“You! Who told you Big Bear is dead?”
The man spun trying to escape Port’s grasp then breathed a sigh of relief, “It’s you. You’ll take care of this.”
“What about Big Bear?”
“He’s dead. Seen him myself yonder. Chief Many-Buffalo brought what’s left of his body and the others into town a half hour ago.”
“Was he cut up with a Bowie?”
The man blanched, “No! The monster took bites outta him. It’s gruesome. Go see.”
Port let go of the man’s shoulder and drifted out of the crowd.
A familiar voice spoke, “Porter, what do you make of this?” It was Thomas, the shopkeeper. “You ever go talk to Lehi?”
Port shook his head, then spotted Many-Buffalo.
“You should, I’ll bet he could explain things.”
“Much obliged,” said Port abruptly walking away.
13.
Many-Buffalo was surrounded by a dozen wailing women, the remains of his braves lay beneath a broad red blanket. He was speaking with local authority and Apostle Charles C. Rich.
“Brother Rich, can I take a look?” asked Port.
“Go ahead Brother Rockwell. Chief Many-Buffalo has just asked my help in blessing them for their journey.”
Port nodded and looked to Many-Buffalo who still gave the unfriendly glare he had from the day before. Lifting the blanket’s edge, Port looked upon the terrible visage of Big Bear. He expected to see evidence of his Bowie, but not this—carnage to rival the worst horror he had ever witnessed. Claw and bite wounds from something huge. The same atrocities had been dealt to three more men.
There went Port’s personal theory for last night’s incident. Big Bear could not possibly have been the enemy he fought in the darkness.
“Many-Buffalo tells me that you and Sister Cook visited him yesterday,” said Charles.
“We did. So did Stenhouse.”
“He said Stenhouse came wanting to know what could be done about the monster, if there was anything he could do to help. He gave them some of the latest model of guns, repeating rifles and the like and yet, you see here what happened,” said Charles.
Port squinted across the way at Stenhouse still fuming his ‘New Movement’ to the townsfolk. “Why try and get the Indian’s to deal with this thing though? Why wouldn’t he have that crooked sheriff and his blacklegs deal?”
“I couldn’t begin to say.”
Port threw back the blanket pointing at vicious wounds, “This gives more questions than answers. Seems worse than a bear attack.”
Charles nodded, “These men could have handled a bear.”
Narrowing his gaze, Port noticed Big Bear had a small bone fetish on his belt just like the one he found earlier. “Something is sending a message. But I can’t read it, yet.”
“Some messages can’t be read,” said the Apostle. “And when words can’t cut the evil, it’s time to use a sword.”
Port grinned as he drew, spun and holstered his Navy Colts. “I find a six-gun is quicker.”
14.
Port had a vague impression of where to find Lehi, the old Indian that supposedly knew so much about the monster. A whistle drew his attention.
It was Stenhouse, across the street. He beckoned for Port to come and speak with him in front of the sheriff’s office.
Flexing his fingers, Port warily eyed the windows and hiding spots behind Stenhouse. He was ready to draw his Navy Colts like chain lightning if need be.
“What do you want?” he growled.
“Just to speak a moment, without the self-righteous she-cat beside you.”
Porter grabbed Stenhouse’s tie, yanking him closer, “You’ll speak kindly about the lady.”
“Hey! You’ll keep your hands of Mr. Stenhouse,” called the sheriff, from inside the office.
Port shoved the thin man away. “I’ve heard how you treat your women.”
Stenhouse rankled at the insinuation. “I beg your pardon. We have had our differences, our run-ins, but I wanted to let you know that a new wind is blowing. Utah is changing, the railroad is here and new revelations come with it. You can be part of the old guard that is swept away and forgotten—or be a part of the reformation.”
Port shook his head, “You really know nothing about me.”
“I know this,” said Stenhouse, his tone turning cruel and superior. “I spoke to Vice-President Colfax only a few short weeks ago, the government is tired of Brigham’s unfriendly theocracy, his dictatorship of the territory, his dominion of Deseret.”
