Guns of Seneca 6 Box Set Collected Saga (Chambers 1-4)

by Bernard Schaffer

  "What about his kin here? They might be putting him up."

  "I searched every single one of their houses personally. They opened the front door for me the second I showed up. They hate that bastard more than we do."

  Sam smacked the side of the porch with his fist and clenched his eyes shut in frustration. "I’ve been sitting around here long enough. Betsy can handle it. I’ll be back to work tomorrow and we’ll start looking. For real this time. My way."

  Tom Masters sighed and said, "Okay, Sheriff. See you then." The deputy turned his destrier around and headed up the trail, nodding at Halladay as he passed. "Evening, Doctor."

  "Hello, Tom," Halladay said. He looked up at Sam, sitting on the porch and said, "My, my, what a pleasant evening for a stroll. Wouldn’t you agree, sir?"

  Sam folded his fingers in front of his face and stared into the distance. He realized Halladay had said something to him and was waiting for an answer. "Yeah. Whatever you say, doc."

  The doctor came up the steps and sat down beside Sam. He pulled out a thin cigarette from a metal case inside his coat and offered Sam one, but Sam shook his head and pulled out a flask from inside of his. "Never did like to mix the taste of tobacco and whiskey. Makes me think I’m drinking liquor out of an ashtray. You want some?"

  "After that poetic analogy I think I must decline, but go right ahead." Halladay lit his cigarette and took a deep drag, then said, "I admired the way you reminded your subordinate of his place. I never could tolerate uppity underlings in my own office."

  "You work alone, Doc," Sam said.

  "Completely beside the point, sir. If I had any subordinates, I would strive to demean them with such complete commitment as you demonstrated tonight. What is the point of having them if you cannot abuse them, I say."

  Sam chuckled and said, "I didn’t abuse Tom. He can take it. He’s worked with me long enough to know when I’m just blowing off steam."

  "Of course he does," Halladay said.

  "What brings you out here this time of night, Doc?"

  "My wife sent me."

  "Why?"

  "To check on you. She said you’re making Betsy miserable with all your skulking around and told me to come check on you as your doctor and as your friend."

  Sam shook his head, "These women, they sure are busybodies, ain’t they?"

  "Amen to that, sir. Amen to that."

  "Well, you can tell her not to worry. I’m going back to work tomorrow and won’t be…what was it? Sulking?"

  "Skulking. Although now that you mention it, that is what she probably meant."

  "Anyway, tell her I’m going back to work tomorrow so I won’t be bothering anybody anymore."

  "Excellent," Halladay said. He took a long drag and blew the smoke up into the air so that it stung his eyes, "To start searching anew for the wily Mr. Phillips, correct? But this time, for real, as you said. It’s about time we had someone push his weight around here and frighten the common townsfolk into giving up what they know. Nothing like a little fear and bullying to get the locals in line."

  Sam swished the whiskey around his mouth and said, "Now, you know I’m not like that."

  Halladay nodded and said, "Do you remember when Erasamus Willow’s wife died?"

  Sam nodded and drank again.

  "Now, bear in mind that as the funeral director, Erasamus has seen more death than anyone in the settlement. He has stuck his hands inside of more dead bodies and molded the mask of decomposition back into a thing of beauty more times than I could count. Mrs. Willow had been sick for years when she finally passed, but Erasamus did such a fine job on her that she looked like an eighteen year old beauty queen lying within the confines of that casket."

  "I remember," Sam said. "That always did make the hair stand up on the back of my neck, him wanting to work on his own wife like that."

  Halladay shrugged, "Regardless, that is a man who possesses a keep familiarity with death. On the day after his wife’s funeral, I visited the Willows and saw young Anna standing on the front porch. The child was rocking back and forth violently, holding herself tight with both arms. There was an enormous column of smoke coming up from the back of the house, and as I ran around the side, I saw Erasamus standing over a massive fire. He was chopping his own furniture to pieces and tossing it into the flames.

  ‘What in the world are you doing, Erasamus?’ I asked him.

  ‘Burning up the past,’ he told me.

