“No, the Pinkerton’s reputation has suffered lately, I aim to fix that. My own reputation needs some polishing it seems as well.” I looked at Carter pointedly and with a bit of displeasure.
The sun was creeping higher and I put on my hat as I squinted and gazed upon Little Mountain. Cottonwoods and Elms grew thick and tall before me, out on the far side of the scrubland, they were mortared together with bushy Mulberry trees, creating an almost impenetrable covering on the mountainside. Close quarters, and I found myself wishing I had thought to help myself to one of the strange weapons I had seen in the hidden bunker. One or two had looked like powerful shotguns, a weapon more useful in thick forest conditions than my rifle. “Carter, you can call in the Marshalls if you strongly feel the need, but give me until tomorrow morning or so. If Grant’s not dead already, I shouldn’t think one more day will matter. But I’d check with the Doctor first. He may not want any more lawmen than necessary snooping around.”
“Okay Ryder, and I’ll try to do as you suggest because you’re not going to let it go. I’ll do some investigating, but what do we do with what we may discover?”
“I guess that depends on what we find out and which side of the law it mostly falls on.”
I made a clicking noise with my mouth and Nina snorted excitedly as I swung up into the saddle. I heard Carter trudging back toward the house, but I was already searching the ground before me.
“Mind if I walk with yah a bit Mr. Ryder?”
“I assumed you would Leon.” I began riding, slowly, so the young man could keep up with me easily. “What did Mama Louise want you to tell me?”
He laughed quietly, “She said you’d know I was supposed to tell you something. I had to wait, she said there were lots of ears about, back at Dr. Burnett’s place. Which I find odd on account there’s no people about.”
“Your grammy’s a smart lady.”
“Oh, yessir, that’s true.”
“Well, let’s have it.”
Leon looked back down toward the homestead and wiped sweat from his dark forehead. “She said to tell you that Sheriff William Heller is one of them.”
I kept Nina moving and kept my eyes on the ground. “Them? You mean the men who would visit the Dr. and Grant?”
“Yessir! I don’t know what they was about, but on the rare occasion I’d catch sight of them coming or going and they were never smiling. But all the same I didn’t get the impression they were villains per say…”
“Just men of serious intent, perhaps with the weight of the world on their shoulders,” I spoke as much to myself as to the boy.
“Sounds ‘bout right Mr. Ryder.”
“Thank you Leon, I will take into account that the sheriff may be operating with this shadowy group’s interests at heart.” I stopped Nina and reached into my suit’s pocket.
“No sir! Mama also said you’d try to pay me. I must refuse.”
Despite the dark circumstances, I felt a smile form on my lips. “Well, I know you’re an upstanding lad, but I am going to insist. Nina has never looked better and neither has my rifle been so expertly polished.” I held out a good stack of bills, not bothering to count. “Take this and spend it on that girl of yours. Think of it not as yours but hers, besides I’ll have no use for it on this mountain.”
He reluctantly reached out and grasped the bills, but I held fast to my end for a moment. “One thing Leon,” He gulped and looked up at me nervously, sensing the trap. “It’s a long walk into town. Do you go back every night?”
He nodded, slowly.
“It is not only to see a girl is it? It’s the mountain.”
“Yessir, I don’t like it none out here after dark. But I swear there ain’t no particular reason for it.”
I released the bills. “Good enough. Leon, I quite agree with you. The shadow cast by this mountain is long and dark, not fit for Godly souls to dwell beneath. Best get on back now. Tell Mama Louise she has my thanks.”
He nodded and without another word, took off down the slight incline, his feet leaving a long plume of dust any wagon train would be proud of.
7
Several times during the morning, I slid to the ground and made sure I was still on the Indian’s spoor. So far it seemed his horse had made a direct run across the scrubland, in a mad, long dash away from something. Now here at the base of the mountain, the quality of light had diminished greatly under the towering Cottonwoods, but it was cool and peaceful in the shade, threatening to disarm my natural sense of wariness. Under certain trees, I was barked at by angry squirrels and on occasion my hand would snap to the handle of my Iroquois revolver at the crashing sound of a startled armadillo as it fled through the fanning palmetto bushes.
