Slow Badger made a sign with his hands, but Porter didn’t follow what that meant either.
“What about all them bones I saw them burying here?”
“The ones from across the sea, the Chinese had stolen the bones from the burial grounds. They had to be returned. But the Chinese were slain by someone in the dark. He says the killers left the bones, so they took them back and left the bodies there because they did not want to be blamed for the murder.”
Porter chewed at the edges of his beard. “What about the book?”
“That was taken by the killer. He says it was dark in the tent and they got inside first while MacDonald was still sleeping, but a white man came in and took the book and killed MacDonald.”
“A white man? Who? Why didn’t they jump him outside the tent?”
Slow Badger made faces and gestures, but it was clear he was trying to emulate Stoney and company.
“He had many men with him, with many guns. Too many, so they waited and escaped just before we got there.”
Porter corrected, “Before I got there. Did you see them?”
She shook her head.
Porter spit. “Alright, so it was Stoney. How would that polecat know about the book?”
Slow Badger spoke and Mary translated once again. “It was Thorne.”
Porter swore and rubbed at his face. “And the pin?”
“He says MacDonald was bleeding out and they went to help him, when he grabbed them not realizing who had slain him and who they were. It was a struggle to escape the dying old man. Prairie Dog lost the pin to the dying man’s grasp.”
Porter held a hand up. “Wait. If the Chinese found the book and it was hidden under that cairn for who knows how long, why did Slow Badger suddenly come to get it back? How did they even know it was there?”
Slow Badger spoke quickly, and Porter couldn’t follow a word, but Mary continued her translation.
“He say the book is key to the door. Bones are of the old guardians from long ago. They knew the key was buried on the mountain, but they would not look for it. But now that it is found, it must be returned and reburied in secret.”
Porter shook his head. “What door? What guardians?”
Mary continued, “Ghost Horn will speak, since you have slain the murderers and even dealt with the Furry People.”
“Furry people?” Porter asked and then the strange memory of the wild hairy man came flooding back and he was almost overwhelmed reliving the experience. He closed his eyes and shivered at the harrowing event. How had he forgotten it and had it come flooding back like that? There was some supernatural power at play here.
Mary took hold of his shoulder and shook him. “It is like that when you meet them, but worse things are waiting beyond the door.”
“How would you know?” gasped Porter.
“Ghost Horn told me.”
“Ghost Horn?”
“He is here,” she said, pointing back to the tree line.
A tall old man with long white braids running down each side of his face stepped into the clearing. He was wrapped in a red blanket and had a deer’s antler woven into his hair. Porter recognized him as the shaman, Ghost Horn.
Mary continued, “He say he will show you what this sacred place is. He knows what you have done. By your actions today, you are a worthy guardian, too.”
It was getting dark and while the wind had died down, the chill in the air was sharp.
Ghost Horn beckoned for Porter to follow and then without watching, he turned around and strode back into the tree line. Several braves including Slow Badger were nearby and they too motioned for Porter and Mary to come. Even Dawg, who had been very pleased to be reunited with Porter, loped after them.
“Guess we better get along and see what the man has to say then, huh?” asked Porter, looking to Mary.
“Yes, you should,” she said, before she too followed after.
Porter gritted his teeth and strode on, the last in line. He couldn’t help but look over his shoulder, wondering if anything was watching. The casual mention of the “Furry People” had been unsettling to say the least. It was as if these people just accepted that there were monsters in their world, and it was no cause for alarm. Same as a bear or mountain lion, just one of those things out there striding through the forest.
Not terribly far down a thin game trail was a level slope where a handful of tepees were cloistered together. Ghost Horn went into one and Slow Badger held the flap open and gestured for Porter and Mary to follow. Dawg needed no invitation and went right in, curling up toward the back.
Once Porter and Mary sat across the fire from Ghost Horn, he passed a pipe to them and they each took turns about the small coiling fire that only just barely lit up the room. After everyone had several turns, Ghost Horn spoke.
“My tongue is not always good with your words, so I may sometimes use ones that I know, that you do not know and my tribal daughter from another father will help me speak them,” he said, gesturing to Mary.
“I think I understand you,” said Porter.
“This is good,” replied Ghost Horn. “Many moons ago, before your people came to these lands and before my people came to these lands, others were here. They dwelt in the fields and valleys, they lived in the mountains and in the earth too. They rode giant beasts that exist no more and even went speeding across the face of the great waters. Sometimes I think when an earthquake shakes the land that they are waking up, for while it may seem that they are gone, they are still here in hiding, and they are asleep. Many times I have wondered if some of them are good, but most of the stories that my grandfathers taught me was that they were evil and used their great skills and technologies much like the whites do now, and they made war and they robbed one another and did murder many for gain. Some may have resisted and not done these terrible things, but they are removed from the land and are no more. My grandfathers knew that the cataclysms that came from the sky, like falling mountains that burned, came and destroyed these Old Ones’ civilizations. Those that could, went and hid themselves up in the earth while all of their cities and kingdoms in the fields and valleys and mountains were destroyed. But those that still dwell in the earth, knew that to survive they must sleep away the eons and be as dreamers. Many things are still hidden up in the earth, weapons of war, books of knowledge that would make all the white man’s technology seem like a child’s. But many of these things are not ready for the world of now and must remain hidden. I know you have seen some of these things, that you have touched them and know I speak the truth. I know you have seen the Furry People and you saw the bones of long dead gods and guardians. I say to you, let sleeping gods lie. Let them sleep.”