  He took a hatchet to his bed and started to hack up the headboard when I ran over to him and snatched the hatchet out of his hands. He tried to fight me, but I managed to knock him down and I said, ‘Erasamus Willow! When little Anna was first learning to walk and she fell down, did she cry immediately or did she look at you and your wife first?’

  And he looked up at me in complete confusion and said, ‘I reckon she looked at us first.’

  ‘Why is that, do you think?’

  ‘To see what we would do.’

  I held out my hand to him and helped him to his feet. ‘She looked at you because she was using your reaction to determine how badly she’d been hurt.’ I handed him back his axe and said, ‘And she still is, you damn fool.’" Halladay stubbed out his cigarette on the porch step and said, "Well, time for me to be getting back to the missus. I’ll tell her what you said, minus the part about being a busybody. Goodnight, Sam."

  Sam watched his friend walk down the steps and into the meadow. "Goodnight, Doc," he said. He went to take another sip but stopped and looked at the bottle for a moment. He walked over to the edge of the porch and dumped the rest of his liquor into the dirt, then screwed the cap back on and went inside.

  Chapter 7: Men in Masks

  They put her in a cage. A hollowed out wagon with barred windows and no seats. Filthy, bug-infested straw littered the bare floorboards. Ruth’s voice was nothing but a bloody scratch on the inside of her throat, worn out from shrieking at the sight of Willard Davis’s body flopping violently on the ground as the savage sliced through his forehead. Willard lived throughout the ordeal, even as the Beothuk grabbed the last handful of loose skin and ripped it free then held it up in the air like some kind of trophy. Willard screamed until finally one of the other natives walked over and put a bullet through his forehead.

  Ruth wished she could cut the image out of her eyes. It was like they’d become camera lenses and stayed open too long gawking at the sight of Willard’s agony until it was burned into them like photographs. She wrapped her hands around the rusted bars covering the wagon’s windows and looked out at the natives on destriers surrounding them. All of the women were packed inside of the caged wagon with her. Elizabeth Hall had vomited all over her shirt and the stench made Ruth’s eyes water.

  She tried to see what had happened to the men from their church but could not see anything past the bare-chested riders. They must be alive, she thought grimly. I haven’t heard any more screaming.

  Elizabeth shoved Ruth out of the way and pressed her face against the iron bars, "Let us out!" She yanked and pulled on the bars feverishly but it did little more than knock the rust off the bars until specks of it glittered in the sunlight.

  Ruth got to her feet and laid her hand gently on Elizabeth’s elbow. "Do not give up your faith, sister," she whispered.

  Elizabeth’s face filled with rage, "What faith? Don’t you understand? Willard was wrong! He was wrong about everything!"

  "I don’t believe that."

  Elizabeth choked on her words as she staggered back and put her hand against the wall to keep herself upright as the wagon rocked them side to side. She grabbed handfuls of her hair and bellowed, "Let me out of here!"

  Ruth returned to the window to see what effect Elizabeth’s frantic screeches had. None of the Beothuk seemed to notice.

  Toquame Keewassee looked back at the wagon and frowned. "Do they have water?"

  The warrior next to him nodded and said, "There are skins inside of the wagon, but they will not drink them." Comee turned arou
nd in his saddle and said, "The ugly one is screaming again. Do you want me to make her silent?"

  "No. That will send the others into a panic."

  "White women," Comee said bitterly.

  Keewassee touched the necklace of colorful crystals around his neck that he’d taken from the wasichu’s dead body. There was a yellow strand of hair tangled in the stones, the same color as the mass of blonde, bloody hair dangling from his saddle. He picked up the scalp and turned it over to inspect the ruined flesh along the underside. He spread the skin out on his saddle to dry in the sun and said, "We will meet up with the masked one past the mountain. They will be silent soon enough."

  The wagon stopped and Ruth immediately lifted her head, "What’s going on?"

