The Fang of Bonfire Crossing

by Brad McLelland

  The prisoner tried to smile again, but there was no life in it. “I was once. I rode with both of your fathers a long time ago. But to Tom Strahan, I was known by a different name. Folks in these parts know me as Warren Lynch.”

  Duck gasped. “You’re Edgar Doyle’s partner!”

  Mention of the Ranger’s name flustered the man. He gazed at the hay-strewn floor. After a moment, he grumbled to clear his throat. “I’m afraid you kids have been deceived.”

  Keech didn’t like the sound of those words. “What d’you mean?”

  “Nobody’s been deceived,” Nat argued. “Edgar Doyle’s in Wisdom now. He’s come with us to save you.”

  “I am not Edgar Doyle’s partner, boy, and he is not who you think he is.”

  A cold draft whistled into the holding cell, fluttering Milos Horner’s black hair and sending goose bumps across the back of Keech’s neck.

  “Like me, he rode with your fathers,” the man said. “His real name is Red Jeffreys.”

  CHAPTER 19

  SAMSON

  Once Keech heard the prisoner’s revelation, his mind traveled at once to Bone Ridge Cemetery. The angelic statue, the weeds over his mother’s and father’s graves, loosened before the young riders had gotten there—he saw everything as if he were still standing there. The fury of the Reverend Rose, riding inside Bad Whiskey’s mind and body, yelling to the night that Red Jeffreys had stolen his Char Stone.

  Edgar Doyle had broken into Erin Blackwood’s coffin. He had replaced the Stone with the doll Keech now carried and had fled west into Kansas Territory, apparently with his sights next on the Fang of Barachiel.

  To think they had ridden alongside the man.

  Keech had trusted him with their secret mission, had sized him up and vouched for his sincerity. And all along, Doyle had been concealing his true identity. Worse, he’d been carrying the Char Stone and never said a word. Keech’s entire body shook. The Ranger must have placed the Stone in his bulky knapsack. That would explain his concern about Saint Peter protecting their gear back in the ravine.

  “Tell us what you know about him,” Keech said to Horner. “What’s his plan?”

  The broken Enforcer dropped his head, his dingy hair falling over his eyes. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know.”

  Nat leaned closer to the man, his arms straining against the chains. “Any idea why he’d claim you’re his partner?”

  “I don’t know that, either. But if he says he’s here to rescue me, then I presume he’s trying to obtain answers from me.”

  Duck glanced at her brother. “Three guesses what he’s trying to find out.”

  “The location of Bonfire Crossing,” Nat answered.

  “You kids know a surprising amount of secret business.”

  “You don’t know the half,” Duck said.

  “He stopped at a bending tree earlier this morning,” Nat went on. “Tried to figure out something there but failed. He told us he couldn’t find ‘the path’ without his partner’s help. What path is he talking about? Does he need a map of some sort?”

  “It’s a bit more complicated than a map,” Horner replied. “I’m afraid I don’t know the answer, either. I only have a piece of something.”

  Keech felt as if he were listening to their discussion from the bottom of a well. Every thought was distracted by the image of the knapsack tied to Saint Peter’s back. “Mr. Horner, Doyle’s got the Char Stone.”

  Waves of bleary emotions tumbled over the prisoner’s face. He took a few deep breaths, as if to calm himself. The man muttered into his fist, “Dear Lord. The Stone is revealed again.”

  “Please, talk to us,” Keech said. “We need information.”

  After another long breath, Horner grew more composed. “The Char Stone is an artifact from the ancient world, perhaps as old as Earth itself. Some say it came from the Tower of Babel; others believe it to be the stone that Cain used to murder his brother, Abel. Some claim that the Stone can bridge this world to the beyond and grant life eternal, but the truth is, no person can wield it without the most dire of consequences.”

  “What does it do?” asked Nat.

  “It weakens the walls of reality, allowing things from other worlds to touch our own. Understand, the Char Stone wants to lure people into darkness. Just being near it can weaken a man’s sanity with its call to aberrant power.”

  “But if the Stone is so wicked and dangerous, then why would Doyle—I mean Jeffreys—dig it up?” Keech asked.

