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"Silent River"
May. 28th, 2022 10:54 pm"Silent River"
4/22/-4/24/1875
I.
With the sunrise, Johnny Packard came back down to normal. He was weary as usual after the transformation and his black horse Terror plodded reluctantly down the long hill to a stream. They both drank their fill of the cold clear water, and Johnny dunked his head a few times to rinse off the sweat and blood. It had been a rough night even for the Brimstone Kid. He ran fingers through his thick red hair and felt fresher. Behind his saddlebags was a canvas sack of oats which he fed to Terror.
He decided to walk for a while, both to stretch his legs and to make it easier for his horse. Only seventeen, Johnny was a small lean young man no more than five feet four inches tall and weighing at most a hundred and fifty pounds. In a bony sullen face, bright green eyes burned with steady anger. He wore boots, black Levis and a long-sleeved blue work shirt with an open denim vest over it. Low on his hips was a gunbelt ringed with cartridges and with big Peacemakers in twin holsters tied to his thighs with thongs. The already legendary 1873 single-action revolvers were cleaned and examined for flaws daily by their young owner. He'd go naked in the world before he'd go unarmed.
As they moseyed along, following the stream, Johnny let his black Stetson loose to hang down on his back by its knotted cord. It was daylight. The cursed Darthan coin would be cold and quiet now. Johnny saw that rise on his right had a single oak tree that overhung the stream and he led Terror up to it. It seemed like a decent spot to rest. There was grass for the horse to munch on and to cushion the ground for himself. The Brimstone Kid tied his steed to a low branch of the tree where the animal could graze easily. He uncinched his saddle and placed it on the other side of the tree before rubbing Terror down and inspecting the animal's hooves for pebbles or splits.
Lately, the coin seemed to be affecting the horse as well as Johnny at nightfall. Right now, though, Terror appeared to be a normal healthy three year old stallion. The black hide was glossy, the eyes were clear and the limbs were smooth and strong. As he finished tending his horse, the animal snorted gently and lowered its head to start nipping at the grass.
Unfurling his bedroll in the shade of the oak, Johnny decided he was too tired to consider making a fire to cook some flapjacks. He had taken a strip of jerky from his saddlebags and munched on the dried salted beef as he tugged off his boots and flexed his toes gratefully. Stretching out on the bedroll, he took out his right hand Colt and rolled over on that side with his head resting on his arm and his iron in his grip. The Kid took a few exhausted breaths and slid into a deep dreamless sleep at once.
Something woke him. He snapped into full awareness at once and opened his eyes to slits without moving his head. While sleeping, he had turned over onto his back but long habit had kept the Colt in his right hand. The sun was past overhead. He had slept about six hours and his head was clearer, but he needed to find out immediately what had rousted him.
On the other side of the tree, Terror stamped one hoof. The animal seldom whinnied. Drawing back the hammer with his thumb, Johnny sat up and peered suspiciously in all directions. There. Approaching slowly along the stream below him was a buckboard drawn by a single painted horse. Holding the reins was a white haired old man with a beard. He was wearing rough work clothes that had been worn thin by hard use.
The Brimstone Kid relaxed only slightly. Ever since he had been given the Darthan coin by Machingtok, he felt he could not trust anyone. This old man looked harmless enough, there was a rifle sitting on the buckboard by his feet, but he seemed to be no immediate threat. Still, although he gently lowered the hammer and holstered the Colt, Johnny remained on edge. He reached for his boots and tugged them on as the wagon drew near.
"Whoa, who, Bess," said the old man. He looked up the hill and saw the slight figure standing motionless with both hands resting on gun butts. "Steady, steady, son. I sure ain't no threat to you."
"No, reckon not. We don't need to parley, grandpa. I'm just passin' through these parts."
"Maybe t'aint my business," the old ventured uncertainly. "But it's just basic friendly concern. You do know you're heading toward Silent River?"
"No, cain't say as I do." Johnny swung his head around to gaze to the West, where a dark blue ribbon could be seen in the distance. "Never heard tell of any Silent River."
"Young fella, I believe you are used to taking care of yourself. Don't take this the wrong way. There's a town down there, also called Silent River." The old man took a deep breath and looked down at his hands. "Bad things are going on down there. Wicked things. Deeds that defy the laws of God and Man. Take it as a Christian gesture when I recommend you turn your feet in another direction."
A remarkably sinister grin spread over the young wanderer's face. His mouth smiled but his eyes did not. "You don't savvy who you're talkin' to, old fella. Your words just now have fired me up to ride right into Silent River."
