An Occurrence in Crazy Bear Valley

by Brian Keene

  “Got something on your mind, Gunderson?”

  “Reckon we should wait for this fog to burn off before we do anything, boss?”

  Morgan nodded. “That would probably be best. It’s already warming up out here. I can’t imagine it’ll last more than another half hour. Soon as its gone, take Stephens with you and gut that thing. Get it cleaned up and butchered. Meanwhile, I’ll check on the horses. Make sure they’re okay. They were spooked last night, but if something had got at them, I’m sure we’d have heard it.”

  “What about Parker and Johnson?”

  “I’m gonna let them sleep a bit, if they’ve got a mind to. They had second watch. Like I said yesterday, I don’t expect the posse to show up, but if they do, I want everybody rested up and ready to ride out—or shoot it out.”

  Gunderson continued staring into the mist. “Is it the posse you’re worried about, boss?”

  Morgan sipped his coffee. “That—among other things.”

  “Me, too,” Gunderson said. “The crazy bears…”

  “Hell of a name.”

  “That it is. But it fits. I’ll tell you, boss, I ain’t never heard nothing like what we heard last night. To be honest, it downright spooked me.”

  Morgan frowned. Gunderson was one of his most unflappable—and loyal—men. He’d never once seen the big man scared, not even during the close quarters shoot out with the law back in Red Creek two years before—and that had been bloody enough and harrowing enough to even frighten Morgan himself.

  “Well,” he said softly. “I reckon we’ll rest up today and tonight, and skin on up river come tomorrow.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Gunderson agreed. “Any idea where we’re headed?”

  Morgan shrugged. “Somewhere other than this valley.”

  “That’d be just fine.”

  They both stared out into the fog, lost in their own thoughts, and when Johnson walked up behind them, neither man noticed. When he cleared his throat, they almost screamed.

  FIVE

  The sun rose higher and the day warmed, burning off the last wisps of mist. The valley came alive again, as did the surrounding forest. Both were bright and cheery, an entirely different contrast than the night before. The light breeze carried the almost maddening sounds of a thousand different birdsongs, along with buzzing insects, the melodic roar of the river, and the tat-tat-tat-tat of a woodpecker hard at work. Wildflowers strained their colorful panorama toward the sky, while bees and butterflies flitted amongst them. The sour stench that had permeated the clearing the night before was gone. The smell of sawdust returned, despite the fact that no logging had gone on in over twenty-four hours.

  Morgan noticed that everyone’s spirits improved with the change in weather. As the day brightened, so did their moods—even Crystal’s. The girl had surprised him. After breaking her in last night, he’d speculated to himself that she’d go one of two ways—quiet submission, accepting her new master, or trying to kill him while he slept. Luckily for her, she’d chosen the first option.

  “Maybe I was wrong about these woods,” he said aloud. “They certainly don’t feel spooky today. They feel downright welcoming.”

  Morgan found himself whistling as he saw to the horses, and when a mosquito buzzed his ear, he barely noticed. His good mood lasted right up until Gunderson shouted for him across the clearing.

  “Boss? Better come quick—we’ve got trouble!”

  Unleashing a string of muttered curses, Morgan made his way to the spot where Gunderson had shot the animal the night before. He was surprised to see that the animal’s carcass was no longer there. The grass still held the corpse’s impression. Gunderson and Stephens stood around the empty space, staring in awe. Stephens held his hat in his hands, turning the brim round and round with his fingers. Brown droplets of dried blood spotted the green blades and the carpet of fallen pine needles, but the body was gone. Even stranger was the enormous series of footprints encircling the spot. Each footprint had five toes, just like a human, but that was where all similarities ended. Most of the tracks were over two feet long and about eight inches wide. Whatever had made the tracks had been heavy—the prints were sunk deep into the earth. It had also been barefoot—there was no trace of boot heel or a sole in the impressions.

  “Those are some big feet,” Morgan said.

  “What the hell do you think it is, boss?” Stephens asked. “What could have made this?”

