"I got a closer view of it than I'd have wanted," Ketchum continued. "It's got teeth more like a wolf's than a steer's. The strangest thing is—and I can't put my finger on it—but I'd almost swear there's somethin' familiar about it."
"I think you'd remember it if you'd seen that thing before, sir."
"Yep, I would," Ketchum said and motioned Seth away from the balcony into the back hallway.
"Listen," he continued in a lower voice, "we old-timers don't talk much about it, but there ain't that many of us that have been wearin' a star a long time. Seems the best Rangers tend to disappear after a while. One time they just don't return from a mission—they finish it, but somewhere between there and home, they just drop off the face of the earth. It ain't no fairytale told to scare the young recruits neither. A good friend of mine, Sgt. Bill Branham vanished like that."
"You think that thing's got somethin' to do with it?" Seth wasn't sure what Ketchum was trying to say. "A cow has been killin' all those Rangers?"
"Not a cow, boy-you ain't payin' attention. That thing ain't a cow, it might try to look like a cow, but it ain't. What I'm getting' at, is I don't think it's after you. But I think it, or those other phantoms with it, would just as soon kill you as look at you."
"Sir-what about Dr. Endicott?"
Ketchum sighed. "I didn't think too much of that feller, but unless his feet are faster'n his mouth... He went outside just before those things hit. I doubt he made it."
Right then, a shudder rocked the second floor of the saloon. Both men struggled to keep their feet as another tremor tore through the building.
"They're trying to bring the building down!" Seth yelled.
"Damn straight! I knew that thing was smarter than it looked!" His eyes darted left and right, examining their surroundings. "If we had a rifle, I think we could take the thing down."
"Shame they're all downstairs, sir. I should have brought them up to the rooms before we ate."
"No use cryin' over spilt milk, son," Ketchum said. "Since those phantoms don't seem to affect me, I'm going to try to make it over the rooftops to the stables and get our horses. It's only a couple of buildings down and I ain't never seen a longhorn that could keep up with a good filly! You stay put, they should let up once I clear out-just be ready to bolt when I get back!"
A third impact below shook the saloon and Seth saw a portion of the balcony collapse into the main room.
"You'd better hurry, sir! I'll see if I can't distract that thing while you make a break for it." Ketchum nodded a room on the side of the building closest to the stable. After reloading the rounds he'd fired earlier, Seth moved cautiously to the front of the hallway to look for the black steer.
It—along with the rest of the ghostly herd-was gone.
Hank Ketchum climbed out onto the roof of the porch surrounding three sides of the saloon. Looking across the 10-foot gap to the next building, he wondered if it wasn't time to consider a new line of work. Something less dangerous, like robbing trains at knife-point or buffalo hunting in the Sioux Nations.
He got as much of a run as he could and leapt over the small alley between the two buildings. As he guessed, his aging legs weren't quite up to the task and he fell short of clearing the gap. He smacked into the wall just below the roof, but managed to catch the edge with his hands and haul himself up.
Once he'd pulled himself to the top, he took a moment to rest and gather his wind. Ketchum noticed the sound of the phantom stampede had stopped. At least that part of his scheme seemed to be working. Now all he had to do was jump a few more canyons like that last one and they'd be in the clear. While he was at it, he figured he'd end the War and find a way to turn lead into ghost rock too.
Luckily, the next building was lower than the one he was jumping from and a little closer, so he didn't have too much trouble clearing the alley. Since he hadn't seen any sign of the black steer or it's ghostly followers, he decided to exercise a little discretion and drop down from the roof rather than risk the last jump.
He paused in the shadows under the building's eaves, but still heard nothing to indicate the monster was stalking him. Hopping over the side of a small corral behind the stable, he approached the stable from the rear. The Ranger drew his pistol—it might not do much good against the black steer, but at least it made him feel a little more confident.
He opened the back door a crack and slipped inside. The stink of blood and voided bowels immediately assailed him. His eyes adjusted gradually to the faint light filtering in through the open doors at the front of the stable. Finally, he could make out the mutilated remains of their horses scattered and strewn over the stable. Apparently the thing hunting him was smart enough to cut off their escape route.
