How the West Was Weird, Vol. 2

by Barry Reese

  “That was stupid,” said Lone Crow. “You'll lead the Federales right to us. The screaming of a monkey blends in with the other jungle noises, but the sound of a gunshot will send them galloping our direction.”

  “Then what is the sound of one more bullet as I shoot you in the head?” Curry pushed the pistol past Asuncion's skull and pointed the barrel at the Indian. The Costa Rican girl slumped forward, unable to cover her ears because her hands were tied to the saddle horn.

  “Curry! Hold your fire,” ordered Cassidy. “We need him if we're going to get through these mountains. Especially now that you've alerted the Federales to our position.”

  “Bring on the Federales,” shouted Curry. “We can take them all!”

  It was very obvious to Crow that Curry had been pulling at his whiskey flask since the moment he had climbed from his sleeping roll that morning. He had been drinking heavily the night before also – largely in celebration of their successful heist of San Jose's mint. Not that he needed an excuse, for he drank heavily with the slightest of provocations and the flimsiest of pretenses.

  “Then you and your girl can stay behind and face the Federales while we put as much distance between them and us as possible,” said the Tall Texan to his ornery comrade.

  Curry grumbled out a curse or two when he saw how untenable his position was. He spurred his horse into the mouth of the narrow trail, his silver-laden pack horse following. “All of you can rot in h—”

  His profane exclamation was cut short by a coughing from behind a large umbrella fern. Lone Crow grimaced, because he knew his carefully planned ambush had been exposed too early. The Wild Bunch should have been entirely on the side trail for the positions of the ambushers to have been ideal. The ambushers were outnumbered nearly two to one and it was important that they have not only the element of surprise, but proper positioning so that the entire gang was exposed to the field of fire.

  Doc Holliday, also, realized that his hacking cough had blown the ambush, so he emerged from the veil of broad leaves, a double-barreled shotgun in his hands. The only one who had breached the head of the trail was Kid Curry, but when Doc saw Asuncion tied to the horn of the saddle he shifted his aim, even as he pulled the trigger, loosing one barrel. The buckshot plowed into the rear flank of the horse, and it bucked, screaming in pain.

  Curry was so fast on the draw that his palm had already slapped leather, and he was firing even as he was thrown from his horse. Two bullets punched through Holliday's trench coat, and two more clipped the ferns around him, and then Curry was on the ground. Holliday shifted his aim and pulled the trigger of the last barrel, shredding Curry's face in a hail of shot. Curry's horse bolted down the trail about a hundred yards before his hind leg gave out and he went plowing into the underbrush, taking the Costa Rican girl with him.

  Morgan and Warren Earp opened up from their hiding spots among the thick undergrowth, and though their positions were far from ideal they laid a thick screen of lead through the air that sent Cassidy and Sundance scrambling for some kind of cover. They weren't sure just where the barrage of lead was coming from, so they ended up leading the train of pack horses into a tangled knot of rope, horse flesh and outlaws.

  The ambush had been utterly botched. Lone Crow knew that if he and his Earp allies were going to salvage the ambush and come out alive that he would have to take advantage of these few moments of confusion. Butch and Sundance weren't the survivors of multiple robberies and gunfights because they were slow-witted. They would be thinking a way out of this mess just as quickly as he was figuring a way to use it for his own purposes.

  Crow whirled on the Wild Bunch, nocking an arrow as quickly as some gunfighters might draw a pistol. He sent an arrow through Cassidy's throat, and the outlaw pitched off his horse, clutching at the feathered shaft. Before Cassidy had finished falling, Crow had another arrow on his string and he was looking for a target. Too late, he spotted Sundance slipping from the back of his mount into the midst of the milling horse flesh, where he had cover courtesy of a half dozen equines.

  The Tall Texan was still astride his horse, firing a pistol toward the puffs of black gunsmoke that rose above the thick foliage and revealed the Earp Brothers' general location. The Tall Texan was a renowned marksman, but it was difficult to hit what he couldn't see and he was firing with a pistol, which was less accurate at a distance than the carbines that the Earps were firing. One of the Earps’ bullets took off the Tall Texan's hat and then Crow's arrow caught him in the shoulder, so that he dropped his pistol.

