The Last Gunfighter

by William W. Johnstone

  Instantly, he felt bad for saying such a thing. He had never had a better friend than Dog, and Stormy and Goldy were almost at the same level as the big cur. Maybe once they saw him go into the cave, they would follow, he thought. He trudged toward the opening.

  The smell that came from it made him wrinkle his nose. Something had crawled up in there and died. Maybe more than one something.

  But he wasn’t going to let a little stink keep him from getting out of the rain. He stepped up to the cave mouth, something nagging at the back of his brain as he did so, and reached into his pocket to fish around for the little waterproof container in which he always kept several matches.

  He found it as he moved a couple of steps into the cave. The drizzle wasn’t hitting him now. His fingers fumbled to open the container and shake out a match. When he had one, he snapped it to life with his thumbnail.

  The match flared up and cast a yellow glow over the interior of the cave. It was rounded, ten or twelve feet high at its tallest, maybe fifteen across and an equal distance deep. Plenty of room for him, Dog, and the two horses, Frank thought. He turned slowly, holding the match higher in his left hand so that the light from it spread all the way to the back of the cave.

  That was where he saw what he took at first for a sleeping bear. He stepped back sharply and dropped his right hand to the butt of his gun before he realized what he saw wasn’t a bear, wasn’t even alive. It was just a pile of animal pelts, dozens of them, from the looks of it. They looked like they had been arranged against the wall to form a bed of sorts. He saw a lot of little bones, too, tossed here and there.

  Outside, Stormy and Goldy suddenly let out shrill whinnies of fear. Dog began barking and snarling. Reason finally penetrated Frank’s feverish brain, and as he dropped the match and turned, he muttered, “Oh, hell.”

  Standing there in the cave entrance, silhouetted against the last of the fading gray light outside, was a huge, shaggy shape. A stench emanated from it, filling the cave and making it hard for Frank to breathe without gagging. It stood there motionless, as if puzzled to find that it had a visitor in its home.

  Because that’s what this cave was, Frank realized now.

  He had found the lair of the Terror.

  Chapter 22

  Before Frank could do anything, Dog attacked the Terror from behind, leaping high on the creature’s back and hitting it with such force that even the Terror’s massive bulk was jolted forward a step. Dog’s fangs flashed as he tore at his enemy.

  Frank would have commanded the big cur to stay back if he’d had the chance. Dog was no match for the Terror. The thing reached back, dug clawlike fingers into Dog’s pelt, and plucked the big cur off him like a bug. He flung Dog away like a bug, too, sending him crashing into the wall of the cave.

  By this time, Frank’s Colt was in his hand, and as he heard Dog’s pained yelp and saw the way he went rolling limply across the ground, it was all Frank could do not to empty the revolver into the Terror.

  But he had given his word to Nancy Chamberlain, for one thing, and for another, he wasn’t sure bullets would stop the Terror, or even slow it down. Instead, he shouted as loudly as he could, “Ben! Ben Chamberlain!”

  The Terror was in the middle of taking a shuffling step toward him when Frank called out. For some reason, the creature wasn’t moving with the blinding speed that he had demonstrated earlier. He stopped short, let out an incoherent roar of rage. Massive arms like the trunks of small trees lifted and shook.

  But the Terror had reacted to Ben Chamberlain’s name. Frank was sure of it. That wasn’t proof that the creature actually was Ben, but it increased the likelihood.

  Frank raised his left hand, extended it toward the Terror. “Listen to me,” he said, keeping his voice as calm and steady as possible. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m a friend. If you really are Ben Chamberlain, your father sent me—”

  Frank realized instantly that he’d made a mistake by mentioning Rutherford Chamberlain. The Terror bellowed again and lurched toward him, swinging those massive arms. Sickened by the smell that washed over him, Frank ducked under the grab and whirled away from the Terror. He lunged toward the cave mouth in an effort to get past the creature.

  But one of the Terror’s hands snagged his shirt and jerked him back. Frank flew across the cave and smashed into the wall. Pain exploded through his body. He bounced off and fell to the hard-packed dirt floor. The Terror loomed over him, blotting out most of the fading light, and swung clubbed fists at Frank’s face. Frank rolled aside just in time.

