"Yes sir. And that's why I can't pay my mortgage."
"Well now, Mr. Wickerman, you understand that the bank requires verification of claims of hardship."
"Come again?"
"There is considerable money involved. Although I'd like to simply take your word for everything you've said—and I don't mean to imply that I doubt you-we have procedures. There are forms to fill out. Then they have to be approved by the board of directors. Now, in order to initiate the process, I need to witness and attest to the accuracy of your testimony. It's a mere formality, but I'm afraid I'll need to come out to your homestead and look around."
Wickerman's eyes widened. "Are...are you sure that's necessary? You're such a busy man. You said so yourself."
Clausen stood up quickly and referred to his pocket watch. "As it happens, I'm free for the remainder of the day. I can hitch up my buggy and we can be off. The sooner we have it done, the sooner we can process your paperwork. Does that suit you, Mr. Wickerman?"
Wickerman rose slowly. He stared at his feet and turned his hat in his hands. "Well, I reckon if you have to."
"Good man." Clausen clapped the farmer on the shoulder as he passed. The banker was smiling grimly, eager to see this farm. Although Wickerman was a welcome and entertaining distraction, Clausen was looking forward to watching the farmer dangle at the end of his own falsehoods.
He felt almost giddy waiting at the livery stable for his buggy to be hitched. As he watched the stable hands work, he was formulating the exact phrasing with which he would regale audiences with this story. This tale would sustain him through many dinner parties; the frontier story to outpace all other frontier stories. But he would have to tell it just right or it would appear too garish and there would be those who would whisper that he had made it up. Told with the proper amount of sophisticated venom, when he returned home, it would mark him as a most witty fellow, a chap that any gentleman's club would welcome.
Clausen eagerly bid his horse to catch up to Wickerman and his mule as they plodded along the road out of town. Wickerman had little to say. Clausen tried to elicit some discussion by asking if that was the mule Wickerman had used when he plowed up blood or that he'd left in the alfalfa field when he was chased by the scarecrows. Wickerman sullenly grunted that it was. After a few minutes, Clausen gave up on conversation and rode along gaily whistling a cheerful tune.
Finally, after an hour on the trail, Wickerman looked over his shoulder and said, "My place is over the next rise."
Clausen smiled, snapping the reins and clucking his horse a little faster. When the buggy topped the rise, he thrilled to see acres of lush green corn spread out before him. He laughed out loud; it was better than he had hoped. The rich, shimmering fields stretched for miles. They turned off the main trail and traveled on for nearly a half hour along a narrow dirt road with beautiful corn rustling on each side of them. Wrens and swallows darted through the sky. Then the corn gave way to waving fields of exquisite, bursting alfalfa ready for cutting.
Clausen reined up in the yard of a farmhouse. It was a shocking contrast to the grand fields. It was a dilapidated, sod shack with ragged pieces of canvas covering the windows. Likewise, the nearby barn was a sagging hulk of mismatched, rough planks. Next to it was a tumbledown well surrounded by collapsing stones.
Clausen hopped from the buggy as Wickerman slid from the back of his mule. Clearly, he thought as he stretched out the kinks in his back, Wickerman was a typical farmer. Surrounded by lush fields, he had nothing more to show for it than a worthless hut and a ramshackle barn. Then he stumbles into town on his broken down mule and expects clemency from his own ineptitude.
Clausen smiled and brushed dirt off his shoes. "Your crops seem quite impressive, Mr. Wickerman. And is that the sound of hogs I hear?"
"Yes. I...uh...got some new ones."
Clausen strolled toward the barn, hands clasped behind his back. "So, may I see the scorched hoof prints left by the electric bull?
Wickerman loped after the banker. "Well sir, I raked up around the barn the other day. And he hasn't been around lately."
"Oh. What a shame. And the bloody fifty acres?"
"That field yonder." Wickerman pointed to a glorious stand of alfalfa a quarter mile beyond a tumbledown stone well at the corner of the barn. "But it turned over pretty well this year."
"No blood then?" Clausen asked.
"No sir." Then Wickerman quickly added, "So far."
Clausen stopped and faced the farmer. "Frankly, Mr. Wickerman, I'm at a loss to see evidence of your hardship. Your fields are a virtual paradise."