Porter chewed at his beard and wondered if Ghost Horn would say anything more, but he didn’t, he just sat opposite Porter and stared at him with obsidian eyes.
“Alight. I won’t wake them,” he said at last.
“That is good,” said Ghost Horn abruptly.
“Well,” Porter asked, “can you tell me what or who the Furry People are?”
“They were made by the Old Ones like a child might make a toy man out of sticks and clay. My grandfather said that the Old Ones took a piece of a star flesh and with the flesh of men the Old Ones merged them. They are like us, but not like us. One of the Furry People might have the strength of many braves and they can walk unseen if they wish, passing through the shadow lands, but they also cannot commune with the creator, the Great Spirit. They are cut off from his presence, and when they die, they cannot go to the Happy Hunting Grounds. Sometimes I wonder if the white man cannot commune with the Great Spirit either, but my daughter from another father says you are a good man with Big Medicine and that the Great Spirit has smiled upon you.”
“I don’t want to go treading into the earth and waking any sleeping gods,” said Porter. “I never would have believed in things like the Furry People or the sleeping old ones. I don’t wish to disturb them.”
“But you had the k
ey to the door. You bought it for money. That is not good,” said Ghost Horn in a direct fashion. Porter couldn’t help but feel like, coming from the old man, it was a heated dressing down.
“I only knew that it was an old book and I wanted to keep it safe. It was not my intent to use it to awaken any old ones. I wanted to show it to wise men.”
“It is not for those kinds of worldly-wise men in the cities. It was crafted by the Old Ones as a key to one of the doors to their hidden place to dream. They should not be awakened.”
“I understand that. I was not going to do that.” He looked to Mary and said, “Explain to him I thought it was only a book and not a key to any door.”
Mary spoke quickly in the native tongue and seemed to confirm Porter’s words.
Ghost Horn listened and nodded, then asked, “But where is the key now?”
“I don’t know. I had it and then someone came into my saloon and murdered a man and stole it. They stole back those dragon bones from the Chinese who dug them up here too. All that I have left is this pin.” He produced the pin and showed it to Ghost Horn.
“You may keep that. It is a protection from the Old Ones,” said Ghost Horn. “My daughter said you were born to be a guardian of sacred things.”
Porter glanced at Mary. “Not me. You all can have it back.”
Ghost Horn shook his head. “It is yours for now. Some troubles will come soon until the key is found and put back. The sleeping gods must stay asleep. But the stars are right for trouble with the key lost, and then you will need that strength of protection.”
“Well, I got enough of my own,” said Porter, patting his dragoon. He tossed the pin back to Ghost Horn.
The old man frowned deeply.
Mary swore under her breath and took the pin and stuck it on Porter’s jacket lapel. “You will keep it,” she whispered urgently.
“Fine. But I still don’t know where the book is. My only guess after everything today is that Stoney has it. But who knows where? I imagine he is gonna try and sell it, not awaken any Old Ones.”
“You must get it back from him, so that my people can hide it up again,” said Mary as urgently as she had ever spoken.
Porter looked at her and nodded. “I aim to make things square with that bushwhacker, might as well hand that thing off to you, too.”
“That is good,” said Ghost Horn.
Porter wondered after things Ghost Horn said once he realized it mirrored things Fei Buk had spoken of. “What does ‘the stars are right’ mean?”
Ghost Horn looked up to the conical roof of the tepee where the smoke rose and vented out to the dark sky and stars beyond. He pondered a long while, then said, “I think I can explain in a way you may understand. White men have forgotten the energies that come from the stars and planets. They affect us still and the powers from these bodies can be like the ocean tide. Sometimes it is strong and high, it protects us. Sometimes it is low and weak. When it is weak, those things held back might come forth like crabs on the beach. When the tide is low, bad things can be revealed and let loose to wander where we human beings are.” He shuddered and, taking the pipe, blew smoke around the tepee and chanted for a long moment in a tongue Porter could not understand.
Mary whispered, “He does this to cleanse the bad energies from even discussing the Old Ones.”
Porter looked at the old man and asked, “What if I can’t find that book though? What then?”
Ghost Horn, suddenly animated, said, “The Old Ones will dream dreams and see the key is found by wicked men. If the door is opened, they will walk out and doom the land. Even if the door is not opened, they will send their dreams, their nightmares, out into the world and make them a reality. It must be found and returned. They must stay asleep.”
“I’ll see what I can do then,” said Porter.
God Loves Fools
Rather than ride back down the trail at night and possibly into another ambush, they stayed that night at the little collection of tepees. First light, Porter was up and he, Mary, and Dawg rode back to Murderer’s Bar. It was a chilly morning with fog rolling in off the river creating an eerie atmosphere across the landscape. Some miners were up and at it already and you could hear gold pans being spun and pickaxes striking stone, but not see any of them.