  The other women were asleep on the floor, curled up to one another with the dark hay scooped up against them, drawn in like birds building a nest. Ruth pulled herself to the window. The sun was setting. The sky was luminescent in blue and purple and the Beothuk were tending something over a lit fire. They’re going to eat us, Ruth thought. She opened her mouth to scream and stifled it with her fist. She looked back at the other women and her first thought was, If I let them sleep, they’ll stay closer to the door for when the savages come to drag the first one out.

  The horror of her own thoughts overwhelmed her and she slid away from the window and covered her face with her hands to pray. What’s happening to me?

  I don’t want to die. Where has my faith gone?

  Elizabeth has lost faith. Then let her be the one who goes first!

  The back door of the wagon flew open and the women inside sat up and screamed, clawing their way across the floor to get away from the angry looking man standing at the rear who held a flaming torch. Ruth sank down behind them and cowered in the corner, begging him not to take her. The man heaved something into the wagon with a thud before he slammed the door shut and re-locked it.

  "What is it?" Elizabeth Hall screamed, covering her eyes and diving into Ruth’s lap.

  Ruth pushed Elizabeth away from her and leaned forward. She inhaled and said, "I think it’s food." She touched the hunk of meat with her finger. It was still warm. "They killed something and gave us some to eat."

  The women slowly came out of the corner, moving toward the roasted meat. "Is it safe to eat?" one of them said.

  Ruth ripped off a chunk and smelled it. "It smells good." She put it in her mouth and began to chew.

  "They’re feeding us?" Elizabeth whispered. "Why would they feed us if they’re going to kill us? Don’t you understand? We’re going to live! The Great Spirit has blessed us."

  Ruth looked at Elizabeth with disdain as she chewed, waiting until it became tender enough to swallow. "For now, at least."

  They rode into open country that stretched out in front of them like sheets of dark red soil, shimmering purple in the light of the twin moons. Toquame Keewassee held up his hand and all of the riders in the group instantly halted their destriers. The caged wagon rattled to a stop and two Beothuk on either side of the formation dismounted and ducked into the shadows, their movements only indicated by the soft click of their rifle hammers cocking back.

  Comee looked out across the landscape and saw nothing but an enormous tree looming in the distance, its bare branches bent over like the curled fingers of an angry god. Beside him, Keewassee leaned forward in his saddle and sniffed the air, then raised his fist and pointed at the tree ahead. All of the Beothuk drew their weapons and began to move.

  Wind blew through the tree, carrying the scent of decay past the rattling branches. The shadows of multiple objects hanging from the tree, their bare feet swaying side to side in the breeze. It was a dozen Beothuk strung by their necks. Keewassee peered into the darkness past the tree, searching the shadows until he made out the figures of the men hiding there. He saw light reflecting from their gun barrels and laid both of his hands on the neck of his destrier.

  The men came forward, each of them crouched forward in anticipation of firing their rifles. All except the one in the middle. The one in the mask.

  "You like my decorating, Tookie?" he said.

  Keewassee saw more of the men coming up on their sides pinning them in, moving like eager killers. He looked back at the man and said nothing.

  The masked man turned to look up into the tree and said, "These boys somehow got wind of where we was and tried a come up on ol’ Jim. But Jim ain’t the kind you easily come up on." He circled around Keewassee's destrier and said, "Now who do you suppose told them how to find us?"

  Keewassee looked up at the bodies and said, "They are Akashame. River people. When the wasichu came, they were the first to sign his treaties. Now they are forced to live like scavengers. If they had been true to the old ways, this would not be so." Keewassee looked down at the man in the mask and said, "If they had been true to the old ways you would be a dead man right now."

  "So how do I know it wasn’t you that sent them?"

  "Because I would not send Akashame for a task such as this."

  "No? Who would you send?"

  "I would do it myself."

  The masked man chuckled and said, "I bet. So what brings you out here, friend? Just good conversation, or were you fixing to do some trading?"

  Keewassee looked back at the caged wagon and said, "Tonight I have brought you something different than before."

  "Different how?" he said. "Our deal was squaws. Not too young, not too old, and not too ugly. You bring me some raggedy bag full of deformities and left overs and we ain’t trading."

