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dochermes"The White Savages of Bad Medicine Mountain"
9/13/1878
I.
"Johnny Packard, just where do you think you are going?" demanded the white-haired scarecrow of a woman.
Reining in his black horse Terror on the muddy main street of Just-Plain-Awful, the Brimstone Kid felt his heart sink. He feared neither man nor beast nor act of nature. Old women, though, were a problem since he had been brought up to respect and defer to them. He saw Bedelia Thorpe standing on the porch of the town's general store, bony hands clutching her broom as if wanting to strangle it, and something truculent in her pose alarmed him.
"I'm takin' Terror out to stretch his legs," the young cowboy replied. Even outside, he lifted his black Stetson to the lady when first addressing her. "Him and me been cooped up two days on account of the rain."
Her basilisk stare finally wore him down and he reined up alongside the porch and asked, "What is it you want, Miz Bedelia?"
The old woman give him a scornful snort, and put her hands onto her bony hips and sniffed at him as if he had stepped in one of the numerous horse piles left in the street.
"I want you should go git my brother Reuben and bring him home," she said at last. "He's off on one of his idiotic prospectin' sprees again. He snuck out before daylight with the mare and a pack mule. You bring him back if you have to lasso him and tie him to his saddle. Old fool! Off huntin' treasure when they's work to be done stocking shelves and fixing the back door hinges. You git goin'."
"Ain't my place to go chasin' him all over Bad Medicine Mountain," Johnny Packard protested. "Gramps is no kin of mine. Get together a posse."
But Bedelia would have nothing of that. As she explained her grievances, her voice getting louder and shriller all the time until dogs started howling in pain. She was still ranting as Johnny rode up the trail toward Bad Medicine Mountain Gap, and he seemed to hear echoes long after he couldn't see her any more. She had quite a shrillness. Birds flew off in fear when she raised her voice.
Once they were out of town, the stallion Terror obviously wanted to gallop so badly that Johnny let him. They had been too long in one spot, the Kid reflected. Townsfolk of Just-Plain-Awful had become used to him and treated him like any other cowboy. Even those who had witnessed the horrifying transformation into the true Brimstone Kid somehow had come to accept it. Johnny was making decent money working at the Schoeber ranch but he definitely knew it was time to move on.
Long hours later, Johnny was riding up the long rise that led up to the Gap, looking and listening. A sharp crack sounded up ahead and his hat flew off his head. The Kid reacted with an alacrity born of too many shootouts. He quickly reined Terror behind a chest-high clump of brush, and leaped down to lie flat in the dirt with one of his Peacemakers in his right hand. He glared up toward the Gap, and spotted the unlovely rear of a mule sticking from behind a cluster of boulders.
"You quit that shootin' at me, Gramps!" Johnny yelled at the top of his lungs. Inwardly, he was relieved that it was not a serious ambush. There were far too many men riding the West with deadly grudges against him.
"Stay right whar you be," an older voice called back. "I figger Bedelia sent you after me, but I ain't goin' home. I'm onto somethin' big at last!"
"What could you mean?" the Kid demanded.
"Keep back or I'll ventilate you," he promised. "I'm goin' for the Dago Silver Mine."
"Aw, you been huntin' that thing for thirty years," Johnny scoffed. "You might as well run toward a rainbow fer the pot of gold."
"This time it's a sure bet," Gramps said. "I bought a map off'n a drunk Mexican over in Three Corners. One of his ancestors was a Injun which helped pile up the rocks to hide the mouth of the cave where it is."
"Why didn't he go find it his own self and git the gold?" Johnny asked.
"He said he's skeered of ghosts," said Gramps. "I personally think it's just too much work to suit him. They's a fortune in the Dago Silver Mine. Now will you go on back peaceable like, or will you throw in with me? I might need you, in case of bandits or renegade Comanche."
"I'll come with you," Johnny said, not at all eager to return to town and face Miz Bedelia. "Maybe you have got somethin', at that. Put up yore Winchester. I'm coming soon as I fetch my hat." The Kid scowled at the ragged hole in the crown of his black Stetson but he reassured himself that the cursed Gremthom coin in the band had not been damaged.
Gramps emerged from his rocks, a skinny leathery old cuss, and he said: "What about Bedelia? If you don't come back with me, she'll foller us out here herself. She's that strong-minded. And this is rough territory for a lady to traverse."
"I'll leave a note for her," the Kid said. "Joe Blodgett always comes down through the Gap once a week on his way to town. He's due through here today. I'll stick the note on a tree, where he'll see it and take it to her."
Johnny had a pencil-stub in his saddle-bag, so he tore a piece of wrapping paper from a can of tomatoes Gramps had in his pack, and carefully wrote:
'Dear Miz Bedelia
'I am takin Gramps way up in the mountains. Don't send anyone to follow us, it wouldn't be healthy. You'll hear from us. Respectfully, Johnny.'
He folded the scrap and wrote on the outside:
'Dear Joe: please take this here note to Miz Bedelia Thorpe back in town.'
Johnny Packard was as proud of knowing his letters and how to do arithmetic as he was of any other skill. In every town he passed through, he made a point to read the local newspaper and he often picked up a dime novel when he could.
Then Johnny and Gramps set out for the higher ranges, and he started reciting all about the Dago Mine again, like he'd already done many times before. The tale told of an Italian prospector named Vito Spinelli who had stumbled onto a cave almost thirty years earlier. The walls had veins of gleaming silver thick as ropes. But the Indians jumped him and run him out and he got lost and nearly starved in the desert, and went crazy. When he come to a settlement and finally regained his mind, he tried to lead a party back to it, but never could find it. Gramps said the Indians had used rocks and brush to conceal the mouth of the cave so nobody could tell it was there.
Johnny reasonably asked how he knew the Indians had done that, and Gramps said it was common knowledge. Any fool oughta know that's just what they done.
"This-here mine," says Doc Valentine, "is located in a hidden valley which lies away up amongst the high ranges. I ain't never seen it, and I thought I'd explored these mountains plenty. Ain't nobody more familiar with 'em than me except Noah Chadwick. But it stands to reason that the cave is awful hard to find, or somebody'd already found it. Accordin' to this here map, that lost valley must lie just beyond Dead-End Canyon. Ain't many white men knows whar that even is. We're headin' there."
We had left the Gap far behind us, and was moving along the slanting side of a sharp-angled crag whilst he was talking. As we passed it, we seen two shadowy figures with horses emerge from the other side, heading in the same direction we was, so our trails converged. Gramps glared and reached for his Winchester.
"Who's that?" he snarled.
"The big un's Sheb Hartline," Johnny said. "I never seen the other one."
"And nobody else has, outside of a traveling sideshow, " growled Gramps.
II.
This other feller was a flamboyant figure in his pinstriped trousers, green jacket with white waistcoat and a red polka-dot shirt. He wore a top hat with a bright blue flower in its band and he affected lavender wrist gloves with three stripes on the backs. Judging by the way his blond hair had gone mostly white, he must have been at least sixty years old. And, going by the broken blood vessels in the round-knobbed nose and the body shaped like a pear, they had not been years spent seeking good health.
"Who might you be?" demanded Gramps.
"Obadiah Polkinghorn, professor emeritus as Harvard. I sometimes work for the Smithsonian as well, late of Boston," said the tenderfoot. "I have employed Mr. Sheb here to guide me up into the mountains. I am on the track of a tribe of white-skinned red-haired aboriginal Primevals, which, according to fairly well substantiated rumor, have inhabited the Bad Medicine Mountain since time immemorial."
"Lissen here, speak reg'lar lingo or don't bother," said Gramps in wrath, "are you givin' me the horse-laugh?"
