Deadlands: For a Few Dead Guys More

by Shane Lacy Hensley

  "You bein' an educated man, Endicott, I'm sure you know what they say about a fellow who sticks his noses where don't belong?" Ketchum's voice boomed from behind the snake oil salesman. "They say that fellow had best learn to breathe through his mouth real quick 'cause he's liable to find his nose clogged with another man's fist."

  "Uh...Why Hello Mr.-Lt. Ketchum!" He straightened up and spun around so quick Seth expected him to fall over. "We were just discussing guard shifts for the evening."

  "That's mighty thoughtful of you, Endicott. But to tell the truth I wouldn't trust you to watch paint dry, so why don't you run along and make yourself useful startin' a cook fire." The old Ranger indicated the small pile of wood he'd just carried into the camp. As the man stalked over to the woodpile muttering indignations, Ketchum looked at Seth. The young recruit looked sheepishly at the ground and hurried to finish the last of his chores.

  That night the rumblings were so loud, Seth was sure they were in the path of the granddaddy of all thunderstorms. The din had a menacing quality he'd never heard in Nature-almost as if the racket were being made by something searching for them out on the plains.

  And it was getting closer every night.

  ***

  The small group rode out for Ruthven early the next morning. Ketchum had them up and moving before the sun climbed over the eastern horizon. Endicott griped and grumbled as they broke camp, but not as much as Seth would have expected. He figured the man was hoping to finally shed the two Rangers in the small town—or at least earn enough to make his suffering worthwhile.

  The day was just beginning to warm when they reached the edge of the little railroad town. It looked like Ketchum's hunch had been right; just like Holmwood, Ruthven was eerily quite. If they'd been characters in a dime novel, Seth guessed tumbleweeds would have been rolling down the town's one street. As it was, a door occasionally clattered against its frame in the light morning breeze. Curtains drifted in and out of open windows, and nothing indicated life of any sort still existed in Ruthven.

  "The citizens of Ruthven certainly enjoy their rest," Endicott said, breaking the silence. "A trait others could profit by emulating, I might add. Gentlemen, it's been educational sharing the past few days with you, but I believe I'll be taking my leave from you now. I see one establishment that is sure to be open for business. Adieu!" The snake oil salesman drove his team toward the town's one saloon.

  "You think that train passed through here?" Seth asked.

  "Son, I'm damn near sure of it. The real question is if they left any of their breed behind. They're usually pretty careful about that, but this last train seems to have gotten a little sloppy."

  "Shouldn't we warn Dr. Endicott?"

  "Nah. I reckon those bloodsuckers would pucker up and choke on that skinflint. Besides, long as he doesn't go pokin' around in closets, he won't run into anything in the daylight. Let's check the station first and then start rootin' any stragglers out."

  * Endicott found the saloon unlocked, but empty of either customers or proprietor. The establishment was fairly standard in construction, with a bar along one wall and a balcony leading to rented rooms along the back. A pair of doors, presumably to the kitchen and owner's quarters, were under the balcony. After no one answered his calls for service, he waited patiently at the bar for what seemed a reasonable time, then poured himself a glass of whiskey. While he was behind the bar, he took the opportunity to check the cash box and relieve it of the $50 or so he found within.

  He pondered the absence of other patrons and found himself wondering if there wasn't something to Ketchum's warning about tummy twisters after all. Whatever the cause, it did appear the town was deserted. Before his next drink he paused for a moment and examined the liquid inside. It looked normal and still had the same strong aroma. Alcohol was a pretty good disinfectant if he remembered his chemistry right, so he finished it and poured a second.

  Carrying his glass, he walked over to the plate glass window facing the street. He casually looked down the street to where he'd left the Rangers. They were no longer there; apparently off chasing whatever goose that half-blind old coot had set his sights on in this no-horse town.

  "My dear Dr. Endicott," he said to himself, "I do believe I hear opportunity knocking and it would be terribly rude of me to leave the poor girl standing out in the cold."

  "Let me see..." he chuckled. "If I were a yokel in this desolate hole, where would I hide my valuables? Why, of course! The closets!"

