"The Earlier Ones"
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dochermes"The Earlier Ones"
2/20/1877
I.
At dusk, they found the body of Amos Pelham lying in the snow within sight of his shack, under a spruce that had branches bent by ice on each twig. The climb up the steep trail from the mining camp had winded both Johnny and Onidaka. They stood staring down at the gruesome scene for several minutes before they could say anything. It was the vicious cold that made breathing painful and stung their eyes. Wherever they stepped down, the hard-packed snow made a crackling noise.
The smaller of the two men, Johnny Packard was only five feet four but wiry and active. Between the fur hat with its ear flaps tied down and the wool scarf wrapped around his lower face, only a pair of sharp green eyes could be seen. His breath came out in a plume through the scarf. Next to him, taller and broader, Onidaka was bundled in layers of flannel clothing under a heavy cloth coat. The long black hair was liberally streaked with grey. Onidaka was one of the few of his tribe left, a group related to the Crow but almost extinct after ongoing feuds with the Lakota. He stared down at the corpse and made soft whistling sounds as he caught his breath.
Amos Pelham lay face down, the bright red of his blood making a vivid contrast with the blindingly white snow. Deep parallel gouges ran across the man's shoulders, penetrating the thick clothing to reveal the torn skin beneath. The back of the white-haired head was sunken from some terrible blow. And around the body were footprints sixteen inches long.
"Damnation," said Johnny finally. "The more I look, the less I like what I see. What'ya make of this, amigo?"
"The Earlier Ones. Not many remain. Before the red man, these mountains were theirs. The tales say that the Earlier Ones had cities of their own in the days after the first sunrise, but over time they have forgotten how to make fire or speak."
"Yeah, that's what I was a-thinking," replied the Brimstone Kid. He moved closer to lean over the grisly remains. "Whoo-ee. Look at the size of them prints. How big is these Earlier Ones supposed to be, anyway?"
"A tall man's head does not reach the shoulder of an Earlier One. They do not wear clothing but have long black hair over their bodies. Among the Crow, it is said that Earlier Ones scavenge and eat carrion. Yet you can see there are no bite marks on this man."
"Ain't that the truth?" muttered Johnny as he glanced back and forth. "I don't spy no sign of the Winchester that old Amos always carried. And I wonder where his partner Oliviere might be. Funny, you'd think Amos woulda heard the approach of a critter that size. Walkin' in this snow makes enough noise."
"There is much here that seems uncanny," replied the Indian. "The Earlier Ones are not ghosts but flesh as are you and I. His prints are not right."
"What do you mean?" Johnny said. "Oh, hold on thar. I get yer drift. How much would you say one of the varmints would weigh?"
"Twice as much as a man."
"Yeah." Straightening up, Johnny Packard rubbed his gloved hands together and blew on them. "I don't see how poor Amos can be buried until the ground thaws. This far north in Montana, that might be a month away. Mebbe we can erect a cairn of stones over him in the morning, hey?"
Onidaka pointed at the shack. "It is dark, we cannot go back down the mountain. Let us take shelter in his dwelling until dawn. I see firewood stacked against the back wall."
"Yeah, yer right. If we want to be among the living ourselves, we better get active."
The structure built by Amos and his partner Oliviere was only one room but the boards had been tightly nailed together and every chink had been plugged by mud that was now hard as granite. The one tiny window was closed and shuttered. Inside, the fire pit in the ground was soon holding blazing logs and the smoke escaped through an iron pipe leading up through the roof. The only furniture was a tiny square table holding an oil lamp, with a pair of three-legged stools next to it. Instead of a bed, one corner of the room held furs folded up and a few blankets.
"A palace this ain't," Johnny muttered, stomping his boots on the bare plank floor. He scratched a match with his thumbnail and lit the oil lamp. "But it feels better in here than it does out there, I'll tell the world."
Folding up one of the blankets to take outside, the old Indian paused by the door. "I will cover the man up and say the words that comfort his spirit. It is better that you remain here, my friend."