"I assure you that levity is the furthest thing from my thoughts," says Wesley. "Whilst touring the country in the interests of science, I heard the rumors to which I have referred. In a village possessing the singular appellation of Just-Plain-Awful, I interviewed an aged prospector who told me that he had seen one of the aborigines, clad in the skin of a wild animal and armed with a bludgeon. The Primeval, he said, emitted a most peculiar and piercing cry when sighted, and fled into the recesses of the hills. I am confident that it is some survivor of a pre-Indian race, and I am resolute to learn more."
"They ain't no such critter in these hills," snorted Gramps. "I've roamed all over 'em for thirty year, and I ain't seen no Primevals."
A hulking brute five inches over six feet tall, Sheb Hartline had trouble finding clothes that fit him. At the moment, his red flannel shirt was left unbuttoned because it would not close over his barrel chest. "Well," says Sheb,"they's sure somethin' onnatural up there, because I been hearin' some funny yarns myself. I never thought I'd be huntin' Primevals, but I welcome the chance to lose myself in the mountains and forgit the perfidy of people. What are you-all doin' up here? Prospectin'?" he said, glancing at the tools on the mule.
"Not in earnest," said Gramps hurriedly. "We're just kinda whilin' away our time. They ain't no gold nor silver nor anything else of value in these mountains."
"Folks says that Dago Mine is up here somewhere," said Sheb.
"Bah! Campfire tales, nuthin but wishful thinking," snorted Gramps, busting into a sweat. "Ain't no such mine. Well, Johnny, let's be shovin' off. Got to make Golden Eagle Peak before it gets dark."
"I thought we was goin' to Dead-End Canyon," the Kid said with a wry grin.
Gramps shot him an awful glare, and said, "Yep, that's right, Golden Eagle Peak, just like I said. So long, gents."
"So long," said Sheb.
So they turned off the trail almost at right-angles to their previous course bewilderedly. When they were out of sight of the others, he reined around again."When Nature endowed you the body of a dwarf, Johnny," he said, "she failed to compensate by to give you any brains to make up for it. You want everybody to know what we're lookin' for?"
The Brimstone Kid gave the older man a thoughtful gaze. "I din't want to spill it to Sheb just yet, but that dang old rummie ain't named Obadiah Whatever. That's Doc Valentine! He's a crooked as a dog's hind leg. He kin steal your socks while you're wearin' them and sell them back to you at twice what you paid. He's been run outta towns from the Mississippi to the Rockies and come close to getting strung up nearly as many times."
"That so? He didn't get that nose drinking spring water, that's fer shure. What was that guff he spewed about looking for Primevals?"
"Primevals!" the Kid snorted. "They don't have to go no further'n any town in this Territory on payday night to find more Primevals than they could count. Don't you go believing anything Doc Valentine says. Silver most likely is what they're after, I believe they either got wind of that mine, or know you got that map, or both."
"What you goin' to do?" Gramps asked him.
"Head for Dead-End Canyon by another trail," he said.
They arrived at late afternoon, with a red sun approaching the Western horizon. Dead-End Canyon was deep, with big high cliffs cut with ravines and gulches here and there, and very wild in appearance. They didn't descend into the canyon right away, but camped on a plateau above it. Gramps proposed they begin exploring next morning. He said they were lots of caves in the canyon, and he'd been in nearly all of them. He hadn't found anything except bears, coyotes, lizards and rattlesnakes, but he believed one of them caves went on through into another hidden canyon, and there was where the silver could be found.
As he was fussing with a fire, the Kid was startled by Gramps shaking his shoulder.
"What's the matter?" Johnny demanded, jumping up and pulling his guns.
"They're here!" he squalled. "Daw-gone it, I suspected 'em all the time! Git up, you big lunk. Don't set there gawpin' with a hogleg in each hand like a desperado! They're here, I tell you!"
"Who's here?" the Kid asked.
"That dern tenderfoot and his overgrown Texas gunfighter," snarled Gramps. "I was up on that ridge looking around, and purty soon I seen a wisp of smoke curlin' up from behind a big rock t'other side of the flat. I snuck over there, and there was Sheb fryin' bacon, and Doc Valentine was pertendin' to be lookin' at some flowers with a magnifyin' glass....the blame fake. He ain't no perfessor. You're right he's a damned crook. They're followin' us. They aim to murder us and rob us of my map."
"Aw, Sheb wouldn't do that," the Kid said, to which Gramps snapped, "You shet up! A man will do anything whar treasure is consarned. Dang it all, git up and do somethin'! Air you goin' to set there, and let us git murdered in our sleep?"
Johnny holstered his Peacemakers and headed across the flat, with Gramp's urging ringing in his ears, and he didn't notice whether the older man was bringing up the rear with his Winchester or not.
From halfway across a scattering of trees, a huge figure emerged from amongst them, headed his direction with a ferocious scowl. Even in the deepening dusk, Sheb Hartline was unmistakable.
"So, you danged little carrot-top," he called, "you was goin' to Eagle Peak, hey? Kinda got off the road, didn't you? Oh, we're on to you, we are!"
"Whattaya mean?" Johnny demanded.
"You know what I mean!" he says, frothing slightly at the mouth. "I didn't believe it when Professor Polkinghorn first said he suspicioned you, even though you hombres did act uneasy when we met you on the trail. But just now I glimpsed that fool Reuben Thorpe spyin' on our camp, and then seen him sneakin' off through the bresh, I knowed the Professor was right. You're after what we're after, and you-all resorts to dirty underhanded tactics to find it."
"So what?" the Brimstone Kid said. "I reckon Gramp's got more right to it than you two do. He's been out in these hills half his life. Back down, mister."
"That settles it!" Sheb barked. "Go for yore guns!"
"This ain't a killing affair. I ain't hankerin' to conclude yore mortal span," Johnny Packard admitted. "But Bad Medicine Mountain ain't big enough for both of us. Let's take off our guns and I'll thrash the livin' daylights outa you, big as you might be."
III.
Johnny unbuckled his gun-belt and hung it on a convenient limb, while Sheb did the same but placed his own belt on the ground. Panther quick, the Kid lunged in and whipped a looping right that caught Sheb on the cheek with a cracking noise. Ignoring the impact as if it was beneath his notice, Sheb punched Johnny in the stomach hard enough to double him up. The Brimstone Kid backpedaled, crouched and pounced full on the bigger man like an enraged bobcat. Usually, Johnny's furious barrage of rapid fire punches overwhelmed his opponents but this time, chance worked against him. Sheng hit the ground hard from the assault and managed to roll over on top of his smaller foe. Pinned down by twice his weight, the Kid found none of his usual tactics worked.
Simply lying full length on top of his smaller foe, Sheb pressed down with one elbow to Johnny's chest and seized the Kid's hair with his free hand and started slamming the back of the Kid's head down on the rocky ground.
Despite not being able to breathe and getting repeated concussions, Johnny yelled, "Get off me, you dang fool! I ain't one of the dance hall girls you catched all yer diseases from!"
"Heh. Heh heh HA HAHAHAH!" Sheb broke into full laughter and eased up. "Aw, we ain't got no business fightin', Johnny, we knowed each other too long. If'n I let you up, gimme yer word not to take a swing at me?"
"You got my word! Lemme breathe, my ribs are beginning to split."
"It's this no-good Back Eastern dude who's setting us at each others' throats," Sheb grumbled as he backed away.
"Aw, I got some news fer you about that," said the Kid. "I recognized him right off, that there is Doc Valentine. Sellin' useless snake oil medicine is the least of his offenses. He's dishonest right down to the nails in his boots."
