerves, George joked with the condemned just as they dropped through the scaffold trap door to their doom. Thusly the executed died happy, and retained their joviality, even as their souls fell into the devil’s lair.

Knowing the ‘gallows humor hangman’ held the key to his wishes of a happier workplace, Big Red took possession of George, and brought him down into the lair with a deal: George could not leave the devil’s possession until all the souls become happy.

With little choice other than to accept the forced proposition, George attempts several chaotic and wild schemes in order to break free, but he fails. Finally, George, ‘the devil’s comic’, hoodwinks his captor in a cleverly conceived plot. In a smartly backhanded way, much to Big Red’s chagrin and embarrassment, the hangman makes all the souls happy and regains his freedom.

The Devil’s Comic spins boomtown culture, frontier justice, and demonic possession, into a devilishly fun ‘old west’ story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Greg Minster
• Release date: Jul 18, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301636884

Greg Minster

Greg Minster is 59 years old, and lives in Sheboygan, WI with his teenage daughter.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Ghost Gulch, Wyoming

1880

George Mathews earned money as a hangman. With a rope, he hung criminals by their necks until dead: or at least until the town sheriff, Monte Bowler, checked the pulse of the hung, and declared them dead.

George didn’t enjoy being a hangman, but he appreciated the extra cash supplementing the income from his regular job in the local blacksmith shop.

He lived and worked, as smithy and hangman, in the small but booming Wyoming town of Ghost Gulch. No one knew why they named the place Ghost Gulch, but in 1875, during the town’s founding, the western part of the United States still bore the fecklessness, not to mention the recklessness, of youth. Towns often sprang up overnight, and disappeared to become ghost towns within the next year. Perhaps someone anticipated Ghost Gulch’s future, and named it accordingly.

The town initially grew around a general store built to serve cattle drivers moving their herds through the area. Soon after that, someone built a saloon (cleverly named The Ghost Gulp by its proprietors) for the thirsty travelers, townspeople, and cowboys. After that, came the blacksmith shop in which George worked. Then, in no particular order, a few houses, a church, a school, more houses, a sheriff’s office complete with two jail cells, and all the other necessary components of a western frontier town sprang up.

Building materials came from a quickly receding forest, which grew in foothills leading to the Rocky Mountains to the west. At one time the forest nestled up to the western edge of the town. Now upon the horizon in that direction, past a growing field of stumps, a fine stand of tall virgin pines stood like food remaining on a plate for the hungry little town to gobble up. Open prairies spread out in the directions away from the forest.

In those days, towns built around general stores did not often last very long. If someone put up a second store just a few miles away, and the other town necessities showed up as well, the first town might fritter away like yesterday’s dust storm for no more reason than the second town being closer to a fresh supply of trees with which to build.

In 1880, at roughly five years old, Ghost Gulch featured several thousand residents, and perhaps two hundred buildings.

George Mathews stood out in Ghost Gulch when he arrived in early summer of 1878. But it wasn’t because of his appearance. His average height and build, and full head of hair all looked normal enough for someone of his twenty-two years. He also didn’t stand out because of his recent arrival. Between the young age of the town and its fast growth rate, ‘being a newcomer’ only lasted for a few months. In addition to that, enough newer folks consistently arrived to turn anyone with more than two months residency into a ‘local’.

George stood out in Ghost Gulch because he had a college degree--something that became obvious every time he spoke. Rather than the broken and diluted forms of the English language and rough behavior commonly found in an area of the country where most citizens were either first generation immigrants or short of finishing grade school, George’s manner of speaking and carrying himself socially contrasted sharply with the general population. George not only had a college degree, but had earned it at one of the most prestigious of the eastern education institutions, Princeton University. Add the fact that George owned a wardrobe of fine eastern United States clothing, and one realized why he appeared out of place.

After graduating from Princeton with high scholastic honors, and a bearing of genteel social grace and polish to match, he and his fiancée, Martha, looked to have all in order for a successful life of culture, success, and status amongst the burgeoning education elite on the country’s northeast coast. Sadly, before George could get his first university teaching job, and before the couple’s scheduled marriage ceremony could take place, Martha caught the eye of a wealthy New York City banker--who’s promise of an even higher place in the East Coast societal pecking order proved too much for the young lady to resist. She left George less than a month before their wedding date.

Stunned with heartbroken grief, the young man simply packed up whatever clothes he could fit into a large suitcase, and began traveling west. Riding aimlessly in trains, he moved through the states of Pennsylvania and Ohio. He continued through Indiana, Illinois, and Iowa. He made it into Nebraska before he took serious note of where he was going. Tired of the monotonous ‘clickity--clack’ rhythm of the train wheels, he switched over to a stagecoach. Too numb to ask questions, or to even care about just where he was going, with each coach stop he simply left one ride and hopped on the next like crossing a stream stepping rock to rock.