"I get yer meaning." Left behind, Johnny Packard unwound his scarf and tugged off his hat to reveal a youthful face with a mop of brick-red hair. Not even twenty years of age, he had the thoughtfulness in his eyes of someone who had survived much in life. As he unfastened the thongs holding his parka shut, a gunbelt supporting matched Peacemakers in well-worn holsters was revealed.
He wasn't pleased to hear Onidaka outside chanting a prayer, not after the old Indian had hinted at the curse that Johnny lived under. 'Brimstone Kid' was not just a gunfighter nickname, it was a burden placed on him. He could feel a burning sensation against his left wrist. Johnny had tucked the ancient Darthan coin inside the cuff of his coat. As long as he was not wearing the cursed token against his forehead, he would not transform that night.
Why was the coin so painfully hot right now? At nightfall, it became warm to the touch and its copper-colored Gremthom metal shimmered visibly. But the coin only burned like this when there was imminent danger.
II.
Supported on a tripod of cast iron over the fire pit, a tin pot hung and Johnny filled it with handfuls of the clean snow to melt until there was enough water to make tea. He had a pouch of the dried leaves in one pocket and he scoured with more snow the pair of chipped old mugs he had found. Strong tea would revive them both. As the water began to steam, Onidaka came back inside and barred the door.
The Indian did not carry a firearm but he did have a long-bladed knife sheathed at his belt and a sturdy hatchet on a thong around one wrist. He unslung this now and shook himself to break the spell of that cold air. "This cabin is sturdy enough," he observed as he lowered himself to sit cross-legged next to the firepit. "It is well made."
"Aw, I ain't so worried about any Earlier Ones trying to get in," Johnny said. "So far I ain't met nothing that a few .45 pills wouldn't discourage."
"The man Amos had a man who worked here with him. Oliviere was his name, I remember."
"Yep, Aldren Oliviere from back down Wyoming way," Johnny said. He came over to sit on the floor opposite his friend. "Shoo, that climb tired me out. I thought I was tough as a bobcat but the mountain near wore me out. We didn't bring no grub, old brother, but at least we can sip something hot."
Using one of his bearskin mittens, Onidaka tilted the boiling pot and filled their mugs. "It is well. To your health, little one."
"And to yours," Johnny replied. "You've taught me so much, Onidaka. I can speak now with the Crow and the Lakota and get a sentence out that they understand. Mostly, anyways. And I have learned how to survive in the wilderness, how to find food where it seems there is none, how to tell one spoor from another. I feel better able to take care of my own self."
The Indian raised a bony finger in approval. "You know that the Spirit sometimes comes upon me in waking dreams. I have seen shadows of the days to come. You will walk unhappy trails and face both wicked men and strange beasts. Even worse, it is your lot to rid this land of dangers which do not belong in the world under the sun."
"Cut it out, you're raisin' gooseflesh on my arms," Johnny laughed. "Stop trying to scare me."
"My words are not lightly spoken," the old man replied and as he spoke, a thunderous pounding made the door rattle on its hinges.
In an instant, the Kid had rolled over and vaulted up onto his feet, the revolvers appearing in his hands as he swung to face the door. From outside came a barrage of the filthiest language he had ever heard, which was remarkable considering he had gotten drunk with both sailors and buffalo hunters.
When the voice outside eased up, Johnny called pleasantly, "Who is it?"
"What? Why, damn you to burn in the fires of Perdition, that's MY cabin you're in! Open up or I'll burn it down, I swear I will!" roared the voice.
"Oh, you must be Oliviere eh? Pull yore britches up and wait a second." Still weilding both Peacemakers, Johnny nodded toward his friend. Rising and going over to where the voice had stared yelling again, Onidaka raised the bar and swung the door inward while keeping himself out of sight behind it.
Storming in with a blast of frigid air behind him came a huge man bundled in thick bearskin robes. A bristling black beard stood out as stiff as a broom from under a wool hat pulled low so only eyes and nose showed. "Devil take you by the heel and drag you with him to Hell, who ARE you? What do ya think you're a-doing here? Where's Amos?!"
Very quietly, lowering his guns, the Brimstone Kid said, "That's enough talk of devils and Hell, mister. It ain't no joke to me."