Sheb picked up his well-worn belt with its single holster holding a Navy revolver older than Johnny was. The huge man made a disgusted noise, "Ahhh, I s'pose I suspected as much. He surely spins an entertaining yarn, though."
"I dunno," Johnny said. "I heard legends from Paiutes about a race of pale men with red hair who lived in this country before the Injuns arrived. Might be that White Savages yarn is straight talk?"
"So far as we're concerned," said Sheb. "Prospectors is been tellin' some mighty unusual stories about Dead-End Canyon. Well, I laughed at the tales at first, but Valentine kept on usin' so many five dollar words that he got me to believin' it might be so. 'Cause, after all, here was me guidin' a tenderfoot on the trail of a White Savage tribe, and they wasn't no reason to think you and Gramps was any more sensible than me.
"Then, this mornin' when I spied a face peekin' at me from the bresh, I decided Valentine must be right. Y'all hadn't never went to Eagle Peak. The more I done thought it over, the more certain I was that you was follerin' us to steal our Savages, so I started over to have a showdown."
"Well," Johnny said, "It 'pears we've reached a understandin' at last. You don't want our mine, and we shore don't want yore White Savages. God knows they's plenty of that kind in ever town in this Territory, har har. Le's grab Doc Valentine and haul him over to our camp and explain things to ol' soft-minded Gramps."
"All right," said Sheb, buckling on his guns. "Hey, what's that?"
From down in the canyon come a yell: "Help! Succor! Assistance!"
"It's that fool Doc Valentine!" yelped Sheb. "He's wandered down into the canyon by hisself! Come on!"
Johnny snatched up his gunbelt and buckled it on as they ran. Right near their camp was a ravine leading down to the floor of the canyon. The two men pelted down that at full speed, and emerged near the wall of the cliffs. There gaped the black mouth of a cave nearby, and just outside this cleft Doc Valentine was staggering around, clutching at his white hair.
His fancy derby was laying on the ground, bashed out of shape. A new knob on his head stood out on his head as big as a turnip, and he was doing a vigorous stamping that oddly resembled a dance.
"Aid! Deliverance!" he howled. "Sheb! Help! I require rescue!"
"Aw, shet up," snorted the big man, "You ain't hurt bad or you couldn't be hopping around and wailing like that. Help me calm him down, Johnny. Now what's the matter?"
As the two Westerners patted him reassuringly and placed his derby back on his head, Doc Valentine slowed his gasping for breath. Still wild-eyed, he jabbed a pudgy finger at the cave and sputtered: "One of the Primevals! I saw him, as I descended into the canyon on a tentative exploring expedition! A Gargantuan brute with a animal hide around his waist, and a mighty club in his hand. He dealt me a murderous blow with that shillelagh when I accosted him, and fled into that cavern. I should like to press charges against him."
Both cowboys looked into the cave where it was too dark to see anything. By now the Sun had set and in the gloom, Johnny Packard felt the tug of the Darthan token in his hatband. Every night, he either had struggle with that siren call or give in to it and ride out on Terror looking for carnage and mayhem. At the moment, he was seriously tempted to become the real Brimstone Kid and abandon the whole lame situation he found himself in.
"He must of seen SOMEthin', Johnny," said Sheb, hitching up his gunbelt over the bulge of his gut. "Somethin' shore cracked him on the conk. I've been hearin' some queer tales about this canyon, myself. Maybe I better sling some lead in there—"
"No, no, no!" broke in Valentine. "We must capture him alive!"
"What's goin' on here?" said a voice, and we turned to see Gramps approaching with his Winchester in his hands.
"Everything's all right, Gramps," Johnny said. "They don't want yore mine. They're after the Primevals, like they said, and we got one cornered in that there cave."
"All right, huh?" he snorted. "I reckon you thinks it's all right for you to waste yore time with such dern foolishness when you oughta be helpin' me look for my silver mine. A big help you be!"
"Yeah? Where was you while I had to trade fists with old Sheb here?" Johnny demanded.
"I knowed you could handle the situation, so I started explorin' the canyon," he said. "Come on, we got work to do."
"But the Primevals!" cried Doc Valentine. "Your nephew would be invaluable in securing the specimen. Think of the value to Science! My name will be in the history books..."
"Your name'll be on a wanted poster, where it belongs," Johnny Packard volunteered.
"Never mind all that!" snorted Gramps. "Johnny, are you comin' with me?"
"Aw, shet up," the Kid grumbled disgustedly. "You both make my head hurt. I'm goin' in there and run that Primeval out. Sheb, you shoot him in the hind-leg as he comes out, so's we can catch him and tie him up."
"Let's all go in with our irons ready," suggested Sheb.
"I don't need 'em," Johnny said. "Didn't you hear the dude say we was to catch him alive? If I started shootin' in the dark I might lessen his value." As he spoke, he tugged up the black hat from where it hung down his back and planted it firmly on his head. Tucked under the beaded hatband, that ancient Darthan coin flared up hotly. Johnny Packard looked taller and more menacing as his face grew gaunt and lined. Under spiky brows, his green irises flashed with a red flicker. The Brimstone Kid had become more reality than nickname.
"You give me the willies," said Sheb, holstering his six-shooter. "Go ahead. When yer eyes turn red like that, I figger you're a match for any Primevals that ever walked the earth."
IV.
The Brimstone Kid strode into the cleft and entered the cave. Complete darkness enveloped him. His demonic state allowed him to see by the faintest starlight but this utter blackness defeated even his enhanced vision. With gloved hands, he groped his impatient way along and discovered the main tunnel split into two. Sniffing fresher air from the larger opening, he stepped through and immediately bumped directly into something huge and living, which snorted and grabbed at him.
The Brimstone Kid snarled and tackled whatever it was. They tumbled around on the rocky floor in the dark, biting and mauling and tearing. Only slightly stronger than in his normal state, Johnny as the Brimstone Kid was much more resistant to harm and free of either pain or fear. This White Savage, if that what it was, seemed the hugest and hairiest critter the Kid ever laid hands on, even bigger than the Earlier One he had met years ago. The brute had sharper teeth and longer nails than any human could possibly possess. He chewed on Johnny with ferocity, biting through the tough leather shirt and the skin beneath but unable to inflict serious harm.
In return, Johnny blazed alternating left-right punches, any one of which would have killed a normal human being. The blows were so close together that they sounded like drumming. The Kid did not even consider drawing his guns. In his fury, his iron-hard fingers were yanking out handfuls of thick hair from the creature's body. His opponent was rapidly becoming more of a victim. With a most inhuman squall, the giant broke away and lumbered headlong for the outside world.
Enraged and filled with literal bloodlust, the Brimstone Kid staggered after his fleeing foe, hearing a wild chorus of yells break forth outside. No gunshots sounded. The demonic cowboy rushed out into the open, splattered with blood, his clothes hanging in shreds.
"Where is he?" he hollered, still swinging his fists wildly. "Did you let him git away?"
"Who?" said Sheb, coming out from behind a boulder, whilst Gramps and Doc Valentine watched from a thick branch of a nearby tree.
"The Primeval, damn it!" Johnny demanded. "One of them White Savages!"
"We ain't seen no wild man," said Sheb.
"Well, what was that thing I just run outa the cave?" the Brimstone Kid yelled in a hollow sepulchral voice.
"That was a grizzly and nothing less," said Sheb.
"A foeman worthy of any Homeric hero," sneered Doc Valentine, "Evidently that beast was the source of the wild man tales. I say, Mr Packard, you've looked better. But that was not the Primeval. I repeat it was a human being which smote me and fled into the cavern. Not a mere bear! The White Savage is still in there somewhere, unless there is another exit to the cavern."
