Sighing, he put his hat back on and staggered after Roberts. Why does he head east? he wondered. There has been no sign of the demon for hours. Why east?
Ahead stood an imposing mountainous wall of rock, a mesa, which were present throughout much of the Arizona Territory. It rose out of the desert and went up vertically one hundred yards, filling Holliday with apprehension.
“And you be damned as well,” Holliday muttered to the mesa.
With the aid of his walking stick, the Deadliest Dentist trudged forward, eventually reaching Roberts’ side. “A nice day for an outing,” Holliday said, panting.
“Do you see that?” said Roberts, pointing to the rock wall ahead.
“It’s hard to miss.”
Roberts pulled a small spyglass from his vest pocket and handed it to Holliday. “Straight ahead, then up about a third.”
Has the man found a saloon out here?
Holliday extended the spyglass, pressed it to his glasses and stared out across the desert to where his companion indicated. After a moment or two of scanning the wall, he paused on a dark patch.
A cave? No, that’s man-made.
Holliday handed Roberts his spyglass. “You think our demon friend has gone to ground?”
“In my experience, hell’s offspring dislike the sun almost as much as you. Dark creatures live in dark places, so my guess is, they’re in that mine.”
“And this hunchback?”
“Yeah, that scum might be there as well.”
“Why this mine? There are probably dozens of caves out here.”
Roberts pointed to the base of the rock wall. “Because I can see a wagon, and horses corralled in a makeshift enclosure.”
“How the hell can you see that far?”
“I saw them through the telescope,” replied Roberts, “when you were ‘resting.’”
“How far?”
“Not far. A few hours.”
Hours! That will be the death of me.
“Oh, that’s a shame. I was just starting to enjoy our little promenade through this paradise.” Holliday indicated their surroundings with a wave of his hand.
Without further discussion, they continued on their journey across the barren land toward the distant mine.
The sun had begun its descent as they neared the base of the mesa—it was now less than a mile away. Holliday was physically exhausted and was no longer steady on his feet. He weaved like a drunken man as he traveled over the broken land. With his head slung low and his eyes cast down at the ground, the gambler trudged onward, often stumbling over obstacles in the rough terrain. He watched the old man’s shadow and followed as best as he could. One mile might as well be a thousand miles to him now.
I am coming…
“Woo there,” said a gruff voice breaking into Holliday’s delirium. “We will rest.”
“We must…go on,” Holliday said, his voice thick and raspy.
“You’re no good to me dead. I need your guns when we’re facing the black-hearted demons in that hole.”
“Your concern for me is touching, Marshal.”
“I must be getting soft.”
“Don’t worry, you can rely on me.”
“Rest then. You look spent.”
Holliday dropped like a stone behind a rock and tried to shade his head from the sun’s bite. He looked for Roberts, but his vision blurred. A tall object moved in front of him and he assumed it was the old marshal checking on him.
“I’m feeling better already,” Holliday joked, but his smiled vanished as a coughing fit racked his body. “Blast these damn allergies.”
“Rest,” said Roberts. “I’ll scout ahead and have a look around. I’ll be back soon.”
Something landed beside Holliday, startling him. He reached out and his fingers brushed against the canteen. “Much obliged, Marshal. I shall catch my breath and join you soon.”
“You do that.”
Holliday heard the sound of the marshal moving away and closing his eyes, he laid back in the shade.
To die like this…is there no justice in this world?
After lying for some time, Holliday gathered the energy to pick up the canteen. It felt almost empty. No doubt Roberts went without, saving the water for him.
The dumb fool. I would have left me to die.
Holliday forced himself into a sitting position and gazed out over the desolate land.
Nothing but dirt and open skies…and a gambler down on his luck.
He removed the canteen’s lid and upended it. The warm water felt good trickling down his dry throat—unfortunately, it was short-lived. After not more than a mouthful or two, the canteen was empty.
I’m sure Moses crossed the desert on less…
Holliday slung the empty canteen around his head and using the rock, he pushed himself upright. He stood, wavering like a drunk—which was a condition he had experience with. After a moment or two, his dizziness subsided and his vision gradually cleared.
Not far away, a vision of an angel appeared before him. The sinking sun silhouetted her and she appeared to glow.
Am I dead?
This wingless angel was only four feet tall and her clothes were of a simple design. She stood on the slope above him and gazed down on him, her expression showed apprehension, or was it concern? This was not the image he pictured of God’s helpers. He imagined angels to be powerful men and beautiful women, with large, white, bird-like wings. Not a small child.
Hey! That’s the farm girl.
Slowly, he raised a hand. “Don’t be frightened—”
Without a sound, the girl turned and vanished behind some rocks.
“I mean you no harm...” his voice trailed off.
Was the girl really there? And where’s Miss Garrett?
Holliday weaved his way up the slope and eventually, made it to the spot where the girl stood. Amongst the rocks he found small footprints in the dirt.
“This proves it. I’m not crazy.” Even if I am talking to myself.
He followed the prints a dozen yards before he lost them in rockier terrain. He walked a little further, but the girl’s tracks had disappeared.
