The (what would have been a Hallowe’en prank if Hallowe’en had existed at the time) Prank

It was a crisp autumn morning in late October.  The sun had risen several minutes earlier and was now sending warm rays of sunshine through a frosty bedroom window. The boy, whose room it was, ignored the sun’s greeting. He was sitting on the side of his bed, trying to suppress a cough and calculating the chances of getting out of the house without being sent back to bed.

“It’s not gonna work, Joseph,” the boy’s older brother warned, stepping into the room.

“What’s not gonna work?” the twelve-year-old challenged.

“Faking a cough to get out of school, Pa will never fall for it.” 

Hope welled up inside Joseph Francis Cartwright. ‘If Hoss thought his cough was phoney, maybe Pa would too,’ he reflected, and stomping his foot down into his boot, he shot his brother a mischievous smile and scooted down to breakfast.

“Morning, Pa, Adam.”

Joe reached for the plate of scrambled eggs and placed a couple of spoonfuls onto his plate. His throat was beginning to feel a bit sore from coughing, and the eggs would slide down his throat easily.

Ben looked sharply at his youngest son. “Are you feeling okay, Joseph?”

“I’m fine, si—,” Joe replied, his last word turning into a cough.

“Have a test today, do we?” Adam smirked.

Joe stared down at his breakfast and kept quiet, hoping his father, like his older brother, would assume he was faking the cough.

“You do feel a bit warm,” Ben remarked.

Joe’s head shot up at the touch of his father’s hand. He hadn’t noticed him leave his chair. 

“And you look a little flushed. Open your mouth.”

Joe stared at his father for a moment and then opened his mouth. He knew that tone and that look only too well. 

“Doesn’t look too bad,” Ben murmured. “It could be from coughing. All the same, better stay home today and rest.”

“He’s faking, Pa,” Adam insisted. 

Ben ignored him. Contrary to what his eldest son believed, he knew when his youngest was faking. He didn’t always call him on it, but he knew. And the boy wasn’t faking now. 

“I don’t think so, Adam.” Hoss responded, pouring syrup over his flapjacks. “He was coughing in his room earlier this morning.”

“He was probably just getting in a little practice.” 

Hoss shook his head. “I thought so too, at first, but, you know, he didn’t act nearly sick enough to be faking it.”

Joe frowned at his big brother, picked up his fork, and pushed his food around his plate. 

“If you’re not going to eat those eggs,” Ben suggested, “you might as well go back up to bed.”

Joe stuffed a forkful of eggs into his mouth, swallowed, and cringed. He put his fork down and stomped up the stairs.

“Wonder why he wants to go to school so badly,” Hoss remarked.

“Maybe he’s made plans to play hooky with his friends.” Adam retorted. 

“No, he’s determined to go to school,” Hoss said, and putting his fork down, he headed up to Joe’s bedroom. 

“Whoa, you’ll never get away with it,” he warned as he entered the room. 

Joe pulled his leg back through the window and flopped onto his bed, scowling. 

“What’s going on at school?” Hoss inquired.

Joe looked at his big brother, his best friend, and exhaled a soft breath. “Miss Jones is gonna read this story about a headless horseman today,” he told him, eyes bright.

“Miss Jones is gonna read a story about a horseman who doesn’t have a head!?” Hoss asked incredulously.

Joe nodded. 

“It’s a treat because everyone got their math homework right,” he explained, looking at the window speculatively.

“It’s not worth it, Short Shanks. You sneak out, and Pa’s bound to guess where you went. He’ll have you back here before Miss Jones can finish the first chapter. And you know what you’ll get the minute you’re feeling better.”

“Yeah,” Joe mumbled. 

Hoss smiled and ruffled his brother’s hair. “Don’t do anything stupid, Little Brother,” he warned and strode out of the room. 

“Miss Jones is reading some story about a headless horseman, and he doesn’t want to miss it,” Hoss declared as he sat down to finish his breakfast.

“Headless horseman, it must be Irving’s novel,” Adam murmured as he strolled over to the shelves of leather-bound books. Reaching up, he removed one of the volumes and, book in hand, headed up to his brother’s bedroom. 

“Here,” he said, stepping through the doorway. “Read it for yourself.” He placed the book onto the bed and strode out. 

Joe glanced at the title. His eyes lit up, and he took a quick peek between the front and back covers. Delighted, he hopped out of bed and beelined to the top of the stairs. “Thanks, Adam!” he hollered.

“Get back to bed,” Ben roared, and Joe scrambled back to his room. He spent the rest of the day reading The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. He perused all the pictures, read the story from start to finish, spent more time poring over the pictures, and reread his favourite parts. By the middle of the afternoon, his head was filled with thoughts of the headless horseman. He imagined him galloping around the countryside, through the graveyard, and up and down the streets of Virginia City.  Then he envisioned himself as the headless horseman. And the rest of his convalescence, he spent plotting and scheming. 

xxx

“You missed a great story,” Mitch told his friend a few days later.

“Yeah, it was really spooky. Scared all the little kids.” Tuck added. 

“Yeah, it was kind of spooky,” Joe replied, and then, watching his friends out of the corner of his eye, he added, “and those pictures must have terrified the little—.”

“Pictures?” Tuck interrupted. 

“Pictures?” Mitch and Frank repeated.

Joe grinned and pulled the novel out of his saddlebags. Moments later, the four boys were sitting under a tree, engrossed in Washington Irving’s The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.

“I had this idea,” Joe said, as the four friends sat perusing the illustrations and discussing their favourite parts. “I thought we could dress up…”

His friends gawked at him for a full minute. 

“Are you crazy?” Tuck demanded. “If we get caught—.”

“Yeah,” Joe said. “But it’d be a lot of fun. Think about it.”