  The Terror was definitely slower now than it had been earlier. Was the creature tired? Or hurt? Frank didn’t know, and at the moment, he didn’t care. He just wanted to stay out of its reach. He came to a stop against the wall and pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the throbbing ache that filled his body.

  “Ben!” he shouted again. “Ben, I know it’s you! Nancy sent me! Your sister Nancy! Remember her?”

  The Terror hesitated. Frank was getting through to him. He was convinced of it. And now he thought of something else.

  His hand went in his pocket, found the necklace and locket he had carried there since his meeting with Nancy Chamberlain at her father’s bizarre mansion the day before. Was there enough light left in this cave for the Terror to see the locket and recognize it? Frank didn’t know, but he was going to give it a try. That seemed to be the best chance he had.

  He fumbled with the locket, searching for the catch. A second later, his fingers found it, but it didn’t want to open at first. Finally, as the Terror came slowly toward him, its foul breath rasping in its throat, Frank succeeded in opening the locket. He thrust his left hand forward, the necklace and locket dangling from his fingers.

  “Look at it, Ben!” he urged. “It’s Nancy’s! It belongs to your sister! And that’s a picture of you in it, Ben! You!”

  The Terror stopped in its tracks, made a little whimpering sound like a hurt animal. It would have been heartbreaking, if not for the very real danger that still filled the cave.

  “Take it and look at it, Ben,” Frank said. “It won’t hurt you.”

  Slowly, the Terror raised a hand and reached for the necklace. The powerful fingers ended in long, razor-sharp, clawlike nails. Frank suppressed the impulse to jerk his hand away as the Terror’s filthy, hairy hand brushed his. The creature took the necklace from him and brought it close to its face. Frank knew the Terror was studying the tiny photographs inside the locket. On one side was a picture of Nancy; on the other, a pale, intense-looking young man with bushy side whiskers peered out from the sepia-toned photograph.

  “That’s you, Ben,” Frank said softly. “Remember? Remember what you used to look like? Remember Nancy?”

  The sound that came from the Terror’s throat was so rusty and garbled that for a second Frank didn’t recognize it as a word. Then the Terror uttered it again, and Frank knew he was trying to say Nancy.

  The creature closed its huge fist around the locket and held it close against its breast. “Nan…cy,” it rasped again, clearer this time. “Nan…cy…and…Ben.”

  “That’s right,” Frank said. “That’s right.”

  He was having a hard time standing up now. His head spun dizzily, crazily. He still hurt all over, and his pulse pounded in his head like the tremulous beat of distant drums. He shuddered from the chill that had him in its grip, and fought to keep his teeth from chattering together.

  The Terror fell to its knees and said again, “Nan…cy.”

  Then it pitched forward on its face, either dead or out cold, and didn’t move again. For a second, Frank stared at the huge, motionless body on the cave floor, and then he felt his eyes rolling up in their sockets. He had reached the end of his rope. Even though the last thing he wanted to do was to pass out right here beside this huge, shaggy, murderous creature, there was nothing he could do about it.

  He lost consciousness as he was falling, and never felt himself strike the hard-packed dirt.

>   Passing out was one thing; passing out next to a monster was something else entirely. If there was one time in his life when Frank Morgan truly didn’t expect to wake up again, this was it.

  But he had to be alive, Frank thought as he bit back a groan. Not even Hell could smell this bad.

  Funny thing, though…He saw a flickering red glow against his closed eyelids and felt the heat of flames. Maybe he was dead, after all.

  The smell got worse. Something slid under Frank’s head and lifted it. He felt water splash against his parched lips and sucked at it greedily. Gradually, he was able to pry his eyes open.

  He was looking up into the face of the Terror as the creature leaned curiously over him.

  Or rather, it was the face of Ben Chamberlain, because Frank saw something human in the eyes now, some flicker of intelligence that hadn’t been there before. The sight of the locket, with his own picture and that of his sister inside it, must have somehow shocked Ben back to his senses, part of the way at least.

