Killing Rhinos

by Herb Hughes

  Wisps of steam rose from what had to be a boiler. It was located roughly in the middle, immediately behind a rectangular metal pot at the front of the machine. With arm-sized pipes connecting the two, the metal pot had to be a water tank. The boiler was wide and round at the bottom, hanging over the wood rails by half a meter on each side, with a small chimney at the top like a reversed funnel. There were large pipes, small pipes, metal rods, ropes, and chains going in several directions. Some of the pipes, silver ones glistening in the afternoon sun, went from the boiler to rectangular metal enclosures that hung below the wood beams on each side. Each enclosure had a thick rod churning in and out. These rods were connected to the edge of each rear wheel, causing the wheels to roll and the machine to move forward. Large puffs of steam billowed rhythmically from the metal enclosures as the machine moved along.

  Other small pipes and ropes went to a tall but shallow enclosure that was behind the boiler and connected to it at the bottom. The enclosure was nothing more than a roof supported by four metal bars with a chest-high front wall of metal sheeting and a woodbin behind. A man stood in the enclosure, directly behind the metal wall, his hands quickly working various controls in front of him.

  Suspended below the wood beam, in the back where the man stood, were two steps. Except for the tan ropes, a few silver pipes and rods, and some lettering on the side of the woodbin, everything was painted black. The lettering, in decorative white and red script characters, said, “The Lisbon Express.”

  As the machine slowed to a halt in the middle of the street, a few paces away from Jack and Sheffie, the escaping steam let out a last sigh and stopped, leaving only slivers of white streaming upward. The noise subsided, though the hiss of steam could still be heard as it trailed off slowly. The crowd, already swollen quite large, was frozen in silence.

  After a moment the man in the cabin stepped out and climbed down the two steps suspended from the wood rail. He was tall, roughly middle-aged, and, except for a small pot belly, somewhat thin. He jumped the short distance from the bottom step to the dirt street then pulled a thick pair glasses up from his eyes and placed them on top of the hat on his head. The round, domed hat looked like half of a large brazier. His face was brown with dirt and grime except where the glasses had been, giving him a bug-eyed look. Townspeople began to gather from all directions, many talking and all gawking at the odd machine parked in the middle of the street. Some crept close enough to reach out and touch it.

  The man from the machine put his hand in the air and shouted, “Please do not touch! The exhaust pipes are quite hot, as is the boiler and the cylinders. It would burn you, possibly quite badly.”

  Those closest to the car backed away a step or two.

  “Please,” the man said, holding one arm above him to quiet the loud murmur from the growing number of Borderton residents. “I have a special delivery letter,” he began. He didn’t finish.

  An agitated ranger hustled through the crowd and stepped right up to the tall man’s face, causing him to bend back slightly. The ranger, a brown man in his early thirties, was not large but was obviously used to being in charge. There were five stripes on his sleeve.

  “What in the world is that thing?” the ranger asked loudly, almost screaming. The crowd became silent as everyone listened. “And what do you mean coming into our town making all that racket, scaring every horse around? You could have gotten somebody hurt!”

  “I, ah... I’m on an urgent mission,” the man answered, apologetically. “I must deliver a letter from the Mayor of Lisbon right away.”

  A murmur rushed through the crowd. “Why would the Mayor of Lisbon be sending a letter to someone in Borderton?” people asked their equally bewildered neighbors. No one knew the answer, but most guessed or commented or simply repeated the question.

  “Mayor of Lisbon?” the ranger echoed, his anger beginning to subside. Curiosity got the best of him. “Who’s the letter for?”

  “Jack Wheat,” the man responded as he held up a large, brown envelope.

  “Oh,” Sheffie said. “That’s you.”

  “I realize that,” Jack answered with a smile. He handed the packages to her and stepped forward.

  “I’m Jack Wheat,” he announced, though he didn’t have to. More than two dozen of the townspeople had already pointed him out.

  The tall man with the strange hat handed the envelope to Jack and said, “Avery Witherstone, at your service, sir. This letter is for you.”

  Jack had not known many people from Lisbon but had met enough of them to recognize the slightly faster, less deliberate speech of the city folk. People from the city called it more sophisticated. That was a point of contention in the outlying towns.

