How the West Was Weird, Vol. 2

by Barry Reese

  Carvey's horse managed to sidestep the falling pack horse, but though the outlaw hadn't fired a single shot the spinosaur was anxious to vent its wrath on anything in its path. He caught the horse and its rider between its long jaws and began to shake, flesh tearing and bone splintering. The remains of the horse fell at the reptile's feet, and the spinosaur chomped down Carvey and portions of the horse he rode.

  Morgan Earp cursed, wondering how it was going to be possible to collect a bounty on an outlaw devoured by a giant lizard. Still, this was but a fleeting thought because the one-eyed gaze of the spinosaur turned in his direction and he bolted for the relative safety of the forest, where he hoped he might be able to reload his carbine without fear of being eaten.

  While the spinosaur was in the midst of devouring Carvey and his horse, Crow recalled that Carvey had been the one responsible for blowing the safe at the San Jose Currency Mint. He turned to Asuncion and motioned for her to stay put in the ravine, using what Spanish he had managed to learn during his journeys. “Esperar aquí!”

  Asuncion nodded, her breath coming in heavy gasps as she tried to shrink into the tangle of the ravine's foliage, but her eyes scarcely left the awesome beast that wreaked bloody carnage above. Crow opened the cylinder of his pistol and shook out the empty brass, reloading fresh cartridges with practiced precision. Then he was scrambling up the ravine and darting beneath the spinosaur to the half-eaten horse that lay at the reptile's feet. He used his Bowie knife to slice open the bindings of the saddlebag, and thrust his hand inside.

  Crow found what he was looking for, just not as much as he thought he might need. There were just two sticks of dynamite left over from Carvey's demolition of the San Jose Mint's safe. While the spinosaur swallowed down the last vestiges of his mouthful, Crow twisted together the cordite fuses of the sticks. He fumbled for a match in his pouch and struck it on a rock, then he was holding two blazing sticks of bundled dynamite in his fist. Now the head was dipping down again, the jaws opening up to devour the annoyance that had put out one of his eyes.

  Though Crow knew that the fuses weren't properly timed he hurled the sticks of dynamite into the spinosaur's mouth. Gravity grabbed the dynamite out of the great lizard's mouth, pulling the spitting bundle back to the earth before it could explode. The spinosaur ignored the sparks and lunged for Crow, but the Native American gunslinger was already darting between the spinosaur's legs – the only place that the reptile wasn't able to follow. Crow felt a cold exhalation against his back and he heard the gnashing of razor teeth as the spinosaur's jaws snapped closed inches behind him.

  Then the dynamite went off. The only thing that saved Crow's life was that the great head of the spinosaur was between him and the dynamite. Even so, the force of the explosion picked him up and sent him tumbling back into the ravine where Asuncion was still hiding. The great horned plates on the spinosaur's head largely protected him from the blast, but still the explosion staggered the beast so that it fell against a cypress, splintering branches and shattering the bole of the tree. The spinosaur righted itself and then began to lumber erratically away from the terrified horses, outlaws, and bounty hunters.

  To speed it on its way, Doc Holliday discharged both barrels of his shotgun into the spinosaur's posterior. For a moment Crow was worried that this would cause the beast to turn around and attack them again, but apparently the spinosaur had found them too much trouble and was off to digest its meal. Holliday thrust his shotgun into the air and gave a whoop, but then he doubled over in a coughing fit.

  Crow climbed from the ravine and covered Sundance with his pistol. The Tall Texan was trying to crawl into the weeds, but the arrow protruding from his shoulder hindered his movement. Jorje and Javier were still armed and about to open fire on Crow when Morgan emerged from the foliage behind them with his carbine. “Drop your guns or I'll kill you both,” he warned.

  The pair of banditos seemed to know they were licked and they carefully dropped their pistols onto the loam, then unbuckled their gun belts and let them drop alongside.

  Javier looked at the trail of destruction that the spinosaur had left in its wake and shook his head. “Qué fue eso?”

  Sundance seemed to understand the question. “Beats the tar out of me. I've never seen nothing like it before.”