“She’s only a child. How could she have escaped from the world’s Deadliest Dentist?”
By chance he glanced up, spotting the girl a fair distance away. When she noticed she was discovered, she ran further up the slope and disappeared again.
Is she leading me to the mine? “Hold up, girl. I’m coming.”
Holliday trudged onward, heading in the girl’s direction. The ground angled up sharply and became a lot rockier than the flat desert below. After picking his way painstakingly through the rough terrain, he paused and leaned against a boulder to catch his breath.
Curse this weakness.
Holliday searched the ground for evidence of the girl’s passage but found none. He sagged back against a boulder and surveyed the slopes. He saw nothing, she was gone. His sight dropped to the sinking sun and through a dust haze, it appeared to be almost blood-orange.
“An omen?” he muttered, gripping his stick tighter. “Regardless. Leave, sun, bring me the night. I have demons to kill.”
Chapter 17
Holliday picked a deliberate path over the rocky terrain, making his way toward the mine entrance, which was hidden from his view. He stumbled several times, tripping over unseen objects and falling onto his hands. Cut and bruised, he dragged himself back to his feet each time and kept going.
After what seemed like forever, Holliday threw himself down, exhausted from his exertions.
What I wouldn’t give for a drink. Even water.
A wagon’s weathered canvas cover moved in a gentle breeze, making a faint, irregular flapping sound. The wagon was located higher up the slope and was partially obscured behind some large boulders. It was obvious that whoever was in the mine didn’t expect any visitors and hadn’t made much of an attempt to hide the wagon or the horses corralled nearby. The wagon was only a short distance from Hollid
ay and getting to it or the mine’s entrance would involve Holliday crossing an area with little cover. Anyone watching from above would be able to see him sneaking up the slope.
A man with a rifle could command this slope with ease. What’s that?
There was movement higher up the slope. Two people scrambled down a path, heading toward the wagon.
Son of a…it’s the drifter!
The drifter-demon was in human form and was making his way down the hill. He was in the company of another man, who was a middle-aged, bearded man dressed in dungarees and a checked shirt. The man was covered in dirt and if Holliday was a betting man, and he was, he would bet by the man’s clothing and location, that he was a miner. The pair didn’t speak as they weaved their way down toward the wagon before disappearing from view behind some boulders.
Do I move now?
There was no one else visible on the slope—it was now or never. Holliday snatched up his stick and as quiet as his weak body allowed, he crept toward the wagon. When he was halfway across the open ground, the two men reappeared and Holliday threw himself to the ground. Between them, the men carried a sea chest. They retraced their steps, moving back up the slope the way they came with the heavy burden. They hadn’t noticed him.
My luck holds.
With the men’s backs to Holliday, he stood and hobbled as fast as he could for the wagon. Near the wagon, he dropped down behind a boulder and leaned against its warm surface. He was panting from his exertions. No doubt if the men were closer, they would have heard him wheezing.
After twenty seconds, he peered out from behind his cover, catching a glimpse of the two men traversing a narrow track. They passed some rubble further up the slope and disappeared from view.
Let’s see what these demons have in the wagon.
Taking his time, Holliday crept around to the wagon’s side. Lifting the canvas, he stuck his head inside. In the back of the wagon was a chest, similar to the one the two men carried up the hill.
Let’s have a closer look.
Holliday moved to the rear of the wagon and with some effort, dragged himself inside. The exertion proved too much and he felt the sudden urge to cough tickling at the back of his throat. He whipped his handkerchief from his vest pocket just as his body started to convulse.
Not now!
Doubling over, Holliday clenched his eyes and his body tensed as he tried to suppress a hacking cough. Covering his mouth with his handkerchief and hands, he managed to muffle most of the sound and after several long seconds, he regained control of his breathing and his body relaxed.
If it’s all the same to you, he thought, casting his eyes skyward. I would prefer not to die today.
He dabbed red droplets from his lips and moustache with the already blood-stained cloth and listened to his surroundings. All was quiet.
With urgency, Holliday moved to the chest and after fumbling with the latch, opened its lid. Sitting back on his haunches, he gazed at the chest’s contents. It was full of Sky Rocks—black rocks streaked with fine multi-colored threads. There were more Sky Rocks here than he had ever seen before and the value was well beyond most people’s understanding of money. But not Holliday’s.
Well, well… What could I do with all this wealth?
Selecting a rock the size of his fist, he turned it in his hands, marveling at the colors within.
This alone would keep me in whisky and cigars for weeks!
He slipped the rock into one of the many pockets in his coat.
Just for safe keeping—
Nearby, a horse neighed and shifted its weight.
Someone’s coming.
Holliday took cover behind the chest and drew one of his revolvers. Steadying his arm on the lid, he aimed at the rear flap. He was calm, he had always been able to think straight and control his nerves under pressure.
As quietly as he could, Holliday thumbed back the revolver’s hammer and winced as it betrayed him and clicked.
Come on, you bastards.
He applied light pressure to the trigger—
“I hope you ain’t going to blow my head off,’” said a deep voice. “It might ruin our friendship.”
Roberts.