  “Thank you, Mr. Witherstone” Jack responded as he accepted the envelope. He turned and began to walk back toward Sheffie.

  “Ah, Mr. Wheat. I’m, ah, sorry, sir, but I do need you to read the letter now. You see, sir, I must have a reply back to Mayor Davis by tomorrow evening.”

  “Tomorrow evening?” the ranger sneered. “Lisbon is four days ride. Three days hard ride and two if you kill your horse. Now how in blazes are you...” The ranger stopped in mid-question and turned slightly to gaze at the odd contraption that had brought the stranger into town.

  “Quite faster than a horse,” the man from Lisbon, Avery Witherstone, stated as he stepped over and patted the machine on the wood side rail, carefully clear of any pipes. “Well, perhaps not faster than a horse,” he clarified. “At a full run, most horses would outdistance me. But my automobile can keep a fast, steady pace for hours, stopping only for wood and water. It would soon surpass the worn out horse.” Then he added under his breath, “Ah, as long as it’s operating properly.” Avery Witherstone turned to Jack and said, “I do need a response, Mr. Wheat.”

  Jack stood beside Sheffie and opened the envelope. He was amazed to see a typeset letter inside, printed like a book, but it was only a single copy letter. Why would somebody go to the trouble to typeset a one-sheet letter?

  He began reading. It was from Mayor Winston Davis III, asking Jack to come to Lisbon. The mayor requested Jack’s assistance in “combating” their Rhino problem, which, he wrote, had reached “epidemic proportions.” The letter explained that the number of Rhinos emerging from the streets of Lisbon had continued to increase, while, at the same time, many of the rangers’ laser rifles had quit working. Citizens were being killed at alarming rates. The few lasers that remained in working order were scattered around the globe to protect the planet’s most important assets, so most rangers were armed only with homebuilts. The mayor went on to state that the city would furnish the best living quarters available and all expenses for his entire stay. At the bottom of the neat, typeset letter there was a beautifully flowing hand-written message from Colonel Alexandre Andropov. “Colonel” was underlined.

  Jack,

  I have inherited a deplorable situation and need you desperately. The recruits we’re getting are young and raw. We are forced to put them on the streets with homebuilts and inadequate training. We lose four or five each month, which means the next group, when we can find young men willing to join, gets even less training. The citizens of Lisbon are screaming for protection. We need your experience, your intelligence, and your ability. You will receive the usual commission plus a bonus of $200 for each Rhino you kill. Please help, old friend.

  Sincerely,

  Colonel A. Andropov

  Jack looked at Sheffie, who had read the letter along with him. Thoughts shot through his head faster than the beam from a laser rifle. With an epidemic of Rhinos in Lisbon, this meant a chance to reach the record sooner, possibly much sooner. Not to mention the money. His eyes got wider, and his mouth began to open.

  In the same instant, he realized it also meant something else. He would not be able to use his small laser rifle in the city of Lisbon, not in front of so many witnesses. If anyone found out he had one, his reputation, his quest for the record, Sheffie, his future
, all would be gone. He would be jailed for concealing a laser that was needed by the rangers and stripped of all his awards. The government would want him to repay every bounty he had received for all the Rhinos he had killed, which he could never do from jail, of course. So, if he went to Lisbon, he would have to try to kill Rhinos with a homebuilt, something he had never done. The thought of facing a Rhino with nothing more than a crooked-firing, off-sight, hand-fashioned homebuilt frightened him, sending a quick chill down his spine.

  “Oh, Jack,” Sheffie said. “This is a great opportunity. I mean, I hate for you to take a chance hunting those creatures, but you’re going to regardless. You might as well do it in a place like Lisbon.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve always wanted to go to Lisbon. I’ve dreamed about it.”

  “You? The letter requested me. There’s a serious problem up there. It could be dangerous.”

  “What do you mean, Jack? This is a wonderful opportunity. You wouldn’t dream of going without me, would you?” She looked at him with shock in her eyes. Then her expression changed, and she added, “Besides, I’d have you to protect me.” Sheffie smiled her best smile, which, Jack had to admit, was a killer. She was a beautiful woman.