Finally, he got off in Ghost Gulch. Though originally intending to take the next coach further west, he took note of the town, and realized something: If he desired escaping the pain of his lost love, then this small village on the edge of civilization probably gave him what he needed.

George rented a room above the Ghost Gulp that night. Sleeping through both the racket from the hard partying trail hands in the saloon, as well as the knocking on his door from ladies of the evening looking for work, he got up the next day well rested, and found a job at the blacksmith shop. Owned by a man simply known as ‘Mr. Hammer’, the shop stayed quite busy serving both the local trade and the constant flow of travelers and cowboys passing through. Upon taking the job, George also found more permanent living quarters in a small room above the shop.

After a few weeks, with little for a young man possessing a highbrow eastern education to do except drink, to earn a little money for whatever purpose he did not yet know, he replied to a sign in the sheriff’s department window.

It said: For Hire. Sheriff Monte Bowler requests the services of an adult male to carry out justice for his department in Ghost Gulch. The man must be of sound character, with a strong determination to serve justice in this good town.

While not sure of what type of job he’d be applying for, George knocked on the door. Just a half hour or so after that, he found himself hired to fill the newly opened position of the hangman of Ghost Gulch.

Sheriff Bowler liked his job candidate immediately. The sheriff himself moved out west after a brief career in law enforcement in his hometown of New York City. He also had an eastern United States education, and not only appreciated meeting someone from his home area, but liked that fact that George could hold a more interesting and thoughtful conversation than most western settlers. As for the sheriff‘s appearance, at 6’ 2" he stood tall for the era, and true to the accepted attire of the typical western law enforcer, wore a wide brimmed hat, and kept a six shooter ready to fire in his holster.

The sheriff mentioned he had two full time deputies that assisted him in the department.

As for the job interview, Sheriff Bowler didn’t ask many questions. He was more interested in whether George minded standing within a few feet of someone who was about to die, and whether he then minded pulling the latch to release the trap door and drop the person to death. The sheriff conducted the interview in a small storage room in the back of the jailhouse. Though the sheriff didn’t say why they met back there, George figured it was because two curtains were drawn over what most likely were jail cells in the main room of the building. Behind those curtains, without a doubt, two condemned men waited for their executions. To hire a new hangman with them listening would have been cruel.

The sheriff went on to explain that George, after the condemned were declared dead, needed to remove the noose from the necks and lower the bodies into a wagon. He would also need to straighten up and clean the scaffold area, remove the rope from the crossbar, and return it either to a hook on the sheriff department wall, or to wherever else the rope might have come from.

We don’t have an official hanging rope, the sheriff mentioned. We tend to improvise out here in Ghost Gulch.

While a little bit uneasy about taking the job, George realized it would be nice to have a little extra cash. He’d forgotten to ask what the job paid, but with Ghost Gulch growing so fast, whatever the pay, there would more than likely be plenty of criminals to hang.

The sheriff explained to George the urgency of the situation. They had two convicted men in the two jail cells--both facing death sentences. If he took the job, George would start with two hangings the next morning. Sheriff Bowler said they’d go over specifics of the job in a few minutes, and as part of the execution party, he’d also be there to help and guide George in the morning.

George wasn’t surprised about two criminals needing to be hung. He’d heard from conversation on the street that two men had been charged and sentenced to death, with the only hold up on the punishment being carried out was the lack of a hangman.

Now he’d fill those hangman shoes himself.

Chapter 2

Immediately after George accepted the position, the sheriff led him out to the scaffold so he could begin showing him a few ‘ropes’ of the trade.

The scaffold stood about fifty feet up the street from the jail. The sheriff didn’t explain why it wasn’t built right outside the jailhouse door, but George suspected that where it was, at the center point of the town’s busiest street, Main Street, made sense. Most anyone, criminal or would be criminal, could see it and be given a harsh reminder of the severe consequences of murder. In addition, its location in front of buildings with lots of second floor balconies and wide porches, offered premium-viewing areas for the non-guilty members of the population to witness the spectacle of punishment by execution.

A number of people stopped and observed as the sheriff and George walked toward the scaffold. George couldn’t help but overhear some of their comments:

"Is he the new hangman?"

Looks like those robbers and killers waiting in the jail cells will soon be getting their due!

I hope he lasts longer than the last few.