  News Carvey and the two Costa Rican banditos, Jorje and Javier, had already slipped off their horses, and now – with the injured Tall Texan joining them on the trail floor –they presented the most difficult of targets, for only an occasional glimpse of them could be seen through the screen of shifting horse flesh.

  With freshly reloaded shotgun, Doc Holliday came running and threw himself on the grass a few feet from Lone Crow. Carvey and Jorje had the same idea first. They were already on the ground shooting at Crow's legs as he sprinted for the thick shrubbery at the trail side. Their bullets nicked leaves and threw up clots of earth, but their erstwhile guide escaped into the jungle. Before Carvey and Jorje could wonder whether the Indian was fleeing the fight or if he was planning to move through the foliage and flank them, Holliday unleashed a scathing charge of buckshot. The tiny pieces of shot threw up a cloud of earth and one of the horses went lurching onto his side.

  Carvey and Jorje may have been nicked by a few pieces of shot, but it didn't seem to hinder them any. Jorje, with a still-burning cigar clamped between his teeth, lifted his pistol and put a bullet through the skull of the fallen horse. In a few moments it ceased its writhing and he and Carvey crawled up behind the belly of the dead beast, using its carcass as cover from Holliday's buckshot. Immediately, Holliday realized the danger that he was in and he loosed his last barrel of shot. At the report of the shotgun Carvey and Jorje ducked their heads behind the carcass and Holliday went scrambling for cover.

  Carvey and Jorje sent a fusillade of lead chasing him, but somehow Holliday managed to stumble into the brush and trip over a root, yet remain completely untouched by any of the bullets that sang after him.

  Javier had the same idea as Crow and he had retreated into the brush, hoping to come around the side of the ambushers and take a few potshots. Coming through the thick foliage, he and Lone Crow collided, both of them losing their weapons in the impact of bodies and tangle of limbs. Besides his Bowie knife Crow had a tomahawk tucked into his belt and he wasted no time yanking it free. Javier owned a bone-handled knife, but as he jerked it out of its sheath Crow's hand closed around Javier's wrist, pinning it and the knife to the jungle floor.

  Crow raised his tomahawk and was about to bring it down on Javier's skull when the earth began to rumble and shake. This did not deter Crow and he swung the axe anyhow, but the ground beneath them heaved suddenly and the edge of the tomahawk buried in a fallen branch next to Javier, instead of in his head. The sky suddenly turned dark as ash plumed from the trembling orifice of the Orosi Volcano far above them. The earth twitched so violently that Crow and Javier were thrown apart, and they ceased to fight – clutching the ground in fear that they might be tossed away and swallowed up in the shifting landscape.

  The over-branching limbs of the mangroves swayed and pitched, and for a time Crow thought that the trees might topple. In the distance the very mountainside split asunder, belching dust and creating a highway deep into the bowels of the earth. Then the violent twitching of the earth began to calm, the rolling motion of the terrain becoming an occasional tremor.

  By all rights, Crow should have drawn his Bowie and renewed his assault on the Costa Rican bandito, but Javier was gazing into the dusky sky. Crow followed his gaze and saw that the sunlight shining through the ash-filled sky created a spectral red haze. As peculiar and awe-inspiring as this was, it was not nearly as amazing as the thing that fixed Javier's attentions. For wheeling through th
at ashen haze was a great winged lizard who shrieked out a bone-chilling cry. The wing span of the creature was beyond that of any bird that Crow had ever laid his eyes upon.

  For a moment Crow thought the creature had fixed its gaze upon him and Javier, but then it shifted its wings and soared into the dark billows cast up by the volcano.

  Javier began crossing himself and muttered a prayer. As odd as it was to see a vicious bandito suddenly become religious, Crow didn't pause to watch. Instead he retrieved his bow and wrenched free the tomahawk from the fallen log where it had stuck.

  The horses had become tangled and mired during the gun battle and the following quake and eruption. None had escaped. One was dead and at least two others were injured severely enough that they wouldn't be leaving the scene. Most of the horses had calmed as the quake receded, but they were tense and could be set off again by the slightest of troubles.

  One of the stallions sniffed the air and caught scent of something he didn't like. His reins were tangled and he reared and pitched, whinnying wildly.

  News Carvey arose from hiding and grabbed the horse's bridle, trying to soothe the beast while his knife cut loose the tangle of rein and rope.