  “I don’t know. All I can say for sure is that no one should ever attempt to use the Char Stone for any purpose. If you can take it from Jeffreys, do not touch it. Bury it, and never let it be found again.”

  “When we take it, we’re gonna destroy it,” Nat said.

  Horner shook his head. “Folks have tried. And they’ve failed.”

  “We’ll find a way.”

  Another smile softened Horner’s damaged face. “If you kids are the children of Enforcers, I’m certain you will.” He looked at Keech with warm eyes. “You should know that your father, Bill, was a good man, as was Isaiah. Sometimes good men can be led astray, but the true test of a person’s heart is how you find your way back to the good.”

  “Bad Whiskey called him ‘Terror of the West,’” Keech said, hearing the sadness in his own voice.

  “Yes, but only because Bill was strong,” Horner replied. “Weak men find terror in someone else’s strength, especially strength they don’t understand. Just know that in the end, your father found his way back to the good.”

  Keech wanted to learn more about his father, if only to fill the strange growing disconnect in his heart and soul, but a series of muffled thumps pounded down from the chamber above. Crumbles of dirt sprinkled from the wooden ceiling.

  “Someone’s coming!” Duck said.

  Horner sat up straight, then spoke swiftly. “Listen to me. The fiends holding us know about Bonfire Crossing. Word reached them that Strahan knew something about it, so they put Wisdom in their sights. Since then, they’ve enslaved the townsfolk and shipped them out west, and I suspect they must also know about Jeffreys, which means they’ll most likely set a trap for him to get the Stone. If you make it out of here, secure the Stone, then find Bonfire Crossing.”

  “To fetch the Fang of Barachiel,” Duck finished. “Can you tell us what it is? Is it cursed like the Char Stone?”

  A metal clanking above struck Keech’s ears. Likely the sound of an iron latch on the trapdoor being unlocked. Rose’s fiends were coming.

  Keech spoke briskly. “Never mind the Fang. How do we find the Crossing?”

  “Strahan spoke a strange riddle to me. He said it showed the path to the Crossing.” Horner then recited something that sounded like a poorly written poem:

  “Follow the rivers and bending trees

  to the den of the moon stalker.

  Gather the pack and speak his name

  before the noontide shift.”

  The Enforcer glanced up at the sound of the rattling lock. “Those were his words. I don’t know what they mean.”

  Keech felt as if his gut had been kicked by a mule. When Pa Abner had told him to “follow the rivers and bending trees,” he had assumed the instructions were simple advice to guide the young riders through the rough lands of Kansas. He had never considered that Pa had been too weak to finish a coded message.

  “Did he say anything else?” Nat asked.

  “He said, ‘When the shadows speak, listen,’ but I can’t figure how a shadow can talk.”

  Keech glanced at Duck. Just that afternoon they had seen the shadow of the bending tree near the Moss farm twist into a buffalo head, but they had not heard any sort of voice.

  The latch on the trapdoor clattered, and Keech grimaced. “What do we do to figure out the riddle?”

  The answer came in a single, rushed breath. “There is a bending tree twenty miles southwest of Wisdom, just down the hill from a stand of round boulders. Start there.” Horner’s ey
es fixed on the opening trapdoor. His voice sounded desperate as he added, “If you manage to obtain the artifacts, head down the Santa Fe Trail to Hook’s Fort and look for the trapper McCarty. And avoid the lure of the Char Stone at all costs!”

  Their time was up. The tiny man they had seen at the town gates stepped down through the trapdoor and descended into the chamber, followed closely by Friendly Williams.

  Horner sneered. “Coward.”

  “Hello, Milos.” One hand rested on the hilt of the sword hanging from the man’s thigh. His face was as white as bleached bone, and his nose was large and thick. He wore a sloppy, dark beard, and the top of his head had a large bald spot like a monk’s tonsure.

  Keech noticed one more infuriating detail: Pa Abner’s amulet shard had been slung over the ornate knuckle guard of Coward’s sword, and the silver crescent dangled against the blade’s sheath. The shard glowed a brilliant orange.

  Coward sniffed the air as if inhaling the scent of a delicate flower. He turned back to glare at Friendly. “Mr. Williams, you’ve told too many secrets, I’m afraid.”

