by Faith Hunter
“This hike has been roughing enough for me,” another offered.
The porters, who made this trek weekly, set about covering the tables and benches with the blankets, and laying out the picnic. The meal was cold cuts on bread, salads, with sarsaparilla as beverage. The picnickers made short work of it.
Someone had brought a ball, and after the meal the men tossed it around while the women clustered together to chat.
When it came time to head back downhill, Cheyenne Walker and Miss Kitty Belle decided to stay behind and explore farther up the mountainside. They needed to talk more about what they’d discovered—or thought they’d discovered—in the hotel’s steamworks. If there actually was a Dwarvish gold mine, they might be able to find its entrance. Although what they’d do if they found it, they didn’t know.
Half a mile up they came across...
“How strange,” Walker said. “Strange that two piles of small boulders would be within the trees without a trackway to show how they came to this place; and strange that they roughly resemble human forms.”
“Someone must have put them there,” Kitty Belle said brightly. “But let’s not tarry.” She grasped his arm and continued rapidly uphill.
He looked at her curiously, but went without protest.
~*~
“Do you think they recognized us?” Grubble asked.
“How could they,” Vlanch replied. “They never saw us before.
Grubble playfully punched his shoulder, sending a cascade of sand down his arm. “Not us, silly. I mean our kind.”
“They said nothing.”
“That means nothing.”
“We should have killed them?”
“We still should kill them.”
“Then let us follow them.”
They resumed their slow, upward trundle.
~*~
A quarter mile beyond, Miss Kitty Belle stopped and peered at their backtrail. Speaking softly, hardly more than a whisper, she said, “I think those were rock trolls. Let’s keep going.”
“Rock trolls?” Walker asked. “I’ve never heard of them.”
“They are trolls that appear to be made of rock. They are slow moving, but are nonetheless very strong, and can be extremely violent. Let us be sure to avoid them on our return.”
They walked more briskly, and soon came to the high treeline at the peak of the knife-edge ridge.
Walker said, “They might have something extremely violent in mind, if they’re what you say.” All thoughts of finding the entrance to the Dwarven mine were driven from his mind by the approaching threat. “If they can move that big one, and send it down the ridge rather than sliding off its side, I think they might be able to start an avalanche that would smash directly into the hotel. But why would they do that?”
“They would,” a harsh voice said, “because they’re thieves, an’ they wants gold.”
Walker and Miss Kitty spun toward the voice.
“Who’s there!” Walker demanded when he saw no one. His hand reached for the side of his coat before he remembered that he left his Buntline Special locked in his room. “You also, I see,” Miss Kitty murmured. Her Colt Peacemaker was likewise locked securely in her room.
A stout man, only chest-high to Walker, stepped from behind a boulder the size of a cottage. A bushy beard covered his face below a bulbous nose, and eyebrows so thick they nearly hid his eyes. A red, tasseled stocking cap lounged atop his head. A green, homespun jerkin was belted with a length of leather, and brown homespun trousers on his bandy legs were tucked into scuffed boots with steel caps on their toes.
“The rock trolls,” the apparition said, “already tried to steal from us and we sent them off. But why would they want t’ destroy yon hotel?”
“Maybe to get to the hotel’s safe,” Walker said uncertainly.
“’Tis of no mind to us if they do. But ye, ye are of a mind to us. We saw ye looking at the place where poor Hyram Scott found the break into arr mine shaft afore we could repair it. Then he had the misfortune t’ enter the mine.” The Dwarf shook his head sadly. “He’s been slavin’ fer us ever since. Ye would’na be thinking o’ following him, would ye?”
“I think that would be highly unwise of us,” Walker said to the Dwarf. In an aside to Miss Kitty, he added, “So Scott is in neither the Yellowstone nor Dodge city.”
“That ’tis good thinking on yer part. Ye would’na want t’ join Mr. Scott in slavin’ fer us, now. That would be a most uncomfortable fate to suffer. I’ll be taking me leave o’ ye now.” He doffed his cap and turned to go.