The sheriff and George approached the scaffold from the front--the direction the doomed would be facing as he was hooded and dropped through the trap door. The two then angled toward the right side, where there was a stairway.

George looked up at the crossbar that would hold the rope. There was no rope up there now--it was most likely being used for the much more mundane task of pulling a wagon out of a muddy rut, or retrieving a wayward calf. He focused his eyes on the left side of the scaffold, where he would be standing, waiting for the signal to release the door by pulling a wooden lever attached to the crossbar supporting post--sending the guilty man into eternity.

The sheriff and George stopped at the foot of the stairs. George looked at the bottom step for a moment.

Noticing the hesitation, the sheriff instructed, Go on up, son!

George tentatively placed his right foot on the warped lower step. While the step sagged under his weight, he immediately froze. A sudden, sharp, and unexpected case of nerves shot through his body--bolting from his fingertips down to his toes, and up his neck and into his head. Faking calmness, George quickly got a hold of himself and finished climbing the remainder of the stairs. Carefully stepping over the trap door in the floor, he crossed the scaffold platform. The sheriff followed him up, but stayed toward the top of the steps.

He looked at George, and said, You hesitated, son, as you began to climb the steps. You OK?

George looked over at him.

The sheriff smiled a sarcastic grin, and continued. Just think what it’s like for the condemned to step on the platform knowing that within a few moments, after the preacher reads a few Bible verses and the sheriff asks for any final words, the trap door opens up! It opens up, and the condemned drops straight to hell!

The sheriff paused. They say this is a humane way to execute--and it just might be. However, if you’re the one whose neck’s going to be snapped, well, it just doesn’t really matter. I have more problems getting the criminals to climb these steps than I do having ‘em stand there on top of the door. Up there they’ve seemingly accepted their fate. They just have to stand still while someone puts the hood on their head, loops the rope around their neck, and steps away.

The sheriff paused again. For whatever reason, they panic the most while down there, with their feet still on the ground. It’s their final step on dirt--no small matter to the condemned. They have to lift their feet and climb. They know they’re leaving this Earth as a breathing man for the last time. I think a few of them, in looking between the steps and under the scaffold, also see their feet and legs dangling, kicking out the last living moments of their lives. To the condemned, it must be an absolutely nasty vision--and one that they know will soon become reality!

The sheriff went on to make another point to his new hangman: You see it’s one thing George, to see a sign in my window advertising the town’s need for a hangman. It’s another to talk to a sheriff and say you’ll take the job. But it’s a giant step to climb up these stairs, have a shaking quivering man follow you up, listen to the death ceremony, pull a hood over his head, wrap the noose around his neck, and send him on his way into what in most of these cases will be the lowest depths of hell.

Sheriff Bowler looked hard at George, and said: I know you felt the pain common to hangmen. I could see it in your first step up the stairway. I could see the way you avoided the trap door. I sensed the same jolt of shock of what you were about to do just as you did. And you haven’t even met, nor seen, nor come close to anyone that you will hang yet!

That’s why, the sheriff explained, we have trouble hiring and keeping our executioners! This just isn’t very easy. Most do it at least once before quitting. But some don‘t even get that far before, if I may use the term, they ‘hang it up!’

Sheriff Bowler, chuckling at his own joke, looked out at where the spectators would be. He turned back to George and continued speaking: Watching from out there this all looks easy--maybe not pleasant, but easy. All the spectators see is a bad man about to hang. Then he drops, and having met his rightful fate, just ends up hanging there. It’s far different up here. As the hangman, staring into the eyes of a man soon to die, you see the deep terror. You see the even deeper regret of whatever he did to bring him to this point of his own doom--suspended by his broken neck in front of a crowd of happy and satisfied people.

The sheriff paused briefly, and went on. Believe me, the man you’re about to hang always looks at you. For all the people he’s seen in his life, for the things he’s done, gone through, and for all his memories, the hangman’s is the last human face he will see.

You, the sheriff continued, at the same time, will see in the condemned’s face the glistening eyes that have not slept all night. The eyes will dart wanting to see if anyone’s come to save him. Maybe the criminal will be looking for one last chance to escape.

The sheriff took a deep breath: You will, following the preacher’s words to the Lord, and after law enforcement, meaning me, gives our reasons for taking the man‘s life and asks the condemned if he has any last words, put the rope around his neck. First you will need to reach above the man’s head and pull down the noose. There will be enough slack in the rope to get it easily around his neck. Pull it tight by yanking it up above the noose while pulling down at the slipknot itself. You then pull the hood on. You open it wide as you can, and draw it down over the man’s head. It will drop down onto his chin--low enough that it will stay there. Regardless, the hangee will be unable to take either the rope or the hood off because his hands will be bound. At my command, you pull the lever mounted on the post.

