Killing Rhinos

by Herb Hughes

  The mule ambled on slowly, oblivious to Mac’s ramblings. He had long since gotten used to hearing the old man mumbling.

  Suddenly Mac pulled the mule up fast. “Oh, my God, Toadstool! I remembered. Oh, mother of desert dirt! We should have turned back long ago. I remembered what it is. If you’re traveling in the desert, you gotta turn back when half your water’s gone. I knew there was something about the water, but I couldn’t think of it. Damned if I didn’t, hell bent for leather, head on out anyway. I can’t believe I forgot that I needed water to get back, too. Oh, shit! What a stupid old man I am. We’re done for Toadstool. There ain’t no way we can get back with not even half a skin. When they find us, they’ll be prying us up out of the sand. If they even cared enough to come looking for us, and they probably don’t. Jack’s about the only one who cares.

  “Damn it, what are we going to do? What would Jack do? He wouldn’t give up. He’s too good a man. What would he do? Well, first we got to ration the water. Sorry, Toadstool, only sips from here on. Then next we’ve got to find that Rhino. And find it fast. Maybe there’s an oasis somewhere around. Rhinos have to drink, too. Maybe so. I can’t rightly remember if I’ve heard tell of an oasis around here, but maybe there is, and maybe we can find it. Then we’ll fill our skins and head home with proof that Jack didn’t kill the damned thing with a laser. But we ain’t gonna find it if we don’t look, Toadstool, so let’s get going.”

  Chapter 14

  Jack remembered Wilsey as being a small town built on top of the last foothill range overlooking Lisbon’s valley, perhaps half the size of Borderton if that. But it had been years since Jack had been this way. Wilsey had grown. Rapidly. It was as large as, no, it was larger than Borderton now. Quite a bit larger. There was a brand new two-story bank in the center of town. Many former residences that had been on the edges of the old town had been refinished and converted to businesses, expanding the downtown area substantially. Whole new residential neighborhoods could be seen not only on top of the hill but also creeping down the slopes on both sides, with the larger houses, many of them mansions, on the slopes that overlooked Lisbon. There was money in Wilsey these days.

  He and Sheffie struggled through the usual group of well-wishers and idol worshipers as they made their way to the hotel where Avery had secured their reservations. Three bellboys were standing under the front canopy, waiting on them. Rangers stood to each side, at the corners of the building, keeping watch.

  The manager, an average height man with dark hair, medium dark skin, and a pleasant demeanor politely pushed his way through the crowd of people who had gathered at the hotel to see the famous Rhino hunter.

  “Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Wheat,” the manager said. “My name is Anhur Bakari. I will be here to assist you during your stay. Please allow us to help you.”

  The bellboys were unloading the pack horses before Jack’s boots touched the ground. He helped Sheffie dismount and turned to assist the bellboys, but Anhur lightly placed his hand on Jack’s shoulder and said with a polite smile, “Please, Mr. Wheat, we’ll take care of the bags. Follow me… Oh, dear, Miss Jarrett, you seemed to have torn your dress. Rather badly.”

  Sheffie looked down at herself and said, “Yes. We had a minor scare. Fortunately, I have more dresses with me.” She smiled.

  “One of the pack horses threw a shoe…” Jack started.

  The manager turned and snapped his fingers at another boy who was standing to the side of the front entrance. “Carlos! One of the pack horses has thrown a shoe. Take it to Lobie.”

  “Lobie?” Jack asked.

  “Wilsey’s smithy. A capable man. I’m sure you will find his work most satisfactory,” Anhur answered.

  “Can he have the horse ready tomorrow morning?” Jack asked.

  “Oh, sure,” one of the bellboys said. “Old Lobie works might near to midnight ever’ night.” Anhur gave the boy a stare with one eyebrow raised and the young man quickly shut up and turned to lift his share of the bags.

  “Now, if you please, follow me. I will be happy to show you your accommodations.” He led Jack and Sheffie into the lobby and up the stairs, the three heavily laden bellboys huffing behind them. An inviting, warm yellow light was waiting for them in the room. “Our best suite,” Anhur said as he waved them in.

