“How’s that?” asked Roberts.
“He had the same recommend card that Echo, here, has,” said Thursday. “Everybody was recommended by Hathenbruck, ’cept Rock Pope’s gang. Landreth collected them his’self.”
“Shut up,” snapped Friday. “You don’t need to go on about any of this to these peace frogs.” He stalked away into the night, casting his half-eaten bowl of stew to the ground for the dogs.
“Thanks for supper,” grunted Thursday, before bolting after his brother.
“So Warner did ride in with you thanks to this Hathenbruck?”
Echo said, “Not exactly. He met me on the road and he just knewed about it is all. So I said yes’sirree he could rides with me here, and Landreth said that was jus’ fine. We can always use another gun where we’re going. Plus, he’s got that look. I can’t do it right, but you know what I mean. He’s got them killers eyes.” Echo tried to give a slit-eyed intimidating stare.
While Davison was sure the kid would be quick with a gun, he was also sure the kid had never shot anyone before. “Anything else?”
Echo grinned. “He also said not to be drawing no attention to him.”
“Why’s that?”
“Dunno. Reckon he’s probably got a price on his head somewheres. Hey, don’t go telling him I told you anything about him, huh?”
Davison said, “It’s fine, I won’t. I was just curious.”
Echo whispered, “Don’t think that Warner’s his real name neither, but you know how it goes, some folk gots to change their names on account a things they done.”
Davison nodded.
“I can’t explain,” broke in Roberts. “But I think he is a good guy. I don’t get the willies talking to him, even just giving him a bowl of stew like I do them others.”
“I think I understand,” said Davison.
“So now you tell us. Why didn’t you bring no gun?”
“Yeah, why no gun?” repeated Echo.
“I knew there were some bad men here and I figured if I wasn’t armed nobody would have any excuse to say they needed to shoot me.”
“That’s either very smart or very dumb,” said Roberts, with a laugh. “Well, we best turn in for the night. I’ll see you all for breakfast.”
They all spoke their goodnights and took their places about the campfire.
The last thing Davison saw before sleep took him was Warner still sitting away against a tree, those eyes catching the firelight like the torches of hell. He fell into a fitful sleep on the prairie grass soon thereafter, worried at what these men he had thrown in with were capable of. Damn near anything he figured.
***
At sunrise, Landreth used a tiny tinkling brass bell to wake the men. They roused with groans and curses, but Davison noted that not a man would dare say it to Landreth’s face. They had breakfast of biscuits, gravy and coffee. Someone complained that there was no bacon, but Landreth said he had ordered Roberts to save it until the final camp. He then surprised Davison with a very peculiar practice. “All right, put a blindfold on me, and I’ll be leading us to the site thru the directions of the spirit of Indian Princess Raven-Eye.”
Davison looked to Roberts at the mention of an Indian spirit princess, but Roberts shook his head, motioning for him to be quiet.
Landreth then put himself into trance. After some few moments of mumbling and such he took a piece of paper—laid it flat across the buckboard of the wagon, and drew a map, while still blind-folded. He put a big X in a valley between his deftly drawn mountains. “We’ll camp the tonight at this pond. It will be full of trout. There’ll also be lush meadows surrounding to feed the horses. The princess tells me it is a holy place where none shall molest us.”
It was the damndest thing Davison had ever seen, but the rest of the men didn’t seem too surprised. Glancing at the map, he could see there were lakes, ponds and mountains. Davison didn’t think he could have drawn something half so well even without a blindfold.
Mozzy said, “He’s done this blind-folded trance thing a few times since I signed on. Always showing us the best place to camp to elude trouble. I don’t know how he does it blindfolded and the like, but it surely works. We ain’t had no trouble with the law or Injuns neither.”
They packed up and hit the trail. Some miles down the road, Davison rode up beside Landreth and asked, “How can you do a map like that? I’ve lived here near most of my life and that valley you drew is accurate down to the T.”
Landreth grinned, “The Indian Princess Raven-Eye, she told me.”