Wickerman took a deep breath. "Sir, I promise you, I'm not just poor mouthing. This year has been pretty good. But last year was so bad it left me strapped for ready money. And harvest is a month off yet. A whole lot could happen between now and then. If everything goes fine, I'll have enough to pay what I owe then."
"I'm sure." Clausen leaned against the stone well and smiled smugly. "You've had a wonderful change of fortune."
"Yes sir. That there well helped. I found it this spring."
"Is that right?" Clausen turned and leaned over to peer down into the dark. He smelled something strange, sulfurous and foul. He cringed. Whatever ridiculous lies Wickerman told about his "failing" farm, the fool had indeed dug into bad water. "How much water does it draw?"
Clausen could see reflections in the black water below him. It wasn't a very deep well. But no, he wasn't seeing water. There was something moving. It looked like the churning of large glutinous rolls of something viscous and scabrous. Clausen didn't understand what he was seeing. He squinted to get a better look, so he didn't feel the axe cleave through the back of his head.
"Well sir, it's not so much the water it draws," Wickerman explained to the twitching cadaver, "as it is the ancient god that lives in there. It really turned my luck around. Ask any of my neighbors and they'll tell you the same thing. Course they're all dead too."
He set the axe aside and sleeved the blood and brains off his face. He hefted Clausen's warm body and dropped it down the well. From below there was the familiar rubbery chafing sound followed by the snapping of bones. A satisfied groan emerged from the pit.
Wickerman picked up the axe. "Well, I reckon I can put in some oats this year after all. Providin' the crick don't rise."
A LOAD OF BULL
By John "Night Train" Goff The door burst inward and two men dressed in long dusters strode across its splintered remains. The sound of their boots echoed across the wooden floor and a pair of scatterguns swept the hotel room. Nothing stirred except for the dust kicked up by their entrance. The room's only window was covered with a piece of burlap so only a dim, sepia-colored light leaked in. One man, the older of the two by far, motioned toward the bed on the opposite wall. His companion walked to it, and being careful to keep his weapon between himself and the darkness, crouched to look underneath.
"It's clear. I thought you said it'd be here." He stood up and looked around the abandoned room. His eyes caught the outline of a closet in the shadows. He nodded at the door, directing his partner's gaze to it. The older man stepped into the room and positioned himself to cover the door. The younger man tried the knob and with a loud creak the door slowly swung open. Both tightened their grips on their scatterguns in anticipation.
Nothing rushed out from the shadows at them—the closet was empty "Damn. I figured it was sure to be here." The older man pushed his dusty hat back on his head and adjusted the patch over his right eye. "Well, to Hell with it. Let's burn the place down and be done with it. Probably should have done that in the first place anyway."
He felt a drop of liquid hit his hand as he pushed his hat back into place. Slowly, he looked up to the ceiling of the room. Clinging to the wood over his head was a vaguely man-like shape. Pinpricks of red light shone from its eyes and he knew they'd found what they'd come looking for-or, rather, it had found them!
"Look out!" he yelled as he started to bring his gun u
p to fire. As quick as his reflexes were, the thing on the ceiling was faster. And it had gravity on its side. The monster released its grip with its hands and swung down onto him like some enormous rat trap. Luckily, the force of the impact tossed him across the room and out of the monster's grasp.
His partner let loose with both barrels as soon as he was clear and the monster was knocked down onto the bed, momentarily off-balance. He'd lost his own shotgun when the monster hit him, so he drew his pistol and fired several shots point-blank into the thing's gut. The .45 slugs wouldn't do the abomination any serious harm, but he hoped they would keep the thing occupied until his partner got the scattergun reloaded.
They didn't.
The thing stood up from the bed so fast he'd have sworn it was on a hinge. It swatted the six-shooter from his hand and grabbed the front of his duster. In its gaping mouth, he could see the monster's overlong incisors and smell its rotted breath as it moved toward his neck. He fumbled for the belly-gun he carried in a shoulder holster.
"Hey!" The monster hesitated at the sound of his partner's voice, but didn't turn away. Then it saw the smile on the man's face in front of it and stole a glance over its shoulder. Just in time to see the younger man pull the burlap from the window, letting in the accursed rays of the sun.