  Jorje still had a smoking cigar clamped between his teeth. “It wasn't the only thing. Did you see the monstruo in the sky right after the quake? That was like no bird that I ever saw.”

  “I don't know what's going on here,” said Sundance. “But I say we collect our silver, cut dirt, and get out of Costa Rica as fast as we can – before we run into any more afterclaps like that overgrown lizard.”

  “You're in our custody now,” said Crow as he walked up to Sundance and disarmed him. “You're coming with us and that silver isn't coming with you.”

  Holliday had recovered enough from his coughing fit to begin reloading his shotgun. “Let's think about that, Crow. Are you sure it's a good idea to leave all this silver sitting around in the jungle untended? I hate to see it go to waste.”

  The sound of horses' hooves and the jingle of spurs came to Crow's ears, and it was apparent that Jorje heard it too – because a wide grin spread across his face. “You gringos worry too much about that silver. If you want to live you're going to leave it right where it is, and Javier and I will see that it is properly cared for.”

  “What?” demanded Morgan Earp. “You think the Federales are going to let you keep that silver?”

  “Those aren't Federales, amigo,” explained Jorje as he blew out a puff of blue smoke. “Those are bandito friends of Javier's and mine. Did you think that your Indian friend was the only one who knew about this lost vale? My banditos have been using it for years to hide from the Federales.”

  “Your banditos?” asked Sundance. “I should have known you were a double-crosser when you were so eager to join up with us.”

  “My band is thirty-seven men strong,” said Jorje. “There's not much left of your pitiful Wild Bunch now, is there? I'd advise you all to make a quick departure. I'd guess you have two, maybe three minutes before the first band arrives. I've got horsemen coming from two directions, so you'll have to guess which way is best to travel.”

  This put a whole new complexion on things, but though he had lost a man, Crow had successfully killed or apprehended all of the Wild Bunch for which there were bounties offered stateside. The only reward they wouldn't be able to collect was for Carvey, who was currently lining the insides of a giant lizard. The others they could still bring back dead or alive.

  Crow thrust his pistol at Sundance. “You and the Texan get on your horses. If you try to escape I'll shoot you out of the saddle.”

  Sundance climbed onto his horse. “It doesn't look as though I've got anywhere to run. Banditos in two directions and a giant lizard in the third – I think I'll take my chances with you, Earp, and Holliday.”

  Morgan Earp threw the bodies of both Kid Curry and Butch Cassidy over the backs of two of the pack horses, scowling as he cut loose the bags of silver. Then he and Holliday mounted their own horses alongside the Tall Texan, who had somehow managed to climb into the saddle despite the protruding arrow.

  Crow knew better than to leave Asuncion at the mercies of a gang of banditos, so he spoke to her in his broken Spanish and she quickly agreed with his assessment, and chose a speckled mare from among the Wild Bunch's train of horses. The mare had no saddle so she rode bare back, except for a saddle blanket.

  The six of them beat a hasty retreat, leaving behind a gloating pair of banditos who were already gathering their bags of silver coin.

  “Hasta la vista, gringos!” cried Jorje. “May you have better luck next time!”

  From the sound filtering through the jungle on the downward trail, Crow was certain that was not the direction that his mixed band of bounty hunters and outlaws should take. Nor did he desire to head anywhere near the path that the spinosaur plowed through the jungle. Instead h
e chose to lead his motley party further into the vale along the base of the mountain ridges, in the hopes that either Jorje was lying through his cigar-stained teeth or better yet, that the second party of banditos was coming from the same direction that the spinosaur was heading.

  “We should have taken some of that silver,” griped Holliday, and he coughed hard, his face turning pale.

  “Better the Federales catch the banditos with it than catch us with it,” said Crow.

  Morgan Earp kept a tight lip. “At least we're leaving with enough bodies to bring in a lot of bounty money. Though, I sure wish this was one trip that I wouldn't have let my little brother come with me.”

  “What was that thing that 'et him?” asked Holliday. “That was no crocodile.”