( the rest of the story )
4/22/-4/24/1875
I.
With the sunrise, Johnny Packard came back down to normal. He was weary as usual after the transformation and his black horse Terror plodded reluctantly down the long hill to a stream. They both drank their fill of the cold clear water, and Johnny dunked his head a few times to rinse off the sweat and blood. It had been a rough night even for the Brimstone Kid. He ran fingers through his thick red hair and felt fresher. Behind his saddlebags was a canvas sack of oats which he fed to Terror.
He decided to walk for a while, both to stretch his legs and to make it easier for his horse. Only seventeen, Johnny was a small lean young man no more than five feet four inches tall and weighing at most a hundred and fifty pounds. In a bony sullen face, bright green eyes burned with steady anger. He wore boots, black Levis and a long-sleeved blue work shirt with an open denim vest over it. Low on his hips was a gunbelt ringed with cartridges and with big Peacemakers in twin holsters tied to his thighs with thongs. The already legendary 1873 single-action revolvers were cleaned and examined for flaws daily by their young owner. He'd go naked in the world before he'd go unarmed.
As they moseyed along, following the stream, Johnny let his black Stetson loose to hang down on his back by its knotted cord. It was daylight. The cursed Darthan coin would be cold and quiet now. Johnny saw that rise on his right had a single oak tree that overhung the stream and he led Terror up to it. It seemed like a decent spot to rest. There was grass for the horse to munch on and to cushion the ground for himself. The Brimstone Kid tied his steed to a low branch of the tree where the animal could graze easily. He uncinched his saddle and placed it on the other side of the tree before rubbing Terror down and inspecting the animal's hooves for pebbles or splits.
Lately, the coin seemed to be affecting the horse as well as Johnny at nightfall. Right now, though, Terror appeared to be a normal healthy three year old stallion. The black hide was glossy, the eyes were clear and the limbs were smooth and strong. As he finished tending his horse, the animal snorted gently and lowered its head to start nipping at the grass.
Unfurling his bedroll in the shade of the oak, Johnny decided he was too tired to consider making a fire to cook some flapjacks. He had taken a strip of jerky from his saddlebags and munched on the dried salted beef as he tugged off his boots and flexed his toes gratefully. Stretching out on the bedroll, he took out his right hand Colt and rolled over on that side with his head resting on his arm and his iron in his grip. The Kid took a few exhausted breaths and slid into a deep dreamless sleep at once.
Something woke him. He snapped into full awareness at once and opened his eyes to slits without moving his head. While sleeping, he had turned over onto his back but long habit had kept the Colt in his right hand. The sun was past overhead. He had slept about six hours and his head was clearer, but he needed to find out immediately what had rousted him.
On the other side of the tree, Terror stamped one hoof. The animal seldom whinnied. Drawing back the hammer with his thumb, Johnny sat up and peered suspiciously in all directions. There. Approaching slowly along the stream below him was a buckboard drawn by a single painted horse. Holding the reins was a white haired old man with a beard. He was wearing rough work clothes that had been worn thin by hard use.
The Brimstone Kid relaxed only slightly. Ever since he had been given the Darthan coin by Machingtok, he felt he could not trust anyone. This old man looked harmless enough, there was a rifle sitting on the buckboard by his feet, but he seemed to be no immediate threat. Still, although he gently lowered the hammer and holstered the Colt, Johnny remained on edge. He reached for his boots and tugged them on as the wagon drew near.
"Whoa, who, Bess," said the old man. He looked up the hill and saw the slight figure standing motionless with both hands resting on gun butts. "Steady, steady, son. I sure ain't no threat to you."
"No, reckon not. We don't need to parley, grandpa. I'm just passin' through these parts."
"Maybe t'aint my business," the old ventured uncertainly. "But it's just basic friendly concern. You do know you're heading toward Silent River?"
"No, cain't say as I do." Johnny swung his head around to gaze to the West, where a dark blue ribbon could be seen in the distance. "Never heard tell of any Silent River."
"Young fella, I believe you are used to taking care of yourself. Don't take this the wrong way. There's a town down there, also called Silent River." The old man took a deep breath and looked down at his hands. "Bad things are going on down there. Wicked things. Deeds that defy the laws of God and Man. Take it as a Christian gesture when I recommend you turn your feet in another direction."
A remarkably sinister grin spread over the young wanderer's face. His mouth smiled but his eyes did not. "You don't savvy who you're talkin' to, old fella. Your words just now have fired me up to ride right into Silent River."
( the rest of the story )