"Not bad, Cross," said the one-eyed man as he dusted the remains of the nosferatu off his duster. "But I was startin' to wonder if I was goin' to have to handle that one myself."
"Thanks, Lt. Ketchum," the young man answered. "It caught me a little off-guard, that's all."
"You got to be ready for that in this line of work, son." He retrieved his shotgun and looked around the room one last time. "Well, that's got to be the last of them. Let's set this place to burn."
It took the two Texas Rangers about an hour to get a good blaze going in the community of Holmwood, Texas. The vampire they'd killed had been the last of a small band that had overrun the town. Not a single soul was left alive.
"I appreciate you showin' me the ropes, Lt. Ketchum." Seth Cross reined in his horse beside Ketchum's outside the burning town.
"Don't make much sense to throw you young fellers to the wolves with a little bit of book learnin' and a copy of the Ranger's Bible. You want a chaw?" Ketchum held a twist of tobacco toward the younger man.
"No thanks, sir. We're not settin' camp near hear are we?"
"Not by a long shot, son," Ketchum wheeled his horse toward the west. "I'm pretty sure we got all them bloodsuckers, but Mrs. Ketchum didn't raise her boy to be no fool. I'll sleep better after we've got some miles between us and this place."
The men rode into the late afternoon sun until it dipped below the horizon. A pillar of smoke behind them marked the passing of Holmwood until night overtook the Rangers. That night, as the last embers of the fire were dying, Seth heard the rumbling of distant thunder.
Or so he thought.
***
Two days after leaving Holmwood they sighted a solitary wagon rolling toward them. As the Rangers drew closer, they saw it was a brightly painted medicine show being driven by a man in a dusty white suit and top hat.
"Good day to you fine gentleman!" called the man in a voice just a few notes shy of a warbling falsetto. He tipped his hat to them and reined in his team when they approached. "It certainly is a fine day to be traveling across God's country, isn't it?"
"Afternoon, Mr..." Ketchum leaned forward and read the name painted boldly on the medicine wagon, "...excuse me, Dr. Endicott. It sure is a good day for a ride, ain't it? Mind if I ask where you're headin'?"
"Why of course not, my good man! I am currently en route to the prairie metropolis of Holmwood, where I understand they're in dire need of my libations. You gentleman would do well to consider a prescription as well, I might add."
"Let me guess," Seth interrupted, "Cures gout, consumption, the vapors and a number of sundry lesser complaints. Right?"
"Not only that, but it will also put the starch back in your stride, young fellow! And all I'm asking in exchange for a bottle of this miracle of modern science is a mere half-dollar!"
"I'm afraid we're going to have disappoint you Dr. Endicott," Ketchum said, ignoring the sales pitch, "but if you're headin' to Holmwood, you're wastin' your time. There ain't nobody there -the place burnt down a little while ago. I reckon the folks just packed up and moved to greener pastures."
"Oh my, what a tragedy. Perhaps then, I might trouble you and your young partner to allow me to travel with you to the next bastion of civilization?" His head tilted ever so slightly, and the movement reminded Seth of a snake trying to hypnotize a bird. "I would feel much safer in the companionship of a pair of Texas Rangers than wandering this wasteland alone."
"How'd you..." Seth looked down and saw his badge poking out from under his duster. "Oh."
Ketchum was quiet for a moment, as if considering his option. Seth saw a sour look cross his eye for a moment; no doubt he figured the man would be trouble if they ran into any more infested towns. But, apparently the other options were less appealing to the old Ranger.
"You'd be welcome, Dr. Endicott," he said. "As long as you promise not to try to sell me any of your 'medicine.'"
"I still don't understand why we don't just ride into town if we're that close," Endicott argued. "You hardy gentlemen may relish the thought of another night in the wilderness, but I for one have always had a weakness for the comforts of civilization. Particularly after that thunder we heard last night-I'm certain a storm is soon to break!"
"Nah, Doc. I think we'll wait this one out and head in tomorrow morning." Ketchum was already dismounting. "I've never been comfortable ridin' in to a place I haven't gotten a look at in the daylight. You never know what sort of folks you might be shackin' up with."