  Friendly looked confused. “But I didn’t say nothing.”

  “I sent you down to make sure the kids were awake, not tell my old friend, Mr. Horner, that they were children of Enforcers.”

  “I never told him that, boss!”

  “I’ll deal with you later. Now hush. I need to concentrate.” He closed his eyes and again smelled the air.

  “What do you want with us?” Nat growled.

  Coward continued to inhale—till his eyes popped open. “Red Jeffreys has arrived! His scent lingers on each of you.”

  “What’s a Red Jeffreys?” Friendly asked.

  “He’s the prey, Mr. Williams. And for prey, we require bait, don’t we?” He thrust a stubby finger toward Milos Horner. “Take him to the saloon. We want to make sure to catch Jeffreys’s attention. I’ll return presently.”

  Handing the torch to Coward, Friendly shuffled over obediently and unlocked Horner’s shackles. With swift cruelty, he drove a fist into the prisoner’s gut. Horner doubled over with a loud wheeze. Friendly gripped the poor man by his shoulders and manhandled him to his feet. “Let’s go, you dog.”

  The two climbed the stairwell. Before Horner disappeared, he glanced back down at Keech. Their eyes locked just long enough for Keech to read his sheer desperation: Don’t fail.

  Once they were gone, Coward swiveled the torchlight on Nat, then Duck, then Keech. His bald pate glistened under the flame. “So you’re the famous troop that took down Bad Whiskey Nelson. Kudos! I disliked that man. Always grinning like a fool and calling folks pilgrim.”

  “We’ll take you down just like we did Bad Whiskey,” Nat snarled.

  “Such pluck! Reminds me of your papa,” Coward said. He sniffed in Nat’s direction, moving slowly across the room. The closer the foul man stepped, the deeper he inhaled.

  Nat lunged for him, but his shackles stopped him short.

  Coward continued to smell. He closed his eyes. “Yes, I see.” When he opened them again, he grinned. “Tell me what you know about Miguel Herrera.”

  Keech and Nat swapped unsettled glances.

  “I don’t know who that is,” Nat said.

  “No need to lie, Mr. Embry. Or rather, Mr. Coal. I know you’ve been riding with Miguel. I can smell him all over you, just like I smell your rotten father. Where is he? I’ve got unfinished business with that boy.”

  “If I knew a Miguel, I wouldn’t give him away to the likes of you.”

  “Even if I told you his real purpose for riding with you and little sis?” Coward glanced back to steal a gander at Duck. When he winked at her, Duck lurched against her bindings like a mad dog.

  Nat scowled. “What real purpose?”

  Coward chuckled. “Atonement, of course. He seeks redemption for the sins he committed against your family.”

  Nat’s face scrunched in surprise. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Coward’s small gloved hand waved Nat’s stubbornness away. “Never mind. I’ll let Miguel tell his own stories. Or should I call him Cutter? I suppose he gave himself that alias because of the knife he carries. I’m curious to see that blade. More curious to smell it.”

  “Take your nose somewhere else,” Nat growled.

  “Don’t mind if I do.” Spinning on his boot heel, Coward walked a few steps in Keech’s direction. He sniffed vigorously. “My, you contain some fragrant secrets.”

  The closer Coward got, the harder it was for Keech to concentrate. He felt as if smoke were pouring into his head, swirling his thoughts, opening wide his whole identity.

  “You found something buried at the Sullied Place. Bone Ridge. Whiskey thought he’d uncovered the Char Stone, but he found only a toy. A doll.” Coward chuckled, then opened his eyes. “Am I right, Mr. Blackwood?” He pointed. “The doll is in your pocket.”

  Keech squeezed his eyes shut, feeling Coward’s nose probe deeper. In a matter of seconds, the man would glimpse the ravine, the knapsack, the riddle of Bonfire Crossing that Horner had just given. Keech loosed a small cry, struggling to build a mental barrier.

  “Enough!” Duck shouted. “We want to speak to Big Ben.”

  Coward slipped toward her, and Keech felt the tugging at his mind depart. He sagged to the floor, exhausted but relieved.

  “Stay away from her, you fiend!”

