Silver & Bone (American Alchemy - Wild West Book 1)

by Oliver Altair

  The mountains yawned. The echo brought a strange, hollow clank. The wailing wind waltzed through the rocky wasteland.

  Tiberius walked back to town in thoughtful solitude.

  VII

  Mrs. Hickok pointed to the edge of the forest, downhill from where her log cabin and small barn stood. “I saw a man around there first. Then outside that window.”

  Little Thomas looked at them behind the glass. Tiberius waved at the child. Thomas waved back and disappeared inside the house.

  Mrs. Whitlock snuggled under her shawl. “Thomas’s been so reserved lately. I guess he hasn’t made his peace with his father’s passing yet. Neither have I, to be honest.”

  “Did the stranger try to get in?” Tiberius asked.

  “No. He just stood there. His eyes… I was so scared.”

  Tiberius lit his tin lantern. “I’ll keep an eye around the farm tonight. Get some rest.”

  In all his years as sheriff, Tiberius had seen people channeling their pain into terrorizing nightmares more than once, but Mrs. Hickok’s shimmering eyes showed true distress. She glanced left and right constantly, like a deer being hunted.

  Mrs. Hickok stared at the dark tree line against the night sky. “Sheriff Tibbetts… About what happened at the vigil. People are just—”

  “Let’s forget all about it.”

  “Yes. Good night, Sheriff.”

  Mrs. Hickok joined her son inside the cabin as Tiberius walked downhill, guiding his steps with the light of the small lantern. The fresh scent of the pines filled his nostrils as soon as he got closer to the woods. He patrolled the edge of the forest, circled the hill, then went back up to check the surroundings of the house. He listened to the howling wind through the trees and to the ring of Lottie’s bell as she paced inside the barn. Tiberius entered the barn and the old cow mooed, but Lottie’s fear turned into total bovine disinterest while Tiberius checked the empty corners of the dark barn.

  When Tiberius came back out, the bright beams of the crescent moon sneaked between a sea of running clouds. The scenery pulsed, light and shadow, light and shadow. The brisk night breeze kept Tiberius alert and awake.

  Hours passed. Not a single soul had approached the small farm. The wind blew stronger and whistled louder. Tiberius watched the wild dance of the tree tops, their shadows twirling and intertwining. Tiberius decided to make one last round and then call it a night. But when he walked by the tree line, a sudden uneasiness tensed every muscle in his body: he was being watched.

  Tiberius ventured inside the forest. Had someone been hiding in the shadows of the pines all along, waiting for his patrol to end? Dead leaves crackled behind him. Tiberius jolted around, lifted his lantern, and drew his gun.

  “Whoever you are, you better show yourself!” Tiberius yelled to the blackness. “It’s not a crime to walk the woods at night, but you’re terrorizing a lonely widow.”

  Tiberius heard a rough, sickly breath.

  “Don’t make this hard on yourself. Come here and we can talk.”

  Silence. Layers of mist spread over the damp soil. Moonlight meandered through the treetops above, creating a silver maze of trees. Tiberius knew that part of the woods fairly well, but not well enough the venture any farther without a clear sense of direction. He rested his tired back on a tree. Its bark smelled of fresh resin. Tiberius looked up, through the branches until he found the familiar gleam of Polaris.

  That sickly breath again, clearer and closer this time. Not a coyote, nor any other creature of the forest. A man.

  Tiberius cocked his gun. “I had a long day. You’re running out of choices and I’m running out of patience.”

  The sound of twigs breaking. Tiberius turned and fired.

  A muffled hiss. Hurried, erratic steps circling the tree where Tiberius stood.

  Tiberius squinted. “Who’s there, goddamnit?”

  A shadow ran past Tiberius, almost knocking him to the ground. His lantern swayed violently, and its flame went off. He didn’t pause to light it again and pursued the shadow deeper into the dark forest. Whoever that man was, he darted between the trees with astonishing speed. His blurred silhouette came in and out the pines’ shadows like a mirage.

  Tiberius kept pace, but soon the crisp night air burned inside his lungs. He paused to catch his breath and found himself in a small clearing. The clouds moved away, and the moon shone brighter. The edges of the trees became clearer, their shadows gentler. And the night turned suddenly quieter. No sound of running steps, of crackling leaves under heavy boots. Tiberius glanced around, his gun still tight in his fist. He was alone.

  Tiberius spat, muttered a curse, then opened his ears to the bellowing breath of the running man. He only heard the sharp chorus of the crickets. Tiberius found his last match deep inside the left pocket of his duster. It was damp, and it took him a few tries before the flame caught and he could light the lantern once again. The warm, orange glow spread around Tiberius as he circled the clearing and crouched to scout the leafy ground.