Moving cautiously through the gore-spattered building, he made his way to the front. He crept to the open door with his pistol still drawn to check the main street. As he neared the exit, he heard a deep snort and the bull stepped from a stall between him and the street.
It lowered its head and charged.
***
Seth dropped down from the ruined balcony onto the remains of a table. The uneven footing caused him to lose his balance and he landed hard on his backside. He scuttled back against the wall and pulled his pistol, expecting an attack at any moment.
Nothing charged him.
Feeling more than a little foolish, Seth stood up and dusted himself off. His first order of business was to round up the rifles-with those, he and the Lieutenant might be able to send that black bull back to whatever Hell it came from. He headed toward the kitchen where he'd left the rifles when they were fixing dinner earlier.
The kitchen was a shambles; apparently the spectral stampede had raged through here as well. He saw right away the guns weren't where he'd left them. He'd propped them against a table near the door, but they were nowhere to be found.
"Damn!" he exclaimed and crouched down to look under the tables and furniture in the room.
"I suppose you're looking for those fine Winchester rifles you left here earlier, Mr. Cross." The voice startled Seth and he stood up so fast he delivered a nasty crack to his head. Standing in the doorway to the saloon's main room was Dr. Endicott.
"Doc, it's good to see you," he said with a sigh of relief. "We'd given you up for dead after those things started raisin' Hell in here!"
"Oh, I suppose you did. I imagine the good Lieutenant was quite relieved—that would have saved him an embarrassing explanation as to the true nature of affairs wouldn't it?" Endicott's voice was almost a whisper.
"I'm not sure what you mean, Doc," Seth said. "You alright? You sound a little off your oats."
"I'm as right as rain, lad. Better, in fact, than I've ever been I imagine."
"You see the rifles? This might sound a little crazy, but there's this black bull, meaner than the Devil himself, runnin' loose and our pistols just don't pack the wallop to put that thing down."
"Why, of course I have, my fine Ranger! I retrieved them myself—I was certain one of you would come looking for them. I have them right out here." He stepped back from the doorway into the saloon's main room. Seth followed the snake oil salesman and found himself staring down the barrel of one of the Winchesters.
"Doc," he said nervously, "be careful—that thing's loaded!"
"Oh, I hope so, Mr. Cross! I do so hope so."
"What's going on? We ain't got time for this sort of Tomfoolery!"
"I beg to differ, young man," Endicott countered. "On the contrary, I believe you have the rest of your life to conduct this business. You see, you were correct in your guess earlier. I didn't survive the original onslaught—I died as a result of Lt. Ketchum's secrecy. Now, I'm going to return the favor."
"Now," he continued, "if you would be so kind as to drop your paltry sidearm, Mr. Cross?"
***
Ketchum back-pedaled into a stall and vaulted over the side as the bull charged after him. He quickly slammed the stall door and threw the latch. While the creatu
re was momentarily trapped in the confines, he ran for the door. On the way out, he caught sight of an axe on the wall and a plan began to form in his mind. He grabbed the tool and ran into main street, heading back to the saloon.
The monster thrashed against its flimsy prison. Its supernatural strength snapped the boards of the stall like sticks, but even so it took the creature a few moments to free itself from the confines of the stall. It burst into the street and scanned for signs of its prey. It took but a moment for it to locate the one-eyed Ranger, standing in front of a brightly colored wagon near the saloon. He was holding a wood axe and breathing heavily from his sprint.
The man was too far from any cover to be able to escape the bull-shaped abomination. Steam coursed from its nostrils and its eyes blazed red as it prepared to charge. One hit from its horns would kill the old man.
The Ranger stood his ground as the creature bore down on him, obviously accepting his doom. The monster could almost taste his blood as it closed the distance.
***
"Lt. Ketchum damned me through his own lies," Endicott ranted. "Fortunately, something more potent has seen fit to give me another chance at life. And not that fleeting and fragile existence you cling to like so many straws in a swollen torrent—but one of untold power and duration! In return, I only have to present it with a small token of my appreciation."
