It was plain enough there had been several bodies here. The flies still buzzed in wanton abandon, but the carcasses had been dragged off by coyotes and other predators.
“See, this is what I told you. This was our wagon. My husband was killed by those slavers and left to rot out in the open air somewhere to the west.”
Shaw dismounted and examined what little he could. “How many bodies you count, Matty?”
“At least six, no, over there is a seventh.”
Shaw agreed and traipsed around until he found an eighth in the wagon itself, the source of most of the flies. A ninth was dragged farther than the others and curled up beneath a big sage.
“Reckon he wasn’t quite dead, but sure wished he was. Must have crawled under that bush to get away from the sun after everyone else had left.”
“Bad way to go,” lamented Matty.
“These men had it coming. They are all having dinner with the devil himself,” snarled Mrs. Taggart. “Can’t you tell? My girls and I told you the truth. These were the scum of the earth. Slavers from Mexico. They violated us and countless others. I hope they rot in hell for all eternity.”
Shaw gave a half-smile and nodded, but answered, “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” Mrs. Taggart repeated in shock.
“It’s hard to tell anything with the way things have been left here. Matty, see if you can’t dig out a few of the rounds stuck in that wagon. I want to be able to say they are Rockwell’s .45’s.”
“What do you mean maybe?”
“I gotta get to the truth of the matter. Like you said, you women have been through a lot. Maybe you can’t remember the truth. Being in this place can be a delirious encounter. Maybe none of you are in your right minds any longer.”
“Oh, yes I can. I remember the truth.”
“I don’t think so. I think Rockwell murdered your husband and these others so he could steal your daughter when he thought it most convenient. I’ve seen it before.”
Mae Taggart’s mouth dropped in shock, but she quickly composed herself, shouting, “You dirty liar! You’re looking for evidence of a crime that never occurred. You’re a two-timing polecat!”
“Matty, shut her up with a gag if she can’t be civil. We’re heading back to Ferry-Town, and we are gonna wait just a little while until I figure out where we are gonna lay in wait. Let’s get a move on.”
18. The Uninvited
Their camp was situated with the wide open plain before them and the tall buttes behind. A small smattering of dried out juniper gave them enough fuel for a fire. With the campfire blazing in front of them it felt like a sheltered space though it wasn’t any safer than any other flat place they had found.
The stars were bright and the moon was cold, and somewhere a coyote howled a lonesome cry.
“Are we still on the right trail?” asked Roxy. Her tone was hopeful despite her slouching near the fire for warmth.
“Yeah, I’m sure. There’s no way he would go farther southwest into the desert, he is heading east, back to the Old Spanish Trail. With any luck, they hit the same storm we did and will be just as paralyzed. We can hope they got it worse than we did.”
Redbone stood at the edge where shadow and firelight met and wrestled. He was wrestling on the inside too, to keep his stony visage intact when all of them knew he was as broken-hearted as any man could be.
“We’re gonna get her back, Redbone. I swear it,” said Quincy.
Redbone murmured at him in acknowledgment, but then turned away again.
Quincy looked to Porter who just shrugged in response.
“I’m just being encouraging,” he said.
“I hear you, but the Indian don’t always think like we do. They have their own way of thinking about time and distance. I bet this has been the longest week of his life.”
“Something approaches,” said Redbone. “On foot.”
That was as surprising to him as any of them. Nobody just walked out in the desert unless their horse was dead and they were almost dead themselves. Everyone, except Emily, knew that fate incredibly well.
The horses were the next to notice. Their eyes flared and they stamped in a panic, as if a catamount were about to drop upon them. They pulled on their reins that had them fixed to a great dry stump of juniper. The bindings held, but the thing heaved at their pressure.
“Is it a man?” asked Porter.
Redbone didn’t take his gaze off the approaching dark shape. “It walks like one.”
It almost looked like an Indian, but certainly not of any recognizable tribe. He had sun-darkened, red skin and wore a faded Navajo blanket over his shoulders. The buckskins were too tight and they were torn and dirty, ripped apart at the seams as if they might have belonged to a child’s corpse and were stolen. Wisps of long, thin hairs teased at his chin and jowls, just faint enough to be visible yet not grant what anyone would call a true beard. His hair was black, but with occasional streaks of grey peppered throughout. It was dirty, long and unkempt and there was something odd about his eyes. They weren’t right, almost like they were too dark and had no visible whites. But the worst thing was the smell, a horrid stench preceded him like a cloud. It was like a wet dog, if that dog was also dead and left to rot in the sun for a week. But he spoke pretty fair English.
“Greetings to the camp. May I come in?”
Porter scrutinized him, looking at him this way and that. Redbone who stood not five paces from the stranger appeared frozen. “No,” Porter answered, his hand on the pommel of his six-gun. “You’re not invited.”
“Porter!” insisted Roxy.
Port stole a glance away from the dirty man to flash his eyes with a grim intensity at Roxy, silently telling her to be still. Quincy had one hand on his gun and the other on his belly.
Emily was petrified and kept peeking over her shoulder behind them, until she wrapped herself up in her blanket and ignored the dirty stranger.
“Are you sure? I could be of some benefit to you and yours.”