  “Heh,” laughed Sundance. “That was like something that those bone hunters dig up and cobble together – a dinosaur of some sort. Except the dinosaurs are supposed to have been dead for thousands of years.”

  Morgan frowned. “I, for one, can testify that the dinosaur that ate Warren was not dead. Though I surely would like to come back with a Gatling gun and rectify that.”

  The procession of outlaws and bounty hunters proceeded up a narrow trail that wound high around the mountain, the trail side falling away precipitously down rocky slopes. Crow reined his horse to a halt as he and Asuncion came to a large split in the side of the mountain – a split that hadn't been there when they had passed this way into Costa Rica. They looked into the shadowed depths of the newly-formed highway which opened the deeps of the earth, and Crow swore that he saw a gleam of something akin to sunlight spreading its molten rays from within. Then he saw movement, small reptilian creatures that traveled up the shadowed highway, and ran chittering past the horsemen to be lost in the jungle. Crow could see very large footprints in the freshly churned soil, footprints that matched those of the spinosaur that had eaten Warren Earp.

  The horses shifted uneasily and Holliday laughed, but there was little humor in the harsh sound. “Now we know where that dinosaur came from. The gates of hell have opened up and let loose its occupants.”

  Crow heard the sound of many horsemen approaching around the curve of the mountainside. It was surely the second group of bandits that Jorje had promised were coming. Sundance heard them, too.

  “Give me back my pistol,” he pleaded. “I swear I'll return it to you as soon as we've beat the banditos.”

  “There's too many,” said Crow even as he pondered what the word of a murderer and thief was worth. “We don't stand a chance against them all. Not even if we had time to set up an ambush.”

  “Then let's turn around,” grunted the Tall Texan. He clutched at the shaft of the arrow that protruded from his shoulder.

  Crow shook his head, his dark eyes gleaming beneath the shadow of hat. “There have been horses following us for some time.”

  “Looks like we're between the bull and the barbed wire,” said Morgan Earp.

  “The banditos in Costa Rica...” grunted the Tall Texan. “They stake out their enemies on the river banks and let the crocs eat them. I'd rather go to a clean hanging than be torn apart by a croc.”

  Holliday cast an eye down the steep slope to their right and judged their chances, if they fled down the slope, to be about nil. “I'm seeing only one way that doesn't end in immediate death.”

  Crow caught Holliday's drift and instead of wasting precious time in asking everyone's opinion, he urged his horse down the dark highway. After just a few moments' hesitation Asuncion expertly spurred her own horse to follow – for she knew that should the banditos capture her that her fate would be somewhat worse than being fed to the crocodiles.

  Morgan Earp motioned the Tall Texan and Sundance forward. “I spent a lot of time tracking you two down. I'm not leaving you for the banditos the first time the going gets tough.”

  Sundance flashed a grin. “I appreciate that, pardner. When the time comes to kill you, I promise I'll make it quick.”

  Doc Holliday was the last through, and he disappeared into the dark cleft just a few moments before the first of the riders rounded the bend. “I've had quite a number of people tell me to go to hell. Perhaps it's time that I accommodate them.”

  Asuncion Ramirez's manuscript ends here. Other fragments have been reportedly discovered, attributed to a later date than this writing, which gives an indication that Ramirez may have survived her encounter with the Wild Bunch and her journey into the bowels of the earth. This author is making contact with various antiquarians in an effort to track down these writings and bring them to light.

  THE YELLOW DOG

  by Ron Fortier

  The yellow dog started barking long before Matt Germaine saw the dust swirls on the eastern horizon. It was almost noon and the scorching Arizona sun was baking the earth with searing summer heat. Matt took a wet rag out of the bucket by the door to the smokehouse and washed his naked, sweating chest and grizzled face. The yellow mongrel kept up his incessant yapping, racing back and forth in front of the adobe house and spooking the chickens all over the dirt yard.