Now that he was closer, Seth could tell Endicott was much worse for wear. His white suit was dirty and torn from his encounter with the stampede. One of his arms appeared badly injured, possibly even broken, while his left eye was torn partially from its socket. His breath came in rasping gasps and Seth suspected he had several busted ribs.
The young man wasn't sure if the crazed salesman had truly returned from the dead, but, whether he was going to it or coming back, Endicott wasn't more than a couple of steps from the grave. Seth figured he'd better try to buy some time and look for an opportunity. The man might be battered, but it didn't take much strength to pull a trigger.
"You said something about a 'token,' Doc," Seth asked. "What exactly did you mean?"
"Why, merely an end to your own pitiful existence, my dear Cross. The bull...what did you call it...oh yes, 'meaner than the Devil'-you have no idea how right you are on that account, by the way," Endicott giggled momentarily at some private joke. "So, let's call him such, then, for simplicity's sake. El Diablo will take care of the good Lieutenant, but the powers that be restrict his authority for now. You are off-limits to him."
"However," he continued, "he's displeased by the thought of a Ranger walking away after having set eyes on him. All I have to do is kill you and our account is settled."
"You expect that thing will keep its end of the bargain?" Seth said. "I thought you were a smart man, but you ain't if you believe that, Doc. You're a mess-have you looked in the mirror lately?" He gestured to the remains of the wall mirror.
Endicott involuntarily glanced at the mirror. "Nooooo!!!" he screamed at his own terrible image.
Seth saw his chance and hurled himself against the remaining support to the ruined balcony. The stampede had nearly torn it loose and his weight finished the job. The balcony swung down crushing Endicott with its full weight as the Ranger rolled across the broken pillar and into the room.
***
Ketchum hefted the axe and stood stock still as the bull charged toward him. The ground shook under the force of its hooves and he could hear its powerful breath as it neared him. Bare seconds before it reached him, he fell backwards onto the ground and kicked the tongue of Endicott's wagon up with his feet.
He'd had enough time while the abomination fought with the stall to chop a crude point onto the tongue with the axe. Now, he counted on the monster's own momentum to impale it on the shaft of wood.
The thing saw the trap a fraction of a second too late to avoid it. It dug its hooves into the dirt, but its weight and speed propelled it forward onto Ketchum's makeshift pike. The thick wood sank a good three feet into the bull's chest before it splintered under the impact.
The Ranger tossed himself to the side as the monster barreled into the wagon, driving the tongue even further into its body. He scrambled to his feet and drew his pistol, for all the good it would do.
The bull-thing was no longer concerned with him, instead thrashing in pain amid the wreckage of the snake oil salesman's wagon. A strong aroma of alcohol and cinnamon filled the air as the creature shattered the bottles of the con man's cure-all. Ketchum pulled a match from his pocket and struck it.
"Let's see how much of Endicott's 'elixir' was plain old hooch," he said as he flicked the match onto the monster. The creature and most of the wagon erupted into flame. "Quite a bit, apparently."
The abomination writhed in burning agony, but for one moment Ketchum met its gaze. What he saw almost dropped the old Ranger in his tracks. As it was, when Seth emerged from the saloon carrying the one rifle he'd managed to salvage from the ruins, he found Ketchum sitting on the porch staring at the dying fire.
"Now there's something you don't see every day," the young man quipped.
Ketchum didn't reply immediately. "Let's burn this whole damn town to the ground. I can't stand the sight of it anymore," he finally spoke.
***
Later, from a nearby hill, the men watched Ruthven burn. Seth told Ketchum about Endicott's treachery and his demise under the debris in the saloon.
"Not surprised," he said. "That kind never believes the white lies we tell them for their own good, but the first time a real blackguard comes along they'll swear he's preaching the new Gospel."
They sat in silence until the fires below died to a flickering red glow.
"You recall what I told you about those missing Rangers earlier?" Ketchum asked his partner. "I'm pretty sure I know what happened to them."
"You think that thing got them, don't you?"