  "Sir," Seth asked as they entered the tiny station, "Why hasn't anyone noticed these empty towns?"

  "Likely they have. Most of the time the trains stick to the side rails and spurs—less likely they'll run into serious resistance that way. But, even so, there's more folks around out here than it looks like. Some people come across a town like this, they figure it's just died out like any of a hundred others. Some might guess it was Indians or bandits what did the deed, and a few might even realize there's something worse behind it but are too scart to stick around."

  "Why don't those nosferatu spread outside these towns?"

  "Well, I ain't no expert, but the way I see it, they can't cover much ground. Horses won't go near 'em and it's a fair piece between most settlements out here. You saw what happens when they get caught in sunlight. That's a real drawback out here in the West. They got nowhere to hide come morning, they're toast."

  "That's why they stick to the trains, then. They can hide in the cars during the day and cover a lot of ground, right?"

  "Yep," Ketchum flipped through the stationmaster's log. "We usually get a handle on those trains pretty quick if they don't get into the Disputed Territories right away. Every now and then one of 'em gives a run for the money like this one has. If Fitzhugh Lee's boys hadn't caught it out in New Mexico we might be doin' more than just cleanin' up its leavin's here."

  "Find anything in the book?"

  "Nothin'. Let's start checkin' the town before Endicott gets himself into trouble. That one's got more wind than a bull in green corn time and I trust him less than a smilin' Yankee with one hand behind his back."

  As if on cue, a scream ripped through the ghost town.

  ***

  They found Endicott on all fours outside the saloon heaving up what was left of his breakfast. Otherwise, he appeared unharmed.

  "What the Hell happened?" Ketchum asked the man none too gently. "From all your caterwaulin', I half expected to find you bein' scalped!"

  "There's a body in the saloon," Endicott coughed and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. Then, seeing the mess he'd made on his suit grimaced in disgust. "I can guarantee you what happened to that man was not the result of any gastrointestinal dysfunction, Lieutenant."

  The Rangers strode into the saloon, with the snake oil salesman right behind. "He's in the back room," he directed.

  The body had obviously had a week or so to ripen in the summer heat. Seth unconsciously winced from the pungent odor. The cause of death was clear-its throat was gouged so deep it was almost severed. Ketchum crouched next to the corpse and carefully turned the head with his hand. He pushed his hat back on his forehead and looked around the room.

  "Broken neck," he said after a moment.

  "You must be joking, my good man," Endicott scoffed. "Any fool could see that poor soul has had his throat ripped out!'

  "But apparently any fool can't see that happened after he was already dead," Ketchum countered. "Otherwise, there would be a whole lot more blood on the floor. My guess is a coyote or wolf got in here shortly after he died and had at the body."

  Endicott looked thoughtfully at the Ranger. He knew there was more going on than Ketchum was telling him, but he was also pretty sure he wouldn't be able to weasel it out of the man.

  "Endicott, you'd best stay here in the saloon while Cross and me check out the rest of the town. Broken neck or not, somethin' killed this feller and we'd best make sure things is safe before you go wanderin' around."

  "Lieutenant," he said as Ket
chum passed him in the doorway, "you knew something besides the 'tummy twister' was going on in this town last night, didn't you? That's why we stayed outside on the prairie."

  "I don't know what you're talkin' about," the one-eyed Ranger answered just a tad too slowly. "If you've got time to be second guessin' me, I reckon you got the time to drag that feller out to the street. And don't go pokin' around until I say it's okay."

  "I'd never dream of doing anything of the sort, my good man," he answered. After the two lawmen departed, Endicott added in a whisper, "At least not while there's a chance you'll catch me..."

  ***

  Neither Seth nor Ketchum found evidence that the vampires had left any of their kind behind. With the exception of a prisoner in the local jail who'd apparently starved to death after the raid, the man in the saloon was the only body in the entire town of Ruthven.

  "How come there are so few bodies here, sir?" Seth asked when they finished their sweep.

  "Looks like the things were just fillin' their larder. Sometimes, if the town's small enough, those suckers will round up all the folks and stick 'em in a freight car. There's enough open spaces out here to where they might not find another meal for a couple of days or more."