Taking one long step into the warm room under the lamplight, Oliviere glared at the slightly-built youth who faced him. Despite his greater size and strength, he saw something in those green eyes that was immensely dangerous. Even though the boy had holstered those six-shooters, Oliviere had an unsettling certainty they could be out and blazing in less than a blink. He was holding a massive Springfield rifle in one hand and he carefully leaned it against the wall, making sure the strange young man saw the weapon was not being aimed at him.
"Yeah, I'm Aldren Oliviere," the giant said at last. "Mind giving me yore handle?"
"Johnny Packard, formerly of the great state of Texas. This here's my blood brother and teacher, Onidaka. I'm feared I got some bad news about Amos, sir."
Without waiting to hear further, the burly man dropped down onto one of the stools and nearly broke it doing do. "Bad news, I reckon? Where is he? What has he gotten his fool self into now?"
"He's daid. That's him out there laid out under a blanket. I calculate if it weren't so dark tonight, you'd have seen him," the Kid said.
The words hit Oliviere like a blow to the stomach. The big man groaned and doubled over, folding his arms and bowing his shaggy head. "He shoulda come with me. I ast him to. I TOLD him it weren't safe here."
"Why ain't it safe, mister?" asked Johnny in a low voice. Beside him, Onidaka made a protective gesture.
"Out there, a man hears things. Under the pines, where axe has never cut and where the sun seldom reaches. You hear branches break and you hear the huff of heavy breathing and you smell the musky heavy stink of somethin' that ain't bear nor moose." Oliviere began shaking visibly. "Footprints like a man's but bigger... much bigger."
"The Earlier Ones..."
"Yes, yes, damn them all. They had their day. Like the Injuns, they should make way for the new owners of this land but they linger and they resent us." Fumbling inside his robes, Oliviere came up with a pewter flask and he took big gulps that must have emptied its contents. "I been hearing the bastards around here for weeks now."
"You and Amos didn't build this cabin, didya?" asked the Kid unexpectedly.
"What? Nah. It had been sittin' here abandoned fer a few years. Me and Amos, fixed it up some so we could look for silver up here away from the mining camp." He gave the young redheaded cowboy a curious stare. "Why d'ya ask?"
"Putting pieces of a puzzle together, seeing how they fit. Mebbe four, five years ago the Harker Brothers and their gang were in this area. As I recollect, a posse from down by Helena caught up with them and not one lived to tell the tale."
"And you figger them outlaws built this cabin, is that it? Son, give a mind to the present. Amos is dead. The Earlier Ones are out there in the dark right this minute, watching, waiting, licking their lips at the thought of killin' us too."
"I s'pose," said Johnny. "But them Harker Boy are stickin' to my thoughts the way a chicken bone can get caught in yore throat. I heard they did some serious robbing and they died without telling anyone where the boodle might be stashed." He had come to stand with his back to the flickering lamp on the table so that his face was in shadow. Yet, somehow, a lambent red gleam sparked in his eyes and Oliviere gave a start as he saw this.
"Oh, my God," the big man groaned. "You. You're the Brimstone Kid."
III.
The tension in that room was broken as Onidaka spoke for the first time since Oliviere had appeared. He had fashioned a torch by wrapping a rag around the walking stick he had used coming up the mountain. The old man had dripped some lamp oil on the end and stuck it into the fire pit. As the torch flared up, both Johnny and Olivere snapped their heads around at the sudden light and Onidaka spoke, "We will go outside now."
"Go OUTSIDE? You are loco, grandpa." He heaved up to loom over both Johnny and Onidaka, nearly as massive as both of them combined. "We're more or less safe in here but to go out there... where that devil beast is lurking? I don't think so."
"It is the only way. My friend has his revolvers and he does not miss. These are my words. We will go stand over the body of Amos Pelham and close this tale."
Johnny Packard let out an unhappy sigh. "We better do as Onidaka says, he knows whereof he speaks." The Kid fastened his fur cap down again and started winding the wool scarf around his lower face. "It'll be fer the best if you come willingly, suh."
"Thunderation, I was jest startin' to get the chill outta my bones," Oliviere complained. "To go back out there in the cold and the darkness, to stand over the remains of my partner and wait fer the thing what took his life...! Plain foolishness, that's all it is."