Mitch eyed his friend speculatively. “You’re going to do it anyway, aren’t you?” he stated, and after a few moments he added, “Okay, I’m with you.”

“Me too,” Tuck and Frank agreed. 

Moments later the school bell rang and the boys hurried into class.

xxx

Joe lay on his bed, hands behind his head, reviewing the night’s plans. Suddenly adrenaline bolted through him, and his body tensed. Footsteps were coming down the hall. He closed his eyes and turned onto his side, feigning sleep. The footsteps stopped, and his door opened. Ben approached the bed, ran his fingers through his son’s soft curls and whispered,”Pleasant dreams, Son.”  The footsteps retreated from the room, and the door quietly closed.

Joe waited, ‘sleeping’ and listening. Moments later, the soft sound of his father’s door opening and closing reached his ears, and he hopped out of bed. Mouselike, he crept to the window and climbed out. Minutes later, he was on his way to Virginia City.

 xxx

He arrived at the school and found Tuck, Mitch, and Frank already there. 

“We were thinking you weren’t—you’re not riding Cochise!” Mitch blurted out.

“Didn’t want to take a chance someone might recognize him.”

“Might?” Frank retorted.

As soon as the laughter died down, the four headless horsemen, each one with a burlap bag pulled over his head and carrying a pumpkin in the crook of his arm, trotted down to the first stop on the night’s agenda.

They halted at the entrance to the Virginia City cemetery and stared out over the graveyard. Their eyes skirted the gloomy boneyard, taking in the dilapidated tombstones and the shadows that seemed to be alive. They looked from one to the other nervously.

“It was your idea, Joe,” Mitch squeaked. “You should go in first.”

Tuck and Frank nodded in agreement. 

Joe gave his friends a wry smile and entered the graveyard, wishing he was riding Cochise. ‘Cochise,’ he thought, ‘could outrun any undead thing that might be lying in wait.’ His friends followed him in.

They stopped just inside the gate and checked out the grounds once more, looking for anything unearthly lurking about in the shadows or behind the tombstones. Not seeing anything, they bunched up close together and rode amongst the tombstones, emitting a soft moan here and a quiet groan there. Moments passed. No gruesome spectre materialized before them, no rotting corpse jumped out of a grave to grab them, not even a black cat crossed their path. The four headless horsemen became emboldened. Their courage erupted. They spurred their ponies into a gallop and tore around the gravesites, their moans and wails echoing among the headstones and throughout the cemetery.

A short while later the horsemen slowed their mounts to a walk. Breathless and laughing, they regrouped and took a few moments to catch their breath. 

“Ready?” Joe asked. His friends nodded, and the four pranksters galloped down to the Blood and Guts and charged through the bat doors. They loped around the saloon, howling like banshees. Several of the more inebriated customers howled along with them, and several shots rang out inside the saloon. A few minutes later, the barkeep stepped out from behind the bar and hollered, “Okay, boys, you’ve had your fun. Now, scat.” 

The foursome made one last turn of the saloon, rode out the swinging doors, and headed down to their next stop, Madame Suzanne’s House of Ill Repute. They paraded in front of the bordello, hooting, hollering, and thinking themselves quite grown up. 

The door opened, and four women, hands on hips, stepped outside, ready to confront the hecklers. Their eyes twinkled as they caught sight of the four horsemen, and they burst into laughter. 

“Now,” said Madam Suzanne, stepping out in front of the other ladies. “What do we have here?”

“The headless horsemen,” Joe announced and saluted the women with an elaborate bow. 

Madam Suzanne turned to her girls and winked. “Would you gentlemen like to step inside?” she asked.

Four startled boys stared at the ladies, speechless. 

“M-maybe another time. W-we have to finish our ride,” Joe stammered, and the four knaves from the other realm urged their ponies into a gallop and fled into the night.

The boys tore down the streets of Virginia City, wailing and screeching. They rode down the main street, rode down the back streets, and cut in and out of the side streets. Lights came on, men shouted, and women screamed. They made one last sortie down the main road and then headed back to their meeting spot. 

“Did you hear the way those men in the Blood and Guts howled along with us? Frank laughed. 

“Yes,” Mitch agreed. “And Madam Suzanne actually invited us in.” 

“Yeah, she must have thought we were at least sixteen,” Joe added. 

xxx

A short distance from the ranch house, Joe reined in the black gelding. His eyes swept the house, and his ears were on the alert for the slightest sound. The house slept. Dismounting, he led the little black to the stock corral and turned it out. Edging his way to the back of the house, he shinnied up a tree, crept across the roof to his bedroom, and climbed through the window.

“Where have you been, boy, and what have you been up to?”

Joe swung about and came face-to-face with his father. Mouth agape, saucers for eyes, he stuttered, “I-I-I.” 

Ben stood, arms folded, looking down at his scallywag of a son. 

“I was in Virginia City.”

Ben waited.

“We dressed up like headless horsemen, and…”

“Did you cause any damage?” Ben asked.

“No, sir,” Joe replied, barely stifling a yawn.

“It’s late,” Ben said. “Go to bed. We’ll finish this discussion in the morning.” And stepping out into the hall, he returned to his room.

Joseph Cartwright crawled into bed, asking himself if tonight’s fun was really worth tomorrow’s consequences. But it only took a few seconds for him to decide that yes, it was definitely worth it. 

And snuggling under his covers, he drifted into a deep sleep filled with pleasant dreams of mischief and mayhem. 

Ben Cartwright chuckled softly as he entered his bedroom. ‘Headless horsemen, indeed,’ he mused,‘that surpassed the ghost ride he and his friends had once taken through the streets of Boston.’ Shaking his head, he climbed into bed and, like his son, drifted into a deep sleep filled with pleasant dreams.

THE END