“No. Go away,” insisted Porter. His trigger finger itched something terrible fierce while his left hand was on his blessed Bowie knife’s hilt. “Leave. Now.”
“But it is so cold. Let me warm myself at your fire for but a moment, and then I shall travel on.”
“No,” Porter stated flatly.
The dirty man smirked and took a few steps to the left, as if he would not come any closer but was circling. “Woman. Take pity on me and let me warm myself by your fire. I am so hungry. I am so cold.”
Roxy looked at Porter. Emily peeked out from her blankets then hid beneath them again. Redbone was still frozen in place.
Quincy dripped sweat, thinking he needed to act, to shoot to do something, but instead vomit came erupting out like a dam burst in his guts.
“Quincy!” cried Roxy, rushing to Quincy’s side.
“I’m all right,” he said, as he spat the last of it out of his mouth.
Porter steeled himself to calm things down for the sake of the others. “You can’t come into our camp. You are not invited. Leave.”
The dirty man appeared like he would venture closer, but never took that final step into the invisible perimeter of their camp. It was an almost imperceptible balance of where the firelight and shadow met, arcing a circle around them.
“Porter, at least let him have some fire,” said Roxy.
“That ain’t what he wants,” growled Porter.
Roxy was about to say something, but Porter cut her off. “Fine, watch.” He pulled a long branch from the flames. It was burning on one end, all orange and crisp black. He tossed it at the feet of the dirty man. “There you go, some fire, some warmth. Go away and make your own camp.”
The dirty man gestured toward Emily and said, “My child, come with me and leave these others behind.”
Despite her fear, she sat up as if she might consider his invitation. But Porter put a hand on her shoulder and forced her back down on her rump.
The dirty man beck
oned to her one more time and this time Porter had to be more forceful in making her sit back down. Redbone still stood petrified and unseeing.
Roxy looked from the dirty man to Porter to Emily and back to Quincy. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“The thing is leaving. One way or t’other.” growled Porter, as he drew his pistol and leveled it at the dirty man thing. “Leave!”
“Porter, no! He’s unarmed.”
“You don’t think I should shoot a wolf at the door, coming for your child? That’s what this thing is.”
The dirty man ignored the burning torch, smirked again, and walked away into the darkness leaving the light to flicker against the cold ground and diminish. Once they could no longer see him, the horses calmed and relaxed, leaving off their stretched tethers.
Redbone became himself once again, blinking and giving a questioning look to Porter on how a burning torch could have found itself at the edge of their camp. It was as if he had not witnessed anything that had just transpired.
“What the hell was that?” asked Quincy. “That man’s stink made my stomach churn. And his eyes, Lord, and here I thought you had a creepy stare.”
“I don’t think it was man, but I couldn’t say what it was exactly. There’s things out here, haunts, ghouls, skin-walkers and such. But they can’t come into your home or space unless they’re invited. I can’t explain it; maybe the angels watching over you or something keep them at bay. Those things are walking death, but they have limitations. And we just witnessed it.”
“I don’t know that I’m gonna be able to sleep,” said Quincy.
“What was here?” asked Redbone, glancing about at the gloom.
Porter looked at Roxy and Quincy, saying, “See, and I swear Redbone doesn’t even have a sense of humor.”
Redbone’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Blood Brother. What was here?”
“One of them Haunts. It’s gone, I told it that it wasn’t invited.”
Redbone gasped in relief. “I was afraid I was losing my mind. I thought someone was coming and then, I remember nothing.”
“That is what they do.”
Quincy spat and fixed himself another cup of coffee. “I ain’t sleeping tonight. Oh, Hell, no!”
19. Ruin
Passing through the desert, they were lucky to find a few pools of rainwater for the horses. They took turns being stingy with the canteens themselves. While the tracks of Matamoros’s men had vanished, Porter was sure he had found the Old Spanish Trail. Still, they knew were getting farther behind with each passing day.
When they took a break that evening, Roxy came up to Porter and asked, “Why did that Haunt try to get Emily to go with him?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure it wasn’t for anything good.”
“But what do you think?”
Porter shrugged but said, “Maybe he wanted to eat her.”
“That’s awful. You really think so?”
“I don’t rightly know. But there are some powerful evil things in this world.”
She looked out at the red sunset. “Do you think we’ll see that thing again?”
“I hope not, but this is a strange land. Anything is possible.” With that, he pulled his hat down over his face and said in a muffled tone. “Tell Quint, he has first watch. I’m spent.”
Roxy took her time going back to the others, who were still caring for the horses and setting up a campfire with the meager scraps of wood they had cobbled together. All day long any branch of scrub was picked up for the sake of having something for the night. It still didn’t amount to much. This was a dead land.
Roxy ran her fingers through her hair and watched the sun set. She couldn’t see anything moving on the horizon, but had a bad feeling that they hadn’t seen the last of that uninvited thing. It made her skin crawl and she absently ran her hand along the pommel of her six-gun. It gave small comfort.
“You’ve got first watch, Quincy. Porter said,” she called.
“Porter said? Porter said,” grumbled Quincy.
“I did,” shouted Porter, from beneath his hat.