  He stood a moment in silence. His eyes closed as he realized there was no way to win. It was done. He knew the people of Borderton might feel a little less protected if he accepted the challenge in Lisbon, but not going would make him look like a coward, both to the people of Borderton and the many thousands of people in Lisbon. It would greatly diminish the hero status that he had come to enjoy over the years.

  It would also upset Sheffie. Going to Lisbon without Sheffie would create a problem he would never live down. She had been after him for years to take a break from the hunt, to take her on vacation to the big city to see the elaborate plays and shop in the legendary stores and go to the largest library on the planet. Here was the opportunity, all paid for by someone else. But facing a Rhino without a laser rifle? Suddenly he wished the man from Lisbon and his strange machine had never shown up in Borderton. He almost wished he had taken up farming like so many of his ancestors.

  From deep inside, Jack Wheat understood he had no choice. The decision was made for him by his reputation, and by Sheffie. Besides, one day the laser rifle was going to quit working. That day might not be too far into the future. Some years back he had begun to practice with his homebuilt in anticipation of that day and had become more accurate with it. Maybe it won’t be hopeless.

  “Okay,” he said with a knot that seemed to reach above his throat, all the way to the top of his head. “I’ll, ah, we’ll go.”

  “Oh, Jack!” Sheffie flung her arms around him, packages flying through the air and bouncing off the wood sidewalk and dirt street.

  There was a short cheer, but it ended quickly. For the most part, the people in the crowds became quiet. They knew a hero of Jack’s stature would have to respond to an urgent call, even if it did mean leaving Borderton for a while. After all, a hero could not be a hero if there was no challenge to conquer.

  “Oh!” Sheffie shouted suddenly, letting go of Jack as she did. She looked down at herself. “What will I wear to Lisbon? I have nothing to wear, and the stores are closing. I need a new dress! And some new shoes. And... and...”

  Chapter 8

  Crazy Mac was twiddling with the tree fibers in his ‘bed,’ working hard to see how fine he could split them. The finer the split, the softer the bed, but he had been doing this for years beyond memory. It was becoming quite difficult to find a fiber he could split further.

  The angle of the sun’s rays said mid-morning. Mac was usually alone at this time of day, but Bill Miller was still at the oasis. Bill was making the return mail run from Newton to Borderton. He had meant to be on his way more than an hour earlier but was having little success getting the mail bags loaded on his ornery mule. Mac watched the comedy from the corners of his eyes but, so far, had only chuckled to himself, resisting the urge to laugh out loud.

  Suddenly, Mac heard a clatter to the west, the sound of a rider coming in from the desert. He could tell by the fast, pounding tempo of the hoof beats that the rider was in a rush. Too fast, Mac thought. Damned fool’s going to kill his horse.

  It was an odd time for a rider to be coming in. They usually arrived late afternoon or early evening. Mac scrambled up from his bed and looked toward the sound. He instantly recognized Greg Bonner. Figures. He don’t give a damn about his horse. Bonner rode straight into the oasis, not slowing down until he came right up to where the wrinkled old man stood.

  “Hey, you crazy old coot!” Bonner shouted at Mac. “I found Wheat’s Rhino. Shot clear through with a laser. I told you the bastard was cheating.”

  Bill dropped the mail bags and kicked at the mule, but the animal easily dodged the blow. The mail rider shrugged his shoulders in helpless resignation then walked over to listen to what Bonner was saying.

  “You ain’t no such a thing, you lying dog. Jack Wheat’s the finest hunter alive. He wouldn’t do a thing like that.”

  “I saw the damned Rhino with my own eyes, you crazy old man. It’s got a laser hole in it plain as day.”

  “Well, I ain’t seen it with my eyes. And your eyes lie like your mouth does, so I ain’t believing anything they seen.”

  Anger seared across Greg Bonner’s face. He reached for his knife, but he stopped suddenly, his fingers touching the handle but not yet wrapping around it. He sat in the saddle a moment, motionless, then a smile began to creep onto his face. Slowly, he pulled his hand away from his knife. “Okay. If you don’t believe me, then you go see for yourself.”