“Like a spirit or a ghost?”
“Something like that. You a church going man Davison?”
“I am. Seems to me that while you might get answers from spirits, it’s like playing with fire, might keep you warm, might cook some food, but it could also burn your house down if you’re not careful.”
“I appreciate the concern Davison, but why don’t you tell me what’s really on your mind”
“Fine. But you don’t know if one of those spirits you’re calling is lying to you.”
“No, I don’t, but Princess Raven-Eye has yet to lead me astray,” Landreth said before kicking his horse on ahead.
Warner now rode up beside Davison. His eyes burned holes into Davison, and it was all the school teacher could do to not look intimidated and keep his gaze.
Warner said, “Wheat, but you’re mighty curious at things you ought to leave alone.”
“Well, I am a school teacher,” answered Davison.
Warner snorted, “Then maybe you should be doubly careful where you stick that long beak of yours.”
“Thanks for the warning, but I’ve got a job to do.”
“Sure, you do. Just be aware of your surroundings.”
“You trying to scare me Mr. Warner?”
“Nope, just keeping a body informed.”
“I don’t think we have anything to fear with this many guns out here,” said Davison, feigning all the courage he could muster.
“You don’t, huh?” Warner then subtly pointed a finger off to their left. Davison spun in the saddle just in time to see a painted face crowned with feathers vanish into the shrubbery. “You ain’t ever alone out here, remember that,” said the gunslinger.
***
Reaching the campsite just before dusk, they pitched the tents, gathered the fishing poles, and soon found the pond was indeed full of mouthwatering trout and that the meadow was as lush as Landreth had prophesied.
Roberts and Mozzy were busy as could be filleting and cooking the trout, while several of the men took turns on watch around the perimeter of the camp. Davison never saw another sign of anything after the one Indian that Warner had pointed out, but he was leery. The knowledge that there were painted men out there watching, gave him feelings of isolation and danger, they washed over him like a wet blanket. He wanted to ride home, but didn’t dare to leave the rest of the camp, figuring that it was asking for an arrow in the back. And what would his wife say if he came home empty handed and without any real danger having befallen them. He didn’t want to play the fool; he didn’t want anyone to claim he wasn’t a man.
Once the cookfire was done, the men threw more wood on it to create a roaring bonfire. Davison wondered absently if they did it to hold back the darkness, if they were as afraid as he was. He had to admit that sounded foolish, he was as afraid of some of these gunslingers as he was of hostile Indians.
All the men except for a couple on watch were gathered about the fire. Landreth was reading aloud from a book with fantastic gold scrawls across the cover. It looked Arabic. Davison had never read anything by the author before but he did have a way with words, he had to give him that. “Who is that you’re reading from exactly? A Moor?” he asked Landreth.
“Omar Khayyàm,” he said, “and I quote, ‘Oh, come with old Khayyàm, and leave the Wise To talk; one thing is certain, that Life flies; One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies; The Flower that once has blown forever dies.’ He is my inspir
ation.”
“I suppose you would think of him that way, but he is my favorite philosopher and poet. He was from Iran back in the Middle Ages. A man far ahead of his times. Kinda like me I suppose.” Returning to his book, he then stood and loudly proclaimed, “One thing is certain and the rest is Lies - The Flower that once has blown forever dies.”
The big scar-faced man, Pope, asked in a growl, “Yeah, we all heard your flowery words, but I got other concerns. We got anything to worry about with the Utes?”
Landreth snapped his book shut, visibly irritated that his reading had been interrupted yet again. “You know what your problem is, Pope? You just don’t appreciate the finer things in life.”
“Sorry Boss-man, but I gotta think about our necks as much as you like to think about our heads.”
“You’re right. Let me ask Princess Raven-Eye.”
Landreth again was blindfolded and went into a trance.
It looked to Davison like he was having a conversation, at least in whispers, with a person only Landreth could see and hear. There was some strutting around, and Landreth seemed to look off to the east several times until finally he said, “She says no. They are kept back by the spirits of her ancestors who had ancient castles atop the peaks of this land. It is sacred and haunted. They will not trouble us just yet. But we should be cautious.”