  "Before I tell you anything else, I want you to know they were not harmed. They were not touched. They were fed."

  Gentleman Jim smiled sharply at him, "How about we cut the foreplay and bump uglies, Tookie? What did you bring me?"

  Keewassee cocked his head and one of his Beothuk threw the caged wagon’s rear door open. The women inside screamed as he reached in and grabbed the first limb he could find. Ruth kicked at him violently but he grabbed her by the ankles and yanked her out of the wagon so fast that she fell on the dirty ground with a thud. He snatched her by the hair and lifted her head, showing her face to the wasichu.

  The masked man yanked his pistol free and shoved it against Keewassee’s belly. "You got five seconds to tell me what the hell you’re doing with a cart full of white women, itjin."

  "They came to us. They wanted to come live among The People and learn our ways."

  He headed for Ruth and said, "Is that true? You came here to join the itjins?"

  "Our church did," Ruth hissed. "But he killed Willard!"

  "Who’s Willard?"

  "Our teacher. The one who brought us here."

  The masked man looked her up and down and nodded approvingly. "Teacher, huh? I just bet he was. Get the rest of the women out of that damn cage before I lose my temper."

  "Please save us," Ruth begged. "Please, in the name of the Great Spirit, I beg you to save us from these monsters."

  "First things first, buttercup," he said. He waited for the rest of the women to get ripped out of the wagon, laughing as they spat and cursed in fury at the Beothuk who touched them. He knelt down to inspect Elizabeth Hall but recoiled in revulsion at the vomit staining her chest. The masked man bent down and washed his hand in the dirt and said, "I reckon if we clean ‘em up a bit they’ll do just fine. Especially this young ‘un. Not that our buyer is real particular. Long as a girl’s got the right amount of holes, he’ll pay. I mean, they been takin’ squaws, so a few white women should be like Christmas come all over again." He snapped his fingers at his men and said, "Round ‘em up, boys."

  Keewassee watched the filthy wasichu grab hold of the women and thought, Good. Better to be rid of them. "There may be others. Ones like these. I do not know yet."

  The masked man mounted his destrier and stayed silent for a moment, thinking it over. "The deal we had was for redskin slots only. We start taking real people and the law will come down on us harder than divine judgment. Plus, ta
king squaws is one thing, but taking white girls seems, I dunno. Uncivilized."

  Keewassee looked at his riders who had the wasichu from the group bound and gagged across the backs of their destriers. "What do you want me to do with the men who came with them?"

  "Well, they wanted to be with the Beothuk, right?" He looked up at the dead native bodies hanging from the tree and said, "There you go. Itjin and whiteman, together at last."

  Chapter 8: The Preacher

  Three days.

  Three days in the sun and heat, after Bob Ford fled Seneca 5 with no destrier and no water. Just a damn gun, he thought bitterly. It’s going to be the thing I use to blow my brains out and end this misery.

  He slumped against a rock and stayed there long enough that vultures started swirling over him, waiting until it was safe to descend and start pecking at him. Something was approaching. Bob lifted his head as much as he could, but could make out nothing more than a swirl of dust in the shimmering heat. He tried to swallow, but his throat refused. It was like someone had scraped sandpaper down his insides and stuffed it with cotton. He reached for his pistol but his hand slipped off the Devastator’s handle and finally, he managed to raise his arm in the air before collapsing on the road.

  His body contracted and extended in the dirt like a worm, a system of gears and cables that had run out of oil and started grinding against one another, glowing hot.

  A wagon trucked past him, swerving at the last second before the single mount pulling it trampled Bob. He choked on its dust and gagged on dirt as it filled his nose and mouth and eyes, swirling around him in a filthy cloud from the wagon’s tires.

  A strong arm lifted his head up from the ground and someone spoke, but the words were strange and muffled. Bob felt cool water trickle across his chest and dribble over his forehead, watering him like a plant. Water touched his lips. Droplets slid down into the white fissures of his cracked mouth. Everything inside of him began to bloom again. Bob looked up at the man who held him and saw an angel silhouetted by sunlight. "God sent you for me?" Bob said.