“You always were too theatrical, Stenhouse.”
“Oh no, not this time. This is real. They are going to invade, they are going to take our lands by force and destroy the Church if things aren’t changed. We in the New Movement are working toward effecting that change before it’s too late. We could use your help.”
Port guffawed.
“Laugh,” Stenhouse said coldly. “Evidence that Brigham is counterfeiting is being filed.”
“That’ll never stick,” objected Port.
“Oh no? How about this. There are those who will testify that he ordered Mountain Meadows.”
Port frowned, “That’s a lie and you know it.”
“Do I? Does it matter if the government gets hold of the evidence to destroy the Church? Our survival depends on change. Brigham is a fallen prophet. He has lost his way. He can’t even repudiate a monster that threatens his own people—what about the monster that is the U.S. Army? The people must abandon Brigham and follow the New Movement.”
Narrowing his steely gaze, Port rumbled, “What’s your part in this? Who’s gonna lose faith in the prophet over a monster?”
Stenhouse’s tone changed again, “I’ll tell you because I’m afraid. No one has put this together yet. Every night with a waxing moon, the body count doubles. The creature’s blood lust cannot be sated. Brigham can’t protect anyone. How many deaths have you prevented since you arrived? Yes, even the 'Destroying Angel' is helpless against this monster.”
“Then why doesn’t the New Movement take care of it?”
“Things have to get worse before they can get better.”
Port said, “Hogwash. You’re all using this as an agenda. You make me sick.”
“Say what you will, but shame is our only tool. To shame President Young into acknowledging us his spiritual betters. Only then will we step forward and alleviate this threat.”
Port shook his head, “So, you will let men die to further gain your political ambitions? Out of my way I got things to do.”
“You think so small. Better for a few men to die than for a people to perish in ignorance. We will bring balance to the Church,” said Stenhouse. “New revelation has been given, the spirits have granted us release and wisdom. They have given us solution to our predicament.”
Port rubbed a hand across his beard as if pondering.
“I offer you a place. Reject us and it will not be offered again and you will be swept away as so much chaff! The field is ripe. Where will you stand?”
Putting his nose inches from Stenhouse’s, Port whispered, “That’s the name of the game.” He lightly patted the Englishman’s cheek twice, then strode down the street to fetch his horse.
“What does that mean?”
“Figure it out,” Port called.
A few minutes later, Port rode down the hill from the Cook’s and came in behind the sheriff’s office. He pulled the strange fetish of stick-like bones from his jacket pocket and tossed it upon the roof of the office. Chuckling, he rode on.
15.
Port rode with the wind at his back, watching the long lake and pondering. Why would the Lord allow these things to plague good people? What was the test? The lesson to be learned? What was his own part and responsibility?
All experiences are for our ultimate good, mused Port.
Sheep grazed in large swaths across the rounded landscape, most flocks were tended by young boys.
He trotted his stallion up to a
tousle-headed boy and nodded, “Afternoon, son. You out here a lot?”
“Every day, mister.”
“Ever see anything strange?”
The boy smiled. “Besides you?”
Port chuckled, “Yeah, besides me. A monster maybe.”
The boy went serious. “I thought I saw it once.”
Port folded his arms, now he was getting somewhere.
“I was playing by the lake shore when I saw six or seven dark shapes out in the water. A big horse-like head with horns was coming out, right at me. I was so afraid. I couldn’t hardly breathe, let alone move.”
Port looked out at the lake again. “You saw it? Didn’t it try to eat you?”
“No, it wasn’t the monster,” the boy smirked, “it was a herd of elk crossing the lake. The bull was in front, the cows behind. My fear made a monster.”
“You don’t believe in the monster?” questioned Port.
“I didn’t say that. I’m just saying things aren’t always what they seem.”
“True,” Port said. “Know where to find an old Indian, called Lehi?”
The boy pointed southwest, “Over those hills somewhere. No one lives near him.”
“Much obliged,” said Port, galloping away.
“No one lives near him,” called the boy.
“I heard ya,” shouted Port over his shoulder.
16.