  “Nathaniel, hush,” Duck said, then turned her steely gaze on Coward. “Fetch Big Ben. We’ve got a right to confront him. He killed our ma and pa.”

  “Yes, I know what he did. Big Ben’s indisposed at the moment, but never you fear, he’ll be happy to listen to your curses while he preps your noose.”

  Nat rattled his chains ferociously. “You’re all gonna pay! I’m gonna break out of here and send you back to whatever grimy hole you slithered out of. Then I’m gonna find your damned Reverend Rose and make him wish he’d never crossed two kids named Embry.”

  Coward pondered Nat for a moment. “More of that Bennett Coal pluck. I like it.” He shuffled back to the stairwell. Keech’s glowing amulet shard clanked against his sword as he ascended the steps. “The gallows await!” he called down, then disappeared from sight.

  “You sure told him,” Duck said.

  Nat slumped. “Maybe I bought us some time.”

  “We have to break out of here.” Keech glanced around, searching for any weakness in the chamber. He lifted a leg and thrust his foot against the wall, but nothing happened. “I don’t have any leverage.”

  Duck yanked at her ankle bindings. “I can’t budge these, either.”

  Nat studied the places in the wall where his chains were attached to thick metal rings. “This room is pretty damp. The walls might be soft. It’s worth a try. Both of you, move as far away as you can.”

  “What are you gonna do?” Keech asked, sliding back.

  “I’m getting us out of here. No matter what.”

  Nat wrapped his chains around his wrists, securing a firm grip. He lifted one foot behind him and pressed his sole flat against the wall. With a mighty grunt, he pushed against the wood. His face turned as red as an apple, but the bindings didn’t budge. He put his foot down momentarily, sucked in a breath, and stretched his shoulders. “No matter what,” he mumbled, his chest rising and falling. “No matter what.”

  Shoving his foot back against the wall, Nat began pulling again, thrusting his shoulders as far as they would reach. He cried out through clenched teeth, “No matter what!”

  The tendons in the rancher’s neck stood out like iron bars. He lifted his other leg and placed his foot against the wall, so that his entire weight was now pulling, driving him outward.

  To Keech’s surprise, a whine of distressed wood brushed his ears, followed by a sharp crack. He suddenly recalled images of Samson from the Bible, the great Israelite judge who had been one of Sam’s favorite characters. Imbued with the strength of God, Samson had knocked down the columns of the Philistine temp
le, destroying his enemies. Samson pulled those pillars down like they was made of pine kindling, Sam had said once, during one of their bedtime stories. He was the strongest man who ever lived. Maybe except for Pa.

  Nat released a ferocious wail, and the wood splintered around the iron rings. Blood broke through his ravaged wrists. His muscles were surely on the verge of tearing, and yet the rancher refused to stop.

  “No! Matter! What!” he repeated through clamped teeth.

  With a shattering snap, the iron rings popped loose and flew off the wall. Nat crashed to the ground, his chains flinging forward, whipping dangerously close to Keech’s head.

  “You did it!” Duck cried.

  Nat rose to his knees, his chest heaving. Friendly’s chains dangled from his bloodied wrists. When he stood, his legs wobbled. He shuffled over to his sister and tumbled back to his knees in front of her. She flung herself on him, and they embraced.

  Keech heard Nat mumble into her ear. “I’ll make sure you’re safe. Nobody’s going to the gallows today.” Nat hopped to his feet.

  Another knock rattled above, raining more dust on their heads.

  “They’re back! What do we do?” Duck said.

  As the trapdoor began to clatter, Nat gathered the chains in his hands and began to swing the iron rings in a cross pattern. “First rascal down those stairs, I’m gonna smash him.”

  Keech readied himself for a scuffle. He hated that he couldn’t properly join the fight, but maybe Nat would knock someone close enough that he could stomp on them.

  The trapdoor swung open with a crash. Nat twirled his chains, ready to catch his first victim.

  CHAPTER 20

  THE BAIT

  A draft of warm air fluttered down through the opening, and Cutter peeked down through the hole. “Never fear, amigos. I’m here to rescue you!” He descended a few steps and crouched upon a rung.

  “Cut! You’re sure a welcome sight,” Nat said, lowering his chains.

  “First time anybody’s told me that,” Cutter jested.