  "Oh, jeez, I don't think I needed to know that..."

  "You'll see worse, son, trust me. I figure the one that caught that feller in the saloon was feelin' a might peckish and grabbed a quick snack. That poor fool in the jail on the other hand might have just been overlooked—those things get hungry enough, iron bars won't keep 'em out."

  The two headed back toward the saloon. "What do you plan on tellin' Dr. Endicott?" Seth asked.

  "No more than I have to-which is precious little when you get right down to it. Don't go talkin' to him more than you have to either. That feller's as slippery as spit on a glass doorknob and sure as shootin' he's tryin' to find a way to turn this situation to his advantage. And as to that 'Doctor' business, he's no more a doctor than I am a preacher."

  "I guess we'd best get saddled up and head out soon," Seth said, checking the sun's position in the sky. "Looks like we've only got about an hour or so before night."

  "We ought to be safe enough stayin' here tonight, long as we keep a guard." Ketchum added with a grin, '"Sides, I'd like to rest this old back on one of them feather beds I saw back there in the saloon."

  "Well, Lieutenant," Endicott said, pushing himself back from the saloon table, "for all our differences, I must admit you do make a fine plate of beans."

  "I'll let you in on a little secret-the special ingredient is a shot of sourmash whiskey. Nothin' else gives them quite the same kick, if you know what I mean." He winked at Seth with his good eye. "And if you don't now, you will in about a half-hour."

  "While you're expounding on the secrets of your culinary talents, Lieutenant, why don't you enlighten me on what happened here? I think every man at this table knows there's more to the demise of Ruthven than a mere disease. After all, what disease breaks-or rips out—a man's neck?"

  "Endicott, I'd hoped we'd gotten past this..."

  "The easy way to accomplish that is to stop lying to me, Lt. Ketchum," the snake oil salesman replied. "I'm no simple bumpkin who'll believe what ever excuse you concoct. I know a con when I see one."

  "I guess you would," the Ranger said. "The only victim of foul play we've seen was the man in the back. It looks like everyone else left—probably by train. Could be a case of polluted water chased those folks out of town and the saloon owner stuck around just long enough to get himself offed by bandits." Seth noted Ketchum had not once told a direct lie; he talked around the truth and spoke in suppositions.

  Still, it didn't quite fool Endicott. "I took the liberty of examining the man after you left," he began. "Perhaps the reason there was so little blood from his terrible wound is he had almost no blood left in his body at all. What kind of bandit steals blood and leaves money in the cash box, Lieutenant?"

  Seth feared the man had cornered them, but he lacked the older Ranger's savvy in redirecting a line of questioning.

  "Money still in the cash box, eh Endicott?" he asked and focused his single eye on the salesman. "How much would I find if I walked over there and counted it right now?"

  The con man realized he'd slipped. "Well, I... none, of course. I took it for, uh, safe keeping. I fully intended to turn all $20 over to you, but I was distracted when you returned."

  "I see. And if I checked the account ledger I saw back in the kitchen, I'm sure that I'd find $20 as the amount listed as cash-on-hand."

  "Oh, did I say $20?" Endicott asked nervously. "I meant $50. Why, let me just give that to you now so I don't forget later." He dug into his pocket and pulled out a roll of bills. "There you are Lieutenant." Under his breath he added, "Don't spend it all in one place."

  Seth gathered the plates and carried them to the kitchen. Ketchum leaned back and propped his feet up on the table with a satisfied sigh.

  "Endicott, just knowin' there's fine upstandin' folk like you in the world makes my work so much more satisfyin'." He chuckled to himself.

  "Glad to oblige, my good Lieutenant. Perhaps someday I'll be able to repay you for the services you've rendered me during our short sojourn." With that he rose and walked out onto the sidewalk.

  Not five minutes later all Hell broke loose.

  ***

  When the rumbling started, Seth thought north Texas was having a Great 'Quake of its own. The pots and plates clattered to the kitchen floor and he had to steady himself on the door as he rushed back into the saloon's main room.

  "What's going on, sir?" he yelled over the din. "Is it a twister?"

