The Road to Hellfire

by Michael Panush

  But before he could begin instructing Cane in being a loyal soldier, Union river cruisers shelled his plantation. Cane escaped, running madly into the swamp. He was taken in by a kindly colored fellow, an escaped slave, who healed him and helped him discover his powers. Cane was tougher and stronger than other men, and a soldier’s instincts forged his every thought. His skill with a gun, blade or fists was innate and powerful. The only thing he lacked was a name –and that he found scrawled on a torn daguerreotype in the pocket of the trousers Dr. Angell had given him.

  And ever since, Cane had been killing. As a mercenary, gunslinger and bounty hunter he traveled the country, always alone except for the guns at his side and the dead strewn before him. He thought he was alone in the world. But now there appeared to be others like him – who had burned Santiago to the ground.

  His horse’s hooves sounded almost eerie, clicking against the hard-packed dirt streets and loud as thunder in the silent town. Cane rode by the schoolhouse and looked at the caved-in roof and charred bits of wood, sprawled in the dust. That’s when he heard another noise, coming from the ruined schoolhouse. It sounded like something moving through the burned wood. Swiftly, he dismounted and drew his revolver.

  Slowly and carefully, he walked to the door and coaxed it open. The schoolhouse was empty, a few of the desks overturned or broken. Chalk slates, composition books and pencils lay burned on the ground. There was a small hatch, made of the same wood paneling as the floor, and it inched itself open. A young woman shoved her way out, a rifle in her hands. Her spectacles glinted in the shadow. Cane stared at this lone survivor. He recognized her.

  But she didn’t recognize him. “Stay back!” she cried, leveling the rifle at him. “This weapon is loaded and I’ll blast you face apart if you come a step closer! You won’t find me as easy prey as the rest, you monster!” She emerged from the hatch, stepping into the daylight. Her turquoise dress was torn, and her dark hair was escaping its neat bun. Even her spectacles were askew.

  “Miss Finch?” Cane raised his hands and took another step closer to her. Emma Finch was a schoolteacher from a good Bostonian family. She and Cane shared an eventful stage coach ride through Apache country, not long before. Cane could see the panic in her bright eyes, so he approached slowly, hoping that she recognized him. “It’s Clayton Cane, ma’am. I don’t mean you no harm. Put down that long gun now, nice and easy.”

  “Cane?” Emma seemed like she didn’t remember him and then she shook her head. “Clayton Cane. Oh yes. The bounty hunter.” She nodded to herself and lowered the rifle. She walked out of the schoolhouse, stepping carefully around the fallen chalkboards and composition books like they were dead bodies. She joined Cane by the entrance. “I’m sorry. I thought you were—“”

  “It’s all right, ma’am.” Cane smiled a little. “I had guns pointed at me by a whole host of folks. Come over here and sit down. I’ll get you some water.” He walked back to his horse and retrieved his canteen, as well as a few thick chunks of beef jerky from his saddlebags. He walked over and handed them to Emma Finch, as she sat down before the ruined schoolhouse.

  She gratefully took the canteen and the jerky. “Thank you, Mr. Cane. I should be pleased to be in your company.” She sipped gratefully, letting the water splashed over her face and wipe away the stains of ash. “I just saw your face and form and I thought, well, I thought you were one of them.”

  “Them that attacked your town?” Cane asked.

  “Yes.” Emma’s voice was soft.

  Cane tried to change the subject. “Thought you was teaching in up Prescott?” he asked.

  “Oh, I was – but there had been some mix-up, and another instructor had recently arrived, before me. So I came here, to Santiago. I had been here but a month, before the riders came.” Emma shuddered a little. “Good Heavens, I must collect myself. You must think me some silly creature indeed, to seem so frightened.” She closed her eye and breathed in deeply. Cane waited until she was ready. Then Emma came to her feet and brushed the dust from her dress. “I suppose I should tell you what happened, Mr. Cane?”

  “Yeah,” Cane replied.

  Emma nodded. “Well, they arrived around this time yesterday. The patchwork men, I mean. And they did look like you, in a certain manner.” She smiled slightly at Cane. “But they had none of your kindness and charm. They wore uniforms of dark grey and their horses – their horses had some terrible quality that I cannot name. The patchwork men did not ask for our town’s surrender, but simply launched their attack in a brutal and merciless onslaught. They burned everything.”