  Ben had made a cup out of some sort of large, fernlike leaf, and it was from this that he dribbled water into Frank’s mouth. Why Ben was trying to help him, instead of tearing him apart like all the other men he’d encountered in the forest recently, Frank didn’t know, but he was grateful anyway. He was in no shape to fight right now. Anyway, he wanted to get through to Ben, not kill him. He had promised Nancy.

  “Thank…you,” Frank croaked. “Thank you…for your help.”

  Ben leaned closer and said, “Nan…cy?”

  “She’s…at home.” Frank was careful not to mention Rutherford Chamberlain or the timber baron’s redwood mansion. Just the word home might be enough to set Ben off again in another rage.

  It didn’t, though. Ben said, “Hoooome.”

  Frank glanced around. He saw that Ben had started a fire somehow, only a small blaze, but it filled the cave with welcome light and heat. He didn’t see Dog, though. The big cur had been lying near the wall, evidently unconscious, the last glimpse Frank had gotten of him. Maybe Dog had woken up while Frank and Ben were both unconscious and had left the cave…

  Ben reached over, out of Frank’s line of sight, and brought back a blood-dripping haunch of raw meat that looked like it had been torn directly off a carcass. “Eeeeeat,” he urged.

  Frank saw the coarse gray hair clinging to the flesh, and his stomach revolted. “Dog!” he yelled as he fought his way into a sitting position. Filled with rage of his own, not caring how Ben reacted, he slapped the giant’s hand aside. “You son of a—”

  A whine from the cave mouth brought him up short. Frank’s head jerked toward the opening. He saw Dog standing there, a quizzical look on his face.

  “Dog,” Frank breathed in relief. He still didn’t want any of the bloody meat Ben had offered him, but at least it hadn’t come from his old friend.

  Dog came tentatively into the cave, all the way to Frank’s side. He started licking Frank’s face. Ben leaned back against the rocky wall and watched the reunion. Frank couldn’t be sure because of the thick beard, but he thought Ben was smiling.

  Frank put his arms around Dog’s neck and hugged the big cur for a long moment. Dog must have been watching from outside, and had seen that Ben wasn’t hurting Frank. He still cast wary looks toward the massive, shaggy man, but he seemed willing to tolerate being around Ben, at least for the moment.

  Frank was still chilled, but the warmth from the fire helped. So did having Dog pressed against him. The trembling inside him eased. As it did, he became aware of how thirsty he still was. He pointed to the leaf in Ben’s hand and said, “Water?”

  Ben seemed to understand. He got to his feet and shuffled to the cave mouth. Stretching out his arm, he held the cupped leaf in the drizzle until it was mostly full of water. Then he carried it back carefully to Frank and offered it to him. Frank took it, being equally careful not to spill the liquid, and drank deeply from it.

  It was hard to believe that Ben Chamberlain, who was being so gentle and considerate in caring for him, was the same wild, frenzied creature that had brutally killed almost two dozen men. Yet Frank had no doubt of it. He had seen the Terror with his own eyes earlier that day, carrying off the man whose corpse Frank had found later in that redwood. He had heard descriptions from other eyewitnesses who had survived encounters with the monster.

  Because that’s what the Terror was, Frank mused…man and monster in one body.

  What would happen if he was able to take Ben Chamberlain back to Eureka? Would he be put on trial for his crimes? Frank believed that justice should be blind and impartial, especially where murder was concerned. A killer was a killer, and ought to be punished accordingly. But he couldn’t see hanging Ben. The spectacle that such an event would become bothered him.

  It would never come to a trial, Frank realized. A mob would take care of matters before things ever went that far. Given the level of fear and hysteria in these parts, as many as several hundred men might descend on any place where Ben was being held, take him out, and rip him apart just as he had ripped apart so many others. In a way, that would be a fitting end for him, Frank supposed, but the idea still sickened him.

  No, the most merciful thing to do, all the way around, might be to wait until Ben went to sleep, put a Colt to his head, and blow his brains out. That would mean breaking Frank’s promise to Nancy, he reminded himself, but he wasn’t sure she had thought out exactly what she was asking him to do. Bringing her brother back to civilization was just going to wind up tormenting him that much more.

