And with that, the trio headed out to see Ewan’s goods.
With all the players safely in place, it’s safe to reveal that the boiling weather wasn’t no natural occurrence. Quite the opposite. Dark forces were at work, which is somewhat to be expected around Drowned Horse. If that’s not clear by now, let’s step back a moment to an event several months ago.
So there’s this prospector, you see, and he’s so desperate to find a mother-lode, he digs where others have long given up. For story purposes, we’ll call him Hank.
Well, good ol’ Hank follows his gut and finds himself down at the bottom of a mine shaft, one long abandoned by a mining company. He thinks to himself that the company quit too soon and believes if they’d just dug a bit further, they would’ve struck silver, maybe gold.
Hank spent a year surveying a specific mine, walking its empty tunnels, smelling the stale air, hoping to catch a whiff of fortune. Finally, he finds a cavern that doesn’t appear to be overly tested. He decides that tunnel is where he’ll lay his stake and does, in fact, find a small vein of silver. Not enough to be rich, but enough for a good dinner and bed. He keeps digging and discovers that the rock he’s sunk his pick into is warm to the touch.
The prospector ain’t the God-fearing sort, so thoughts of hell and demons are far from his mind. He, instead, thinks that there might be molten gold just waiting to be exposed. You might have guessed by now, but Hank spent way too much time underground without good air.
Again, he sinks his tool into the rock, ready to recoil if the gold sprays out at him. When the rock sloughs away, there is a pocket of liquid rock, maybe, a spittoon full.
The true curiosity came in the form of a stone ’bout the size of a grapefruit floating in the middle of the molten cradle. Embedded in the rock were glowing jewels the color of fire rubies. Hank things he’d struck it rich.
Using tongs from his pack, he pulled the egg-shaped object free of the rapidly cooling magma and set it off to the side until it’s safe to touch. Hank might be a lucky prospector, but he certainly didn’t know a thing about that item. To anyone else, the glowing fire rubies and the egg-shaped rock would’ve been a tell. Most people with a lick of horse sense would’ve left the obviously magical item where it was found, collapsed the cave and dynamited the whole shaft before breakfast.
But not ol’ Hank. Man had to be dumber than the rock he carried up to the surface world with him that day. Dreams of avarice drove him to take it to Prescott assayer for sale.
And that is where it sat until Ewan the Peddler traded for it.
Back in Drowned Horse, Ewan opened the side of his cart to display his wares, the stone glimmered in the mid-morning sun. The jewels within it glowed brighter than usual and, unbeknownst to Hank, a small crack had developed in the back of the rock. As he sold items to a few people, the crack grew, the temperature being right perfect for incubation.
“That is a surprisingly lovely dress to find all the way out here, Mr. Ewan,” Hildee said. “I haven’t seen its like outside of Paris.”
“Only the best from Ewan the Peddler,” Ewan the Peddler beamed. “I have many fine garments, though the blue dress is already sold.”
“That’s okay,” she said, “I prefer red.”
Jerry caught the joke and held his fingers to his mouth in mock outrage.
Long Arrow didn’t react, though. He stared at a glowing rock that sat among a shelf of other geological oddities. He tilted his head, puzzled why it pulled to him. He’d seen many beautiful gemstones before, but this one spoke to his warrior spirit. Not in a friendly way, but as a dire warning.
Long Arrow stepped back suddenly, grabbing the arms of both his wife and brother-in-law and dragged them away from the merchant’s cart. He silenced their protests with a glare.
“Bird! Come to me!”
The eagle shot out the window of their bedroom where it rested, circled once and dove toward the trio. Long Arrow ran back to cart and swept up the ardent stone. He tossed it high in the air where the eagle caught it in its talons.
“Outside town. Now!”