  There was a sumptuous bed piled chest-high with pillows in a variety of shapes and coordinating colors, with burning oil lamps on the bed tables on each side. Another lamp sat on a small shelf built into the wall opposite the bed, above a sitting area that contained two heavily cushioned chairs and an elaborate, beautifully carved coffee table. The “room” was almost as large as Sheffie’s entire apartment above the library. It was much more extensively decorated. The walls, like Sheffie’s apartment, were exposed wood inside and out. This was in tune with the wilderness feel of the small town. But where Sheffie’s apartment was wild and had a rustic, outdoor feel to it, the logs and boards in this room were smoothly hewn and neatly fitted together. It was wood, but a different, much more polished look.

  There was a pass through to a separate kitchen and several doors leading to other as yet undiscovered rooms. Anhur beamed with pride at Jack and Sheffie’s wide eyes. He allowed them time to wander around and discover their surroundings then he beckoned them toward the wall length curtains at the far end of the room. “All of our rooms have a view of Lisbon and the valley, of course, but I believe you will find your view the best of all.” With that, Anhur pulled the curtains aside.

  Sheffie’s breath had almost been taken away at the sight of the room. Now she was left gasping for air at the sight of the twilight valley below. From this height, the third floor of a hotel built on the edge of a cliff, there were no trees to partially hide the view. The world below them literally glittered in the now late, pink-orange glow of an almost cloudless sunset as gas lamps were being lit in Lisbon and all the small neighborhoods and towns that surrounded the city, yielding tens of thousands of pinpricks of light. The lake, rivers, and distant ocean shone a slate blue that seemed to glow from within. Far out to sea the slate blue faded from light to dark to black as the ocean stretched into forever.

  “Oh,” Sheffie said, suddenly coming back to the present. She opened her purse and fumbled with some bills. As she pulled them out, she said to Anhur, “Will you please give this to the young men who brought our bags up.”

  Anhur put his hand up, palm out, and said, “Mr. Witherstone has taken care of everything, ma’am, with strict instructions that you are not to spend a dime of your own money. Now, perhaps some wine before dinner? Or a pitcher of beer? We brew our own, a golden ale and a dark lager, both quite good.”

  “Very well,” Sheffie said, putting her money up. “Wine would be wonderful. Red, please.”

  “Beer would be fine,” Jack said. “The dark.”

  “Coming right up,” Anhur said with a broad smile. “Oh, and please, if you need anything, anything at all, pull this cord and someone will be up immediately.” Anhur indicated a rope hanging on the hinge side of the front door. He held his smile as he hustled out of the room.

  Jack and Sheffie settled on the deck in the comfortable outdoor chairs to enjoy the view. They had been sitting only a few seconds when there was a knock on the door. Jack got up and opened the door to a young lady with a tray and a smile. She carried the tray to the deck and poured their drinks. “I trust this is acceptable,” she said as she set the tray with bottle and pitcher on the table beside them.

  “Delightful,” Sheffie replied.

  As darkness crawled from the east and secured its grip on the sky, the view changed from a pink-orange valley to thousands of tiny points of yellow light in a black velvet blanket surrounding a star-reflecting lake. The contrast between flickering yellow gaslights and twinkling white stars reflecting from the lake’s surface was mesmerizing.

  A delicious dinner was brought to their room not long after the sky turned black. It was beyond good, just what the doctor ordered for the two w
eary travelers.

  “We have nothing like this in Borderton,” Sheffie observed.

  “No. Wilsey has grown significantly since the last time I was here. Must be the result of being so close to the big city.”

  “If it’s this good here, Lisbon must be the next thing to heaven.”

  “It doesn’t get any better than this,” Jack said as he sipped his dark. The beer was as good a brew as he had ever tasted.

  To ward off the cool of evening, they wrapped themselves in covers snatched from the bed. The events of the day were still much on their minds and they talked little, preferring to sit and sip their drinks while staring at the city below and beyond.

