Thorn the Bounty Hunter in The Amber Bones

by Brom Kearne

8

  The pub had always been the heart of Herrickstead. When Nelson Herrick led a band of stubborn settlers and explorers into the Western Frontier at the behest of the governor of Bradenfield the first building they had erected was the pub. Nelson Herrick’s charter was to settle as far west as he could in order to make a claim on as much land as possible. Herrickstead was never intended to be a permanent settlement, but Nelson discovered that the temporary roots they had put down took a little more hold than he would have liked and it was difficult to move on.

  Nate’s Place wasn’t a pub originally. It was a boarding house that happened to be well-stocked with booze where everyone stayed until they were able to get their own places built. Until that happened they had nightly bonfires outside and they made a fair dent in the provisions, especially the corn whiskey, which they had brought with them for the journey. Once everyone had their own place to stay Nate Moore turned the boarding house into a pub and managed to get everyone to keep coming around every night.

  Nate Moore was older now and had passed along the running of the place to his twin children Ryan and Robyn. Now Nate spent most of his evenings sipping corn whiskey and telling stories to the people of Herrickstead. He had hundreds of stories from the founding of the town and was the last living person to have been there for it. Everyone had heard his stories dozens of times and yet he never wanted for an audience.

  The place was packed when Thorn came in. He saw a lot of faces he didn’t recognize. They were homesteaders and out-of-towners, as Robyn had said, staying at Nate’s after a day of shopping at the trade caravan. Ryan and Robyn had hired some extra help for the evening from the teenagers of Herrickstead and they were busy busing tables, cleaning rooms, and helping with the serving. George Dacre, who owned a confectioner’s shop in town, was sawing on his fiddle while people danced.

  The kitchen was around a partition and featured a fire pit that connected to the main room. A pig had been slow roasting on this pit all day and had filled the pub with a delectable aroma. Thorn caught sight of the cabbage and juicy pork as Alice Cameron, one of the teenagers hired for the evening, carried it by and it made his stomach rumble.

  Nate Moore was sitting in a rocker with a blanket spread over his legs, Theosophilus at his feet, and a circle of young faces staring up at him. He had a glass of crystal clear corn liquor on the arm of his rocker from which he sipped every other pause in his story. He leaned forward to the children who were hanging desperately to his every word and spoke in a voice that was as raspy and as the summer wind over a dry creek bed. “And when the sun goes down over the dunes, the amber skeleton of Court Raleigh stalks these hills to this very day looking for his stolen treasure. ‘Who’s got my treasure?’ If you listen just right you can hear his voice carried on the wind. ‘Who’s got my treasure?’” Nate Moore leaned in even closer and his voice became softer.

  “YOU DO!” he yelled and the children, as well as Theosophilus, jumped. They had heard the story of Court Raleigh dozens of times, and they knew the surprise ending was coming, and yet they still jumped. The way that Nate did the voice of the disembodied skeleton was enough to make the hair stand up on the necks of even the stoutest of adults. After their fright the children laughed and began demanding that Nate tell them another. Theosophilus laid his head back down. He, at least, didn’t seem to appreciate the scare as much as the others.

  Nate took a sip from his glass and nodded to Thorn. “Looks like we might get us a bang-up tale from our own celebrity bounty hunter.”

  The children were up at once and clawing at Thorn’s shirt. “You’re gonna tell us a story, right?” and “Tom said you got your butt kicked. That’s not true, is it?” and “I heard you wrecked your buggy against Arnold Keech’s face!” were some of the snippets that they bombarded Thorn with. Nate laughed.

  “I’ll tell the whole story,” Thorn said, “but you’ll have to wait so everyone else can hear it too.”

  He was answered with a collective, “Awww.” But the children stopped pestering him and went to play around one of the tables. They nearly took out Ryan Moore, who was delivering food and drinks to another table nearby.

  “Whoa there, guys, no running in here.”