  “The more important question,” Morgan replied, “is how many of them there are. What do you think, Gunderson?”

  “I figure at least four or five of them,” Gunderson said. “I ain’t for sure, though.”

  “What do you mean, you’re not sure? You’re the best god-damned tracker I’ve ever met.”

  “And I appreciate that, boss. I really do. But it’s hard to tell. A lot of these tracks are about the same size, but they’re made by different critters. It’s a might confusing. There were at least four or five of them. Maybe more.”

  “And no body. Are you sure you hit it last night?”

  “That’s the only thing I am sure of.”

  “So it ain’t likely the thing got up and ran away.” Morgan scowled. “Did you find anything? Any clue at all as to where the damned thing went?”

  “Just those drops of blood there,” Gunderson pointed, “and a few tufts of hair on yonder pine branches.”

  He moved to the edge of the tree line, lifted a branch and demonstrated. Morgan stepped closer, squinting. Sure enough, several strands of long, black hair dangled from the tip of the branch. Several of the tufts had blood and tiny pieces of flesh stuck to them. A few squat, black flies buzzed around the grisly bits.

  “It’s not human hair,” Gunderson said. “I checked. Indian hair ain’t even that black. And it ain’t from a bear or any other critter I know, either. Have to reckon that girl was telling the truth, boss.”

  Sighing, Morgan ran his hands through his hair. “Looks that way, boys. Hard to believe, but it damn sure looks that way.”

  Frowning, he turned in a slow circle, following the massive footprints. They seemed to come and go from various directions—the river, the forest, and the other side of the clearing. All of them converged on this spot. He raised his head and sniffed the air. The lumberjacks’ corpses had started to stink. Their reek almost overpowered the smell of pine.

  “I don’t smell what we smelled last night,” Morgan said. “If they’d been here this morning, I would think the smell would still linger. Reckon they must have been here sometime after you shot it but before dawn.”

  “Yes,” Gunderson agreed. “I reckoned about the same. The way I figure it, they must have heard the crazy bear cry out when I shot it. The other crazy bears knew it was in distress. Then they come here and removed the body. Don’t know where they took it, but if I had to guess, I’d say deep into the pines. The tracks seem to be heading that way.”

  “And you’re sure it wasn’t a bear or a wolf or some other critter that could have carried the body off?”

  “I doubt it, boss. If it had been, we’d see their tracks here, too. But there ain’t none. All there is are… those. And if wolves or coyotes had gotten at the corpse, there’d still be pieces left behind. They’d have scattered it all across the clearing.”

  “We should leave,” Stephens said. “Skin on out of here before dark. That’s what I think.”

  Morgan whirled on him. “I don’t remember you calling the shots. But for what it’s worth, I agree with you, Vern. We should leave. The problem with that is this—the horses are still exhausted. We ain’t gonna make it far if we don’t give them at least another few hours to rest. I dare say they didn’t sleep well last night, what with all the shooting and shouting. So let’s say we give them till noon. Let’s say we let Johnson and Parker sleep till noon, as well. Then everyone is bright-eyed and bushy-fucking-tailed. By the time we ride out and head up river, how far do you think we’ll get before the sun starts to go down? Do you really want
to be out in these woods at night without a place to bed down and with… whatever made these fucking tracks… wandering around?”

  Stephens paled. “No, I can’t rightly say that I do, boss. To be honest, I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “That’s why I’m in charge. I’m guessing these things are nocturnal. Crystal said she’d only heard them come around at night, and from what we saw last evening, I’d say that’s about right. I say we hole up another night. We wake Johnson and Parker up and we fortify that god-damned shanty. Make it like a fort—so strong not even the Calvary could break in.”

  “You really think that they’ll attack us?” Stephens asked.

  “I’m not for sure, no. But it doesn’t hurt to take precautions, now does it? If these things are as Crystal said they are, then they might have a hankering for vengeance. They might want to get even with the folks who killed their friend. I’d rather we were ready for them, just in case.”