  Jack appreciated a quality beer every now and then, but in moderation. Tonight, though, he pulled the rope for room service and another pitcher. The first one seemed to drain itself while he wasn’t watching.

  They sat there hour after hour. The night wore on and on, and the number of lights slowly diminished as the Lisbonese extinguished their house lamps for the evening. Sheffie’s eyes began to close. Jack was weary as well. Groggy and tired, they finally left the beauty of the deck for bed and sleep. The bed was soft, comfortable, and clean. They were conscious of it for only a few brief moments then morning came, all too quickly.

  “Wake up!” Sheffie said.

  “What?” Jack asked, startled out of sleep. “You’re up before me?”

  “We’re going to Lisbon today,” she proclaimed, as excited as a small child going out to play on a beautiful day. “I’m ready to get up and get there.”

  “What happened to all that sore and tired you had yesterday?”

  “Oh, it’s still there. I decided to ignore it.”

  Jack’s left eyebrow cocked, and he gave Sheffie his best evil stare. It didn’t work.

  “Get up, Jack Wheat. I’ve had my bath, and I’m almost ready to go. We’ve much to do.”

  Jack groaned and pulled his body up on the side of the bed while letting his legs fall to the floor. It was a struggle to get up. It was a struggle to walk. Still, it was far better than what he was used to on a hunt. By the time he got to the bath, he was Jack Wheat again, awake and alert. He had fully expected Sheffie to wake during the night, screaming and crying from nightmares about the Rhino. She hadn’t. He was surprised and impressed.

  Within minutes he was ready. Sheffie, on the other hand, was still getting dressed.

  “What did you wake me for,” he complained as he sat in a chair and waited.

  “Ohhhhh! This dress isn’t fitting like it did in the store.”

  “Looks fine to me.”

  “And you sleep in the desert for three weeks at a time.”

  “What’s that got to do with how your dress fits?”

  “Never mind. Help me with this...”

  “I’ll help you out of it.”

  “Not now, Jack Wheat. Lisbon is waiting for us.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “Oh! Be useful. Go check on the packhorse.”

  “That I can do. Back in a few minutes.”

  The hotel stable boy grinned widely as he offered to go get their packhorse, but Jack said he had seen Lobie’s work and wanted to meet the smithy. Jack stared at chipped and crooked teeth, with the occasional space where a tooth should have been, and wondered why someone with teeth that bad would smile at all.

  As Jack rode along, he passed people going about their everyday business. Many of them stopped to speak with Jack while others waved. Every one of them had the same wide grin the stable boy had worn, though most had better teeth. Jack had never seen such happy, smug people.

  He found the smith’s easily enough. It was outside of town, on the south side, some distance off the main road. Warped, cracked, and chipped gray boards made up the building. Through the open door, through knot holes, and through the wide spaces between some of the boards, Jack could see a fire roaring in the hearth. Lobie may have been the best metal worker Jack had ever seen based on Slim’s homebuilt, but his ability with construction and maintenance of a lumber building appeared to be lacking.

  Tying Killer to a leaning, weather-worn wood post, Jack walked into the smith's. Beside the fire, beating a piece of metal, was a balding man of medium height with a barrel chest immediately above a huge pot belly. It was the largest belly Jack had ever seen, by far. Strangely, it didn’t sag. It stuck straight out. The smith's shoulders were round and smooth and so large they looked like a hog's rump. After a closer look at the man and after watching him work for a moment, Jack realized that, except for the belly, much of the largeness was muscle, not fat. Though not tall, Lobie appeared to be a strong man.

  Jack walked close enough to get the smith's attention, and the wide, round man nodded. He continued to work until he had the piece shaped like he wanted, then he dipped it in water to cool it, steam hissing and swirling toward the tall ceiling. He lay down his tools.

  “How do, Mister,” the smith said when he finally turned. “Sorry. Had to finish while it was hot.”

  “Morning. I’m Jack Wheat. You shoed one of my horses last night.”

  The smith smiled wide and gave a quick swipe of his hands on a leather apron that was black almost everywhere except the edges and the straps across his bare shoulders, and even those had black streaks, then he stuck out one of the soot-black hands and said, “Lobie. Lobie Tate.”