  “Did your students—” Cane started.

  “They escaped, thank god.” Emma looked back at the schoolhouse. “When the attack came, the men of the town managed to hold them back, at great cost. All the women and children were loaded into every wagon and coach we had, and sent north. I chose to stay behind. It was either that or damn some poor child to live without his father. No, I stayed behind and let a family escape intact. Mayor Parsons hid me in the schoolhouse basement. It was secure, built to protect from an attack by Indians. It saved my life. But no one else made it inside…”

  “And these patchwork men?” Cane asked. “What do you reckon was their purpose in the attack?”

  The schoolteacher stared at Cane. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “I simply don’t.” She pointed down the street. “But they all seemed to proceed in that direction, towards the mayor’s cabin. That’s where most of the survivors went.” She straightened up, smoothing down her dress and adjusting her hair. “That’s where we should go, to see if anyone else managed to avoid those scar-faced devils.”

  “You sure you’re up for that?” Cane took the reins of his horse.

  “Mr. Cane, I have seen the town that has been my home for a month utterly destroyed. I have watched men die who instructed me to teach their sons and daughters and cared for me like I was their own. I don’t believe seeing much more will shock me.”

  “Okay.” Cane shrugged and headed down the street, his horse trotting after him. Emma walked over to join him. They headed down the street together.

  When they reached the cabin of Mayor Parsons, Cane knew that there would be no other survivors. The little wooden cabin was intact, but the bodies of its defenders lay bleeding in the dust outside. A single horse was tied up in the yard, looking mournfully at the death around it. Cane motioned for Emma to stay back, as he approached the door with his revolver in his hand.

  He pushed it open and its rusted hinges squeaked like a frightened mouse. Cane stepped in, his boots tramping on the floorboards. They touched something wet. Cane looked down and saw a pool of blood. He looked up into the little office that formed the first room of the cabin. A portly man sat behind a rolltop desk. He had been tied to his chair and tortured.

  Before Cane could stop her, Emma walked inside. She saw the tortured man, and the blood and the flaps of skin that had once been his face. She gasped and turned away, strangling a little sob before it left her lips.

  “It’s Mayor Parsons,” she whispered. “He welcomed me with s-such kindness.”

  “Easy now.” Cane walked closer to the chair. Mayor Parsons had a slight gut and thinning white hair. His walrus moustache was now rendered crimson with blood from his shattered nose. As Cane drew closer, the mayor’s remaining eye flashed open. Cane stopped and had a better look at Parsons’ wounds. He was beyond help – but he’d be slow in dying. He had been tortured by an expert.

  “What…” Parsons gasped. His voice was a ragged cough. “Who?”

  “Easy.” Cane pulled the canteen from his belt and let some cold water wash down Mayor Parsons’ throat. Emma came and stood next to him. “I’m a friend – even if I am as ugly as the ones that did this to you. Miss Finch is with me and I’ll keep her safe. You got my word.”

  The mayor of the dead town shuddered. “I did this…” he moaned. “I brought Hell to Santiago.”

  “No.” Emma reached out and patted his chee
k. “That’s not true. You mustn’t—”

  “I had the stones brought here!” Mayor Parsons raised his hoarse voice to a shout. “From Silver Mesa!” Blood began to leak from his mouth and trickle down his chin. Emma produced a handkerchief and cleaned it off. “I knew those minerals…possessed qualities that were beyond those found in common nature. They are…supernatural.”

  Cane and Emma exchanged a glance. “Where these rocks come from?” Cane asked.

  “Silver Mesa, in Texas. Near the town of Hellfire.” Mayor Parsons shivered, despite the heat. “I wished to organize…a mining concern. I had samples brought from Hellfire. I sent out queries in several…newspapers.” His remaining eye closed. “And then the patchwork men came.” He finally seemed to notice Cane. “Like you….”

  “He’s a friend.” Emma spoke quickly. “Don’t worry, Mayor Parsons. I’d trust Mr. Cane with anything.” When she said those words, Cane felt a little tremor of sudden pride. He did his best to ignore it. “But did you see the man who led the patchwork riders?” Emma asked. “The fiend who ordered them to attack the town and steal your silver minerals?”

