The summer heat of 1849 had terrorized Rufus T. Harrison for what felt longer than a mare’s hiccup, but at last the cool winds of autumn had joined him on his mission. Rufus had lost some 15 pounds since leaving his blushing bride Betty and bouncing baby boy Bobby back home at Cuddler’s Canyon, the small township he helped police alongside Sherriff Ripcord Rogers. A rugged man but a man with a home all the same, Rufus had not gone this long without a home-killed meal in ages, settling for whatever squirrels or lizards might cross his path. Survival was the name of the game in the wild, wicked west.

Well, that’s not entirely accurate. The name of the game was also “Save the World.” Some years back, Rufus’s grandfather Hermeus P. Harrison IV foretold of great future calamity, unrest caused by a blur of a beast with no discernable face. “You’ll know when the time is right to chase it,” Grandfather Hermeus had croaked to Rufus during one of his many deathbed proclamations. “Find the legend! Find the man with the serpent most clever!”

It should be noted that many members of the Harrison clan were not phased by their patriarch’s ravings; by this point in his life, Hermeus was plagued with a variety of ailments including typhus, dust ruckus, cactus water fever, loose caboose, “mark of the harlot,” gonorrhea, and a recurring case of the corks. It was easy to chalk up all his fancy visions to mere insanity, but Rufus took a different tact. Rufus chose to believe that the sharp clarity Hermeus had exhibited as a younger man had returned if only for a moment, just long enough to give his flesh and blood a chance to stop a frontier’s bloody end. Also Rufus was bored and sick of his stupid family.

“Whoa, boy!” Rufus exclaimed as he hopped atop his steed, a thick-ass Appaloosa named Powerhoof. Rufus had been barebacking Powerhoof since they were both fresh into the world. Now 15, a man grown, Rufus understood the significance of the bond between man and beast. Perhaps his sensitivity to this connection would help him fell the great foe his grandfather had spoken of before succumbing to a fatal case of pig-man’s sarsaparilla gout. Powerhoof neighed patriotically as the two became one, back on the trail to nowhere, looking for whatever signs of an all-powerful world-ender may exist, ignoring the real responsibilities of life in search of something that seemed bigger.

We pick up Rufus’s grand tale here for a reason. It was on this very day, perhaps the third of fourth of that year’s autumn, that Rufus encountered a scene that would change his life forever. “Slow down, boy,” Rufus said cautiously as they approached what could be a rock quarry. Who’s to say what rock quarries look like? A giant of a man with muscles from Chattanooga to the Rocky Mountains was doing something with steam and a big spike, driving the spike directly into chunks of loose rock probably. After a bit of consternation, and also because there was nothing else to do because it was the old times, Rufus approached the behemoth from behind.

“Howdy, muscled worker!” Rufus called out, prompting the super-jacked guy to turn around and wipe the sweat from his brow. After a quick once over of Rufus and his cool horse, the man cracked a smile. “Hello, traveler,” the man’s voice boomed. “The name’s John Henry. I do things to make there be railroads, which is a really big deal because it’s the 1800s.”

Rufus raised his eyebrows, impressed with his new acquaintance. Doing things about railroads was one of the most badass things a man could muster in 1849, such an impressive skill that even Powerhoof let out an approving (and possibly horny) neigh for John Henry.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, John. My name is Rufus T. Harrison, a deputy from Cuddler’s Canyon about 23,000 settler’s paces past the greenest holler you ever did see. I’m on a mission to find somethin’, somethin’ real bad, but I don’t even know what it is. Say, would you want to join me?”

John Henry gave Rufus’s proposition basically no real thought before agreeing to join the mission. “I know a calling when I hear one, and also these stories really aren’t supposed to be very long,“ Henry said with a wry smile. It didn’t hurt that John Henry was super lonely from just doing all the railroad stuff by himself, either. John Henry assured Rufus he would not need a horse, as his own gallop was just as expeditious. With this brief meeting, the group agreed to head down south the following morning, bellies full of campfire skunk meat, dreams full of slain dragons and rapturous homecoming applause.

The next afternoon, Rufus, Henry, and Powerhoof added to their party once more. Near the clearing of a forest that would later become a shopping center with a TJ Maxx and four coffee places in it, the band of travelers spotted a burly man in suspenders hacking down trees with single swipes of his ox-sized blade. Beside the broad man was an equally huge animal, an ox with dimensions of a really big ox. It was blue.

The lumberjack was every bit as friendly as John Henry had been. “I’m not sure if you guys have heard tale of me or my deeds,” the lumberjack said to the travelers as they approached. “I’m Paul Bunyan, and this here is Babe the Blue Ox.” Bunyan flexed his pecs and looked at the men who stood before him, scanning their faces for the slightest hint of recognition. This annoyed Paul, who cherished nothing more than giving out an autograph to a fan.