  “Shut up, dog,” he finally uttered, walking towards the small horse corral where his son, Nathan, had been working the Appaloosa mare they’d bought during their last trip to the fort. Now he was standing on the top fence pole, his battered sombrero folded over his dark eyes trying to identify the newcomers.

  “Riders, Pa.” He pointed to the bend in the river. “Looks like a half dozen or more.”

  Squinting his eyes, Matt recognized a flying pennant and immediately his stomach tightened. Cavalry coming out here was never a good thing. He heard the cabin door open and turned to see Sarah standing there, seven-year-old Molly trying to squeeze out behind her calico skirt. Sarah’s wheat colored hair was dusted with flour, the same powder covering her hands and smudging her plain but pretty face.

  “Matt?” Her voice was normal, for the children. Only he could hear the worry in it.

  “Soldiers, Sarah. A patrol from the looks of it.”

  “Oh. I’d best put some coffee on then.” She started back in the house. “Come on Molly, help me see if we can rustle up some molasses cookies right quick.”

  “Can I lick the bowl, Mama?”

  Sarah closed the door before Matt could hear her reply. Best way to keep the house cool.

  The dog started growling as the army patrol crossed the river and drew closer. They were riding formally, two abreast.

  Matt could now make out faces and was relieved to see Captain Henry Kipler was leading the group. Kipler was an old veteran about his age and Matt respected the man’s natural savvy and common sense. He was a whole lot smarter than most of those new green-behind-the-ears officers the Army sent out from St. Louis every so often.

  “That’s enough, dog.” He kicked it gently in the side and the animal quieted. It looked up at him for a moment, mean-like, just so that he would know it did not appreciate being scolded for doing its job. “Just get out of the way before you get trampled.”

  The patrol, made up of ten riders, was rounding the large corral and the horses within became excited. Matt raised horses and his remuda was ten strong at the present, not counting the new Appaloosa.

  Captain Kipler reined in his mount at the same time raising his right hand skyward. To which a big, square looking sergeant cried out, “Column, halt!” With practiced ease, all ten riders came to a stop behind their commanding officer. To Kipler’s left, was the half-breed scout, John Two-Ponies. These men were physical opposites, yet Matt thought of them as cut from the same tough cloth.

  Kipler was big, heavy set, his stomach starting to grow a desk paunch. The first signs of age creeping up. He had thinning gray hair and a thick mustache he kept meticulously trimmed. Crow’s feet circled his eyes and his skin was the color of rawhide, evidence of his years on the plains.

  The scout on the other hand was a tall, skinny man with sharp, native features and dusky red skin. His cheeks were prominent and gave his face a perpetual sco
wl that was far from his true personality. It was only when he smiled that his black eyes came alive and the warmth of the man shone through to his generous heart. Matt considered both men his friends.

  “Howdy, Captain. John. What brings you boys out this way in this infernal heat?”

  Kipler took off his dirty white hat and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “Trouble, Matt. A heaping big parcel of it.”

  “Oh?”

  Kipler dismounted and pointed his hat to the well between the big corral and the house. “Mind if I wet my mouth first, been eating dust for the last five miles.”

  “Help yourself.” He looked to Nathan. “Boy, get that trough filled with fresh water for the horses.”

  “Right away, Pa!” Nathan jumped off the fence.

  As the officer dipped the tin ladle into the water bucket set atop the stone well, he eyed the boy approaching in long, leggy strides.

  “Nate seems to have shot up a good three feet since the last time I saw him.”

  “It’s Sarah’s cooking. Boy’s gonna be taller than his pa in no time.”

  As the boy sunk the wooden bucket back into the deep well, Kipler and Matt ambled back towards the house. Behind them the burly sergeant and his troopers were leading their horses to the long, wooden trough. Only the scout remained stationary, choosing to wait stoically.

  The yellow dog had slunk over to the nearest fence post and was lying on the ground watching everything. Sometimes Matt thought he was part vulture.

  “So what’s this trouble you’re talking about?”

  “A bunch of wild Apache bucks got drunk at the mission last night and broke into Joe Randall’s store. They shot poor Joe and then had their way with his wife and daughter.”