“Hey!” Ewan protested. “That there is my prize …”
But his words died in his throat as beams of light started shooting out from multiple cracks in the rock. Becoming too hot to carry, the eagle dropped the stone sooner than Long Arrow hoped. The piece landed in the middle of town and exploded like dynamite. People held their ears from the sound of the blast. Many ran for shelter from the bits of pumice that shot like bullets from the center of the impact crater. Smoke rolled out from the blast sight, obscuring vision of what lay in the middle of it.
And through the event, Theodore Patrick didn’t stir.
What finally woke him were the screams.
“Huh? What?” Patrick said, his speech still slurred from sleep. “What’s going on?”
Owner kept wiping the glass he’d taken from the wash sink. “Don’t know. It’s probably just Wednesday. I’d say bad stuff happens in the middle of the week more than any other time.”
More cries of alarm and Patrick got to his feet. His hand immediately went to his belt, looking for a holster, but remembered he was no longer heeled.
“Of course,” Owner continued, “It could be that the town’s been without a sheriff for years. Last one killed half the town, but then, well, that’s a story for another time.”
Looking out the window, Patrick stared slack-jawed as people ran from something that was just out of sight. “The last sheriff did what?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Never mind.” Owner waved the original comment away. “The point is, town hasn’t had law in some time. Someone needs to stand between the dark and the light. For as long as he lives, that is.”
Clint Butcher, the town’s butcher, ran into the saloon. “Owner,” he shouted, “it’s a fire demon of some sort. Came from something in Ewan’s wagon.”
“Dammit! I told him once if I told him a thousand times, ‘Stop trading for magic items. Sooner or later, one of them is going to be real.’ And here I’d ordered my wife’s present from him. Should’ve known better than to have paid in advance.”
Patrick pulled on Butcher’s sleeve. “I’m sorry, but did you say fire demon?”
Clint shrugged. “Well, magma demon. Lava monster. Take your pick. Nobody’s put a name to it.” He turned to back to Owner, “Who was the smart one, used to tell us the names of everything?”
“Levi Forrest.” To Patrick, he added, “First sheriff of Drowned Horse. Good man. Hell of a rider.”
Butcher placed his butcher hat over his heart. Owner did likewise with his dish towel. Patrick, seeing that they were giving a moment of silence, looked back to the street, questioning the timing, then figured, “What the hell?” and took off his hat. When he straightened up, Owner’s bald head appeared right in front of him, along with the rest of his body, of course.
“Geezus! Don’t sneak up on someone like that,” Patrick begged.
Owner extended both his hands. Draped around his right hand was a gun holster with a well-looked after Colt revolver. In the palm of his left was a badge. “You used to do this sort of stuff, right?”
“Not fire demons. Outlaws. Bandits. Who do you think I am?”
Owner smiled in a way that reminded Patrick of the way his father smiled at him when he baited his first hook. “Oh, it’s really not that much different. You’ll get the hang of it, or not. If you beat this thing, in Levi’s office, you’ll find his notes. They’ll give you an idea of what type of creatures we’ve dealt with in the past, maybe even some things to look out for in the future.”
Patrick took a step back, fear evident in his eyes. “I came here to get away from protecting people. I’m done with the lawman job. I can’t handle the responsibility.”
Butcher pleaded, “But fella, it’s nearly Christmas and that thing could burn down the whole town. At least help people get away.”
Owner motioned at the items in his hands once more. “You didn’t come here
to escape. You came here to die, correct?” There was no denial from Patrick. “This way, you get to go out in a blaze of glory.”
Butcher added, “Literally.”
Both men looked at him. “What?”
Owner said, “That was the implied joke, Clint. Now you done made it obvious. Geez. Some people just don’t understand irony, do they, Sheriff?”
Patrick finished strapping on the gun belt. “Nope, but someone above sure does.”
He picked up the badge and placed it on his shirt before heading out the door.
The new sheriff’s first glimpse of the creature made him reconsider the job he’d signed up for. Sure, the plan was for his to be a quick death, hopefully none too painful.