"Well, he ain't in there now," declared Gramps, peering into the mouth of the cave. "Not even a Primeval would run into a grizzly's cave, or if he did, he wouldn't stay long... OOF!"
A rock spun out of the cave and thumped into Gramps' belly, causing him to double up on the ground and lose all interest in everything but catching his breath.
"Aha!" Johnny roared, slapping Sheb's ready six-shooter to one side. "I know! They's two tunnels in here. He's in that smaller cave. I went into the wrong one! Stay back, everybody! This time I'll drag him out by his feet!"
With that the Brimstone Kid rushed into the cave mouth again, nimbly dodging another more rocks which hummed past his head and plunged into the smaller opening. It was still too dark to see, but he seemed to be running through a much narrower Ahead, he heard bare feet pattering on the rock. Johnny followed the sounds at a reckless pace and presently saw a faint hint of light. The next instant, he rounded a turn and came out into a wide area which was lit by a shaft of light coming in through a cleft in the wall, some yards up. In that light, the Kid spotted a bizarre figure climbing up on a ledge, trying to reach that cleft.
"Come down offa that!" Johnny yelled in his unleashed rage. He made a startling leap up past his own head level, grabbing the ledge by one hand and reaching for the man's legs with his other. He give a squall as Johnny grabbed his ankle and splintered his club over the Kid's upraised arm. The force of the blow broke off the lip of the rock ledge they were holding onto, and both crashed to the floor together. By chance, the Primeval hit the ground first and Johnny landed with both knees sinking into the big man's lower abdomen.
The Brimstone Kid hauled his captive out into the starlight where the others were waiting. Everyone stared at the gasping man in disbelief He was a gaunt middle-aged man with whiskers bristling down over his chest and filthy matted hair. For clothing, all he had was a mountain lion's tawny hide tied around his waist.
"A white man!" enthused Doc Valentine, raising one lavender-gloved fist in triumph. "An unmistakable Caucasian! This is stupendous! A prehistoric survivor of a pre-Indian epoch! What a boon to anthropology! A Primeval! A veritable Primeval!"
"Primevals, hell!" snorted Gramps. "That-there's old Noah Chadwick, who stood Miz Bedelia up at the altar ten years ago."
"I got smart at the last minute," said Noah bitterly, setting up and glaring at all of us. "Her and all her relations was tryin' to drag me into unholy wedlock. All I did was have dinner with her one night at the Silver Dollar! They made my life a living Hell with their talk of breach of contract. That's why I come away off up here, and put on this rig to scare folks away. All I craves is peace and quiet and no dern women."
Doc Valentine was visibly crushed because there were no Primevals to be seen.
Gramps said, "Well, now that this tomfoolery is settled, maybe I can settle down to somethin' important. Noah, you know these mountains even better'n I do. I want you to help me find the Dago Silver Mine."
"There ain't no such mine," said Noah. "Some old prospector imagined all that stuff whilst he was wanderin' around over the desert crazy from sunstroke."
Gramps plopped down on a rock and tugged his whiskers. "My dreams is bust," he said weakly. "I'm goin' home to my sister."
"You must be desperate if it's come to that," said old Noah Chadwick acidly. "You better stay up here. If they ain't no gold, they ain't no women to torment a body, either."
"Women is a snare for men like us," agreed Sheb. "Doc Valentine can go back to town with these fellers. I'd just as soon stay here with Noah and do some trapping."
"There the scoundrel is!" screeched a familiar voice. "Don't let him git away! Grab him if he tries to run!"
They had been arguing so loud amongst themselves that the four men hadn't noticed a gang riding down the ravine. There was Miz Bedelia and Sheriff John Odell with ten men who were all pointing sawed-off shotguns at me.
"Don't get rough, Packard," warned the sheriff nervously. "They're all loaded with buckshot and ten-penny nails. I knows yore reputation. You sure looks like a no-fooling devil outta Hell right now, so we're taking no chances. I also brought my family Bible and Zeke there has a silver crucifix his mama gave him. I arrests you for the kidnappin' of Reuben William Thorpe."
"Are you ALL plumb crazy?" Johnny demanded.
"Kidnapin'!" hollered Miz Bedelia, waving a piece of paper. "Abductin' poor old Reuben! Aimin' to hold him for ransom! It's all writ down in yore own handwritin' right here on this-here paper! Sayin' you're takin' my brother away off into the mountains and warnin' ME not to try to foller! Same as threatenin' me! I never heered of such doing's! Soon as that good-for-nothin' Joe Hopkins brung me that there insolent letter, I went right for the sheriff..."
The deluge of words faltered as she saw the nearly naked 'Primeval' trying to slink away. "Why, Noah Chadwick, what ARE you doin' walking around nekkid? Lands sakes, I dunno what this sinful world is comin' to! Well, sheriff, what you standin' there for like a cigar store Injun? Why don't you put some shackles on him? You ain't skeered of that little redhead?"
"Enough," Johnny rumbled. "This woman is making a big mistake. I warn't threatenin' nobody in that there letter—"
"Then where's my brother Reuben?" she demanded. "I means to have words with him."
"He ducked into that cave," offered Sheb.
Louder than seemed possible, Johny roared, "Gramps! You come outa there and explain before I go in after you the way I went after that bear!"
He skulked out looking meek and downtrodden, and the Brimstone Kid rumbled, "You tell these fools that I ain't no kidnapper."
"That's right," he said. "I dragged him along with me."
"Hell!" said the sheriff in utter disgust. "Have we come all this way on a wild goose chase? I should of knowed better'n to listen to this woman—"
"You shet yore fool mouth!" squalled Miz Bedelia. "A fine sheriff you turned out to be. Anyway, what was you and Johnny wasting your time about?"
"He was helpin' me look for a mine, Bedelia," Gramps said. "See, I got this here map I bought from a Mexican in Three Corners..."
"Lemme see that map," said one of the posse. "Why, hell," he said, "that-there is a fake. I seen that grifter Doc Valentine drawin' a couple of 'em in a saloon last winter. He said he was goin' to try to sell them to some drunk fools."
All heads turned, but the old reprobate was gone. Somehow, sensing his game was up, Doc Valentine had silently ducked behind some boulders and mounted his chestnut mare. Everyone sat up in their saddles, peering about, but no one caught a glimpse.
"Arresting that rogue is like catching a trout in a stream with yore bare hands," Sheriff Odell observed.
"Fooled again!" she screeched. "That's why I sent the Kid to fetch you back! Jonathan Packard, I'll box your ears good for this, you lazy, good-for- nothin' little runt..."
"Best you be quiet!" Still in his full demonic state, the Brimstone Kid's voice echoed as hollow as a threat from a tomb. The lambent red gleam of his eyes did nothing to lessen the menace in those tones.
Miz Bedelia staggered backwards with a stricken squawk. She hollered, "Sheriff Odell! Are you men goin' to allow him to use that tone of voice to me? I demands that you slap bracelets on that demon right now!"
No one seemed inclined to take any measures against the ominous figure in black. There was also the fact that the great stallion Terror, now looking skeletal and with the same lurid red gleam in his eyes, had come up behind the Brimstone Kid.
"Now, now, Bedelia," Gramps started soothing her, and she muttered protests but allowed him to nudge her toward leaving. The sheriff and his posse needed no furher excuse. They spurred their horses out up of the ravine as if being chased by a Comanche war party.
Sheb bit off a mouthful of tobacco from a plug he kept in a vest pocket. "Well, Johnny, it's still a long spell until dawn. I imagine you and Terror are fixing to do some riding into the night."
"This was not enough real trouble to suit me," the Brimstone Kid admitted. "Appears to be a lot of damfool time-wasting. Only one with any sense was that grizzly."