  The Tall Texan staggered to a log, still clutching at the arrow protruding from his shoulder. Crimson stained his tunic. “Somebody cut this blasted thing out of me!”

  Morgan Earp and Doc Holliday came out of hiding. Doc was holding his newly reloaded shotgun, and Morgan was wielding a still-smoking Winchester carbine. They trained these on the surviving members of the Wild Bunch. “Nobody move!”

  Before Sundance could countermand this order, Crow found the body of Butch Cassidy and retrieved the Eagle-butted Colt, which was still thrust through the dead outlaw's belt.

  Still, Crow and his band of bounty hunters were outnumbered by the Wild Bunch, and if the outlaws should decide to fight they would probably have the upper hand.

  “Where's Warren?” called Crow.

  “He's got an eye for pretty young things,” answered Morgan Earp. “He's gone to check on the girl that was riding with Kid Curry.”

  Sundance was still brandishing his pistol and Crow pointed his Peacemaker in the outlaw's direction. “Drop the gun, Sundance!”

  “What are you going to do with us if we surrender, redman?” asked Sundance, without relinquishing his pistol. He pointed it casually in Crow’s direction.

  “The Earps and I will take you back to the United States so that you can receive a fair trial,” said Crow.

  “A fair trial,” laughed Sundance. “I think I like my chances better in a gunfight. What's the bounty on my head at now?”

  “Fifteen hundred dollars,” said Morgan Earp. “Curry was worth a thousand and Butch's head brings two thousand.”

  “Dead or alive?” asked Sundance.

  “Dead or alive,” confirmed Crow.

  “What about Carvey and the Texan?” asked Sundance. “What will they bring you?”

  “Five hundred apiece,” said Holliday. “Now drop your weapon or I'll fill you full of buckshot!”

  “Not so fast, Doc,” replied Sundance. “I think we can come to an agreement that will be mutually beneficial. I'm flattered that such an illustrious group of gunfighters and lawmen would come so far to hunt us down, but I think we can come to a practical financial arrangement that won't involve further bloodshed.”

  This piqued Holliday's interest. “Just what kind of financial arrangement would you be talking about, Sundance?”

  News Carvey had finished cutting the horse free and, to Crow's eyes, it looked as though he were just awaiting the opportunity to throw himself on top of the steed and bolt. The Tall Texan was still sitting on a log, spitting tobacco juice and cursing when he saw that no one was going to cut the arrow out of him. Jorje and Javier seemed to be watching the trails, as if they were expecting somebody to arrive shortly – perhaps the Federales.

  “Kid Curry and Butch are already dead, God rest their souls. You take them and collect your blood bounty...”

  “What about the bounties on you, the Texan, and Carvey?” asked Morgan.

  Sundance motioned toward the bags that burdened their pack horses. “I pay you twenty-five hundred silver dollars and you leave us to go our separate ways.”

  “Sounds fair to me,” said Holliday.

  “Justice will be halfway served,” agreed Morgan. “I think it's better to have silver in the hand than to try and keep a watchful eye on three desperados all the way back to the Rio Grande. What do you say, Crow?”

  Crow frowned. “It all sounds perfectly practical, and I might even be tempted if the silver coin actually was Sundance's to give – but it's stolen coin from the mint in San Jose. What do you think the Federales are going to do to us if they catch us with part of the stolen loot?”

  Morgan's handsome face screwed up. “I hadn't thought of it that way.”

  “I'm willing to chance it,” shrugged Holliday.

  Warren Earp came tramping down the road, Winchester carbine forward and dark-haired Asuncion trailing behind him a few feet, tatters of sliced rope still hanging from her raw wrists. She paused at the body of Kid Curry as if to make sure that her tormentor was really dead.

  “She's a gorgeous piece of calico, ain't she?” proclaimed Warren Earp.

  “You're married,” Morgan reminded his little brother.

  “Ain't nothing wrong with looking at the window dressings,” protested Warren, as if wounded at the very suggestion of wrongdoing.

  At that moment, News Carvey decided to make a break for it. Crow was ready for the attempted escape, but that didn't make the shot any easier. Carvey didn't fully mount the horse, instead grabbing the horn of its saddle and swinging one leg over the back of the beast. He hung like a leech on the flank of the horse and he gave a fearsome shout, causing his mount to surge forward through the press of pack horses.