So much of it seemed like mummery, a stage show of sorts. Davison didn’t believe any of this trance business but he had no explanation on how the queer man could be so accurate on everything else. And he surely hoped that Landreth was right about the Utes staying clear. The painted face had unnerved him, as had Warner’s subtle threats.
Once the fire had died down, Davison, Roberts, Echo, and Mozzy sat about the gleaming coals telling stories about how they would spend their hard-won riches.
Roberts began with, “Tell you what I’m gonna do. Open the biggest saloon in Salt Lake City, all right. The kinda place that will take in a thousand dollars a week. And I’ll do it just to be able to spit in Brigham Young’s face!”
“Hey,” grumbled Mozzy.
“Sorry, I did’t know you was Mormon. Are you?”
“Yeah, are you?” repeated Echo.
“Well, yes’sir. I suppose when my ma is around I am. But I’m just saying you can’t be spitting at Mr. Young is all. Danites would find you and skin you alive!”
Davison had heard all the stories. He thought it best not to mention his own background either, though he thought good on Mozzy for coming clean.
Mozzy tried to change the subject, “I guess I’d buy a good spread of land. Start a ranch. Have a few hundred head of cattle. Make my money legitimate I would after that.”
“Legitimate?” snapped Pope. He had appeared as if from nowhere and the dying orange firelight crafted devilish features on his craggy face. He scowled at them about the campfire and said in a savage tone, “I shore hope you boys ain’t intending on telling the Marshalls you seen us once this is all over with. Cuz I’d hate to have to cut you.” He brandished a bowie knife at them and made it a point to get in each of their faces, finally he came to Davison. “Think I’d start with you, school teacher.”
Davison felt a sharp hard jab in his chest and for half a heartbeat, he thought Pope had stuck him with the bowie knife, but then realized it was just the big man’s bony finger. Still, it hurt.
“Now, now,” broke in Landreth, “That’s no way to talk to the teacher who is a full partner here. We want him to tell us how pure the samples are without his having shaky hands on account of your threats, Pope.” Landreth leaned in close to Davison and whispered, “Don’t mind him none. He didn’t come from a loving family.”
Pope glowered but kept quiet and walked off. Davison thought it no coincidence when they heard a dog yelp like it had been kicked just a moment later.
The others looked fearfully at Davison. He had the shivers now, thinking he was dead for a moment there.
Somewhere a wolf howled while owls held congress in the dark, hooting death songs to one another. It was going to be a long night.
***
The next morning, Landreth was again blindfolded and went into his bizarre trance, drawing out a detailed map as he claimed the princess directed him. This time the trail would lead them on a serpentine route through thick woods and finally to a lonely cabin at the head of a diverging canyon. Beside the cabin was what Landreth claimed was Spirit Lake. “The Princess tells me all will be well; we are on a direct path to riches.”
Davison had never heard of Spirit Lake, but he had heard of a Mirror Lake. The route they now went on was unknown to him, but he had every reason to suspect that Landreth was plenty familiar, as he had seemed so far. He wondered if the mesmerist was remembering a place he had been to before and if this was all for show. Either way, it was a curious predicament.
They travelled on for most of the day. After they had gone for some miles in the woods, Landreth ordered Warner and the twins to watch their back trail and be sure that Indians were not following. Pope and a pair of his men took the special hand-written map and hurried on ahead to try to find the lost cabin.
Davison, Landreth, and Roberts kept the cook wagon moving over the rough terrain while several more gunmen kept watch.
Near sunset, they arrived at the dilapidated cabin beside Spirit Lake. They left their horses to graze in a meadow a quarter mile down from the cabin. The glacial lake was cold as a wet Christmas, and no one went for a swim even after the hot day. A trail led from the cabin up toward the canyon. Some of the men were excited to follow and begin hunting for the gold, but Landreth told them to wait until morning.