By the door, the Kid was inspecting Oliviere's rifle and he seemed satisfied as he held it in ready position. "I cal'clate it's fer the best I hold on to this. You said it yourself, I am the Brimstone Kid. Let's get going."
The three of them went back into the night, where the stars glittered sharply in a clear sky of mountain air. With Onidaka holding the torch high so its flame whipped in the wind, Johnny followed behind him and behind Oliviere. They stood in the trail near the blanet-wrapped outline of what had been a man named Amos Pelham.
"Poor mortal fool, as we all are," the Kid intoned. A weird hollow tone had entered his voice. "He stood trusting and unafraid as he was struck down from behind. The best we can hope for is a quick unknowing death."
"What are you going on about?" demanded Oliviere. "You saw him! You saw the trenches ripped through his back. Give me my Springfield, you've got your six-guns."
The Kid did not answer for a long moment. "You didn't see his body, so you said. How'd you know he was gouged across the back unless you was the one who done it?" He was staring down at the covered up form. "I suspect hidden somewhere nearby we might fight metal blades tied together to form something like a Roman numeral III. Mebbe just hunting knives tied to a stick, mebbe some farming tool. And I believe we would also find oversized boots made out of hide, padded and hardened to leave monstrous tracks. If they was a sheriff within a hunnert miles of this mountain, he'd think that was enough evidence that some feller was trying to make folks believe Amos was killed by an imaginary monster."
"You're tetched in the haid," Oliviere snorted. "I'm heading back inside, you lunatics can wait out here and get butchered if'n that's yer preference."
An eerie sepulchral echo had came into Johnny's voice now. His irises were more red than green. "But it was those tracks that gave it all away, mister. They look scary enough, as if they'd been left by a beast bigger than a grizzly. But it's funny how they ain't suany deeper in the snow than Onidaka's are."
Steeping quickly back from the two men, Aldren Oliviere extended his arm and thumbed back the hammer on a snub-nosed Webley revolver he had kept in one pocket. Ice was forming on his stiff black beard with each breath he exhaled. "Don't take no chances, boy. You may be good but they say a desperate man's the fastest. I'm going back in there and you two can stay out here ta freeze."
Johnny did not seem concerned. "You and Amos found the swag hidden round here by the Harker Brothers, and greed filled your heart. You did not want to share the new wealth so yer partner had to go. It's a story old as time."
Now, the old Indian spoke, "Mr Oliviere, you are in great danger even as you hear my words."
"Haw! I ain't the only one! Is there a bounty on yore head, Mr Brimstone Kid? If they is, well I--" Those were his last words. From the frigid darkness behind him, a towering form surged up and massive arms clamped around his body to lift him up off the ground. His legs kicked frantically and he wriggled without hope of escape, but he could not draw in a breath to scream. The sound of his ribs cracking echoed in the night. Up over the top of the dying man's head, a bestial face with a protruding brow ledge and a flat nose over a long upper lip could be briefly glimpsed. Then the hairy form vanished back into the gloom with its prey.
Without a word, Johnny and Onidaka dashed back into the cabin, stumbling in their panic, and barred the door. The Kid vaulted into the center of the room, swinging around with the rifle raised, listening and trembling with the effort to be ready. After a few minutes, his breathing eased down and he stepped back to plop on one of the stools. "You.. you saw it, too, old brother."
Onidaka had sat down next to the fire pit again, tossing a few thicker branches into the flames. "With the sunrise, we will leave this area. South. We should go go south again."
"Pickin' up our hosses where we left 'em with that blacksmith," Johnny said. "Yer right. By the time we go down to our usual stomping grounds, Spring should be near. I'll be mighty pleased to see flowers bloom and a warm day again. Who knows, mebbe we'll find the Harker Boys stash in this cabin afore we leave." He shuddered violently. "Hoo-ee, that sight'll haunt me the rest of my days. Onidaka, don't it seem almost as if Olivere had asked for what happened to him?"
"He did indeed," said the old man with a faint trace of satisfaction. "I believe the Earlier Ones do not like to blamed for the misdeeds of others."