4/13/2023
9/13/1878
I.
"Johnny Packard, just where do you think you are going?" demanded the white-haired scarecrow of a woman.
Reining in his black horse Terror on the muddy main street of Just-Plain-Awful, the Brimstone Kid felt his heart sink. He feared neither man nor beast nor act of nature. Old women, though, were a problem since he had been brought up to respect and defer to them. He saw Bedelia Thorpe standing on the porch of the town's general store, bony hands clutching her broom as if wanting to strangle it, and something truculent in her pose alarmed him.
"I'm takin' Terror out to stretch his legs," the young cowboy replied. Even outside, he lifted his black Stetson to the lady when first addressing her. "Him and me been cooped up two days on account of the rain."
Her basilisk stare finally wore him down and he reined up alongside the porch and asked, "What is it you want, Miz Bedelia?"
The old woman give him a scornful snort, and put her hands onto her bony hips and sniffed at him as if he had stepped in one of the numerous horse piles left in the street.
"I want you should go git my brother Reuben and bring him home," she said at last. "He's off on one of his idiotic prospectin' sprees again. He snuck out before daylight with the mare and a pack mule. You bring him back if you have to lasso him and tie him to his saddle. Old fool! Off huntin' treasure when they's work to be done stocking shelves and fixing the back door hinges. You git goin'."
"Ain't my place to go chasin' him all over Bad Medicine Mountain," Johnny Packard protested. "Gramps is no kin of mine. Get together a posse."
But Bedelia would have nothing of that. As she explained her grievances, her voice getting louder and shriller all the time until dogs started howling in pain. She was still ranting as Johnny rode up the trail toward Bad Medicine Mountain Gap, and he seemed to hear echoes long after he couldn't see her any more. She had quite a shrillness. Birds flew off in fear when she raised her voice.
Once they were out of town, the stallion Terror obviously wanted to gallop so badly that Johnny let him. They had been too long in one spot, the Kid reflected. Townsfolk of Just-Plain-Awful had become used to him and treated him like any other cowboy. Even those who had witnessed the horrifying transformation into the true Brimstone Kid somehow had come to accept it. Johnny was making decent money working at the Schoeber ranch but he definitely knew it was time to move on.
Long hours later, Johnny was riding up the long rise that led up to the Gap, looking and listening. A sharp crack sounded up ahead and his hat flew off his head. The Kid reacted with an alacrity born of too many shootouts. He quickly reined Terror behind a chest-high clump of brush, and leaped down to lie flat in the dirt with one of his Peacemakers in his right hand. He glared up toward the Gap, and spotted the unlovely rear of a mule sticking from behind a cluster of boulders.
"You quit that shootin' at me, Gramps!" Johnny yelled at the top of his lungs. Inwardly, he was relieved that it was not a serious ambush. There were far too many men riding the West with deadly grudges against him.
"Stay right whar you be," an older voice called back. "I figger Bedelia sent you after me, but I ain't goin' home. I'm onto somethin' big at last!"
"What could you mean?" the Kid demanded.
"Keep back or I'll ventilate you," he promised. "I'm goin' for the Dago Silver Mine."
"Aw, you been huntin' that thing for thirty years," Johnny scoffed. "You might as well run toward a rainbow fer the pot of gold."
"This time it's a sure bet," Gramps said. "I bought a map off'n a drunk Mexican over in Three Corners. One of his ancestors was a Injun which helped pile up the rocks to hide the mouth of the cave where it is."
"Why didn't he go find it his own self and git the gold?" Johnny asked.
"He said he's skeered of ghosts," said Gramps. "I personally think it's just too much work to suit him. They's a fortune in the Dago Silver Mine. Now will you go on back peaceable like, or will you throw in with me? I might need you, in case of bandits or renegade Comanche."
"I'll come with you," Johnny said, not at all eager to return to town and face Miz Bedelia. "Maybe you have got somethin', at that. Put up yore Winchester. I'm coming soon as I fetch my hat." The Kid scowled at the ragged hole in the crown of his black Stetson but he reassured himself that the cursed Gremthom coin in the band had not been damaged.
Gramps emerged from his rocks, a skinny leathery old cuss, and he said: "What about Bedelia? If you don't come back with me, she'll foller us out here herself. She's that strong-minded. And this is rough territory for a lady to traverse."
"I'll leave a note for her," the Kid said. "Joe Blodgett always comes down through the Gap once a week on his way to town. He's due through here today. I'll stick the note on a tree, where he'll see it and take it to her."
Johnny had a pencil-stub in his saddle-bag, so he tore a piece of wrapping paper from a can of tomatoes Gramps had in his pack, and carefully wrote:
'Dear Miz Bedelia
'I am takin Gramps way up in the mountains. Don't send anyone to follow us, it wouldn't be healthy. You'll hear from us. Respectfully, Johnny.'
He folded the scrap and wrote on the outside:
'Dear Joe: please take this here note to Miz Bedelia Thorpe back in town.'
Johnny Packard was as proud of knowing his letters and how to do arithmetic as he was of any other skill. In every town he passed through, he made a point to read the local newspaper and he often picked up a dime novel when he could.
Then Johnny and Gramps set out for the higher ranges, and he started reciting all about the Dago Mine again, like he'd already done many times before. The tale told of an Italian prospector named Vito Spinelli who had stumbled onto a cave almost thirty years earlier. The walls had veins of gleaming silver thick as ropes. But the Indians jumped him and run him out and he got lost and nearly starved in the desert, and went crazy. When he come to a settlement and finally regained his mind, he tried to lead a party back to it, but never could find it. Gramps said the Indians had used rocks and brush to conceal the mouth of the cave so nobody could tell it was there.
Johnny reasonably asked how he knew the Indians had done that, and Gramps said it was common knowledge. Any fool oughta know that's just what they done.
"This-here mine," says Doc Valentine, "is located in a hidden valley which lies away up amongst the high ranges. I ain't never seen it, and I thought I'd explored these mountains plenty. Ain't nobody more familiar with 'em than me except Noah Chadwick. But it stands to reason that the cave is awful hard to find, or somebody'd already found it. Accordin' to this here map, that lost valley must lie just beyond Dead-End Canyon. Ain't many white men knows whar that even is. We're headin' there."
We had left the Gap far behind us, and was moving along the slanting side of a sharp-angled crag whilst he was talking. As we passed it, we seen two shadowy figures with horses emerge from the other side, heading in the same direction we was, so our trails converged. Gramps glared and reached for his Winchester.
"Who's that?" he snarled.
"The big un's Sheb Hartline," Johnny said. "I never seen the other one."
"And nobody else has, outside of a traveling sideshow, " growled Gramps.
II.
This other feller was a flamboyant figure in his pinstriped trousers, green jacket with white waistcoat and a red polka-dot shirt. He wore a top hat with a bright blue flower in its band and he affected lavender wrist gloves with three stripes on the backs. Judging by the way his blond hair had gone mostly white, he must have been at least sixty years old. And, going by the broken blood vessels in the round-knobbed nose and the body shaped like a pear, they had not been years spent seeking good health.
"Who might you be?" demanded Gramps.
"Obadiah Polkinghorn, professor emeritus as Harvard. I sometimes work for the Smithsonian as well, late of Boston," said the tenderfoot. "I have employed Mr. Sheb here to guide me up into the mountains. I am on the track of a tribe of white-skinned red-haired aboriginal Primevals, which, according to fairly well substantiated rumor, have inhabited the Bad Medicine Mountain since time immemorial."
"Lissen here, speak reg'lar lingo or don't bother," said Gramps in wrath, "are you givin' me the horse-laugh?"