They set about making camp and themselves comfortable when Davison noticed that most of the men had disappeared save Roberts, Mozzy, and Echo. “Where’d everyone get off to?”
“Don’t know. Could’a sworn Landreth said we’d wait til morning. Can’t imagine t’would make any sense to look round in the dark for a lost mine.”
“Yeah, too dark looking for a lost mine,” said Echo.
Davison marveled at the man’s inability to realize his own manner of repeated speech. It seemed that Echo was repeating others more today than yesterday. “Suppose we may as well get comfortable. Anyone got some cards?”
After about an hour, Landreth, Pope, Warner and the others returned. Davison’s skin crawled at the sight of Pope and his gang of cutthroats. One of the young guns Landreth had hired didn’t return with the others. Davison thought about trying to get home himself, to escape any part of this venture, but he was equally sure if he tried to flee in the night that if the Indians didn’t get him, Pope and his gunmen would.
“Who didn’t come back?” Davison asked Roberts.
Roberts said, “Feller named Price. He was one of the original gang near as I could tell.”
“Who isn’t?”
“All of them except us and Warner I suppose.”
Davison argued, “Yeah, but Warner was out there with them in the dark.”
“Landreth don’t seem a bad man,” said Mozzy.
“He is mighty strange though, could be he’s the snakiest of them all,” whispered Echo.
Everyone looked surprised at him, since it was his own complete sentence, without a trace of anyone else’s.
Echo blushed then said, “What? I’m just saying.”
“No, you’re right Echo. He might be. We don’t know,” said Davison.
They went quiet as Warner came and made his bedroll nearby. He was soon snoring but that didn’t set any of their minds to ease, and Davison had uncomfortable nightmares of watching eyes and venomous serpents. He was not getting enough sleep on this expedition.
***
That next morning, the men devoured their breakfast in terrible anticipation, ready to go hunting for the lost mine, but Landreth soon drenched their fire. “I have some words for you all.”
The men gathered about as directed by Landreth into a wide semi-circle.
“We are brothers.
Brothers of the road, of circumstance, of gold. We have a bond as brothers that is unbreakable. Some of you are new, however, and we must renew that bond. We must feed the tie that binds. We shall have a sacrament of sorts and you will admit to me and your brothers here the worst thing you have ever done. Mr. Pope, you are first.”
The scene made Davison uneasy. He had nothing to hide himself, he had always been a law-abiding, church-going citizen, but he did not want to be privy to all the horrible crimes he imagined these men committed daily.
Pope laughed, saying, “You all know what I’ve done.”
Landreth held a hand up, “Please Mr. Pope. This is a bonding experience for the new men.”
“Well, I kidnapped that girl from the Flats. had my way with her, then knowing the posse was coming decided to hide the evidence. So, I killed her and tried to toss her down a well. But she wouldn’t fit, so I had to cut her up to make her fit.” He laughed again as did several of his men.
Davison went sick in horror. He thought he was going to vomit. He had heard of a kidnapping down that way a year or so back. Could that be the same one?
Each man down the line had a gruesome gallery of crimes he willingly confessed to, even Roberts, Echo, and Mozzy, though theirs were much milder that the rest.
“Just you two left,” said Landreth.
Davison suddenly realized that the last two were himself and Warner. He hadn’t realized the cold-eyed gunman was beside him, having been so horrified by Pope’s tale.
“I’ve got no crimes to confess to the likes of you,” said Warner.
That shocked Davison. He had expected something as bad as Pope’s or worse.
“Surely, a man of your reputation has done some terrible things. Murdered someone?” prodded Landreth.
“I never killed anyone who didn’t need killing,” replied Warner.
Landreth’s demeanor changed. He pushed harder for answers. “I want to know secrets. We should all know each other’s darkest secrets. Our regrets, our pain. Share with us. It bonds us. Makes us stronger, makes us brothers.”
Six-Gun Serenade: A Porter Rockwell Adventure (Dark Trails Saga Book 0) Page 2