  He discovered no precise footprints, but a repeating track: two shallow holes, then a long line. He had seen those marks before. He’d left them on the bloody mud once, when he dragged his injured body away from The Tanager’s deadly knife, grinding his elbows on the soil to pull the rest of his body behind.

  Tiberius followed the track to a wall of overgrown, thorny bushes. Shining drops fell from the thick thorns. Tiberius placed the lantern on the ground. He caught a drop with the tip of his finger, then brought the finger to his face. What he expected to see was blood. What he found instead was a gray, sparkling liquid.

  Tiberius wiped his finger on the front flap of his duster then moved the first layer of branches away with his gun. He pushed through the bushes, but they grew too close together to even guess what waited on the other side. Tiberius pulled his bandana off his neck and wrapped it around his left fist. He grabbed his lantern and gently pushed the thorny branches out of his way.

  Tiberius crouched and moved slowly, the thorns clawing to his sleeves and the back flaps of his duster. He did best to keep his gun in front of him, but the branches tangled around his wrist, as if the bushes themselves wanted to steal his weapon from him. The bushes danced and crackled as Tiberius advanced, like a floating pit of snakes. Tiberius moved faster, suddenly overpowered by a shuddering feeling of entrapment. A stray branch slapped his face. Tiberius wiped the blood running down his cheek with the back of his hand. The thorns shredded his coat, tore his shirt and pricked his chest, but he kept going until he reached the other side of the brambles.

  Tiberius disentangled himself from the last branches wrapped around his ankles and shook the thorns off his duster. The clouds covered the moon once again. He waited for a sign of the running man, but there was none. The tight knot in his gut remained.

  He cocked his gun. He took a step forward. Then a second. With his third, he tripped and fell, hitting the ground with a graceless spin. His hat and gun fell on the damp ground, and his lantern landed on a rock with a loud clank.

  Tiberius frantically palmed the mud, until he felt the barrel of his Smith & Wesson, then jumped to his feet and spun on his heels, ready for the stranger to make his move. There was no one there.

  Tiberius dried his palms on the legs of his pants and cursed. He found his hat in the middle of an icy puddle. He cursed again.

  What the hell was in the way? A tree stump? A rock? Tiberius squinted and realized he’d tripped over a pair of legs. A man lay on the ground, his back against a tall pine.

  Tiberius walked to him gun in hand. “Alright, enough of this.”

  The man didn’t move.

  Tiberius pointed his gun straight at the man’s heart and kicked his ankle. “Hello?”

  No answer.

  The wind cleared the night sky. The moon revealed the man’s pale features, and its light bounced off his sunken eyes. Tiberius not only recognized him, he’d been in the room when that man died. His corpse didn’t belong in the open air,
but six feet under.

  Tiberius watched the changing moonlight as the clouds covered the moon once again, and threw the lifeless face of John Hickok into shadow.

  VIII

  The windows of the Silver Moon shone bright all night long. Tiberius crossed the double doors of the saloon and walked straight to the bar. He sat on a stool and tapped his hat to the drinking men. He got a couple of awkward looks in return.

  Jesse Valentine poured Tiberius a shot of whiskey.

  “Thanks.” Tiberius emptied the glass in one gulp.

  “You’re as pale as a white horse’s ass, Sheriff.”

  “Spent too much time out in the cold.” Tiberius passed the glass and Jesse poured him another. “Busy night?”

  Jesse shrugged. “Men need a break after the miner’s vigil and all. As my mama says, you can always find peace at the Silver Moon.”

  Tiberius sipped his whiskey. Its warmth soothed his hands and his icy toes. He spun on his stool and leaned on the counter. He recognized most of the faces at the bar but one or two. The drinkers kept their eyes on their glasses, and hardly spoke.

  Madame Valentine sat at the far end of the counter. She scribbled in a small leather notebook every time one of the girls guided a man up the stairs. Tiberius raised his glass to her and she answered with a polite nod.

  Tiberius scouted the tables. Most of them were occupied. The larger group sat around Maxwell Donahue. Maxwell whispered something, and the men toasted and laughed boisterously.

  Maxwell stared at Tiberius and grinned. “Mister Valentine, one more round for my friends!”

  Tiberius grunted. He gave his back to Maxwell and placed his glass on the counter with a loud thud.

  “If you break it, you’ll have to pay for it, Sheriff.”

  “Is the Doc here, Jesse?”

  “What do you think?”

  “How bad? From one to ten.”

  “Six? Seven? Not too roostered. For the Doc’s average, that is.”

  “Give me a glass of water, would you?”

  Tiberius made his way to the back of the saloon. The old pianola in the corner clanked a cheerful, out-of-tune melody. Up on the stage, a small crowd clapped and danced in a wide circle. The Chief observed the tipsy crowd from below.

  “What’s the fandango about?” Tiberius asked the silent native.