"I assure you that levity is the furthest thing from my thoughts," says Wesley. "Whilst touring the country in the interests of science, I heard the rumors to which I have referred. In a village possessing the singular appellation of Just-Plain-Awful, I interviewed an aged prospector who told me that he had seen one of the aborigines, clad in the skin of a wild animal and armed with a bludgeon. The Primeval, he said, emitted a most peculiar and piercing cry when sighted, and fled into the recesses of the hills. I am confident that it is some survivor of a pre-Indian race, and I am resolute to learn more."
"They ain't no such critter in these hills," snorted Gramps. "I've roamed all over 'em for thirty year, and I ain't seen no Primevals."
A hulking brute five inches over six feet tall, Sheb Hartline had trouble finding clothes that fit him. At the moment, his red flannel shirt was left unbuttoned because it would not close over his barrel chest. "Well," says Sheb,"they's sure somethin' onnatural up there, because I been hearin' some funny yarns myself. I never thought I'd be huntin' Primevals, but I welcome the chance to lose myself in the mountains and forgit the perfidy of people. What are you-all doin' up here? Prospectin'?" he said, glancing at the tools on the mule.
"Not in earnest," said Gramps hurriedly. "We're just kinda whilin' away our time. They ain't no gold nor silver nor anything else of value in these mountains."
"Folks says that Dago Mine is up here somewhere," said Sheb.
"Bah! Campfire tales, nuthin but wishful thinking," snorted Gramps, busting into a sweat. "Ain't no such mine. Well, Johnny, let's be shovin' off. Got to make Golden Eagle Peak before it gets dark."
"I thought we was goin' to Dead-End Canyon," the Kid said with a wry grin.
Gramps shot him an awful glare, and said, "Yep, that's right, Golden Eagle Peak, just like I said. So long, gents."
"So long," said Sheb.
So they turned off the trail almost at right-angles to their previous course bewilderedly. When they were out of sight of the others, he reined around again."When Nature endowed you the body of a dwarf, Johnny," he said, "she failed to compensate by to give you any brains to make up for it. You want everybody to know what we're lookin' for?"
The Brimstone Kid gave the older man a thoughtful gaze. "I din't want to spill it to Sheb just yet, but that dang old rummie ain't named Obadiah Whatever. That's Doc Valentine! He's a crooked as a dog's hind leg. He kin steal your socks while you're wearin' them and sell them back to you at twice what you paid. He's been run outta towns from the Mississippi to the Rockies and come close to getting strung up nearly as many times."
"That so? He didn't get that nose drinking spring water, that's fer shure. What was that guff he spewed about looking for Primevals?"
"Primevals!" the Kid snorted. "They don't have to go no further'n any town in this Territory on payday night to find more Primevals than they could count. Don't you go believing anything Doc Valentine says. Silver most likely is what they're after, I believe they either got wind of that mine, or know you got that map, or both."
"What you goin' to do?" Gramps asked him.
"Head for Dead-End Canyon by another trail," he said.
They arrived at late afternoon, with a red sun approaching the Western horizon. Dead-End Canyon was deep, with big high cliffs cut with ravines and gulches here and there, and very wild in appearance. They didn't descend into the canyon right away, but camped on a plateau above it. Gramps proposed they begin exploring next morning. He said they were lots of caves in the canyon, and he'd been in nearly all of them. He hadn't found anything except bears, coyotes, lizards and rattlesnakes, but he believed one of them caves went on through into another hidden canyon, and there was where the silver could be found.
As he was fussing with a fire, the Kid was startled by Gramps shaking his shoulder.
"What's the matter?" Johnny demanded, jumping up and pulling his guns.
"They're here!" he squalled. "Daw-gone it, I suspected 'em all the time! Git up, you big lunk. Don't set there gawpin' with a hogleg in each hand like a desperado! They're here, I tell you!"
"Who's here?" the Kid asked.
"That dern tenderfoot and his overgrown Texas gunfighter," snarled Gramps. "I was up on that ridge looking around, and purty soon I seen a wisp of smoke curlin' up from behind a big rock t'other side of the flat. I snuck over there, and there was Sheb fryin' bacon, and Doc Valentine was pertendin' to be lookin' at some flowers with a magnifyin' glass....the blame fake. He ain't no perfessor. You're right he's a damned crook. They're followin' us. They aim to murder us and rob us of my map."
"Aw, Sheb wouldn't do that," the Kid said, to which Gramps snapped, "You shet up! A man will do anything whar treasure is consarned. Dang it all, git up and do somethin'! Air you goin' to set there, and let us git murdered in our sleep?"
Johnny holstered his Peacemakers and headed across the flat, with Gramp's urging ringing in his ears, and he didn't notice whether the older man was bringing up the rear with his Winchester or not.
From halfway across a scattering of trees, a huge figure emerged from amongst them, headed his direction with a ferocious scowl. Even in the deepening dusk, Sheb Hartline was unmistakable.
"So, you danged little carrot-top," he called, "you was goin' to Eagle Peak, hey? Kinda got off the road, didn't you? Oh, we're on to you, we are!"
"Whattaya mean?" Johnny demanded.
"You know what I mean!" he says, frothing slightly at the mouth. "I didn't believe it when Professor Polkinghorn first said he suspicioned you, even though you hombres did act uneasy when we met you on the trail. But just now I glimpsed that fool Reuben Thorpe spyin' on our camp, and then seen him sneakin' off through the bresh, I knowed the Professor was right. You're after what we're after, and you-all resorts to dirty underhanded tactics to find it."
"So what?" the Brimstone Kid said. "I reckon Gramp's got more right to it than you two do. He's been out in these hills half his life. Back down, mister."
"That settles it!" Sheb barked. "Go for yore guns!"
"This ain't a killing affair. I ain't hankerin' to conclude yore mortal span," Johnny Packard admitted. "But Bad Medicine Mountain ain't big enough for both of us. Let's take off our guns and I'll thrash the livin' daylights outa you, big as you might be."
III.
Johnny unbuckled his gun-belt and hung it on a convenient limb, while Sheb did the same but placed his own belt on the ground. Panther quick, the Kid lunged in and whipped a looping right that caught Sheb on the cheek with a cracking noise. Ignoring the impact as if it was beneath his notice, Sheb punched Johnny in the stomach hard enough to double him up. The Brimstone Kid backpedaled, crouched and pounced full on the bigger man like an enraged bobcat. Usually, Johnny's furious barrage of rapid fire punches overwhelmed his opponents but this time, chance worked against him. Sheng hit the ground hard from the assault and managed to roll over on top of his smaller foe. Pinned down by twice his weight, the Kid found none of his usual tactics worked.
Simply lying full length on top of his smaller foe, Sheb pressed down with one elbow to Johnny's chest and seized the Kid's hair with his free hand and started slamming the back of the Kid's head down on the rocky ground.
Despite not being able to breathe and getting repeated concussions, Johnny yelled, "Get off me, you dang fool! I ain't one of the dance hall girls you catched all yer diseases from!"
"Heh. Heh heh HA HAHAHAH!" Sheb broke into full laughter and eased up. "Aw, we ain't got no business fightin', Johnny, we knowed each other too long. If'n I let you up, gimme yer word not to take a swing at me?"
"You got my word! Lemme breathe, my ribs are beginning to split."
"It's this no-good Back Eastern dude who's setting us at each others' throats," Sheb grumbled as he backed away.
"Aw, I got some news fer you about that," said the Kid. "I recognized him right off, that there is Doc Valentine. Sellin' useless snake oil medicine is the least of his offenses. He's dishonest right down to the nails in his boots."