  With Carvey clinging to the opposite side of the horse Crow could see only a foot and a hand, and it was highly doubtful that a .45 slug would penetrate the thick body of the horse should he attempt to shoot through the beast. Crow fired once and the bullet took off the horn of the saddle as well as one of Carvey's fingers.

  Carvey lost his grip and plummeted to the ground, but his horse gave a terrified shriek and bolted off into the jungle without its rider. Being the horse of an outlaw, the steed was surely accustomed to the sound of gunfire, so Crow wondered what had so terrified the beast. None of the other members of the Wild Bunch had made a move to escape, but neither had they surrendered their weapons. Crow heard a great thrashing through the brush behind him and he hazarded a glance over his shoulder – for just a moment's inattention might be enough for Sundance or his bandito compadres to put a bullet in him.

  Trees wavered and saplings snapped, while towering umbrella ferns were crushed under massive feet. Then a mottled beast nearly sixty feet long and standing three times the height of a man came crashing through the forest growth.

  It was reptilian in nature, with mottled skin of violet and purple hues, except for the great ridge of spines upon its back, which for a moment unfurled like the sail of a ship and were splotched with vivid red and blue. For a brief moment Crow had a chance to contemplate the long narrow head of the spinosaur as it lunged forward, snapping out its neck to its full length, before its razor teeth clamped on Warren Earp, engulfing his torso, so that only his legs could be seen wriggling wildly – the rest of him inside the spinosaur's mouth. Warren, by design or accident, had managed to jam his carbine in between the upper and lower portions of the mammoth creature's mouth, thereby keeping the teeth from rending him in half. But this respite was only momentary, for the stock of the gun splintered and the teeth completely descended. Then the youngest of the Earp brothers was gobbled up, a succulent appetizer to whet the reptilian fiend's appetite for the greater meal that was to come.

  Morgan gave an anguished cry and began pumping lead into the great beast. He shot his carbine as fast as he could lever fresh
cartridges into the barrel, and firing on the spinosaur was like firing at the broad side of a barn. It was nearly impossible to miss, but the .44 slugs seemed to have just as much effect on the monstrous beast as they would have upon a barn. At best they seemed to enrage the spinosaur, who had not yet sated his appetite.

  The spinosaur lurched toward Asuncion, who stood transfixed in fear, unable to compel her legs to move. Crow sprang into action, drawing his tomahawk and hurling it in one swift motion. He doubted that his throwing axe would have any greater effect than the bullets that Morgan Earp had been firing into the beast, but it was certainly a more visible weapon, and perhaps it would serve to distract the giant reptile. Crow aimed for the eye, but the beast was moving and the axe struck in the thick ridge of the beast's cranium, just above the ocular socket.

  Blood streamed into the spinosaur's eye, and though it was only superficially hurt the giant beast was momentarily deflected from his intentions to make a meal of Asuncion. He threw his great head back and roared his anger. Crow took this moment to burst across the clearing and tackle Asuncion. He rolled her out of harm's way, but then the spinosaur's crimson-misted vision picked up the movement beneath him and focused his attention on the Indian and the dark-haired girl, who had tumbled into a ravine off the side of the trail.

  Crow drew his gun and began to fire into the skull of the spinosaur. The Peacemaker had been blessed by a power beyond Crow's comprehension, so that the bullets had effect against the undead and the unholy – but this prehistoric creature was another matter entirely. Its nature was not evil; it was merely a beast driven by its predatory instinct and its hunger. The slugs flattened against the spinosaur's skull and ricocheted off, except for one of the six that penetrated the membrane of the beast's eye, just below the spot where the tomahawk was still wedged in the bone.

  Now thoroughly enraged, the beast swung its stinging head in a long arc that knocked over an unlucky pack horse. It was at this moment that News Carvey decided he should make a second attempt at fleeing the scene. Even missing a finger, he managed to grab the reins of his crazed horse, thrust a foot in the stirrup, and throw himself wholly upon his saddle. In the meantime, Sundance backpedaled away from the crush of the bucking and stomping horses, firing twin .45s into the flank of the spinosaur. A few of these penetrated into the thick layers of flesh, but they merely added to the giant reptile's irritation.