That thing, though, had painful written all over it in spades. Just over twice the size of a man, its skin peeled from its body like it was eternally burning. Underneath the flaking char, new flesh regrew and burnt away like throwing new wood on a campfire. Exposed veins and arteries glowed as if a liquid inferno poured through its body. The face was man-like, but flat and hard as if carved from stone. The eyes were the worst; fire rubies, bright orange and evil in their ember glow.
If Patrick had to guess the monster’s weak spot, it had to be somewhere other than on its body.
Praying the gun came loaded with magic bullets or something, he drew and fired off a shot. His aim was true, but the bullet merely melted on the creature’s cinder skin. He got its attention, though. It turned, sensing some sort of danger and bounded up the street toward the sheriff.
Deciding he’d do the town more a service if he got the demon away from it, Patrick ran the opposite direction. He’d stop occasionally, plunk another round in its hide. Quickly, it gained ground and Patrick wasn’t too sure he’d make it out of town before he met his maker.
At some juncture in preparing his last words, Patrick noticed he no longer ran alone. To his left, a big Indian ran beside him. The red was peculiar for a couple of reasons, least of all the tie that flapped over the large man’s shoulder.
Between breaths, the newcomer asked, “Are you … the town’s … constable?”
“I seem to … be now.”
“I have … a plan. Sorry … I have not run … like this … in some time.”
“You’re … forgiven.”
Both men chuckled between intakes of breath.
“So, what’s your … plan?”
“We need … water.”
Patrick slid to a stop. “In case you haven’t heard … we’re going through a drought. All the river beds … are dried up. Where did you think you were going to find … water?”
Long Arrow slowed down, holding his side. “And to think my people used to do this … all the time.” He pointed back the way they’d come. “There is a water tank on the other side of town.”
“You mean … we gotta …”
The Indian nodded rapidly.
“Dammit!”
The monster reached out to grab the two aggravators, but at the last second, they split apart, circling behind the blazing beast.
“This way, dummy!” Patrick called to it, placing a couple bullets in its behind.
“I have smoked peyote hotter than you,” Long Arrow taunted.
“You have?”
The Indian shook his head. “Never touch the stuff. I stole that line from a dime novel.”
Whether the demon understood their words or not, it chased after them once again. They ran to beat the Dutch.
“Theodore Patrick,” the sheriff offered.
“John Abernathy, but my brother-in-law prefers to call me Long Arrow.”
“And you let him live?”
“My wife prefers him that way.”
Both runners were struggling for air by the time they hoofed it back down Main Street. Town folk cheered from doorways and windows as they passed, but ducked back in before the monster caught sight of them. The creature itself looked winded as they all approached the water tower.
“Here is the hard part,” Long Arrow said. “You to climb up and open the valve.”
“Me?”
“I will keep it distracted. Your town. You get the honor of saving it.”
“It wasn’t my town yesterday.”
Long Arrow smiled. “It is now.”
Patrick said a few words that aren’t fit for a Christmas tale, so they’ve been omitted. He stomped over to the ladder while Long Arrow waved his arms like a madman.
“Hey, you! I have seen better fires in a cast-iron stove!”
Patrick called down, “You’re not real good at this name calling thing.”
“He is chasing me, is he not?”
The creature did lunge after Long Arrow, but barely missed each time. Eventually, the warrior didn’t dodge quickly enough and flew across the road when the monster backhanded him. He went through the plate glass window of an empty livery store and disappeared out of sight. With one nuisance gone, the demon scanned the area for the other, finding Patrick as he scaled the side of the water tank.
“Oh, shit.”
He climbed faster, not knowing what to do when he reached the top. Long Arrow might be a pile of ash for all he knew.
“Eat lead, you Martian bastard!”
Hildegard stepped out from the Sagebrush, armed with a rifle. She fired and cranked the lever to load another round. She moved into the street, stepping, firing and reloading as she went. Jerry came up beside her, double barrel shotgun aimed to kill.
“Yes, die foul beast!” he yelled, but the act of letting loose with both barrels drove him flat onto his ass, the shot way off target.