  Ryan and Robyn had never been out of Herrickstead. Ryan thought of Thorn as the older brother he never had and he lived vicariously through the stories of adventure and heroism that Thorn brought. Like most everyone else in town he knew the stories were heavily embellished, and he was aware that they changed from one telling to another depending on how many drinks Thorn had and how well he could remember how he’d told it last time. But they were always filled with over-the-top heroics and diabolical villains that provided for an exciting and entertaining evening.

  “I’ll take a bowl of that pork and cabbage when you get a chance,” Thorn said. “And a beer.”

  “The beer I can do now, but you’re not getting fed until you’ve sung for your supper,” Ryan responded. “Food’ll be on the house for you.”

  “Yeah, I guess I’ve put it off long enough.”

  “Oh, hey, before I forget,” Ryan said. “Rich Tanning came by earlier. He said he wanted to see you. I told him you’d be by tonight but he couldn’t stick around.”

  “Did he say what he wanted?” Thorn asked, but he was pretty sure he already knew.”

  “Nope, just to come by and see him when you got the chance.”

  Rich Tanning was Thorn’s mechanic and there was no doubt that word had reached him about what Thorn had done to his buggy. Thorn wasn’t looking forward to the meeting at all. Rich Tanning treated every one of the buggies he made as if it were his child. He was not going to be pleased that Thorn had murdered one of his children. On the other hand, Thorn intended to commission a new buggy, one that was going to be a lot more expensive than the last. Giving Rich a new project would help alleviate some of the pain of losing an old one. Or so Thorn hoped.

  George Dacre finished a lively tune and set his fiddle aside. He had seen Thorn come in and knew that most everyone was here to listen to his latest rousing adventure. Rumor had been running rampant since he had driven into town yesterday on an old tractor buggy with Arnold Keech in tow. Ryan put a mug in Thorn’s hand as he made his way to the front of the room.

  The pub was silent as Thorn stepped to the front and took a sip of his beer. Robyn had come out of the kitchen and was standing in the doorway to listen.

  “The town of Crooked Crag was in the grip of fear when I rode in,” Thorn began, looking around at all the faces. “And their fear was the cause of one man: Arnold Keech. To call him a man does him a disservice. He was an ogre, the kind you hear about in stories. He stands seven feet tall. He’s four feet around the chest. His arms are like fence posts. His legs are like tree trunks. His red hair and beard flow around his head like the fiery rays of the sun.

  “And this ogre had descended upon the sleepy little town of Crooked Crag. He was rampaging through the fields destroying cropland, tearing down farmhouses, pillaging and plundering to his heart’s content. And I don’t need to remind you that Crooked Crag is known for their choice hops. This madman was threatening the crop, so there was nothing less hanging in the balance than the future of our beer consumption. It was with this heavy burden of responsibility upon my shoulders that I rode into town, filled with determination to stop this madness.

  “Arnold Keech was at the saloon when I found him: the Stag’s Bells. The local volunteer police had already tried to take him down and failed. Bradenfield had refused to send any help. I was the only one who could stop his path of rampaging destruction. I alone stood against him. After checking in with the mayor I got to work. I threw open the door of the saloon. I didn’t need to say anything. I didn’t need to challenge him to a fight. He knew what I was there for. He had taken two beautiful women hostage and I couldn’t stand for that. I will always stand up for those who need it, for the weak and the oppressed against the strong, tyrannical bullies like Arnold Keech.

  “
The entire town was out to watch as we drew fists. I punched. He counterpunched. I dodged and weaved. He was big and strong, but slow. I connected with a right, then a left, then a flurry of punches to his gut. He swatted me away like I was nothing. Then he charged me like a rampaging bull. I only just managed to dodge out of the way. And it was a good thing, too because he went straight through that wall. Took the whole thing down. I thought that saloon was going to collapse right on top of our heads.