“Fine.”
***
Emily woke up screaming. She dreamed the uninvited man was ensnaring her in a web of shadows. Drums throbbed in her head, but when she awoke, there was no other sound but her companions asking what was wrong. No drums, no web of shadows, no uninvited dirty man.
“I’m all right. It was just a nightmare. It seemed so real though, I was sure for a moment there I was captured by that terrible man.”
“By who? Matamoros again?”
“No. The dirty shadow man. The one we saw last night. Do you think he is following us? Why did I dream about him?”
Roxy held her hand to soothe her.
Porter rubbed at his beard while adjusting his hat. “Dunno. Maybe his kind can invade dreams and such. Redbone?”
The war-chief gritted his teeth before answering. “It is not good to talk about such things. It can invite them.”
Roxy prodded, “Is there anything we can do to help him stay away and out of her head?”
Redbone nodded. He took some sage from a leather satchel and placed it to smolder on the dying coals a moment. Then he stood and walked around their camp in a circle, chanting softly as he waved the smoking incense about.
It was near on morning and no one was about to sleep, so they got back on the trail and wandered through the vast, lonely desert. Sometimes a buzzard high overhead broke up the strange stillness, but most of the time there was literally nothing to see besides the blue sky and red brown rolling hills. Nary a bush or plant of any kind grew here, and it became wearisome just being within such a scene.
They camped for the night in a wide plain, and, at the least, there were no more nightmares for anyone that night. The next day was more of the same and the same after that. But on the fourth day through the dreary desert, they smelled water.
Coming up over a rise, they looked and saw a brilliant sun-flecked river twisting beneath them like a serpent.
“I think I know where they are holed up,” said Porter.
20. The Fort
There was a wide stretch of river before them and beyond that was an old Spanish fort. It was ‘L’ shaped and its walls, while not terribly high, certainly looked thick. Jagged stone was carefully set and the small apertures for shooting were deep and evenly spaced along the perimeter. Logs made the rafters and smaller trees were woven over the top and covered in sod for the roof. A man on horseback could probably leap to the roof but then what?
“If they are in there, it’s suicide to go near it,” said Quincy. “At least if we were to try during the day. Maybe tonight?”
Redbone gave his agreement by the swift swinging of his hatchet.
Porter rubbed at his beard. “I’m not sure anyone is in there. No smoke, so sound, no sign of life just yet.”
“Maybe it’s a trick? Get us to just ride up to be in range of the guns?”
“That’s always possible too.”
Redbone challenged. “It is the same as the one with the other black man and the French. Perhaps friends are there too.”
“You think Matamoros would be stopping anywhere that might have a friend of ours?” asked Porter, shaking his head.
Redbone turned away, obviously feeling foolish for the suggestion.
“So, what do we do? We’re burning daylight with every minute we wait somewhere.”
“True, but the horses need a good rest and rubdown. We wait and see if there is any sign of occupation. Either way, we move in tonight.”
Redbone didn’t like that answer. “Enough talk. If my daughter is there, I will find out!” He leapt atop his horse and kicked its flanks to ride across the river. White water splashed at his mounts hooves. All the rest of them expected to hear the crack of a rifle, but there was nothing. His horse clambered up the steep bank, and he was now only a hundred yards from the fortress.
“What do we do?”
Porter
shrugged but he drew his rifle from his scabbard. Then took careful aim across the river at the fort. If somebody started shooting at Redbone, he’d return lead in kind. “We’re running low on ammunition, so I am reminding everyone to be conservative.”
Redbone was only twenty feet from the forts walls when shots rang out and his horse was struck in the neck. He reared screaming and tumbled over. The quick war-chief rolled away and scrambled back to the river’s edge where the snipers could not reach him. A cacophony of lead filled the air before suddenly going still. Echoes died in the distance like ghosts retreating.
Porter stared down his barrel but couldn’t make out a target.
“You gonna do anything or just stare?” asked Quincy.
“I’ve got no target. I couldn’t even tell which of those peep holes the shots came from. Redbone will be all right, he’s got cover so long as they don’t come charging out, he’ll be able to snake back to us soon enough. Trouble is we’re down another horse now.”
Roxy rocked back and forth on her heels; her gun wandering between her palms. “And if they come charging out at him?”
“I’ll shoot ‘em. But I don’t think they will. They’ll hole up in there and use a fort for what it’s made for, holding off enemy attacks. They might think there is a whole tribe out there besides just us.”
“Doesn’t Matamoros know it’s just us?”
“We don’t even know he is in there. He might have just passed through and we have a Spanish garrison. Either way, they’ve got more guns than we do. We gotta be smart.”
No one came out of the fort. Gradually dusk crept over the horizon and with the cover of night, Redbone slid back across the river to the camp.
21. Double Back
“Did you see what a damn fool thing that was to do?” griped Porter.
“He knows,” said Roxy, putting her hand on Redbone’s shoulder. He sat with his head down. “Beating him over the head about it won’t help.”
“Now we’re down a horse. We can’t afford that.”
CRAZY HORSES: A Porter Rockwell Adventure (Dark Trails Saga Book 2) Page 8