An enraged Hildee paid no attention to her brother’s plight, choosing instead to do all she could to buy Sheriff Patrick some time. If the plan was good enough for her husband, it was good enough for her.
Others came out from hiding and opened up on the creature, confusing it, making it hard for it to decide who to attack first. As it moved one way, people from the opposite side would fire, and so forth. The monster roared in frustration, swinging its arms first one way, then another. It forgot all about Sheriff Patrick, who had made it to the top of the tower.
“Now what?”
“Open it.” Long Arrow waved from the rooftop of the building he’d been flung into. On his arm sat an eagle and that no longer surprised Patrick at all. He kicked open the spout and the last of Drowned Horse’s water supply poured onto the dusty street below.
Long Arrow spoke to his bird. “I know what this will cost you. If we do not meet again on this side, I will look for you on the other.” The bird nodded its head once and launched from its perch.
It swooped down toward the pooling water and dipped one wing in as it passed. The water followed the bird up as it ascended, outlining it and becoming larger wings. The eagle itself grew in size until it equaled the fire demon. Brown feathers turned white and it hovered over the end of town, flapping its mighty wings.
Cold air flowed from each motion and, with the gusts, came snow.
The lava monster howled, the wind like daggers against its burning flesh. It tried to reach for the eagle, but the spirit animal was too high. The demon slowed as ice formed at its finger tips, the glowing ember eyes dimming. Shortly, the creature hunched over and tried to crawl away from the source of agony, like a wounded animal. It only made it to the center of town before it lay down and died.
The citizens of Drowned Horse wasted no time in dismantling the body. They pulled the fire rubies free of the rapidly cooling innards. The jewels separated from the monster were harmless and would allow everyone to last financially until the drought was over.
By the time the eagle spirit finished flapping its wings, six inches of the finest snow ever seen covered the whole town. Kids played in it, throwing snowballs and building snowmen. The spirit made one more pass over the water tower and Patrick heard water rush back into the tank. Much more than was there originally.
And then the bird flew away. It was a dot in the distant sky
by the time he joined Long Arrow on the ground. The Indian answered the question the sheriff didn’t ask.
“P-son-en. Snow spirit. I’ve had him since I was a boy when I got lost on a mountain. She was a good companion, but friendship is like that. People who travel together for awhile, part ways, only to walk together again in the great sky one day.”
“Nice. And the fire demon? That thing waiting for those that don’t make the great sky?”
Long arrow, smirked. “Cherufe. Normally, they’re volcano creatures. No idea how that behemoth ended up here.”
“Comes with the territory, I hear.”
Hildee ran to her husband and jumped into his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him full on the lips. When she finally broke away, she said, “No more hero stuff. I’m too young to be a widow.” Jerry, who’d come up next to them opened his mouth to say something, but she was quicker on the draw. “Not a word, Jeremiah. I’m still younger than you.”
When the four entered the Sagebrush, Owner had drinks lined up on the counter. “Compliments of the townsfolk.”
Sheriff Patrick pushed his back toward Owner. “I’ve had plenty for one holiday.”
“That’s right,” said Jerry. “It’s nearly Christmas, isn’t it? Feliz Navidad!”
Ewan the peddler poked his head out from where he hid behind an upturned table. “Yes, and well, as it appears that I might be at fault for today’s mishap, please, allow me to offer my goods at a greatly reduced price.”
The newly christened lawman walked over and pulled Ewan up by his collar. “I think we’re talking a little more than a discount, if you want to keep selling in my town.”
The peddler hung his head in shame. “Pick what you want from the cart.” But then quickly added, “No refunds!”
Jerry ran out the door quick as a jackrabbit and returned with the red dress his sister wanted and something for Long Arrows; a genuine peace pipe. He grinned. “Didn’t you say you always wanted to smoke one?”
Long Arrow laughed a mighty laugh and they began several days of hog-killin’ good times, the spa in Phoenix long forgotten.
A Fantastic Holiday Season Page 25