Over rolling hillocks and past a few stands of trees Port saw a wisp of rising smoke, thin and gray, curling toward heaven through the light drizzle.
“Hello, the camp! Lehi?” Port called. Experience said you were better off letting folks know you were coming in.
Rounding the bend, a rotted tepee came into view. It looked smaller than the usual ten to twelve buffalo-hide tepees. It was made of perhaps eight skins.
Port’s horse nickered at entering the clearing and tried to turn away. Glancing about for a possible predator, Port called again, “Lehi, you out here?”
“I am here,” announced a ragged voice as the tepee flap peeled back and the very same elderly Indian from town the day before peered out. “Go away! What you want? Blood?”
Laughing, “You’re the old man in town from yesterday!” Port dismounted the skittish horse. “You could’ve saved me the trip if you would’ve stuck around.”
Exiting the tepee, Lehi frowned. “I have things to do.”
“Take it easy. I just wanted to talk to you for a spell ’bout the monster. I’m Porter,” he said, extending his hand.
Cocking his head, the old Indian stared with eyes hard and cold as the mountaintop. “I tell you as I told them. Monster comes to eat on clear night when moon grows like swelling belly.” He stepped out of the tepee and stood uncomfortably close to Porter.
“They said you could tell me all about the monster.”
Smirking, Lehi answered, “You want a story, you got to pay.” He opened his hand, expecting.
The horse whinnied and backed away pulling the reins in Port’s clenched fist. The ragged voice and unnerved horse put Port’s guard up. He considered drawing his sawed-off Navy Colt.
Lehi grinned. “Forget it. I like you. We are the same, you and I.”
Nerves calmed, Port said, “Anytime.” He took one of the tincture bottles from his saddle bags and handed it to a pleased Lehi. “About last night, what do you know about the lake monster? What’s it look like? Any weaknesses?”
Lehi nodded. “Trust in Great Spirit, but tie up your horse. Let us speak inside,” he said, as he gestured to his faded buffalo-skin tepee.
A smell that Port attributed to the old man’s lifestyle permeated the inside of the tepee, it was similar to wet dog but with a reptilian copper scent. Ratty old furs and skins made up the old man’s bed. A handful of tools cluttered the far side of the tepee. A ring of stones held a few glowing coals in the center. Unexpected to Port, was a worn copy of the Book of Mormon.
“You read?”
“I feel it is truth,” said Lehi, “but my reading is not yet bountiful.”
Port grinned, “Me too.”
Lehi sat cross-legged opposite Porter and pushed back his beaded breastwork, revealing massive scars along his chest and shoulder. The trauma displayed was so extensive Port wondered at how the old man survived.
Showing a missing finger and the stub next to it on his left hand, Lehi said, “This is where great serpent bit me, here and here.” He pointed to his shoulder, chest and upheld his disfigured hand.
“When was this?”
“To my life . . . not long ago. Was first time I saw great serpent. I sang old songs calling for the Old Ones. But Great Serpent heard me and came. Him very angry with me,” chuckled Lehi.
“Why is that?”
“Great Serpent not want to be wakened. He is lost and used.”
Wrinkling his forehead Port asked, “Lost? Used? I don’t follow you.”
Wrapping himself in his cloak, Lehi said, “Great Serpent not meant to be here. He will not listen to me. But there is purpose in all things.”
“How big is he? Can he be killed?”
Lehi lit a pipe before answering and stared into the smoldering center a long while. “I will tell you, because you are like me, a hunter of men. No gun of white man can kill Great Serpent. It is long as four wagons. It is a thing from old times.”
“But why is it here?”
Lehi shrugged, “Why does sun rise? Moon set? It just is.”
“Are you saying it can’t be killed?”
Lehi smiled, revealing wicked teeth for an old man. “I say, do not even try. Monster will eat you.”
Port didn’t like his tone. “If it lives, it can be killed.”
“You have brave heart. Perhaps there is a way.”
Port rubbed his chin. “Go on.”
“Would be dangerous. We would be risking our lives.”