“It’s great to meet you, Paul!” Rufus offered, extending his right hand. Paul slowly completed the gesture with surprising gentle grace given that his hands, even the palms, were covered in matted hair.

“So what are y’all doing all the way out here? Obviously not reading any of the most popular tall tales,” Paul asked as he sized up John Henry’s muscles and tried to decide if they were bigger than his own. The way Paul figured it, then only way a man got muscles that big was by doing something truly majestic, maybe even something with trains and railroads.

Rufus recounted his grandfather’s prophecy, once more finding himself asking a hulking strongman for help. After maybe 20 minutes of pretending he actually did know who Paul Bunyan was, and after another 20 minutes of stories of logging heroics, Rufus was able to seal the deal and add Paul to the group. With two of the strongest men in the new world, how could Rufus fail? As he went to sleep on the ground, pulling his favorite tumbleweed close for warmth, Rufus felt a sort of hope he never had that night.

Rufus woke with an unsettled stomach. Something felt wrong. Shrouded in darkness and not wanting to wake his incredibly jacked friends, Rufus felt his way to the edge of the tree line to take a leak and sort out just why he felt so disturbed. As the western wind grazed his penis, as the warm stream of creekwater urine flew downward to the grass below, Rufus realized he wasn’t alone. He spun around quickly, tucking his pecker back in with the precision of a professional pecker packer. Despite his fears, he saw nothing there.

Hearing a rustling in the distance, John Henry startled awake from a dream where he was beating up a disrespectful train. John Henry saw Rufus darting from side to side near the forest’s edge, looking around wildly, and sprang into action, waking up Paul in the process. Above the trees, John Henry and Paul saw what Rufus couldn’t, a swirling black mass picking up traction as it traversed the flat ground behind the foliage. “Rufus! Run! Rufus…it’s…it’s the monster!” Paul called out as he unhooked the CPAP machine he used to combat his sleep apnea. Paul had never struggled with breathing during sleep as a child, but it had become an onset issue in his late 20s.

Rufus knew not to delay, lest he become fodder for the monster. He jetted back from the tree line, back to camp, all the while peering over his shoulder at the unnamed monstrosity that bore down on them. Tree branches snapped under the monster’s pressure, animals scattered from the ground beneath, crying out in confusion. “It sounds like a goddamn train!” John Henry proclaimed, once again bringing everything back to railroads.

Left to meet their ends before meeting their destinies, Rufus, Paul, and John Henry were frozen in their tracks. Just then, a slashing sound came from the other side of the forest. Rufus turned to focus his attention on this new, emerging threat. A tall figure confidently swaggered into sight. The man before them offered up a half smile, a shotgun slung across his right shoulder, and a curved blade attached to his left. He had a twinkle in his eye and a 10-gallon hat atop his head. He wore a leather jacket and a helmet with flames on it. He had a grappling hook, and the boombox at his feet was playing “Those Once Loyal” by Bolt Thrower. His dick was probably enormous, and it was most definitely hard.

“Mister!” Rufus yelled at the handsome stranger before them, “there’s a danger a-comin’ over the hill!”

The Stranger only smiled wider, stopping his stride to spit a big wad onto the ground. “You’re damn right there is, and you’re lookin’ at him. Good thing danger is on your side tonight.” A big lightning bolt cracked in the sky above them.

The Stranger held none of the apprehension Rufus and his friends did. Calm as a Pastor Williams church pew when the saloon opens early, The Stranger unfurled what appeared to be a living lasso from his right hip. The lasso coiled and hissed, and as the stranger spun it around over his head, he let go, launching the fanged tip of his lasso toward the great monster as it funneled toward him.

“My god!” Paul exclaimed. “His lasso, it’s a snake!” Bunyan was relieved to get help, but he also couldn’t help wondering if anyone had heard of this guy. He seemed really cool, the sort of guy everyone would be talking about at the card games after the town square hangings.

The Stranger’s serpentine lasso engulfed the raging cyclone monster before them, tearing it asunder into the forest below. As the monster wheezed its final breath, scattering leaves in its wake, The Stranger smiled once again, sliding his sunglasses down on his face. “When I’m around, the tornado don’t get no warning.”

The air suddenly still, the sun peeking over the horizon with the promise of a brand new dawn, The Stranger turned to the group of men and animals he had saved so gallantly. He tipped his hat as a sign of mutual respect. He admired the courage it had taken them to get this far. The group remained shocked at what they had just seen. Whatever this man had just done, it was far more impressive than railroad stuff.

The Stranger introduced himself. “The name’s Pecos Bill. Well don’t just stand there; anybody got a light?”

By Brian Vaughan