12/28/2018
2/20/1877
I.
At dusk, they found the body of Amos Pelham lying in the snow within sight of his shack, under a spruce that had branches bent by ice on each twig. The climb up the steep trail from the mining camp had winded both Johnny and Onidaka. They stood staring down at the gruesome scene for several minutes before they could say anything. It was the vicious cold that made breathing painful and stung their eyes. Wherever they stepped down, the hard-packed snow made a crackling noise.
The smaller of the two men, Johnny Packard was only five feet four but wiry and active. Between the fur hat with its ear flaps tied down and the wool scarf wrapped around his lower face, only a pair of sharp green eyes could be seen. His breath came out in a plume through the scarf. Next to him, taller and broader, Onidaka was bundled in layers of flannel clothing under a heavy cloth coat. The long black hair was liberally streaked with grey. Onidaka was one of the few of his tribe left, a group related to the Crow but almost extinct after ongoing feuds with the Lakota. He stared down at the corpse and made soft whistling sounds as he caught his breath.
Amos Pelham lay face down, the bright red of his blood making a vivid contrast with the blindingly white snow. Deep parallel gouges ran across the man's shoulders, penetrating the thick clothing to reveal the torn skin beneath. The back of the white-haired head was sunken from some terrible blow. And around the body were footprints sixteen inches long.
"Damnation," said Johnny finally. "The more I look, the less I like what I see. What'ya make of this, amigo?"
"The Earlier Ones. Not many remain. Before the red man, these mountains were theirs. The tales say that the Earlier Ones had cities of their own in the days after the first sunrise, but over time they have forgotten how to make fire or speak."
"Yeah, that's what I was a-thinking," replied the Brimstone Kid. He moved closer to lean over the grisly remains. "Whoo-ee. Look at the size of them prints. How big is these Earlier Ones supposed to be, anyway?"
"A tall man's head does not reach the shoulder of an Earlier One. They do not wear clothing but have long black hair over their bodies. Among the Crow, it is said that Earlier Ones scavenge and eat carrion. Yet you can see there are no bite marks on this man."
"Ain't that the truth?" muttered Johnny as he glanced back and forth. "I don't spy no sign of the Winchester that old Amos always carried. And I wonder where his partner Oliviere might be. Funny, you'd think Amos woulda heard the approach of a critter that size. Walkin' in this snow makes enough noise."
"There is much here that seems uncanny," replied the Indian. "The Earlier Ones are not ghosts but flesh as are you and I. His prints are not right."
"What do you mean?" Johnny said. "Oh, hold on thar. I get yer drift. How much would you say one of the varmints would weigh?"
"Twice as much as a man."
"Yeah." Straightening up, Johnny Packard rubbed his gloved hands together and blew on them. "I don't see how poor Amos can be buried until the ground thaws. This far north in Montana, that might be a month away. Mebbe we can erect a cairn of stones over him in the morning, hey?"
Onidaka pointed at the shack. "It is dark, we cannot go back down the mountain. Let us take shelter in his dwelling until dawn. I see firewood stacked against the back wall."
"Yeah, yer right. If we want to be among the living ourselves, we better get active."
The structure built by Amos and his partner Oliviere was only one room but the boards had been tightly nailed together and every chink had been plugged by mud that was now hard as granite. The one tiny window was closed and shuttered. Inside, the fire pit in the ground was soon holding blazing logs and the smoke escaped through an iron pipe leading up through the roof. The only furniture was a tiny square table holding an oil lamp, with a pair of three-legged stools next to it. Instead of a bed, one corner of the room held furs folded up and a few blankets.
"A palace this ain't," Johnny muttered, stomping his boots on the bare plank floor. He scratched a match with his thumbnail and lit the oil lamp. "But it feels better in here than it does out there, I'll tell the world."
Folding up one of the blankets to take outside, the old Indian paused by the door. "I will cover the man up and say the words that comfort his spirit. It is better that you remain here, my friend."
"I get yer meaning." Left behind, Johnny Packard unwound his scarf and tugged off his hat to reveal a youthful face with a mop of brick-red hair. Not even twenty years of age, he had the thoughtfulness in his eyes of someone who had survived much in life. As he unfastened the thongs holding his parka shut, a gunbelt supporting matched Peacemakers in well-worn holsters was revealed.