  “I’m busy here. I ain’t got time to go wild-goose-chasing your lies.”

  “Busy doing what? You’ve been piddling with that stupid hole in the ground you call a bed for years. It’s still the same. You don’t do shit, Mac, except bother people coming through here, running your mouth about stupid stuff and acting like the crazy old fool you are. Well I saw what I saw and I’m going to report it to the rangers as soon as I get to Borderton. I’m going to confront Wheat right in front of everybody in his own hometown. And there won’t be a single eyewitness to dispute me. If you don’t believe me, go see for yourself. You can be Jack’s eyewitness.” Greg lifted his right hand and pointed two fingers at his eyes. “Otherwise, all they’re going to hear is what these ‘lying’ eyes saw. And they’ll believe me. Wheat’s not the only famous Rhino hunter, you know.”

  Mac sat a moment, staring at Bonner but not seeing him. He realized Greg was right. Without anybody to dispute Greg’s lies, Jack would have a problem. The rangers would not want to take sides, of course, but things could get awful sticky. At best, doubt would be created in a lot of people’s minds, and Jack’s reputation would be tarnished. Mac didn’t want Jack to get hurt. Anybody but Jack Wheat. Mac had to come to the rescue. There was no other choice.

  “Okay. I’ll go prove you’re a lying dog. Let’s see… Which way did Jack say, west, wasn’t it? Close to the Spine. How am I going to get there? I can’t walk that far.”

  “Just go due west to the Spine then turn north,” Bonner said. “Follow the Spine until you find the Rhino. It’s on this side, not fifty feet from the base of the Spine. Even an old fool like you can’t miss it. And carry lots of water, old man. It’s a long, long walk.”

  “I can’t walk all that way,” Mac whined.

  “That’s your problem, you old fool.” Greg retorted.

  Mac gazed at the desert, in the direction Greg had indicated.

  Bonner winked at Bill Miller.

  “I tell you what,” Bill said, taking the hint and acting as serious as possible. “I’m tired of fooling with that damned mule over there. I’ll put all the mailbags on my horse. You can have that piece of shit. I’ll tell the post office it ran away and they’ll replace it for me. Hell, I’ll gladly carry a heavier load for this one trip if it’ll get me shed of that ornery ass. If you’re man enough to ride him,
that is.”

  “You got yourself a deal, mailman,” Mac said. “Your problem is you don’t know how to treat him. I’ll talk to him first and we’ll be fine.”

  The other two men laughed then Bonner said, “Let the old fool try.”

  “I may be old,” Mac said, “But you’re the only fool around here.”

  “We’ll see who’s a fool when that mule breaks your stupid neck.”

  As Mac walked over to the mule, Bill turned to Greg and said with a smirk, “This is going to be the best laugh I’ve had in a long time.”

  Mac picked up two of Bill’s water skins and stood beside the mule. He put his lips against the mule’s ear then began whispering. The mule stood rock still as the old man continued to talk. Bill and Greg stopped smiling. They glanced at each other then back at Crazy Mac. Finally, the old man stopped whispering in the mule’s ear and patted the mule on the neck. He picked up the skins and a saddle pack with some food and tossed them over the mule then climbed up on the animal’s bare back. The mule was calm and still the whole time. Without turning around or saying good-bye, Mac unceremoniously rode out of the oasis, west toward the Spine.

  “I’ll be damned,” Bill said. “How in hell did he do that?”

  “Screw the old fool,” Bonner said. “It’ll serve both of them right to die in the desert.”

  “Yeah, but I was kidding about the mule. I wanted to see the old clown break his neck trying to ride the damned thing. Hell, I’ll be in hot water if I lose a government mule. And he’s got my water and food, too. I better go after him.”

  Bill took a step forward but Bonner held his huge arm out to stop him. “Let the old fool kill himself if that’s what he wants to do. Good riddance, I say. He’ll die before he finds a Rhino where I sent him.”

  “You mean you didn’t find it?”

  “Nah,” Bonner said. “Wheat’s too good at covering his path. I made it up to get rid of Mac.” Then he grinned and added, “Permanently.”