'"Sides, Dr. Endicott," Seth added, "I hear tell there's a bout of the tummy twisters goin' around and we don't want to risk gettin' a case of it. We wait 'til tomorrow and we'll be able to tell if the fine folks of Ruthven are infected before we sample their water."
"Infected indeed!" Endicott exclaimed. "That's ludicrous! And if such were the case, I assure you my elixir would prove efficacious against the affliction!"
"Tell you what, Doc. You take the first drink—you get sick, we'll give you a swig of your snake oil," Ketchum offered as he began loosening his saddle. The old Ranger chuckled as Endicott stammered and sputtered for an answer. Eventually, the man huffed a final protest and then unhitched his team.
"I'll pitch my bed under the wagon tonight," Endicott announced to no one in particular. "Unless, of course, Mr. Ketchum, you object?" The Ranger shook his head and chuckled again as he walked off to scrounge firewood. After Ketchum departed, Endicott walked to where Seth was picketing the horses.
"Mr. Cross," Endicott began, "surely you don't expect me to believe that bit of extemporaneous speech about tummy twisters. Why are you gentlemen so reluctant to enter Ruthven tonight?"
"Sir, with all due respect, it really don't matter too much to me or Lt. Ketchum what you do and do not believe." Seth continued his work as he spoke to the snake oil salesman. "The fact of the matter is, if Lt. Ketchum says we're not goin' into Ruthven tonight, you may as well find yourself a comfortable patch of ground."
"Why, do you wish to imply the two of you would attempt to deprive me of my legal, and I dare say God-given, right to freedom?"
"Nothin' of the sort, sir. If you want to part ways, you're more than welcome to at any time, day or night."
"Well, well," Endicott clucked, "I have always heard stories about the bravery of the mighty Texas Rangers. Perhaps the tales are, shall we say...exaggerated?"
"I hope you ain't implyin' either me or the Lieutenant are yeller, Doctor." Seth stopped his chores to face to face the man.
"Oh no! The thought never crossed my mind, my dear young man. I was merely stating that the two of you seem overly concerned about a minor stomach ailment." Endicott leaned conspiratorially close to the young Ranger. "There wouldn't be somethi
ng you weren't telling me would there, Mr. Cross?"
Seth's expression told Endicott there was indeed more to the story and he pressed his attack. "I can't help but wonder what would have not one, but two of the legendary Texas Rangers prowling around this God-forsaken wasteland. Surely, it's something of great import to have been trusted to the likes of Lt. Ketchum and you.'
"Uh, well..."
"Mr. Cross, you needn't worry yourself about my discretion." The salesman pounced on his indecision like a hawk onto a field mouse. "I'm as trustworthy a soul as ever walked the face of this Earth. Besides, in a way you're both endangering my personal safety by keeping the truth from me. Suppose I were to come to harm through my ignorance-imagine the guilt that would haunt you until your dying days! Poor Dr. Endicott doomed for lack of the simple courtesy of the truth..."
"I don't think Lt. Ketchum would-"
"Psah! We're both grown men in full possession of our faculties; I hardly think we need Mr. Ketchum to nursemaid our sensibilities." Endicott cocked his head and held his hand to his mouth in a mock whisper. "Just between you and me, I believe the good Lieutenant uses the veil of 'official secrecy' to reinforce his own authority. After all, it's obvious to me you're easily his intellectual equal and capable of making sound decisions on your own."
"No, the Lieutenant's in charge-"
"Only as long as we remain with him, Mr. Cross," Endicott said. "Did it ever occur to you Mr. Ketchum may have other reasons for keeping secrets from a respectable and honest businessman like myself? There is quite a profitable market for items of exotic origin, particularly for one with my knowledge and connections. Perhaps Mr. Ketchum desires to secure such for himself and prevent free trade from running its natural course."
"I'm sure that's not the case here, Doctor. If you understood what we were up against, you'd realize it was for your own good."
"Mayhap I would, Mr. Cross," Endicott conceded. "However, since you so obstinately insist on keeping me in the dark, how can I be expected to make such an assumption? Hmmm?"
Deadlands: For a Few Dead Guys More Page 6