  Gunderson stroked his shaggy beard. “It’s a good plan, but what about the horses?”

  “We’ll move the horses inside too,” Morgan said, “if there’s room. If not, then we’ll just have to figure something else out.”

  Stephens opened his mouth to respond, but then shut it again.

  “Then we’ll bed down,” Morgan continued. “We’ll sleep in shifts and wait it out till morning. Soon as first light comes around, we’ll skin on out of here. That way, we can find another safe spot well before dark tomorrow. Sound fair?”

  Nodding, Stephens plopped his hat back on his head. Gunderson said nothing. His expression was dour. He continued stroking his beard.

  “What’s got your goat?” Morgan asked. “You disagree with the plan?”

  Gunderson looked up, surprised. “Oh, no, boss. Like I said, I think it’s a fine plan. Sorry. I was just thinking.”

  “What about?”

  “Oh, nothing important. I was just looking forward to some fresh meat this morning. I’m just sorry the carcass is gone—no matter what it really was. I reckon even a crazy bear would taste better than our rations right about now.”

  “Well, take your rifle and see if you can scare us up some game. Don’t go too far, though. Stay in earshot. And don’t be gone more than an hour. If you can’t find anything, then we’ll just have to make due. Eating rations ain’t killed us so far. I don’t reckon they’ll harm us for one more day.”

  “Can do.” Nodding, Gunderson trotted off toward the cabin.

  Stephens and Morgan stared a few minutes longer at the tracks. Stephens placed his foot in one of the prints. The impression seemed to swallow his boot whole.

  “I’ll tell you, boss” he whispered. “I’ve got to agree with you.”

  “About what?”

  “Those are some damned big feet.”

  “Come on,” Morgan said. “Enough of this horseshit. We’ve got work to do.”

  They woke Parker and Johnson, and informed them of what had occurred. Incredulous and lethargic, the two men were convinced that the others were all playing a joke on them, so Morgan had Stephens take them down to the site so that they could see for themselves. Clara and Crystal tagged along, as well. When they came back, the women’s faces were pale and nervous, and the men were no longer laughing.

  “Beats all I’ve ever seen,” Johnson muttered.

  “Hell,” Stephens said, “it beats all any of us have ever seen.”

  After a quick, demoralizing breakfast of dry rations, during which none of them spoke much, Morgan put the group to work fortifying their defenses. He instructed Johnson and Parker to begin cutting up logs with the lumberjacks’ tools, and ordered Stephens and the women to haul rocks up from the river. While they did this, Morgan slowly walked the perimeter, studying everything from the layout of the land to the construction of the cabin. Then he went inside the cabin and searched it top to bottom, probing for weaknesses and mentally taking stock of any-thing that could be used as a weapon. When he was finished, he went back out onto the porch and saw that Stephens, Clara and Crystal had already made progress with the stones. A large pile of them had been stacked next to the stairs, and the three were on their way back with more.

  “Come across a big old rattlesnake down there by the water’s edge,” Stephens panted. His clothes and face were soaked, and he was sweating profusely. “Damn thing must have been five feet long if he was a foot. Saw another set of them tracks, too.”

  “Were they coming or going?” Morgan asked.

  “They come across the river this way. I didn’t see any tracks heading back over. In truth, I was more worried about the snake. Didn’t want the girls to get bit.”

  “You kill it?”

  “Yeah.” Stephens wiped the sweat from his brow. “Dropped a big old rock on it. Squashed the fucker flat. Ordinarily, I’d have just shot the fucker, but I figured I shouldn’t be wasting bullets on account of whatever made them big footprints.”

  Morgan nodded. “That’s good thinking.”

  “Thanks, boss!” Stephens seemed surprised at the unexpected compliment. “I sure do appreciate it.”

  “That snake will make for a good supper tonight.”

  Stephen’s expression fell. “I tossed the carcass out into the river.”

  “What the hell did you do that for?”

  “I guess I just wasn’t thinking, boss.”

  Morgan shook his head. “I guess not.”