Any questions so far? The sheriff asked, looking at George.

George couldn’t think of any questions.

In the meantime, more people gathered off to the side watching and talking. No one stood directly in front.

A male voice called out in jest: Does George need a hanging, sheriff? Shouldn’t he just get a good paddlin’ first?

Some laughed.

Another person called out. Just who’s hanging who?

Still another shouted, with a laugh, Hey sheriff, what’d he do--talk too smart? He’s from a big fancy college, you know!

A few others, in seeing George up there with the sheriff, huddled together in hushed conversation--perhaps surprised at just who it appeared the new hangman would be.

At the same time, George couldn’t help but think to himself: From young, educated, east coast socialite, to frontier hangman!

Don’t, the sheriff started up again, worry about getting too much sleep tonight, George. You’ll picture yourself hanging these criminals over and over again. You’ll see them strolling up the street toward the gallows. You’ll look up and be surprised at the large size of the crowd. You’ll worry that you’ll make mistakes and look foolish at the worst possible moment: like having a condemned man flailing away in midair because his neck didn’t break. You’ll worry about the hood coming off so everyone gathered here gets to see the hanged man’s strained red blood vessels, bulging eyeballs, and sickly angled and stretched neck.

The sheriff paused for his words to sink in before going on. You’ll wake up in the middle of the night and hear the condemned man’s footsteps as he climbs the gallows stairs, step by creaking step. You might hear more steps than the five that actually exist. As you toss and turn in bed, fluffing and re-fluffing the pillow, the steps might creak and groan for a half hour or so until right in front of your eyes, in the middle of the night just above your bunk, you’ll see his panicked face glaring at you one last time before you pull the hood over his head.

What you’ve seen, son, while by that time lying awake in your bed, would be the ghost before the man actually dies.

George broke in with a question: Did you ever hang anyone, Sheriff?

Sheriff Bowler looked back at George and replied: What does it sound like? How do you think I got my start out here in law enforcement? I served with the police force for a while in New York City, but out here I began up on a scaffold, like you, performing the final chapter of justice. It was a good experience. It taught me the harshest point in law enforcement--that moment in the legal process after the enforcers arrest, the judges judge, and the jury speaks. It comes after long walks from the jail house door to the hanging rope--it only ends with the hard snapping of a neck and the dangling of a limp body.

Son, it’s ugly. Being a hangman gets to be pretty ugly. I refuse to tell you otherwise.

The sheriff changed his voice to a lecturing tone, and said: Let’s get to the part after you pull the lever and send our criminal down to meet his devil creator. You’ll have a limp body hanging here. Gilligan, the wagon driver from the morgue, will maneuver his wagon around to the front of the scaffold. He’ll help you with pulling the body up, and removing the hood and noose. In the wagon, there will be a blanket. You can almost roll the body into the wagon. After you do so, the blanket goes over the body.

You have to be careful, the sheriff cautioned. It’s bad to just clunk the body into the wagon like you’re loading a bag of flour down at the general store. It isn’t professional to let the head drop too hard--it’ll thump too loud, and regardless of what just took place up here on the scaffold, it will offend those who watch from the spectator area. Odd as it may seem, you actually need to treat the body better after death than before.

George asked, How long will people stay after the hanging takes place?

It’s not always how long the spectators hang around, but just who hangs around, Sheriff Bowler replied.

He went on. There might be a few family members of the executed man’s victim. They get extra satisfaction looking at the body lying on the scaffold. They, in their sad way, want to savor the moment as long as they can. It goes beyond just seeing the body of their loved one’s killer up there. In fact, the moment combines revenge with a final closure on a tragic event in their lives. I believe family members of the victims want to make sure the criminal has in fact, died. If one of the recently hung were to suddenly twitch after being cut down, as sometimes happens, I wouldn’t be surprised if a victim’s family member would attack the stiff with a knife or pistol butt and make doubly sure the job of execution was completed.

"You will also, very sadly, find that family members of the executed criminal hang around afterwards. For them it’s like a funeral. A funeral that starts with a brief ceremony before the loved one dies, and ends with a cold lonely body stretched out on the scaffold. We let family members pick up the remains from either the sheriff’s office or the morgue--today we’re sending both corpses to the morgue. Either way, we don’t let them take the body from here. We’ve heard of cases where a family claims a body from the execution site, and others follow them around just to gawk at the body some more. Things are already hard enough on all involved; including the family of