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"Sacrifices For the Fifth Sun"
May. 12th, 2022 05:54 pm"Sacrifices For the Fifth Sun"
3/4/1876
I.
The two Englishmen were in mighty poor shape, Johnny admitted reluctantly. He was only a little better off himself because he was more used to hardship and because he was a tough wiry seventeen year old instead of a soft-bellied man well past fifty.
Early in the morning of their thirteenth day out, standing before the sheer granite cliffs that rose up on three sides, the Brimstone Kid took off his black Stetson and wiped his face with his red bandana. The thick red hair was soaked with sweat. Johnny Packard may have stood only five feet four, but he was all bone and lean muscle. He had already survived ordeals that might have killed much brawnier men.
In his worn-down boots, faded black Levis and red work shirt with an open denim vest, the Kid's nature was clearly marked by his gunbelt. Two holsters tied to his thighs held a matched pair of Colt Peacemakers with their butts held exactly where his hands reached when he dropped his arms down. There was nothing flamboyant about the well-worn two-gun rig. Something in the assured manner of Johnny Packard guaranteed he knew how to use those pistols.
Behind him, Professor Ian Thesiger and Dr Keith Cyril had plopped down to rest on rounded boulders. Their sole surviving mule waited with ill grace. Johnny knew the two men from London could not survive another day without water. They had been hiking through the Copper Canyons of Mexico for eleven days. Their canteens were dry. Two days earlier, Johnny had snapped off two shots that caught a pair of jackrabbits, so at least they had eaten.
Directly in front of him was a crevice running vertically in the cliff. Wide enough for a single man to pass through, it turned so he could not see where it opened... if indeed it did open. But it seemed like their only chance. Going back was sure death.
"What are your thoughts, Packard?" asked Dr Cyril. He was the heavier of the two Englishmen, with a bristly white mustache and a balding head he always kept covered with a hat.
"Truth be told, 'pears to me that we got unreasonably few options," the youth from Texas said. He turned around and dropped down on a rock facing the men who had hired him. "There might be water in there. We know for a fact that they ain't no water the way we came."
"Bit of an unpromising situation, I dare say," Cyril replied. "Do you have any thoughts you wish to share, Thesiger?"
The professor fanned himself with his straw floater. In contrast to his colleague, William Thesiger was a skinny scarecrow of a man with a long pointed nose and a mocking smile. "We have no business complaining, you and I. Not only were we determined to journey into this wilderness, we talked this fine young man into being our guide. I vote we follow his judgement."
Johnny smiled to himself at the funny way these fellows had of speaking. But the sun was rising. Soon, they would be facing a fatal long afternoon of merciless sunlight. "I reckon we better squeeze our carcasses through that opening, then. I expect the mule will fit but I can't guarantee he will accept the necessity of getting closed in thatway."
The few belongings they had not discarded during the trek were strapped to the animal. Johnny took the reins and tugged. Everyone was surprised how docile the infamous burro became when it was Johnny pulling. As the days went by, it became clear that the beast was for some reason becoming obedient to the Kid.
Only Johnny suspected the reason. It was the ancient coin he wore tucked inside his hatband. The old medicine man Machingtok had gifted him with it two years earlier; if he had it in contact when the sun set, the Darthan token transformed him into the real Brimstone Kid.
The nearness of that mysterious red metal disc affected the mule. Johnny remembered how his black horse Terror had started becoming a hellbeast at night because of the curse and he realized the same effect was changing this burro. When the Kid had reluctantly stabled Terror at the last city here in the Chihuaua area of Mexico, the stallion had not been distressed so much as annoyed at seeing his master leave.
When Johnny started squeezing into the crevice in the cliff, the mule followed as compliantly as a well-trained mare instead of the stubborn beast it normally was. The walls rose so high overhead that the sunlight did not reach inside the crack and the air was twenty degrees cooler.
Following, the two Englishmen sighed at the unexpected relief. "Oh, I say, this is a distinct joy," said Cyril. "We haven't enjoyed shade since I don't know when."
The rock walls had a greenish tint from the copper deposits that had given these canyons their name. For the next hour, the Brimstone Kid led the way. At times, the opening widened but usually it barely allowed the mule to pass.
A faint noise high overhead made Johnny freeze into position, his right hand dropping to his Colt automatically. Behind them, crashing down with a thud, a barrier of stout wooden bars hit the ground. There was not even room between the bars to insert a knife blade.
"Oh Heavens, that was a surprise," Thesiger gasped. "It appears our line of retreat has been blocked?"
With his Peacemaker in hand, the Kid glared upward but could see nothing. High overhead, only a slit of deep blue sky could be shown.
He kept his gun in hand as he resumed moving forward. "You fellers hired me to look fer Aztec ruins, as I recollect."
'Oh yes. Johnny, do you think that perhaps those ruins may not be completely deserted even now? Why, your Aztecs were subdued four hundred years ago by those Spanish brutes."
"So yer books say," the Brimstone Kid replied, his upward turned eyes still searching. "I s'pose they might be common bandits. These canyons is crawlin' with owlhoots and cutthroats, right enough."
Seeing no choice, they continued forward and soon saw sunshine ahead. The tall narrow opening was filled with light that made their eyes water after the long stumbling through gloom.
Johnny drew his other gun. He was not nearly as skilled with his left hand but there had been times when being able to shift a loaded weapon into his right had been lifesaving. The Kid said in a low tense voice, "You gents oughtta hang back a mite, if you will."
He stepped out into a wide valley surrounded by cliffs but all his attention was on the fifty nearly-naked men who encircled him with spears and clubs. They all grimaced as fiercely as pumas about to pounce. Johnny slowly holstered his guns to surrender.