  Mayor Parsons lowered his voice to a broken whisper. “He tortured me.” He shook in his chair. “Oh, the things he did to me…”

  “What was his name?” Cane asked. “Who done it?”

  “Dr. Adolphus Angell.” More blood spilled from Parsons’s mouth.

  His words struck Cane like a gunshot. Dr. Angell was dead, burned up when his manor had been shelled, all those years ago. Cane had never heard anything different. But a dying man does not bother lying. Dr. Angell was alive – and he had made others like Cane and come to Santiago, to find out about this stone from Silver Mesa, in Texas. Cane looked down at Parsons and watched the blood trickle out from his closed mouth. The mayor was finished.

  Emma raised her handkerchief. “Don’t worry,” she said, and it seemed she was trying to comfort herself. “Don’t worry, Mayor Parsons.”

  “Go on outside,” Cane ordered Emma. “Go on and wait.”

  “But I want to help—”

  “Ain’t nothing you can do for him.” Cane rested his hand on his revolver. “Nothing at all.”

  Wordlessly, Emma walked outside. Cane looked back at the mayor and drew out his pistol. “It weren’t me that done this,” he said, resting the muzzle of the gun on Mayor Parsons’ forehead. “But it was my kind, and I’m sorry as hell for that. This won’t make up for it – but it’s all I can do.”

  The gunshot cut through the quietness of the cabin. Mayor Parsons slumped back, finally at peace. Clayton Cane trudged out of the cabin, returning the smoking revolver to his holster.

  He looked up at Emma. She already knew about the circumstances of his creation. “Dr. Adolphus Angell was the man who built me,” Cane told her. “I don’t know much about him, aside from his name. I thought he was dead, but it seems he ain’t and he’s heading for Hellfire, Texas and Silver Mesa. I’m going there too.”

  “He must be a cruel man,” Emma said. “To have tortured the mayor so and destroyed this town, more for cruelty’s sake than any necessity.”

  “Yeah,” Cane agreed.

  “But he is nothing like you.” Emma’s voice was firm. “Nothing at all. I’ll go with you to Hellfire, then, and help as best I can.” She raised a finger, before Cane could protest. “I won’t hear your arguments. I can take care of myself. Living in a frontier town and enduring its destruction has made me far from the nervous Bostonian debutante who arrived in the West previously. I will go with you, Mr. Cane, and we shall have no more discussion on the matter.” She sounded like the schoolteacher she was, chastising some misbehaving student.

  Cane knew there’d be no point in arguing. He didn’t have the time for it anyway. He pointed out the horse in the three beside the cabin. “Then mount up, Miss Finch,” he ordered. “We got a lot of riding to do.”

  They left Santiago smoldering behind them and headed east — Texas-bound. Eventually, they passed the boundary between the New Mexico Territory and entered Texas. Cane knew this country well. He knew of Hellfire too – and Silver Mesa. He had never visited the town, but he knew that it was a growing settlement, despite the fact that no one seemed particularly interested in it. Silver Mesa was something else. There were more legends about that place than Cane could count, ranging from sightings of ghosts around the mesa to strange visions in the sky above it. If Dr. Angell wanted the minerals of Silver Mesa, perhaps there was some truth to them.

  It began to get dark as they rode east and Cane figured they’d have to make camp. They’d made good time in their journey and Emma Finch needed to rest. She navigated the open plains well enough and her horse only started to slow as they rode through some rocky hills that marked the border. Cane scanned those hills, looking for a good place to camp as the sun seeped down in the distance. The plains extended outwards, bathed gold by fading sunlight as far as Cane could see. Then he noticed a burning light, set on a hill a ways above them.

  “Another camp,” Cane said. “Figure we’ll ride over and see who they are.”

  “You don’t think its Dr. Angell’s patchwork men, do you?” Emma asked, perking up from her saddle. “They were in a large army, which would produce far more than one flickering campfire. Though that does beg another question – how did such a large force of men simply appear and then disappear? Why didn’t Santiago have more warning of their arrival?”

  “I don’t know. Could be Dr. Angell’s doing, though I don’t know how he lugged an army around with no one noticing.” They rode up to the awaiting hill, their horses trotting along the rocky slope side by side.