The pure savagery of the Indian scout’s head wound alone might have been enough to keep me alert for danger, but thankfully, Leon’s late warning about the sheriff had set my mind ablaze with possibilities. I assumed by day’s end, I would solve both confounding mysteries I was now presented with: Grant Burnett’s current whereabouts and the purpose of the strange, secret society he was part of.
Later, somewhere in the hidden sky above, the sun was at its zenith. I could tell this by the angle of its beams as they cut through the canopy. The trail was steeper now and I began to walk Nina off and on, so as to not wear her out, something she would never let show. It had been almost an hour since my last encounter with any wildlife but their absence had not yet become alarming to me.
We went on and at the point of a slight curve in the trail, I felt eyes on me. Stopping to feed Nina an apple chunk, I looked up, across the mountain slope surreptitiously, my eyes searching the vegetation. I discovered the two golden eyes of a large wolf, his head still as death, watching me from behind a thick elm. I kept staring and finally I saw his bottom jaw drop open allowing his tongue to lull in a slight pant. It was a natural action and I felt better after seeing it. I mounted Nina then and rode on. When I drew parallel to the wolf, I saw him slip away, angling to the base of the mountain. I believed his presence had explained the almost unnatural hush of the forest.
A bit further on, I was walking again when something almost black or at least something most definitely darker than would normally appear in the woods, caught my eye off the trail to the right. I froze and Nina instantly stilled beside me, forever in tune with her master. I turned my head slightly and saw that it was a horse, standing chest deep in the palmettos a good distance off the trail. It was a large Canadian Pacer, with a head too big for its sleek body or maybe one of the newer breeds, a Tennessee Walker. Regardless, it was standing so still, with no characteristic twitching of its ears or swishing of the tail that would be normal behavior for a horse, that it looked like a statue. There was a saddle on its back and I could see the stock of a rifle protruding from one of the saddlebags. For a moment I stood still as the horse before me, my eyes roaming for anything detectably amiss in the forest, and sensing nothing.
I whispered for Nina to stay on the trail, drew my Iroquois Revolver and stepped into the palmettos. Heel toe, heel toe, my father’s instructions to me as a young boy when we would hunt for whitetail deer, still served me well. By placing the heel first, I could slowly roll my foot down and sense any branches that might snap before they did, and subsequently alter my step to miss then. I moved through the thick, wide fronds slowly and effectively silent. As I drew closer to the horse, it still failed to show any signs of life. I reached its side and even still it failed to move a muscle. Frustrated, I slowly reached out with the barrel of my revolver and gently prodded its chest. The beast’s big black eye before me did not so much as blink and only then did I become aware of the tiny gnats crawling and milling across the glassy orb.
Nina’s sudden and frightened whinnying behind me, made my shoulders jump in surprise. I looked back to the trail, half expecting to see a strange woman gliding down it, closing in on my horse. All was still in the forest around Nina so I continued my inspection of the frozen horse. Except for the rifle all t
he saddlebags had been emptied and for all appearances the horse was dead. I moved my hand up to its big nostril to feel for its breath. As my wrist drew close something of the most disturbing nature happened, a tiny red snake lashed out of the horse’s nose and struck my flesh!
I stumbled back through the palmettos, my heart beating wildly. I sucked at the place on my wrist where the snake had struck. There was no blood or evidence that my skin had been broken but all my senses told me I had been bitten. I backed further away from the horse in confusion, did I imagine the snake? Regaining my composer, I made my way back to Nina’s side and holstering my gun, I found a particularly bright beam of sunlight piercing the screen of foliage above and more closely inspected my wrist. Again, I found no sign of a bite.