Porter imagined it might sound like hell, if you threw in a dash of wailing souls.
A figure loomed into view as if the fog had parted for him like water from the keel of a ship. The man just stood there in the path, and Porter reached for his gun. The old man lifted his head and Porter remembered him as the grinning old miner with the penetrating gaze.
“Work still to be done,” said the old man.
“Yup,” answered Porter sullenly, leading his horse around the old man who had still not moved.
As Porter passed him, the old man faced him, looked up, and said, “The stars are gonna be right tonight. You best make things right.”
Porter, puzzled, turned in the saddle to look at the old man again, but he was gone. The early morning fog swirled about the camp, but he doubted the old man could have vanished so suddenly.
“Did you see that old man?” he asked Mary, who was riding up behind him.
“I didn’t see anyone,” she said.
Porter frowned, wondering what the trick of the early morning light had played on his senses.
He cautiously rode up to the Round Tent saloon and was pleased to see it looking unscathed.
“Check it out, Dawg,” he said.
Dawg went forward, stuck his nose in the tent flaps, and went inside. A moment later Jack exited.
“He woke me up. That was a long night. I expected you back a whole lot earlier,” said Jack.
“Meant to be but had a couple run-ins with Stoney’s bunch.”
“Oh? How’d that go?”
“I got all of ‘em except Stoney himself. Then we spoke with Ghost Horn to learn a bit more about the book and such as it is.”
“That what happened to Dawg’s tail?”
Porter grimaced, looking at his dog. “Yep, one of the bastards shot him in the shoulder and took his tail off with another round. I think we used up six of them.”
Jack nodded. “I’d say Stoney might have at least that many more he counts on roundabouts. Maybe more.”
“I reckon so, too. You got any help?”
Jack shook his head and grinned. “I sent Zeke and Boles off to the do the Sacramento run. I think they ought to get back today. Figured I’d spare you the job, things being what they are.”
“Awful risky. What if they get jumped or worse?”
Jack shrugged. “God loves fools. I think they’ll make it back.”
“All right, well, Mary and I are here now, you go on and get some sleep, but keep your shooter handy.”
“I will. Good night. I mean, good day.” Jack walked toward his tent not far off in the trees on the hillside.
“I’ll make some breakfast,” said Mary. “But we need to go find that bushwhacker.”
Porter grinned at her using his terminology. He had never heard her use that word before, course she had said as much in the last day as she had for the last month. “Sounds good. We’ll find him soon enough. We’ll let Jack rest and wait for the boys to get back before we go out again.”
Mary frowned. “It must be found.”
“And we will look, but we gotta be ready.”
Half a day later Porter was still relaxing his aching muscles and nursing some whiskey between dirty looks from Mary, when Zeke and Boles came in. Their clothing was dirtier than usual, torn and ragged, and each of them had a dozen cuts, bruises, and oozing gashes all over their bodies. Zeke had a fat lip and Boles a black eye.
“What the hell happened to you two?” asked Porter.
Dawg leapt up and sniffed at the two of them and then slunk away as if disturbed at their very scent.
Porter got a whiff and wrinkled his nose in displeasure.
“What happened to Dawg’s tail?�
� asked Boles.
“Never mind that. Tell me what happened to you two.” demanded Porter.
Zeke answered, “We found out where Stoney is, and he is brewing up some trouble for you.”
“That information might have been useful to me yesterday,” said Porter.
Zeke and Boles looked at each other. Zeke spoke up, “We didn’t have that information yesterday, boss.”
“We only found out late last night, yes sir,” added Boles.
“I’m sorry, go on.”
“Well, Jack sent us off to do the Sacramento run since you weren’t back and we didn’t know when you’d be back. He seemed to think it was the most valuable thing we could do.”
“Go on,” said Porter, mulling it over.
“Well, we fetched the wagon and team and we got there alight. We went to the brewery and bought a wagon load.”
“On credit, yes sir, Jack said we had to do it on credit,” broke in Boles.
“Yeah, so we’re coming on back, but Boles thought we ought to stop and get a drink and bite for ourselves before we did the long haul back, on account of we was each pushing the horses as hard as we could to get back lickety split.”
“Are my horses alight?”
“Yes sir, yes sir, they is doing just fine, we fed and watered and rubbed ‘em down, yes sir,” said Boles.
“Get to the point,” said Porter.
“We were stopped in at Coloma and went to the tavern. Had some grub and then came back out to find Stoney and a couple of his crew there looking over the team and such, they was planning on robbing the wagon. We said, ‘hey now, what do you think you are a doing here’ and they laughed at us and said it was an honest mistake,” said Zeke.
“But I don’t think it were, yes sir,” broke in Boles.
Zeke continued, “So we told them to get out of there, that it was your property and they’d get some from you if they didn’t call it quits.”
“Then?” asked Porter, growing all the more impatient.
“Well, sir, they knocked us down and Stoney, he says he has it in for you and yours and that he was gonna take the property and we would have to like it.”
Let Sleeping Gods Lie Page 6