  Emma turned to Cane. “Do you know anything about Dr. Angell? And his character?”

  “Personally, not a thing. He was a fellow that cut up dead bodies and stitched them together. I figure that says plenty about his character.” Cane turned up the collar of his coat as a cold wind whistled in off the desert, striking his skin like an enemy’s saber. It would be good to be near a fire and feel some heat. He urged his horse on and neared the top of the hill.

  The camp came into view. Cane saw two figures resting on bedrolls before a campfire, a wagon pulled by two mules behind them. One of them was a man, wearing a bowler hat and the other was smaller, no more than a child. Then Cane glanced up at the wagon and saw the garish red and green paint, with brass filigree gleaming in the firelight. He sighed.

  “Ah Hell.” Cane made to turn the horse around, but Emma had already ridden ahead.

  “Excuse me!” she called. “My name is Emma Finch and this is Clayton Cane. We are two weary travelers and we were wondering if we could join you for the evening?”

  “Clayton Cane.” The older of the two came to his feet as Cane swung down from his saddle. “And a pretty feminine companion! My, that is a strange and arresting sight!” He removed his bowler hat and stepped closer to Emma, revealing a smiling face and dark hair, neatly parted down the middle, with a matching moustache. His suit was deep red. “My name is Orestes Coyle, owner of this fine traveling emporium of miraculous medicines!” He nodded to his boy, who hurried to stand next to him. “And this is my dear assistant and nephew, Maxwell.”

  Maxwell bowed his head politely to Emma. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” he said. “Would you like to join us?” The boy was nine years of age and had immigrated to America from Eastern Europe when he was younger and joined his uncle out west. Cane had crossed paths with the Coyles several times – and he still detested them. Maxwell looked up at Cane and smiled. “And, of course, you’re welcome too, Mr. Cane, if you’d like.” He sounded hopeful that Cane would.

  “Yeah,” Cane agreed, embracing the inevitable.

  He and Emma walked closer to the fire, leading their horses behind them. They tied their horses to a dead dried log, serving as a hitching post, and crouched down on the dirt around the fire. Coyle had some coffee heated up over the fire and gave each of them a cup, as well as a plate of steaming biscuits. Cane ate and dra
nk gratefully.

  Orestes Coyle scarcely let Emma sit down before he plopped himself down next to her. “Perhaps some words of introduction are in order,” he said. “Now, we all know that Mr. Cane is a violent and brutal bounty hunter – who nonetheless posses a good heart—”

  “He’s a hero.” Maxwell smiled nervously when everyone looked at him and his face reddened. He had his uncle’s very dark hair around a pale face and he wore a similarly dark suit, a peaked cap sitting next to his side. “Mr. Cane has saved my life – and my uncle’s life – several times. He always does the right thing, no matter how difficult it is.” He patted the battered dime novel resting in his pocket. “He’s a heroic gunslinger, Miss Finch and it’s good that you’re riding with him to protect you.”

  “Do you think I need protecting, then?” Emma asked. She smiled at the boy. It was the first sign of happiness Cane had seen on Emma, since they left Santiago.

  “Oh, perhaps, ma’am.” Maxwell seemed a little flustered. “You ride a horse very well, but it is a dangerous world and someone like you shouldn’t be alone.” The redness in his cheeks increased.

  “Would you volunteer your services?” Emma wondered.

  “I didn’t, really, I mean, I’m kind of small,” Maxwell replied. “But I’ll help you, if I can – and if you don’t mind.”

  “Then I shall sleep soundly, Maxwell.” Emma leaned over and patted his shoulder. “As I know that I am being watched over by such strong guardians as you and Mr. Cane.” She glanced over at Cane and gave him a quick wink. Cane did not return it.

  Orestes coughed and folded his own hands. “And me, Miss Finch.” He adjusted his tie. “You’ll find me a much finer companion than either my dear nephew, or Clayton Cane.” He licked his thumb and used the saliva to straight the tips of his moustache. “After all, I am far more handsome than Cane and far older than Maxwell, am I not?” He leaned closer to her.

  “I suppose so,” Emma relented. “But far more forward. And far less charming.”