  Whatever Frank decided, he told himself, he didn’t have to make up his mind tonight. Soon enough, yes, but not tonight. He would rest instead, and try to get his strength back.

  He had to have something to eat, too. Ben had laid that haunch on the cave floor. Frank didn’t know what sort of animal it was from, and wasn’t about to ask. He picked it up, brushed the dirt off it, and drew his knife. He used the blade to carve off a hunk of meat with no hide attached, then speared it on the knife and leaned forward to hold it over the flames. Ben watched him, apparently fascinated. The smell of roasting meat soon filled the cave.

  When it was cooked enough, Frank took it out of the fire and blew on it, waiting for it to cool. After a few minutes, he tore off a piece and held it out toward Ben. The giant hesitated, then reached out and started to take it. He pulled his fingers back when he felt that the meat was still warm. Clearly, he wasn’t used to that anymore. Frank said, “It’s all right. Go ahead and take it.”

  To demonstrate, he bit a piece off the meat still stuck on the knife and started to chew. It was pretty gamy, but the juices gave him a jolt of strength anyway. He ate the whole piece while Ben worked up the courage to take the morsel Frank was offering him and sample it. When he finally did, though, he seemed to like it.

  Frank roasted more of the meat, which he thought might be wolf. This time, Ben was eager to share. As they were gnawing on the meat, Frank tried something.

  “You remember Jules Verne, Ben?” he asked.

  Ben glanced up. “Juuuules…Verne?” He looked confused—at least Frank thought so, although it was difficult to be sure with all that hair obscuring his face—but after a moment, he said, “Neeeeemo.”

  “That’s right, Captain Nemo from Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. I saw that book. It belonged to you, didn’t it?”

  Ben took a deep breath. “My…boooook.”

  “I like to read, too. I’ve read that one, and Five Weeks in a—”

  Before Frank could finish saying the title of the novel he had found in the primitive cabin, Ben jerked back, cowering against the wall. He put his huge hands over his face and said, “No, no, no, no…”

  “Take it easy, Ben,” Frank said quickly. “We won’t talk about it anymore. Just settle down—”

  Ben didn’t settle down. He lunged to his feet and ran out into the night before Frank could stop him. Frank climbed painfully to his feet, limped over to the cave mouth, and looked out into the
thick, wet darkness. He would never find Ben out there. He’d had the Terror, but now the creature was gone.

  And he’d never really had him at all, Frank reflected. He and Ben had just been in the same place for a short period of time.

  At least now he had food, water, and a fire. All he could do was rest and wait for morning. Then maybe Dog could track Ben again.

  And he was certain now that the Terror was really Ben Chamberlain, he reminded himself. That was more than he had known earlier. It didn’t make his chore any easier, but it cleared up a mystery.

  There were still mysteries to be solved, though, such as what had happened to make Ben like he was now. Sure, according to Nancy he had always been a little eccentric, preferring to live in a world of his own rather than take part in what was actually going on around him. He had gone off to live by himself in the woods, too, and that sort of isolation sometimes wasn’t good for a man. It did things to his mind after a while.

  But Ben had had his books, and he had visited with Nancy from time to time. He shouldn’t have gone mad. Something had happened. Something had driven him over the edge of sanity into madness.

  Or somebody had driven him over deliberately. That thought made Frank frown. If that turned out to be the case, then whoever was responsible for turning Ben into a rampaging killer was also to blame for those murders.

  Yes, there was still plenty of truth to uncover, and Frank was bound and determined to uncover it. For now, though, he sat down and leaned back against the wall with Dog close beside him to wait for morning. After a while, his eyes closed and he slept.

  Chapter 23

  The drizzle had become an actual rain by the time Jack Grimshaw and his companions rode back into Eureka that evening. They had spent hours looking for Frank Morgan with no success. They were wet and cold and miserable, and about the only thing they had to be thankful for, Grimshaw reflected, was that they hadn’t run into that damned Terror again and gotten any more men killed.