“A moment, Mister Dwarf,” Miss Kitty called. “It might be of mind to you if the rock trolls destroy the hotel.”
“Oh? An’ why might that be?” the Dwarf asked, turning to face her.
“Because if the hotel is destroyed, there will certainly be an investigation. That investigation will most assuredly find your mine shaft.”
“Ye think so, do ye? An’ why would that be?”
“I am a Pinkerton. You know what that is, don’t you?”
He screwed up his face and peered at her. “A Pinkerton, eh? Can ye prove it?”
She reached into a pocket and withdrew a leather wallet, which flipped open to show her badge.
“Well, well. So ye are, it appears. An’ ye would know about an investigation? An’ what if ye were killed in the avalanche, an’ could’na tell any about the mine?”
“In that case, the Pinkertons would be most anxious to investigate—and avenge if needed—the death of one of their agents. And be assured, they would find your mine.”
“So ye say, so ye say. Hmmm.” The Dwarf twined his fingers into his beard, tugging on it, lost in thought.
After a moment that ended before it became long enough to grow uncomfortable, the Dwarf peered up at them through his bushy brows. “So ye say t’would be to arr advantage t’ prevent the trolls from raining boulders down ’pon the hotel.”
“Yes, it would be highly advantageous to you,” she said, pressing her edge.
“I’ll gi’ help.” The Dwarf spun about and disappeared with a pop of displaced air.
“It would be an interesting job to catch him,” Walker said after a few seconds.
“T’would be interesting to try, anyway.” Miss Kitty said. “Although I’m not sure we could, given his ability to vanish.”
“What’s that?” Walker suddenly snapped, twisting to look downslope.
“Oh, no,” Miss Kitty exclaimed. “Could it be the rock trolls already?”
It could and it was.
Fifty yards away, they saw a slender tree crash to the ground, its trunk smashed by a blow from one of the stony creatures.
“Oh my,” Kitty Belle said.
A rumbling came from downslope, noise like boulders grinding together, and a gravel pit stirred by a gigantic ladle. They saw indistinct gray forms moving through the foliage and shadows, and heard more crashes as the trolls in their haste knocked down more trees.
“Run!” Walker shouted, grabbing Miss Kitty’s hand, he stepped to the right, and immediately turned to step to the left.
“What way do we go?” Miss Kitty shouted.
The ridge was so narrow between its precipitous sides they’d have to brush past at least one of the nearing rock trolls to get past them, or risk plummeting over the edge.
“Uphill!” Walker shouted at the same time Miss Kitty cried out, “Climb!”
They scrambled, increasing the distance between themselves and the trolls, who were now climbing at the speed of a walking man. Past the large boulder they paused to consider their next move.
Miss Kitty looked at the ground ahead of them, and at her boots. The otherwise barren ground was speckled too thickly with small rocks ranging from baseball-size to fine gravel, to leave open spaces for her to step securely. The soles of her boots were narrow, and her heels were a full inch and a half in height. Her boots were fine for walking on the leaf-litter under the trees, but her footing here would be very treacherous.
Walker saw, and looked at the huge boulder. It rose vertically nearly fifteen feet above the ground. He said, “Up. I doubt that they can mount this boulder.”
“I think you’re right,” Miss Kitty said, looking at the side of the knobs and indentations on the rocky face. “But the first handholds are too high for me to reach.”
“Here,” he said, lowering a knee and offering his hands as a stirrup.
“Yes!” She stepped into his hands and straightened as he did likewise. She stretched. “Not quite, I need a couple more inches.”
He let go of her foot with one hand, placed it where she wasn’t wearing a bustle, and pushed.
“Sir, your hand!” she yelped. But that gave her the extra height she needed to grasp a knob to pull herself farther. “I can make it from here. But what about you?”