  “I went for the two young women and grabbed them, leaping out of the building as it collapsed around us. I just managed to escape by the skin of my teeth. But my concern for their safety cost me. Arnold Keech wasn’t even fazed. He rounded on me, grabbed me from behind, and lifted me over his head. There I was, dangling, holding on for dear life, when he threw me. I went flying across the road and into the front of their town hall. Smashed through a window. Broken glass was everywhere. And Arnold Keech never stopped. He was a man possessed of superhuman strength that I’ve never seen before. He charged me, but this time I was ready for him. I had recovered just in time, landed on my feet and waited. I was waiting in front of a stone bulwark and I jumped out of the way at the last moment, and do you know what happened then?”

  Thorn paused to take a drink of beer, and to let the question sit for a moment. He had everyone on the edge of their seats. Obviously they knew how it turned out, because Thorn was standing in front of them, acting out his imagined heroics, but they had all, every one, been drawn into the story.

  “Absolutely nothing. That’s what happened. Arnold Keech ran head first into that stone bulwark and it didn’t even faze him. He spat some blood on the ground, and kept coming right after me. I began to despair. I began to question if there was anything I could do that would take this menacing ogre down.

  “But that’s when it hit me. Maybe he could survive running through a wall or into a stone bulwark. But there was no way he could survive a head-on collision at over a hundred miles an hour.

  “I had connected with my best, but it didn’t even stagger him. So I knew I had to escalate things. I was willing, but was he?

  “You’re damn right he was willing. I jumped into my buggy, and Arnold Keech jumped onto his stolen motorcycle. And let me tell you, this thing was an absolute beast. It had eight cylinders of alcohol-fueled, road-chewing power. Probably capable of reaching over two hundred miles per hour in a quarter mile stretch. And that’s just what we did. We went down to opposite ends of the stretch on the main road. And we were going to settle this.

  “We stared each other down. I revved my engine. Arnold Keech revved his and glass broke all up and down that road. I was looking straight into his baby blue eyes and I never faltered. Each of us was waiting for the signal that this was on.

  “I drew first and we tore after each other down the stretch. I could feel my heart pumping harder than the pistons as the acceleration plastered me to the back of my seat. We closed on each other. Two hundred yards. One hundred. That motorcycle was fast. It was bearing down on me, but I knew I couldn’t falter. I couldn’t let him win.

  “I held his eyes the whole time. Never let go, and never flinched.

  “But he did. Right at the last moment he tried to turn, but it was too late. We plowed into each other and he went flying through that wreckage and face-planted on the road like a piece of meat. And he didn’t get up. Not from that one. I had vanquished my foe, and stood triumphantly over his wrecked body.”

  Thorn accepted his requisite applause and took the beers that everyone wanted to buy him as they slapped him on the back and congratulated him for his outstanding heroics.

  After he went to sit at one of the tables Robyn slid a bowl of pork and cabbage in front of him. “So Arnold Keech was thrown hundreds of feet from the motorcycle,” she said.

  “That’s right.”

  “And you got by with just a few scrapes?”

  “Um, well, I was in a buggy and it was more reinforced.”

  “I think I liked the version better where you picked up your buggy and beat him with it.”

  Thorn grinned and Robyn cracked one of her rare smiles.

  “Well, it seems to be a popular enough story,” she said. “But next time you should end it by sharing a passionate kiss with one of those women you saved.”

  “As the sun sets behind us and the wind whips our hair?”

  “Mm. Listen, it looks like everyone’s buying you a drink, so if you need a place to stay I’ve held your usual room.”

  “Thanks, but I think I’ll be heading back after a while.”

  That while turned out to be a long while as Thorn found he enjoyed the company of his adopted home and didn’t much like the idea of driving back to his place alone. He helped persuade Ryan to sing a few songs to George Dacre’s furious sawing. Ryan had a rough voice that went well with the simple folk songs they liked to play. He was shy, though, and had to be pushed into singing every single time. Once he got a sip or two of his father’s corn liquor in him, though, it was difficult to get him to shut up.

  They sang and laughed and drank long into the night before the rest of the Herricksteaders began dispersing and Thorn finally drove on home.