He wasn't pleased to hear Onidaka outside chanting a prayer, not after the old Indian had hinted at the curse that Johnny lived under. 'Brimstone Kid' was not just a gunfighter nickname, it was a burden placed on him. He could feel a burning sensation against his left wrist. Johnny had tucked the ancient Darthan coin inside the cuff of his coat. As long as he was not wearing the cursed token against his forehead, he would not transform that night.
Why was the coin so painfully hot right now? At nightfall, it became warm to the touch and its copper-colored Gremthom metal shimmered visibly. But the coin only burned like this when there was imminent danger.
II.
Supported on a tripod of cast iron over the fire pit, a tin pot hung and Johnny filled it with handfuls of the clean snow to melt until there was enough water to make tea. He had a pouch of the dried leaves in one pocket and he scoured with more snow the pair of chipped old mugs he had found. Strong tea would revive them both. As the water began to steam, Onidaka came back inside and barred the door.
The Indian did not carry a firearm but he did have a long-bladed knife sheathed at his belt and a sturdy hatchet on a thong around one wrist. He unslung this now and shook himself to break the spell of that cold air. "This cabin is sturdy enough," he observed as he lowered himself to sit cross-legged next to the firepit. "It is well made."
"Aw, I ain't so worried about any Earlier Ones trying to get in," Johnny said. "So far I ain't met nothing that a few .45 pills wouldn't discourage."
"The man Amos had a man who worked here with him. Oliviere was his name, I remember."
"Yep, Aldren Oliviere from back down Wyoming way," Johnny said. He came over to sit on the floor opposite his friend. "Shoo, that climb tired me out. I thought I was tough as a bobcat but the mountain near wore me out. We didn't bring no grub, old brother, but at least we can sip something hot."
Using one of his bearskin mittens, Onidaka tilted the boiling pot and filled their mugs. "It is well. To your health, little one."
"And to yours," Johnny replied. "You've taught me so much, Onidaka. I can speak now with the Crow and the Lakota and get a sentence out that they understand. Mostly, anyways. And I have learned how to survive in the wilderness, how to find food where it seems there is none, how to tell one spoor from another. I feel better able to take care of my own self."
The Indian raised a bony finger in approval. "You know that the Spirit sometimes comes upon me in waking dreams. I have seen shadows of the days to come. You will walk unhappy trails and face both wicked men and strange beasts. Even worse, it is your lot to rid this land of dangers which do not belong in the world under the sun."
"Cut it out, you're raisin' gooseflesh on my arms," Johnny laughed. "Stop trying to scare me."
"My words are not lightly spoken," the old man replied and as he spoke, a thunderous pounding made the door rattle on its hinges.
In an instant, the Kid had rolled over and vaulted up onto his feet, the revolvers appearing in his hands as he swung to face the door. From outside came a barrage of the filthiest language he had ever heard, which was remarkable considering he had gotten drunk with both sailors and buffalo hunters.
When the voice outside eased up, Johnny called pleasantly, "Who is it?"
"What? Why, damn you to burn in the fires of Perdition, that's MY cabin you're in! Open up or I'll burn it down, I swear I will!" roared the voice.
"Oh, you must be Oliviere eh? Pull yore britches up and wait a second." Still weilding both Peacemakers, Johnny nodded toward his friend. Rising and going over to where the voice had stared yelling again, Onidaka raised the bar and swung the door inward while keeping himself out of sight behind it.
Storming in with a blast of frigid air behind him came a huge man bundled in thick bearskin robes. A bristling black beard stood out as stiff as a broom from under a wool hat pulled low so only eyes and nose showed. "Devil take you by the heel and drag you with him to Hell, who ARE you? What do ya think you're a-doing here? Where's Amos?!"
Very quietly, lowering his guns, the Brimstone Kid said, "That's enough talk of devils and Hell, mister. It ain't no joke to me."