( the rest of the story )
3/4/1876
I.
The two Englishmen were in mighty poor shape, Johnny admitted reluctantly. He was only a little better off himself because he was more used to hardship and because he was a tough wiry seventeen year old instead of a soft-bellied man well past fifty.
Early in the morning of their thirteenth day out, standing before the sheer granite cliffs that rose up on three sides, the Brimstone Kid took off his black Stetson and wiped his face with his red bandana. The thick red hair was soaked with sweat. Johnny Packard may have stood only five feet four, but he was all bone and lean muscle. He had already survived ordeals that might have killed much brawnier men.
In his worn-down boots, faded black Levis and red work shirt with an open denim vest, the Kid's nature was clearly marked by his gunbelt. Two holsters tied to his thighs held a matched pair of Colt Peacemakers with their butts held exactly where his hands reached when he dropped his arms down. There was nothing flamboyant about the well-worn two-gun rig. Something in the assured manner of Johnny Packard guaranteed he knew how to use those pistols.
Behind him, Professor Ian Thesiger and Dr Keith Cyril had plopped down to rest on rounded boulders. Their sole surviving mule waited with ill grace. Johnny knew the two men from London could not survive another day without water. They had been hiking through the Copper Canyons of Mexico for eleven days. Their canteens were dry. Two days earlier, Johnny had snapped off two shots that caught a pair of jackrabbits, so at least they had eaten.
Directly in front of him was a crevice running vertically in the cliff. Wide enough for a single man to pass through, it turned so he could not see where it opened... if indeed it did open. But it seemed like their only chance. Going back was sure death.
"What are your thoughts, Packard?" asked Dr Cyril. He was the heavier of the two Englishmen, with a bristly white mustache and a balding head he always kept covered with a hat.
"Truth be told, 'pears to me that we got unreasonably few options," the youth from Texas said. He turned around and dropped down on a rock facing the men who had hired him. "There might be water in there. We know for a fact that they ain't no water the way we came."
"Bit of an unpromising situation, I dare say," Cyril replied. "Do you have any thoughts you wish to share, Thesiger?"
The professor fanned himself with his straw floater. In contrast to his colleague, William Thesiger was a skinny scarecrow of a man with a long pointed nose and a mocking smile. "We have no business complaining, you and I. Not only were we determined to journey into this wilderness, we talked this fine young man into being our guide. I vote we follow his judgement."
Johnny smiled to himself at the funny way these fellows had of speaking. But the sun was rising. Soon, they would be facing a fatal long afternoon of merciless sunlight. "I reckon we better squeeze our carcasses through that opening, then. I expect the mule will fit but I can't guarantee he will accept the necessity of getting closed in thatway."
The few belongings they had not discarded during the trek were strapped to the animal. Johnny took the reins and tugged. Everyone was surprised how docile the infamous burro became when it was Johnny pulling. As the days went by, it became clear that the beast was for some reason becoming obedient to the Kid.
Only Johnny suspected the reason. It was the ancient coin he wore tucked inside his hatband. The old medicine man Machingtok had gifted him with it two years earlier; if he had it in contact when the sun set, the Darthan token transformed him into the real Brimstone Kid.
The nearness of that mysterious red metal disc affected the mule. Johnny remembered how his black horse Terror had started becoming a hellbeast at night because of the curse and he realized the same effect was changing this burro. When the Kid had reluctantly stabled Terror at the last city here in the Chihuaua area of Mexico, the stallion had not been distressed so much as annoyed at seeing his master leave.
When Johnny started squeezing into the crevice in the cliff, the mule followed as compliantly as a well-trained mare instead of the stubborn beast it normally was. The walls rose so high overhead that the sunlight did not reach inside the crack and the air was twenty degrees cooler.
Following, the two Englishmen sighed at the unexpected relief. "Oh, I say, this is a distinct joy," said Cyril. "We haven't enjoyed shade since I don't know when."
The rock walls had a greenish tint from the copper deposits that had given these canyons their name. For the next hour, the Brimstone Kid led the way. At times, the opening widened but usually it barely allowed the mule to pass.
A faint noise high overhead made Johnny freeze into position, his right hand dropping to his Colt automatically. Behind them, crashing down with a thud, a barrier of stout wooden bars hit the ground. There was not even room between the bars to insert a knife blade.
"Oh Heavens, that was a surprise," Thesiger gasped. "It appears our line of retreat has been blocked?"
With his Peacemaker in hand, the Kid glared upward but could see nothing. High overhead, only a slit of deep blue sky could be shown.
He kept his gun in hand as he resumed moving forward. "You fellers hired me to look fer Aztec ruins, as I recollect."
'Oh yes. Johnny, do you think that perhaps those ruins may not be completely deserted even now? Why, your Aztecs were subdued four hundred years ago by those Spanish brutes."
"So yer books say," the Brimstone Kid replied, his upward turned eyes still searching. "I s'pose they might be common bandits. These canyons is crawlin' with owlhoots and cutthroats, right enough."
Seeing no choice, they continued forward and soon saw sunshine ahead. The tall narrow opening was filled with light that made their eyes water after the long stumbling through gloom.
Johnny drew his other gun. He was not nearly as skilled with his left hand but there had been times when being able to shift a loaded weapon into his right had been lifesaving. The Kid said in a low tense voice, "You gents oughtta hang back a mite, if you will."
He stepped out into a wide valley surrounded by cliffs but all his attention was on the fifty nearly-naked men who encircled him with spears and clubs. They all grimaced as fiercely as pumas about to pounce. Johnny slowly holstered his guns to surrender.
( the rest of the story )