Sheb picked up his well-worn belt with its single holster holding a Navy revolver older than Johnny was. The huge man made a disgusted noise, "Ahhh, I s'pose I suspected as much. He surely spins an entertaining yarn, though."
"I dunno," Johnny said. "I heard legends from Paiutes about a race of pale men with red hair who lived in this country before the Injuns arrived. Might be that White Savages yarn is straight talk?"
"So far as we're concerned," said Sheb. "Prospectors is been tellin' some mighty unusual stories about Dead-End Canyon. Well, I laughed at the tales at first, but Valentine kept on usin' so many five dollar words that he got me to believin' it might be so. 'Cause, after all, here was me guidin' a tenderfoot on the trail of a White Savage tribe, and they wasn't no reason to think you and Gramps was any more sensible than me.
"Then, this mornin' when I spied a face peekin' at me from the bresh, I decided Valentine must be right. Y'all hadn't never went to Eagle Peak. The more I done thought it over, the more certain I was that you was follerin' us to steal our Savages, so I started over to have a showdown."
"Well," Johnny said, "It 'pears we've reached a understandin' at last. You don't want our mine, and we shore don't want yore White Savages. God knows they's plenty of that kind in ever town in this Territory, har har. Le's grab Doc Valentine and haul him over to our camp and explain things to ol' soft-minded Gramps."
"All right," said Sheb, buckling on his guns. "Hey, what's that?"
From down in the canyon come a yell: "Help! Succor! Assistance!"
"It's that fool Doc Valentine!" yelped Sheb. "He's wandered down into the canyon by hisself! Come on!"
Johnny snatched up his gunbelt and buckled it on as they ran. Right near their camp was a ravine leading down to the floor of the canyon. The two men pelted down that at full speed, and emerged near the wall of the cliffs. There gaped the black mouth of a cave nearby, and just outside this cleft Doc Valentine was staggering around, clutching at his white hair.
His fancy derby was laying on the ground, bashed out of shape. A new knob on his head stood out on his head as big as a turnip, and he was doing a vigorous stamping that oddly resembled a dance.
"Aid! Deliverance!" he howled. "Sheb! Help! I require rescue!"
"Aw, shet up," snorted the big man, "You ain't hurt bad or you couldn't be hopping around and wailing like that. Help me calm him down, Johnny. Now what's the matter?"
As the two Westerners patted him reassuringly and placed his derby back on his head, Doc Valentine slowed his gasping for breath. Still wild-eyed, he jabbed a pudgy finger at the cave and sputtered: "One of the Primevals! I saw him, as I descended into the canyon on a tentative exploring expedition! A Gargantuan brute with a animal hide around his waist, and a mighty club in his hand. He dealt me a murderous blow with that shillelagh when I accosted him, and fled into that cavern. I should like to press charges against him."
Both cowboys looked into the cave where it was too dark to see anything. By now the Sun had set and in the gloom, Johnny Packard felt the tug of the Darthan token in his hatband. Every night, he either had struggle with that siren call or give in to it and ride out on Terror looking for carnage and mayhem. At the moment, he was seriously tempted to become the real Brimstone Kid and abandon the whole lame situation he found himself in.
"He must of seen SOMEthin', Johnny," said Sheb, hitching up his gunbelt over the bulge of his gut. "Somethin' shore cracked him on the conk. I've been hearin' some queer tales about this canyon, myself. Maybe I better sling some lead in there—"
"No, no, no!" broke in Valentine. "We must capture him alive!"
"What's goin' on here?" said a voice, and we turned to see Gramps approaching with his Winchester in his hands.
"Everything's all right, Gramps," Johnny said. "They don't want yore mine. They're after the Primevals, like they said, and we got one cornered in that there cave."
"All right, huh?" he snorted. "I reckon you thinks it's all right for you to waste yore time with such dern foolishness when you oughta be helpin' me look for my silver mine. A big help you be!"
"Yeah? Where was you while I had to trade fists with old Sheb here?" Johnny demanded.
"I knowed you could handle the situation, so I started explorin' the canyon," he said. "Come on, we got work to do."
"But the Primevals!" cried Doc Valentine. "Your nephew would be invaluable in securing the specimen. Think of the value to Science! My name will be in the history books..."
"Your name'll be on a wanted poster, where it belongs," Johnny Packard volunteered.
"Never mind all that!" snorted Gramps. "Johnny, are you comin' with me?"
"Aw, shet up," the Kid grumbled disgustedly. "You both make my head hurt. I'm goin' in there and run that Primeval out. Sheb, you shoot him in the hind-leg as he comes out, so's we can catch him and tie him up."
"Let's all go in with our irons ready," suggested Sheb.
"I don't need 'em," Johnny said. "Didn't you hear the dude say we was to catch him alive? If I started shootin' in the dark I might lessen his value." As he spoke, he tugged up the black hat from where it hung down his back and planted it firmly on his head. Tucked under the beaded hatband, that ancient Darthan coin flared up hotly. Johnny Packard looked taller and more menacing as his face grew gaunt and lined. Under spiky brows, his green irises flashed with a red flicker. The Brimstone Kid had become more reality than nickname.
"You give me the willies," said Sheb, holstering his six-shooter. "Go ahead. When yer eyes turn red like that, I figger you're a match for any Primevals that ever walked the earth."
IV.
The Brimstone Kid strode into the cleft and entered the cave. Complete darkness enveloped him. His demonic state allowed him to see by the faintest starlight but this utter blackness defeated even his enhanced vision. With gloved hands, he groped his impatient way along and discovered the main tunnel split into two. Sniffing fresher air from the larger opening, he stepped through and immediately bumped directly into something huge and living, which snorted and grabbed at him.
The Brimstone Kid snarled and tackled whatever it was. They tumbled around on the rocky floor in the dark, biting and mauling and tearing. Only slightly stronger than in his normal state, Johnny as the Brimstone Kid was much more resistant to harm and free of either pain or fear. This White Savage, if that what it was, seemed the hugest and hairiest critter the Kid ever laid hands on, even bigger than the Earlier One he had met years ago. The brute had sharper teeth and longer nails than any human could possibly possess. He chewed on Johnny with ferocity, biting through the tough leather shirt and the skin beneath but unable to inflict serious harm.
In return, Johnny blazed alternating left-right punches, any one of which would have killed a normal human being. The blows were so close together that they sounded like drumming. The Kid did not even consider drawing his guns. In his fury, his iron-hard fingers were yanking out handfuls of thick hair from the creature's body. His opponent was rapidly becoming more of a victim. With a most inhuman squall, the giant broke away and lumbered headlong for the outside world.
Enraged and filled with literal bloodlust, the Brimstone Kid staggered after his fleeing foe, hearing a wild chorus of yells break forth outside. No gunshots sounded. The demonic cowboy rushed out into the open, splattered with blood, his clothes hanging in shreds.
"Where is he?" he hollered, still swinging his fists wildly. "Did you let him git away?"
"Who?" said Sheb, coming out from behind a boulder, whilst Gramps and Doc Valentine watched from a thick branch of a nearby tree.
"The Primeval, damn it!" Johnny demanded. "One of them White Savages!"
"We ain't seen no wild man," said Sheb.
"Well, what was that thing I just run outa the cave?" the Brimstone Kid yelled in a hollow sepulchral voice.
"That was a grizzly and nothing less," said Sheb.
"A foeman worthy of any Homeric hero," sneered Doc Valentine, "Evidently that beast was the source of the wild man tales. I say, Mr Packard, you've looked better. But that was not the Primeval. I repeat it was a human being which smote me and fled into the cavern. Not a mere bear! The White Savage is still in there somewhere, unless there is another exit to the cavern."