  “A-anyway, you think that will be enough rocks?”

  “We’ll need more than that, but I’ll give you a hand carrying more. Should go quicker with four of us doing it.”

  Stephens and Clara stared at each other in disbelief.

  “Oh, don’t look so goddamned surprised,” Morgan said. “The longer the two of you stand there, the longer it will take to secure this goddamn bunkhouse. Now come on.”

  As they walked toward the water, a distant, muffled shot echoed out of the forest.

  “Gunderson,” Morgan said.

  “Sounds like he got something,” Stephens replied.

  They paused, waiting for more shots, but the woods were quiet.

  “Guess we’ll find out soon enough,” Clara said.

  They made several more trips to the river and the pile of stones grew. By then, Johnson and Parker had begun to drag logs over to the cabin. When Gunderson returned from the forest with a small deer slung over his broad shoulders, Morgan called for a break. The others gratefully collapsed to the ground, breathing heavy and groaning from their labors. Gunderson dropped the deer near the porch. It had already been field dressed—the belly slit open and the white and brown fur matted with sticky blood. More fluid oozed from the empty cavity. Flies buzzed around the carcass.

  “Got us something to eat,” he said. “Found a well-used deer path and waited for a spell. Then this little spike buck come strolling along and obliged me. Looks like ya’ll have been busy, too.”

  Morgan nodded. “See anything while you were out there?”

  “A few more of those queer footprints, but I couldn’t read them well enough to learn anything else. I’ll tell you one thing, though—that forest is spooky. It’s not like the other places I’ve been, and I’ve been to a lot. I don’t like it. It’s too quiet.”

  “Awfully noisy here,” Parker pointed out. “I’ve been hearing birds and such all damn morning. Giving me a headache.”

  “Maybe so,” Gunderson said, “but it’s dead quiet under them trees. Feels like the forest is staring at you. I was damned glad to come across this deer.”

  “Good job,” Morgan replied. Then he turned to the others. “Clara. Crystal. Get this thing cut up and cooked. Come sundown, I don’t want any cooking fires—nothing that will attract attention. So do it up now and we’ll have venison for lunch and supper.”

  The men cheered this news. Johnson even did an impromptu jig, dancing and leaping in a circle while the others clapped and laughed. Soon after, their cheers turned to groans again as Morgan ordered them back to work.

  �
��There’s only two ways into that shack,” he told them. “The front door and the window. We’re going to reinforce the walls as best we can, using the stones and the logs and whatever else we can find. There are places in those walls made out of nothing but sod and rocks. One of these critters could tear through that pretty easy. Hell, a man could too, for that matter. So we’ve got to take extra care to block those good. Then we’ll all go inside, and bar the door. We’ll use logs for that, too. We’re going to keep the window open for as long as possible. That way we can shoot at them if they come. But if things go bad, I reckon we can flip some of those beds on their side and block the window with them.”

  “What about the roof?” Gunderson asked.

  “I don’t know,” Morgan admitted. “That’s the one part I can’t figure out. The tree jockeys used heavy timbers for it, and lashed them together with thick rope. They nailed them down good and all, but I don’t know if it’s enough, and I can’t see of any way to reinforce what’s there. Ain’t nothing on top of the timbers but tar. Any of you got an idea as to how we could make it stronger?”

  They shook their heads. Parker raised his hand. Morgan nodded at him.

  “What about the horses, boss? What are we going to do about them?”

  “I’d hoped we could move them all inside with us,” Morgan replied. “But the cabin just ain’t big enough. There’s enough room for the smallest—Stephens’ horse—but that’s all. The rest of them will have to take their chances.”

  “Stephens’ horse?” Johnson frowned. “Well, hell—that little pony ain’t worth the trouble. It ought to be one of our horses. They’re faster and stronger, and can carry more weight.”

  Morgan grinned humorlessly. “Tell you what, Johnson. We’ll bring your mount inside with us, too. You can sleep outside with the rest of the horses. How would that be?”