“That depends, Marshal,” said Holliday, easing down the revolver’s hammer. “What news do you have about Kate and Miss Garrett?”
Roberts’ weathered face appeared at the rear flap. “There are signs that many people entered the mine recently. One of them was Garrett. I’m not sure about your woman. There are several women’s prints.”
“If I know Kate, she’ll be alive and causing them headaches.”
“My guess is these people are the missing townsfolk. They were alive when they entered the mine, but who knows now.”
“What now?” asked Holliday as he scrambled out the back of the wagon.
“We need to hide. Someone will return for that last chest and I don’t want to be caught flat-footed. There is a depression not far away.” He pointed further up the slope. “We can hide there until the sun goes down. Then we’ll march into the mine and send these bastards back to hell.”
Holliday glanced up at the sinking sun. Night was still some time off. “I’m not sure we can afford to wait that long.”
Roberts put his arm around Holliday’s shoulder and half-carried, half-dragged the gambler thirty yards and then they slid into a waist-deep gully. Holliday lay against the gully’s side, sheltering himself in the shadows from the harsh afternoon sun. Roberts looked at his prostrated form, but said nothing. The old marshal’s attention turned from their hiding spot and he surveyed the rocky terrain toward the mine somewhere above.
“How far is the entrance?” asked Holliday.
“About a hundred yards.”
“Guards?”
“Two. Both with rifles.” Roberts glanced back at his fragile companion lying in the bottom of the gully. “I think we can take them now.”
“How?”
“Frontal assault.”
Hell. I can barely stand, let alone fight in my current state.
Roberts raised a hand in warning. “Men are coming,” he whispered.
Holliday dragged himself up beside Roberts and looked on to the winding trail. It was the same two men that carried the previous chest up the hill—the drifter and the bearded man. They headed silently down to the wagon and without a looking for danger, climbed inside. A minute later they reappeared and man-handled the chest of Sky Rocks out of the wagon before turning and heading back up the slope.
“Let’s take them while their hands are full,” said Holliday, drawing a revolver.
Roberts placed a firm hand on his thin shoulder. “The other two riflemen would be on us in seconds and cut us down.”
He’s right.
“We’ll give these two time to enter the mine,” said Roberts, “and then we’ll wait for a while before we take out the two guards at the entrance.”
“We should act now, Marshal. If Kate and Miss Garrett are in there, they’ll be depending on us.”
Roberts turned his head and locked eyes with Holliday for a brief moment before turning back to watch the men.
Damn, he’s a cold one, thought Holliday. And he’s wasting precious time.
Holliday aimed his revolver across the small gully. After a few seconds his hand started shaking from the effort of holding up the weapon. The sun had burnt his skin red and his clothes were damp with sweat. In his weakened state he had as much strength as a newborn.
I will be more hindrance than help. “I’m not sure if I can help much in my current physical condition.”
“Cause a distraction and I’ll do the rest. You seem to rile most folks just by talking to them. Just try that.”
“How did you ever talk Wyatt in joining your association? You are one of the most abrasive people I have ever met.” Wyatt wouldn’t tolerate a man like him.
“I grow on people. Come on, it’s time to go.”
Roberts grabbed Holliday under his shoulder an
d assisted him up the gully bank. They stumbled and Holliday fell a few times, but eventually Roberts lowered the Deadliest Dentist behind a rocky outcrop further up the slope. Both men were panting from their exertions. The sunlight glistened on Holliday’s sweaty, pale skin.
Holliday lay against the rock and closed his eyes. “The doctors said the west would be good for my health. Those bastards have no idea what’s crawling around out here trying to eat honest folk.”
“Honest?”
“I was talking about you, Marshal.”
“The only reason the Agency hired me is that I’m ‘reliable.’ I’ve never been accused of honesty before.”
“That, Marshal, I can believe.”
Roberts remained stone-faced and after an uncomfortable pause, he moved past Holliday and looked toward the mine. The entrance was less than forty yards away. Two armed men stood in front of the dark tunnel.
“Strange. They haven’t moved,” Roberts said, drawing his cavalry saber with his right hand and revolver with his left. “Can you cover me?”
“I’ll try not to shoot you.”
“Good enough.”
Roberts moved off the trail, zig-zagging from cover to cover as he made his way higher up the slope. Holliday drew an ivory-handled revolver and steadied his arm on the rock, aiming at the men. His gun barrel wavered and he was not able to control it.
Hell, I couldn’t shoot this hill let alone a man at this distance.
Holliday lowered his gun and watched Roberts’ steady progress over the rocky terrain. The two riflemen didn’t appear to notice the marshal until it was too late. He rushed the guards from the side, slashing his saber across the closest man’s throat. A fountain of crimson sprayed into the air and the man dropped silently to the ground. In an instant the marshal was on the second guard, smashing his revolver down on the man’s forehead.
The guard staggered back, blood trickling from a gash in his head, but he didn’t go down. Instead, he raised his rifle—using it to shield himself from the saber blows Roberts rained down on him. The guard stepped backward, tripping in his haste to get away from Roberts’ attacks.
Doc Holliday_The Sky Fire Chronicles Page 12