"Well, he ain't in there now," declared Gramps, peering into the mouth of the cave. "Not even a Primeval would run into a grizzly's cave, or if he did, he wouldn't stay long... OOF!"
A rock spun out of the cave and thumped into Gramps' belly, causing him to double up on the ground and lose all interest in everything but catching his breath.
"Aha!" Johnny roared, slapping Sheb's ready six-shooter to one side. "I know! They's two tunnels in here. He's in that smaller cave. I went into the wrong one! Stay back, everybody! This time I'll drag him out by his feet!"
With that the Brimstone Kid rushed into the cave mouth again, nimbly dodging another more rocks which hummed past his head and plunged into the smaller opening. It was still too dark to see, but he seemed to be running through a much narrower Ahead, he heard bare feet pattering on the rock. Johnny followed the sounds at a reckless pace and presently saw a faint hint of light. The next instant, he rounded a turn and came out into a wide area which was lit by a shaft of light coming in through a cleft in the wall, some yards up. In that light, the Kid spotted a bizarre figure climbing up on a ledge, trying to reach that cleft.
"Come down offa that!" Johnny yelled in his unleashed rage. He made a startling leap up past his own head level, grabbing the ledge by one hand and reaching for the man's legs with his other. He give a squall as Johnny grabbed his ankle and splintered his club over the Kid's upraised arm. The force of the blow broke off the lip of the rock ledge they were holding onto, and both crashed to the floor together. By chance, the Primeval hit the ground first and Johnny landed with both knees sinking into the big man's lower abdomen.
The Brimstone Kid hauled his captive out into the starlight where the others were waiting. Everyone stared at the gasping man in disbelief He was a gaunt middle-aged man with whiskers bristling down over his chest and filthy matted hair. For clothing, all he had was a mountain lion's tawny hide tied around his waist.
"A white man!" enthused Doc Valentine, raising one lavender-gloved fist in triumph. "An unmistakable Caucasian! This is stupendous! A prehistoric survivor of a pre-Indian epoch! What a boon to anthropology! A Primeval! A veritable Primeval!"
"Primevals, hell!" snorted Gramps. "That-there's old Noah Chadwick, who stood Miz Bedelia up at the altar ten years ago."
"I got smart at the last minute," said Noah bitterly, setting up and glaring at all of us. "Her and all her relations was tryin' to drag me into unholy wedlock. All I did was have dinner with her one night at the Silver Dollar! They made my life a living Hell with their talk of breach of contract. That's why I come away off up here, and put on this rig to scare folks away. All I craves is peace and quiet and no dern women."
Doc Valentine was visibly crushed because there were no Primevals to be seen.
Gramps said, "Well, now that this tomfoolery is settled, maybe I can settle down to somethin' important. Noah, you know these mountains even better'n I do. I want you to help me find the Dago Silver Mine."
"There ain't no such mine," said Noah. "Some old prospector imagined all that stuff whilst he was wanderin' around over the desert crazy from sunstroke."
Gramps plopped down on a rock and tugged his whiskers. "My dreams is bust," he said weakly. "I'm goin' home to my sister."
"You must be desperate if it's come to that," said old Noah Chadwick acidly. "You better stay up here. If they ain't no gold, they ain't no women to torment a body, either."
"Women is a snare for men like us," agreed Sheb. "Doc Valentine can go back to town with these fellers. I'd just as soon stay here with Noah and do some trapping."
"There the scoundrel is!" screeched a familiar voice. "Don't let him git away! Grab him if he tries to run!"
They had been arguing so loud amongst themselves that the four men hadn't noticed a gang riding down the ravine. There was Miz Bedelia and Sheriff John Odell with ten men who were all pointing sawed-off shotguns at me.
"Don't get rough, Packard," warned the sheriff nervously. "They're all loaded with buckshot and ten-penny nails. I knows yore reputation. You sure looks like a no-fooling devil outta Hell right now, so we're taking no chances. I also brought my family Bible and Zeke there has a silver crucifix his mama gave him. I arrests you for the kidnappin' of Reuben William Thorpe."
"Are you ALL plumb crazy?" Johnny demanded.
"Kidnapin'!" hollered Miz Bedelia, waving a piece of paper. "Abductin' poor old Reuben! Aimin' to hold him for ransom! It's all writ down in yore own handwritin' right here on this-here paper! Sayin' you're takin' my brother away off into the mountains and warnin' ME not to try to foller! Same as threatenin' me! I never heered of such doing's! Soon as that good-for-nothin' Joe Hopkins brung me that there insolent letter, I went right for the sheriff..."
The deluge of words faltered as she saw the nearly naked 'Primeval' trying to slink away. "Why, Noah Chadwick, what ARE you doin' walking around nekkid? Lands sakes, I dunno what this sinful world is comin' to! Well, sheriff, what you standin' there for like a cigar store Injun? Why don't you put some shackles on him? You ain't skeered of that little redhead?"
"Enough," Johnny rumbled. "This woman is making a big mistake. I warn't threatenin' nobody in that there letter—"
"Then where's my brother Reuben?" she demanded. "I means to have words with him."
"He ducked into that cave," offered Sheb.
Louder than seemed possible, Johny roared, "Gramps! You come outa there and explain before I go in after you the way I went after that bear!"
He skulked out looking meek and downtrodden, and the Brimstone Kid rumbled, "You tell these fools that I ain't no kidnapper."
"That's right," he said. "I dragged him along with me."
"Hell!" said the sheriff in utter disgust. "Have we come all this way on a wild goose chase? I should of knowed better'n to listen to this woman—"
"You shet yore fool mouth!" squalled Miz Bedelia. "A fine sheriff you turned out to be. Anyway, what was you and Johnny wasting your time about?"
"He was helpin' me look for a mine, Bedelia," Gramps said. "See, I got this here map I bought from a Mexican in Three Corners..."
"Lemme see that map," said one of the posse. "Why, hell," he said, "that-there is a fake. I seen that grifter Doc Valentine drawin' a couple of 'em in a saloon last winter. He said he was goin' to try to sell them to some drunk fools."
All heads turned, but the old reprobate was gone. Somehow, sensing his game was up, Doc Valentine had silently ducked behind some boulders and mounted his chestnut mare. Everyone sat up in their saddles, peering about, but no one caught a glimpse.
"Arresting that rogue is like catching a trout in a stream with yore bare hands," Sheriff Odell observed.
"Fooled again!" she screeched. "That's why I sent the Kid to fetch you back! Jonathan Packard, I'll box your ears good for this, you lazy, good-for- nothin' little runt..."
"Best you be quiet!" Still in his full demonic state, the Brimstone Kid's voice echoed as hollow as a threat from a tomb. The lambent red gleam of his eyes did nothing to lessen the menace in those tones.
Miz Bedelia staggered backwards with a stricken squawk. She hollered, "Sheriff Odell! Are you men goin' to allow him to use that tone of voice to me? I demands that you slap bracelets on that demon right now!"
No one seemed inclined to take any measures against the ominous figure in black. There was also the fact that the great stallion Terror, now looking skeletal and with the same lurid red gleam in his eyes, had come up behind the Brimstone Kid.
"Now, now, Bedelia," Gramps started soothing her, and she muttered protests but allowed him to nudge her toward leaving. The sheriff and his posse needed no furher excuse. They spurred their horses out up of the ravine as if being chased by a Comanche war party.
Sheb bit off a mouthful of tobacco from a plug he kept in a vest pocket. "Well, Johnny, it's still a long spell until dawn. I imagine you and Terror are fixing to do some riding into the night."
"This was not enough real trouble to suit me," the Brimstone Kid admitted. "Appears to be a lot of damfool time-wasting. Only one with any sense was that grizzly."
4/13/2023