I removed my hat, withdrew a handkerchief and mopped at my face which was slick with nervous sweat. Marveling at how quickly I had become unmanned, I vaguely wondered if Sheriff Heller and his tracker had experienced something similarly disconcerting on their way up the mountain. Years ago, I had faced a coven of Navajo witches and barely escaped with my life. Though they had been for the most part charlatans, they had enough skill in the art of apothecary and explosives to give me the fight of my life.
After taking one last look at my wrist, I placed my hat carefully back on my head and patted Nina’s rump. “Well girl, I have half a mind to send you back to Burnett’s place after seeing how this mountain treats you fine equines. But I’d wager that was Sheriff Heller’s horse and I’ll just assume that he’s not as cautious a fellow as me.”
8
Later, my confidence would quickly ebb. We had soldiered on an hour or so but above, the sun appeared to have traveled much too far across the sky in much too little time and the towering Cottonwoods seemed to bend inwards over the trail like the fingers of a fist about to close. Nina’s head swiveled back and forth nervously as I walked beside her, holding firmly to her bridle end. At once she snorted and a moment later I realized why. There was a hint of something burning in the air, barely perceptible, but undeniably present. It had a strange, tangy and pungent quality to it. My eyes slowly traversed the width of the woods around us. All was green and still, with no sign of a fire.
Without warning, Nina uncharacteristically reared back and I was forced to spin around and give ground lest she tear away.
“Nina!” Then I saw what had startled her, it was my upraised arm clutching her bridle, wisps of smoke where coming from two tiny holes on my wrist where the snake had struck.
What the devil? I immediately released my hold on Nina and she stomped away several yards then turned back to watch me with nervous suspicion. My wrist began to ache ever so slightly. I stared at the strange holes as they leaked the acrid smoke into the air, all the time knowing the skin had appeared unblemished only moments before. There was none of the swelling or bleeding present I knew to be symptomatic of a poisonous snake bite. Neither had any dizziness or numbness in my tongue occurred, this I took as further assurance I was not suffering the effects of snake venom.
At this point I could only assume I had stumbled into a trap and that my adversary possessed skills far beyond the “witches” I had faced previously. I removed my suit coat then and rolled up my shirt sleeve in order to inspect my forearm for the telltale signs of poisoning. There was no red line running up the vein toward my heart. In the meantime though, the smoke had increased in mass and was now fairly billowing from the tiny holes in my wrist.
Nina reluctantly let me approach her and I retrieved a water skin from the saddlebags. Thinking of no other solution, I poured some water on the ground, squatted and ran my hand through the wet dirt of the trail, forming a small mud pile. I used some of the mud to smear thickly over the smoke leaking holes. Already though, I had inhaled so much of the stuff that my eyes watered and I had to fight the urge to cough. Things had changed. Something had happened that I found myself to be unprepared for. Well, naught to do but see it through. A warning in my mind like a harshly rung dinner bell sounded and I knew that some potion or poison was affecting me. Though, since a youth I have ever been cursed with the need to know the manner and design of all things, I also have been blessed with the logic to know when I just need to hunker down inside myself and see a bad time through to the end.
The sun was a dying red ember somewhere behind the crest above, out of sight and the early, foreboding shadow of the mountain flowed over us. Faithfully, Nina walked at my side, her head hanging low, some internal bell weather warning her of danger seemed to have overloaded the poor horse’s senses. The mud had stopped the mystic like smoke from escaping out of my wrist but I imagined I could feel its ill effects welling up inside. Somehow through my disheartened and disheveled state I managed to see the boot print just at the edge of the trail, where the worn area gave way to a loamier surface.
I stared for a moment, reeling in my scattered thoughts. It was a man’s print and a fairly large one. Searching out from the point of the toe, I located a narrow game trail that led at a more gradual angle up the mountain and to the right. Nina wasn’t a horse that needed tethering to a tree, so I retrieved the Mannlicher rifle from the saddle holster and left her there as I made to follow the game trail.