"No," he answered. "I got a good look at it before it burned up completely."
He was quiet for so long Seth had just about decided Ketchum wasn't going to finish his thought when he spoke again in the softest voice the young man had ever heard him use.
"I thought somethin' about that thing seemed familiar, you see. I told you it wasn't really a bull, just somethin' that was tryin' to look like one, remember?"
Seth nodded and the older man continued.
"It used to be a friend of mine-that monster used to be Bill Branham. When he was dyin' in those flames, he thanked me for settin' him free."
NO MAN'S LAW
Lucien Soulban Eli Woodrow was an honest sounding name for a blue-eyed rascal. At some months shy of thirty he was taller than most folk without being smug about it. He kept his brown hair short when he could, and his manners civil, even when robbing stagecoaches-not too terrible considering the other scofflaws walking the Weird West.
Wrong was wrong, though, and Eli knew his sins better than St. Peter did.
***
Eli yawned and pushed against his stirrups, stretching out his numb legs. Sam, a standardbred horse of chestnut stock, danced a nervous quickstep, snorted and settled down again. He probably heard the stagecoach coming down the winding trail, but the trees and green rolling hills hid the surrounding countryside in a hundred shallow valleys. The coach wouldn't be around for a few more minutes, giving Eli a moment longer beneath the birch grove.
Further west, a storm had broken out over the Sioux Lands like an ugly brawl, and was heading Eli's way. Eli was no fool. He knew when to finish a fight, and when to walk away from them. There was a time when he relished storms; he loved the way they put a clean shine on the world. That was in happier times, though, when the dead knew their place and the living did all the sinning. Now ills of biblical stature prowled the storms, wreaking havoc alongside the winds, rain and lightning. Eli was ready to abandon his latest claim for the dry roof of a nearby town, but he was short on dollars, and therefore short one dry roof.
Sam snorted and grew edgy. Eli heard the steady thunder of a six
-horse hitch and carriage slowing to take the bend; they'd be on him in a stitch. He pulled his red handkerchief over his mouth and nose and un-holstered Lou-Anne, his Colt scattergun, from her scabbard. Nudging Sam forward, he leveled his shotgun down the path as a startled train of six brown Morgans tore around the bend. Eli instantly recognized the carriage as a Concord de.sign; the solid, white oak wheels could crack rock under heel while a beautifully painted Nevada landscape (trimmed in yellow) adorned the sides.
The driver, a man matching Eli's father in age and leathered cast, instinctively pulled on the six reins, bringing the carriage to an uneasy halt. The Concord's shotgun, a younger man to Eli by a handful of years, was jostled about before he could fumble for his holstered rifle.
"I'm not a distinguished shot," Eli yelled out, momentarily distracting the pair, "but Lou-Anne here is mighty forgivin' about that."
The Concord's shotgun saw Lou-Anne aimed squarely at his chest. He left his rifle be and raised his hands.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Eli began with some flair, "this is a holdup. Out of the carriage with your hands in plain sight or this magnificent hitch is going to be eatin' hay out of the Lord's hands."
The driver understood the threat; he probably prized his hitch above his passengers. "Do as he says folks," the driver called out, "I don't think he's aiming to kill no one, but I ain't a betting man."
The carriage side door opened and two young women disembarked first. By the worn slacks, sullied white shirts and hide vests, Eli distinguished them as seasoned travelers. One could easily have been a belle at a Southern cotillion. She was the type of woman Eli was willing to make himself a fool over. The other was a young black woman who shamed her partner in beauty. She wore a Colt .45 single-action in a reverse holster. Eli whistled softly at the engraved pearl handle.
"That's a fine piece ma'am," he said appreciatively. "I bet you don't even blink when you fire it."
The young woman remained silent, but kept her unwavering stare on Eli. He chuckled and watched a city dandy in a pinstripe suit stumble out of the carriage next with a leather satchel clutched tightly to his chest. Another couple, elderly church-folk in buttoned-up Sunday bests, came out last. Eli unceremoniously tossed a burlap sack on the grass.
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