“Keep climbing.” He backed away and anxiously watched as she clambered upward. When she was far enough, he sprinted forward and jumped, planting one foot on the face of the rock, to vault high enough to grasp the first protuberance. He pulled up, and soon clambered high enough that his face was next to her ankle.
In seconds more, just as the rock trolls reached its base, they were atop the bulging peak of the cottage-size boulder.
~*~
“Now what do we do? They are too high for us to reach,” Grubble wailed.
Vlanch considered the situation for a moment, then said, “You stay here in case they try to come down. I’m going around to the other side and dig out in front of it. Then we will push, and make this rock roll. And this stone will tumble down to smash into the Man-cave so we can get to the gold it hides—and crush the two Men on top of it as it rolls.”
“You are so smart, Vlanch!”
~*~
Miss Kitty flung herself down on the boulder’s top, head downslope. “Hold my ankles,” she ordered, and slithered forward so she could see what the noise was she heard from the downhill direction. “This wasn’t a good idea,” she said when she saw the rock troll shoveling its stony hands into the earth at the foot of the boulder. “He’s digging it out on that side so it’ll roll.”
“The other one is guarding the back side,” Walker said. He stood and looked around, seeking a way to the ground that would avoid the two rock trolls. The only way he saw, to one side, risked a twisted ankle, or worse. “We’re trapped,” he shouted.
And no sooner had he said that than a wild harroo sounded from many voices, and a flurry of small, stocky men in homespun boiled out of…of…of somewhere, and attacked the two rock trolls.
The Dwarves were armed with picks and sledges, mauls and chisels, rakes and shovels, hammers and drills. One had an oyster rake, of all things, and Walker couldn’t imagine what another intended to do with the broom and coal scuttle he bandied about.
The Dwarves hopped and leaped and skittered about the two rock trolls, distracting them from their fronts and striking them from behind, mostly skipping just out of reach when the trolls turned about to get at their tormentors. Here and there, now and then, one of the trolls’ flailing arms connected with a Dwarf, sending it flying, broken and spraying blood.
All the while the Dwarves kept up a frightful harroo and skirl, even in the absence of pipes. Each time they connected, sparks flew from the trolls, and pebbles and sand were flung off their sides or fronts, or wherever they were hammered.
The rock trolls shouted, the roars of twin avalanches. They swung their mighty arms, digging divots in the hard earth and stone of the rock-strewn ground. They backhanded the boulder with flesh-and-bone-crushing blows. With every strike of pick, sledge, maul, chisel, hammer, drill, every flinging of pebbles and sand, the rock trolls shrank in size.
And they shrank and shrank, and grew smaller by the stroke.
The rock trolls were backed against the boulder, and their mighty—though diminishing—arms flew side to side with greater urgency, always seeking a Dwarvish target which was never there when their granite hands reached their targets. But often their swinging fists struck the boulder hard enough that had it been metal, it would have rung like a Gothic cathedral’s entire bell tower of bells. Which caused the boulder to twitch and tremble and threaten to topple.
At length, the rock trolls were beaten so they were no larger than the Dwarfs, at which point the maul and chisel-armed Dwarves closed on them and sundered their limbs, hand from forearm, forearm from shoulder, foot from ankle, shin from thigh, head from neck, neck from chest, chest from belly. Others grasped the pieces and flung them over the sides of the narrow ridge, where they tumbled down, cracking and splitting as they fell.
The Dwarf who had first appeared to Cheyenne Walker and Miss Kitty Belle looked over one side and briskly brushed his hands against each other. “I told ye, ye’d come to no good end if ye again tried to take arr gold.”
“Ah, some help here, if you please?” Cheyenne Walker called down from the now-swaying boulder top.
The Dwarf leader looked at the two people, his eyes metronomically following their movement. Then his look shifted to the boulder itself, and he realized the movement was in the stone, not the people—and the swaying was increasing. He shouted a rapid command to his companions, and they scrambled to his side. Then to Walker and Miss Kitty. “Jump, we’ll catch you!”