The moon was bright enough to see, but in the sky, off to the east, a black thunderhead was rolling in. Occasionally purple streaks of lightning rippled across it and I could sense the water in its guts aching to be released. Without the moon the forest would be treacherously dark and I quickened my step, I had left my lantern back in the saddlebags.
I hadn’t gone far when I smelled the wood smoke, natural, not like the fetid stuff from the phantom snakebite. After scaling a particularly steep part of the trail, I came upon the tall silhouette of a man and behind him, a tiny rotted wood shack, smoke billowing from its chimney. I kept the rifle pointed only vaguely in front of me, for I already suspected who the person before me was.
Standing tall and straight-backed, a long, curving moustache resting on his lip and a shiny tin star on his breast, waited Sheriff William Heller. His thumbs were tucked into his pants pockets. He appeared ethereal and shadowlike in the deepening evening. The sheriff was draped in a long black coat similar to Grant Burnett’s that I had left hanging across Nina’s back. As I approached he nodded and tipped his hat to me.
I had to clear my throat, for I had not spoken for some time. “Good evening. Sheriff Heller, I presume?”
“I am, you’re the Pinkerton fella?” His voice was deep and gravelly, quiet, but powerful in the still forest.
“Evan Ryder.” The Mannlicher I held in the crook of my left arm while I reached out with my right hand, but the sheriff turned away.
“We best go inside, there’s not much time. The moon is on the rise.”
I frowned when his back was to me, I was not offended, merely perplexed by the man’s word’s. They seemed to imply approaching danger and were spoken almost in a chanting tone. Still feeling rather unbalanced, I followed the sheriff’s brooding form toward the small shack without further comment.
9
The interior of the weathered cabin was almost cozy in comparison to its exterior. There was a small fire burning in a stone hearth and a kettle bubbled with something that gave off a vaguely familiar scent. A cot with rumpled sheets was pressed against one wall and a table with a single chair sat in the opposite corner. Dozens of small, clay apothecary jars rested on a rickety shelf beside the table.
Sheriff Heller slowly seated himself in a pine, high backed rocking chair near the cot. He put his hands on the arm rests and regarded me in silence. I remained standing just inside the door and continued to survey the dark room. Finally I was forced to break the silence. “Did you find Grant Burnett?”
The sheriff nodded slowly, his eyes inscrutable and shadowed by thick, beetling brows. “He is outside…somewhere.”
“Alive?”
“More or less.”
My head began to pound slightly. Impatience perhaps? I regarded the oth
er thoughtfully then tried another tact. “I was bitten by a snake from your horse on the trail.”
His dark eyes flicked up to mine. “As was I.”
For yet another time this day I realized my thoughts might have been compromised by these strange woods. Absently I scratched at the dried mud on my wrist. And in doing so, I discovered I was no longer holding the Mannlicher rifle. Slowly my right hand reached down and blessedly found the butt of my revolver.
“Easy son.” The sheriff warned.
I ignored him, a more urgent thought had come to mind, slowly, like a salmon struggling up a powerful stream. “Where’s the woman?”
“She’ll come by midnight.”
“Naturally.” I muttered bitterly while, on legs that suddenly seemed to weigh more than sacks of grain, I shuffled to the table and sat heavily in the chair.
“We’re not in danger yet. We have time.”
“I don’t like this sheriff, I don’t…react well when I can’t think straight.”
“She knows that Evan. May I call you that?”
I shrugged, nearly overcome with drowsiness. I laid my arm out on the table and watched the smoke from the tiny wrist holes curl into the air. Whatever this absent woman had done to me, I had to find a way to rectify it before I lost all sense. I needed to keep my mind working.
“The initials, w-e-r-d. What do they stand for? What do they mean?”
The sheriff made a quiet laugh that was more of a grunt. “We are sentinels against the darkness, some of us against our wills.”
Blinking the thickening smoke from my eyes, I asked, “What darkness?”
The Shadow Trail (An Evan Ryder Weird Western) Page 3