“That's my business. I've got a charmed life.”
Lehi nodded and beckoned Port to follow. He stepped out of his tepee, and trotted out of the glade and into the thick brush. The speed of the old man amazed Port.
Lehi gathered a handful of pale roots. “We poison Great Serpent, tonight.”
Port looked skeptical, “How come no one has tried this before?”
Lehi chuckled, “Who stupid enough to face Great Serpent?”
“Good point.”
17.
Lehi had a wide raft that would take them out into the lake. It was slow going, but allowed for more fighting space in Port’s mind. The raft seemed safer than a canoe which could be capsized, leaving them at the mercy of the lake monster.
Port left his stallion on shore with a good bit of tether. Considering Joseph Rich had already lost a horse to the monster, Port left his farther uphill. He brought his blessed Bowie knife, his two sawed-off Navy revolvers, and a 45-70 buffalo gun.
Lehi brought a deer-skin sack full of the poisonous roots, Port’s gift of a tincture bottle, his flute, a tomahawk pipe, and a bit of firewood that he would use to make a fire on the raft over the top of a stone and mud section he had pre-arranged. A small burnt scar upon the raft denoted where he had done this in the past.
“Tell me again, how we’re gonna get the monster to eat these roots,” asked Port, regretting not having another bottle of Valley-Tan.
Lehi watched the gunfighter’s eyes and gestured to the bottle.
“Much obliged.”
Lehi nodded and said, “I will call Great Serpent. When he comes, his mouth wide to eat, throw in roots. But not until he right beside us. Very close.”
“Could it sink us?”
“Sure. But I will sing our death song and chant old ways. You can shoot if you like, but it do no good. Roots work fast.”
Port wasn’t familiar with that many plants, but he never heard of a poisonous root such as this before, but maybe it was Indian magic.
Dusk came quick, casting red twilight over the valley. Somewhere a wolf howled and Port watched the shore. With the sun down, cold wrapped it
s arms about them. The cold sapphire waters did not look inviting.
Lehi lit his fire with a bow drill. He was amazingly quick. He blew on the shards of spark and they leapt into action as if commanded by the breath of the divine. The orange glow fought and won against the encroaching night. The old man lit his pipe and inhaled deep breaths, puffing them toward the west, to which he bowed.
Port expected him to do something more, perhaps something to the east but he didn’t.
“We will let darkness grow a little stronger,” said Lehi. “Then I will call Great Serpent out.”
“How about another pull on that raspberry tincture then?”
Lehi handed Port the bottle.
An hour or two later their kindling was almost gone and Port dreaded the idea of being on the lake in the dark. “Well, is it time yet?”
Flute in hand, Lehi stood and played a melancholy and disturbing tune. The notes rose and fell in a jarring dirge that Port theorized was never meant to be heard by a white man. It was primal and savage, a true song of the wilds, full of wonder and midnight.
Something splashed out in the waters, forbidden to Port’s sight.
“It comes,” said Lehi.
“You sure?”
Lehi didn’t answer, but blew a long note from his flute and went silent.
Port dropped the sack of poison roots at his own feet and readied the buffalo gun. If anything could penetrate the monsters hide, he reasoned it would be his 45-70. Glancing about, Port was ready, but no more splashing came.
Lehi broke into song, a sad and painful chant.
Port heard a splash like an oar hitting the water. The bright moon was just coming over Black Mountain to the east and Port thought he could see a canoe heading toward them. “Someone’s out there Lehi, it ain’t the monster.”
The canoe glided closer and regardless of the dying fire, Lehi continued his chant. “Hey-yaw, taw hey-yaw. Zhoo' yea' Zhoo' yea'. Yana Glooshi, hey-yaw, taw hey yaw.”
“Who’s there?” asked Port of the darkness.
No answer came, or at least none he could hear above Lehi’s chanting.
Port threw the last few chunks of fuel into the fire hoping to pierce the darkness a little better, absently wondering if whomever was about to meet them had seen anything up the lake.
Cold Slither: and other horrors of the weird west (Dark Trails Saga) Page 14