  "No, boy, I don't think we're that lucky," Ketchum answered. "I just got a real bad feelin' about this-like somethin's about to roll over top of us."

  Incredibly, the racket increased, shaking bottles and glasses off the shelves behind the bar. The trademark mirror on the back wall split down the middle with a loud crack. Ketchum stood from his chair, a look of understanding slowly dawning on his face.

  "Stampede!" he yelled, diving across the bar as a wave of steers poured through the window at the front.

  Seth started to reach for his pistol but realized just how useless his gun was going to be against the wall of cattle rushing across the room. Instead, he climbed onto a nearby table and jumped for the railing of the balcony above. He swung his legs up just as the first of the creatures hurtled beneath him.

  A pair of horns crashed through the bar near Ketchum and began ripping at the paneling-apparently in an effort to reach the one-eyed Ranger! The beast seemed extraordinarily powerful, even for a bull longhorn. Ketchum, staying low behind the bar, scampered to the opposite length to where it was closest the stairs to the second floor. The broken glass littering the floor rewarded him with a number of nicks and cuts for his efforts, but those were far preferable to what the maddened steer behind him would do if it managed to gore him on its horns.

  He reached the end and weighed the odds of making the short dash across to the staircase. A loud bellow behind him as the huge longhorn broke through the bar made the choice for him. Ketchum leapt up and sprinted for the stairs. Suddenly, from his left a steer charged and he braced for the impact.

  Rather than pin him against the wall and crush his ribs, the beast passed through him!

  "What the...?" he exclaimed, but he didn't pause to mull over the odd occurrence. Two more steps and a quick hop deposited him on the stairs, however, his pursuer from the bar wasn't far behind. Nor did it seem to be as intangible as the other creature. It crashed into the railing at the base of the staircase and splintered it into so many toothpicks.

  Ketchum scrambled up the steps and the creature's horns prevented it from negotiating the narrow staircase. A pair of shots rang out from the balcony above as his partner drew a bead on the monster. He dragged himself over the top step and sat down.

  "I don't think my six-shooter did much besides piss it off, sir," Seth said, indicating th
e huge bull still trying to tear its way up the stairs.

  "Neither do I, son-though I do appreciate the thought. I'm afraid we might have ourselves a situation here."

  After a few minutes, the men became accustomed to the sound of the torrent of cattle rampaging below. They had to shout to understand each other, but the initial confusion was wearing off.

  "I've never seen stampede this size before," Seth commented.

  "I ain't neither. I think there may be more to it than just a passel of angry cows out for a romp."

  "What do you mean?" the younger Ranger asked. "You think somebody set this onto us on purpose?"

  "Not necessarily somebody-more like something," Ketchum answered. "Remember that rumblin' we've been hearin' since Holmwood? Maybe this bunch has been lookin' for us since then."

  "No offense, sir, but a bunch of cows huntin' a pair of Rangers? Don't that seem a little, well, odd?"

  "It would, except I don't think these are longhorns-at least not normal ones," Ketchum replied. "When I was down there, one of them ran clean through me. You dodged a couple of 'em gettin' up here yourself-did any hit you?"

  "Nope, but they came close enough for me to tell they'd have put a hurtin' on me if they did," Seth pointed at the crushed tables below. "I don't think a ghost-cow would smash up tables and bust out windows and doors."

  "I'll grant you that, but they didn't so much as dirty my clothes. Take a gander at that big, ugly, black cuss at the base of the stairs. He ain't stopped lookin' at me since I got up here. Tell me you seen a cow like that before, longhorn or not"

  Seth had to admit he hadn't. The thing was the size of a steer, had four hooves and horns, but something about it wasn't right.

  "It's too skinny," Ketchum said. "Like it ain't a bull at all, just somethin' else that's tryin' to look like one."

  The thing had a narrower body and longer legs than any cow Seth had encountered. It was solid black and its horns were overlong and bone-colored. As he looked closer, he saw it's hide was covered with thick knots or bumps and what he'd first taken to be clumps of hair appeared to be long spines, like a porcupines, but much longer.