Walker looked at the mass of little people. He thought he could probably make the jump uninjured without their help, and sufficiently break Miss Kitty’s fall. But if the Dwarves could be trusted to catch them, both of them would be safe.
Miss Kitty made the decision. “Ready, I’m coming!” she shouted and dove, arms spread, and body parallel to the ground. Eager arms reached out to cradle her and stop her fall before she hit the ground.
“Your turn,” she called to Walker as soon as she gained her feet.
He manfully followed her example, and the sturdy arms of ten Dwarves reached out and held as he plopped into them.
With both on their feet and unharmed, the head Dwarf stood before them, arms akimbo.
“Ye recall what I said about poor Hyram Scott, and the consequences of following him?”
“Yes, we do,” Walker said. “We will not follow him.”
“And the Pinkertons now have no need to investigate,” Miss Kitty added.
“Ver’ good.” He turned to his troop. “Let’s be off, high-low!”
There was a sudden rumble, and the earth shook as the boulder finally rocked too far, and began to roll downhill, heading straight for the Glittering Nugget Hotel!
“No-no!” Walker shouted. He jumped to the side of the huge boulder and pushed.
The boulder ignored him, and continued on the route that would send it crashing into the hotel.
“Ach! Push it aside, lads!” the Dwarf leader bellowed.
The Dwarves scrambled madly, seemingly in all directions at the same time, miraculously not bumping into each other or tripping one over the other. In seconds, they were at the side of the boulder, pushing. In a moment they altered its track enough that it headed for the edge of the ridge, and tumbled over on a trajectory that would take it wide of the Glittering Nugget.
Brushing his hands after looking to assure himself the boulder would miss the hotel, the chief Dwarf said to Walker and Miss Kitty. “No need for an investigation.”
“No need,” Miss Kitty said.
“None indeed,” Walker agreed.
In a trice, the Dwarves all vanished, carrying their casualties with them.
“Well,” Walker said, wondering where the Dwarves had disappeared to and how they had so quickly vanished, “I think now we can safely return to the hotel.”
“Yes, before our erstwhile picnic companions start inventing reasons for our absence,” Miss Kitty said.
Partway down the hill, during which they didn’t speak of what had just happened, she suddenly said, “Some would say that where you put your hand was inappropriate.”
“But you needed to go higher, and that was the most expedient way to boost you.”
Smiling, Cheyenne Walker slowed down, and enjoyed the view.
Son of the Devil
Jonathan Maberry
1
His name was Nebuchadnezzar, but everyone called him Neb.
When they were being nice, which was only when his Pa was around. People were always polite if they thought Big Tom Howard was in earshot. Or any kind of shot, for that matter. That was the thing. That’s what everyone was afraid of.
But Big Tom wasn’t always around.
Then the kids had other names for Neb. Most of them weren’t really names, they were words that Neb knew they hadn’t learned in church or school. What Mrs. Carter from the next farm over called ‘barnyard words’. The kind of words that would have earned every one of those kids a solid beating if they’d used them around the house or in front of grown folks. The kind of words Neb never used at all, even when he was alone and had to clean up the whole house by himself.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He used one of those words—a really bad one—the day the sheriff and his men came out to arrest Neb’s Pa. All eleven of those men had come busting into the house with their ropes and chains and guns and fell on his Pa while he was still sleeping off a drunk. They’d have never come out when Big Tom was even half sober. No sir.
Neb ran after the men when they rode off with his Pa slung like a sack of beans over the bare back of a packhorse. He’d chased them all the way to the row of trees that separated the Howard spread from the Carter place, but by then Neb knew he wasn’t going to catch them. And he knew there wasn’t a blessed thing he could have done if he did. They were grown men and he was twelve. There were a dozen of them and he was all alone. They had guns and badges and all he had was his fear and his anger.