Taking one long step into the warm room under the lamplight, Oliviere glared at the slightly-built youth who faced him. Despite his greater size and strength, he saw something in those green eyes that was immensely dangerous. Even though the boy had holstered those six-shooters, Oliviere had an unsettling certainty they could be out and blazing in less than a blink. He was holding a massive Springfield rifle in one hand and he carefully leaned it against the wall, making sure the strange young man saw the weapon was not being aimed at him.
"Yeah, I'm Aldren Oliviere," the giant said at last. "Mind giving me yore handle?"
"Johnny Packard, formerly of the great state of Texas. This here's my blood brother and teacher, Onidaka. I'm feared I got some bad news about Amos, sir."
Without waiting to hear further, the burly man dropped down onto one of the stools and nearly broke it doing do. "Bad news, I reckon? Where is he? What has he gotten his fool self into now?"
"He's daid. That's him out there laid out under a blanket. I calculate if it weren't so dark tonight, you'd have seen him," the Kid said.
The words hit Oliviere like a blow to the stomach. The big man groaned and doubled over, folding his arms and bowing his shaggy head. "He shoulda come with me. I ast him to. I TOLD him it weren't safe here."
"Why ain't it safe, mister?" asked Johnny in a low voice. Beside him, Onidaka made a protective gesture.
"Out there, a man hears things. Under the pines, where axe has never cut and where the sun seldom reaches. You hear branches break and you hear the huff of heavy breathing and you smell the musky heavy stink of somethin' that ain't bear nor moose." Oliviere began shaking visibly. "Footprints like a man's but bigger... much bigger."
"The Earlier Ones..."
"Yes, yes, damn them all. They had their day. Like the Injuns, they should make way for the new owners of this land but they linger and they resent us." Fumbling inside his robes, Oliviere came up with a pewter flask and he took big gulps that must have emptied its contents. "I been hearing the bastards around here for weeks now."
"You and Amos didn't build this cabin, didya?" asked the Kid unexpectedly.
"What? Nah. It had been sittin' here abandoned fer a few years. Me and Amos, fixed it up some so we could look for silver up here away from the mining camp." He gave the young redheaded cowboy a curious stare. "Why d'ya ask?"
"Putting pieces of a puzzle together, seeing how they fit. Mebbe four, five years ago the Harker Brothers and their gang were in this area. As I recollect, a posse from down by Helena caught up with them and not one lived to tell the tale."
"And you figger them outlaws built this cabin, is that it? Son, give a mind to the present. Amos is dead. The Earlier Ones are out there in the dark right this minute, watching, waiting, licking their lips at the thought of killin' us too."
"I s'pose," said Johnny. "But them Harker Boy are stickin' to my thoughts the way a chicken bone can get caught in yore throat. I heard they did some serious robbing and they died without telling anyone where the boodle might be stashed." He had come to stand with his back to the flickering lamp on the table so that his face was in shadow. Yet, somehow, a lambent red gleam sparked in his eyes and Oliviere gave a start as he saw this.
"Oh, my God," the big man groaned. "You. You're the Brimstone Kid."
III.
The tension in that room was broken as Onidaka spoke for the first time since Oliviere had appeared. He had fashioned a torch by wrapping a rag around the walking stick he had used coming up the mountain. The old man had dripped some lamp oil on the end and stuck it into the fire pit. As the torch flared up, both Johnny and Olivere snapped their heads around at the sudden light and Onidaka spoke, "We will go outside now."
"Go OUTSIDE? You are loco, grandpa." He heaved up to loom over both Johnny and Onidaka, nearly as massive as both of them combined. "We're more or less safe in here but to go out there... where that devil beast is lurking? I don't think so."
"It is the only way. My friend has his revolvers and he does not miss. These are my words. We will go stand over the body of Amos Pelham and close this tale."
Johnny Packard let out an unhappy sigh. "We better do as Onidaka says, he knows whereof he speaks." The Kid fastened his fur cap down again and started winding the wool scarf around his lower face. "It'll be fer the best if you come willingly, suh."
"Thunderation, I was jest startin' to get the chill outta my bones," Oliviere complained. "To go back out there in the cold and the darkness, to stand over the remains of my partner and wait fer the thing what took his life...! Plain foolishness, that's all it is."