  Jack shook the smithy’s thick hand and felt his own fingers being crushed. He tried to smile through the pain. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Reckon I've heard of you, Mr. Wheat,” the smith said as he released Jack's hand, smiling even more widely.

  Jack glanced down at his aching right hand. It was covered with black soot. “Perhaps so,” Jack responded. “How much for the….”

  “Yassur,” Lobie continued, ignoring Jack’s question. “I hear tell young Slim from jus’ down the road saved your woman’s life yesterday.”

  Oh crap! Jack thought. So that’s why everybody in Wilsey has a shit-eating grin on their face this morning. The story’s all over town. That’s just what I needed.

  “Slim, ah, was of some assistance yesterday,” he said. “He’s a fine young man.” Might as well compliment the locals.

  “The way I heared tell, it was more than jus’ assistance.”

  “Really? Interesting how stories get distorted. Ah, how much for the shoes?”

  “Oh, no charge, Mr. Wheat. I’m jus’ glad I was able to help you out.”

  It appeared his fame wasn’t so tarnished he couldn’t get a free shoe job. “I understand you’re busy, and I appreciate your taking the time to take care of this for me, Lobie.”

  “Yassur. I get a lot of work from Lisbon. Keeps me up late. I reckon I got a month’s work backed up now, and I’ll get more before the day’s out.”

  “The stable boy told me you did a lot of work for people in Lisbon. Why is that? There’s got to be several smiths in a city that big?”

  “Yassur. There’s a couple dozen or more. And they do a fine enough job on everyday work, but they can’t handle specialty jobs. I’ve built me some tools that allow me to forge and cast metal in ways none of them other guys can. And I got the eye. Makes my stuff a little more precise than the others. All the scientists in Lisbon send their hardest work to me. Them scientists are particular about the things they want. Take a look at this thingamajig, here. I’m not sure what it is, but it’ll show you what I mean.”

  Jack took the device Lobie handed him. There was a spring-loaded lever above a metal plate, both connected to other metal parts and a coil of wire. All of this was mounted on a nicely carved wooden board. The curves and arcs of the metal work were of the same quality as that in Slim Ryman’s homebuilt, if not better.

  “I’ve made a whole passel of these for the rangers, jus’ following the drawings. Something about people talking to each other from far off, in some sort of code, but I can’t figger how it works by jus’ lookin’ at it. They call it a switch, and it’s got s
omething to do with ‘lectricity. I don’t know nothing ‘bout no ‘lectricity. Wouldn’t know it if somebody put some in my hand. The thing’s called a tele... tele something. Les’see. Here’s the drawing right here.” Lobie smeared more black on an already soot-covered piece of paper, then announced, “Telegraph. That’s it. Says right here: Telegraph switch.”

  “I don’t know,” Jack said. “I’ve heard nothing about it. But the work is spectacular.”

  “Well, thankee, Mr. Wheat. Folks seem to think I’m might near the best around. Anywhere.”

  “Best I’ve ever seen,” Jack complimented honestly. “By far. Even the wood base is well done.”

  “Oh, Slim did that. He’s the wood man. I’m metal.”

  “He said you helped him forge the barrel on that cannon he carries.”

  “He forged? ‘Bout all Slim did was watch and try to tell me what to do. I ignored him and did it like it oughta been done. He does a right fine job on wood, though. But it’s hard to get him to help. Always wantin’ to run off and shoot Rhinos. Spec I’ll hafta learn how to do wood, too, before I’m done.”

  “So if you do so much work for the scientists in Lisbon, why don’t you move there?”

  “Lordy! I’d never get me no sleep if I did something like that. If’n I moved anywhere, it’d be further away!”

  They both laughed. “I see your point,” Jack said. “Thank you for the shoes.”

  “Sure ‘nuf. Your horse is in the stable out back. Help yourself if you don’t mind. I’ve got a passel of work piled up. Next time you pass through, stop by and visit a spell.”