By the door, the Kid was inspecting Oliviere's rifle and he seemed satisfied as he held it in ready position. "I cal'clate it's fer the best I hold on to this. You said it yourself, I am the Brimstone Kid. Let's get going."
The three of them went back into the night, where the stars glittered sharply in a clear sky of mountain air. With Onidaka holding the torch high so its flame whipped in the wind, Johnny followed behind him and behind Oliviere. They stood in the trail near the blanet-wrapped outline of what had been a man named Amos Pelham.
"Poor mortal fool, as we all are," the Kid intoned. A weird hollow tone had entered his voice. "He stood trusting and unafraid as he was struck down from behind. The best we can hope for is a quick unknowing death."
"What are you going on about?" demanded Oliviere. "You saw him! You saw the trenches ripped through his back. Give me my Springfield, you've got your six-guns."
The Kid did not answer for a long moment. "You didn't see his body, so you said. How'd you know he was gouged across the back unless you was the one who done it?" He was staring down at the covered up form. "I suspect hidden somewhere nearby we might fight metal blades tied together to form something like a Roman numeral III. Mebbe just hunting knives tied to a stick, mebbe some farming tool. And I believe we would also find oversized boots made out of hide, padded and hardened to leave monstrous tracks. If they was a sheriff within a hunnert miles of this mountain, he'd think that was enough evidence that some feller was trying to make folks believe Amos was killed by an imaginary monster."
"You're tetched in the haid," Oliviere snorted. "I'm heading back inside, you lunatics can wait out here and get butchered if'n that's yer preference."
An eerie sepulchral echo had came into Johnny's voice now. His irises were more red than green. "But it was those tracks that gave it all away, mister. They look scary enough, as if they'd been left by a beast bigger than a grizzly. But it's funny how they ain't suany deeper in the snow than Onidaka's are."
Steeping quickly back from the two men, Aldren Oliviere extended his arm and thumbed back the hammer on a snub-nosed Webley revolver he had kept in one pocket. Ice was forming on his stiff black beard with each breath he exhaled. "Don't take no chances, boy. You may be good but they say a desperate man's the fastest. I'm going back in there and you two can stay out here ta freeze."
Johnny did not seem concerned. "You and Amos found the swag hidden round here by the Harker Brothers, and greed filled your heart. You did not want to share the new wealth so yer partner had to go. It's a story old as time."
Now, the old Indian spoke, "Mr Oliviere, you are in great danger even as you hear my words."
"Haw! I ain't the only one! Is there a bounty on yore head, Mr Brimstone Kid? If they is, well I--" Those were his last words. From the frigid darkness behind him, a towering form surged up and massive arms clamped around his body to lift him up off the ground. His legs kicked frantically and he wriggled without hope of escape, but he could not draw in a breath to scream. The sound of his ribs cracking echoed in the night. Up over the top of the dying man's head, a bestial face with a protruding brow ledge and a flat nose over a long upper lip could be briefly glimpsed. Then the hairy form vanished back into the gloom with its prey.
Without a word, Johnny and Onidaka dashed back into the cabin, stumbling in their panic, and barred the door. The Kid vaulted into the center of the room, swinging around with the rifle raised, listening and trembling with the effort to be ready. After a few minutes, his breathing eased down and he stepped back to plop on one of the stools. "You.. you saw it, too, old brother."
Onidaka had sat down next to the fire pit again, tossing a few thicker branches into the flames. "With the sunrise, we will leave this area. South. We should go go south again."
"Pickin' up our hosses where we left 'em with that blacksmith," Johnny said. "Yer right. By the time we go down to our usual stomping grounds, Spring should be near. I'll be mighty pleased to see flowers bloom and a warm day again. Who knows, mebbe we'll find the Harker Boys stash in this cabin afore we leave." He shuddered violently. "Hoo-ee, that sight'll haunt me the rest of my days. Onidaka, don't it seem almost as if Olivere had asked for what happened to him?"
"He did indeed," said the old man with a faint trace of satisfaction. "I believe the Earlier Ones do not like to blamed for the misdeeds of others."
12/28/2018