  The Chief said nothing. He stared at the dancers as if they were a bunch of fools. Tiberius followed his gaze and saw young Clinton Eadds in the middle of the ring. Clinton laughed as he swayed from girl to girl and spun them around. He danced so lightly on his feet that no one would’ve guessed he could barely stand just hours ago. The scene was a bizarre mirror of the past, from before the avalanche had robbed Clinton of his legs and his youthful cheer.

  “No good,” the Chief murmured. Tiberius was surprised to hear his husky voice. The Chief hardly ever said anything at all.

  Tiberius shared the Chief’s somberness. But his deep concerns about Clinton’s miraculous recovery would have to wait.

  Tiberius spotted Doc Tucker. He was half asleep on a table in the far back, oblivious to the surrounding noise. Tiberius came closer and threw his glass of water straight into the doctor’s face. Doc Tucker woke with a gasp.

  “What the… Tiberius!”

  “Let’s go.”

  Tiberius helped Doc Tucker to his feet while the doctor dried his face with his crumpled polka dot handkerchief.

  “Was that necessary? I’m not even that drunk.”

  “I need you sharp.”

  They walked together towards the exit, but Doc Tucker turned his head so fast his neck cracked when they passed by the lively stage.

  “Is that Clinton Eadds? How—?”

  “Later. Right now, there’s someone you need to see.”

  Tiberius pushed the double doors and let Doc Tucker through.

  “Jesse!” he yelled to the bartender. “Tell Lucy I’m sorry I missed her song!”

  “I will if she ever shows up, Sheriff!” Jesse’s reply faded within the clunky notes of the pianola.

  Tiberius held his lantern above John Hickok, illuminating the corpse as Doc Tucker examined it. Doc Tucker took his spectacles off, breathed on the glass, and brushed them against his lapel. He put them back on and frowned. The doctor circled the tree where the body rested. Then stopped to clean his spectacles again.

  “Just considering the purple and blackened skin, I’d say this man has been dead for months.” Doc Tucker’s tone was professorial, but he stammered.

  “Go on.”

  “It seems his skull was fractured and some of his bones are poking through the skin. Broken, most likely.”

  Silence. Neither man wanted to speak next.

  Doc Tucker gulped. “I mean, the body’s already started to rot but—”

  Another awkward pause.

  “Tiberius, this man’s John Hickok, the miner.”

  “I believe he is, yes.”

  “We rescued John Hickok from under the snow.”

  Tiberius nodded.

  Doc Tucker paced nervously. “He died that same night on my examining table.”

  “I know. I was there.”

  “We put John Hickok in a casket and buried him under the cemetery’s hill with the other miners. With… my son.”

  “We did.”

  Doc Tucker’s forehead was covered in sweat, even if the night air was dry and cold. Tiberius moved his lantern closer to the corpse’s face.

  “Take a look at this.”

  John Hickok’s lips were tightly shut and covered in a thin layer of gray metal.

  Doc Tucker shuddered. “What the heck is that?”

  “Seems someone welded his mouth shut.”

  “Why would anyone in their right mind do such a thing?”

  Tiberius shrugged. He handed the lantern to Doc Tucker and crouched besides the corpse, then examined John’s gray linen shirt and brown corduroy pants.

  “His clothes are dirty, but they look brand new.”

  Doc Tucker’s knees trembled. He pulled a flask from the inside pocket of his heavy, woolen coat, then took a big gulp. Tiberius took the flask from him.

  “One for courage, that’s all you get, Doc.”

  Doc Tucker took another long look at the body.

  “You’re telling me someone exhumed poor John Hickok, dressed him up, welded his mouth shut, and left him here?”

  Doc Tucker stared at his flask with pleading eyes, but Tiberius didn’t give it back.

  “But why, Tiberius? And who? Grave robbers?”

  “Maybe, but I don’t think so.”

  Doc Tucker shivered and the light of the lantern flickered. Tiberius glimpsed a sparkle coming from Hickok’s muddy pants.

  “Hand me the lantern, would you Doc?”

  Tiberius held the lantern above the corpse and his clothes twinkled. “This looks like silver dust.”

  “So? He was a miner.”

  “The families cleaned and groomed all the corpses before the burial.”

  Tiberius left the lantern by the corpse’s feet and stood back up. He stretched and looked at the starry sky. The clouds had passed and the moon shone bright.

  “Someone’s been spooking the widow. I was patrolling around her house tonight when I saw someone around the edge of the woods. I followed him and ended up here. Almost broke my leg when I tripped over Hickok’s body.”

  “You mean whoever it was led you to John?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Tiberius stared at John Hickok. If he ignored the man’s wounds, his cracked skin, and the horrifying silver metal deforming his lips, John looked almost at peace, like a man who had decided to take a nap under a pine tree.

  “What are we going to do?” Doc Tucker asked.

  “No one should find out. I don’t want the whole town panicking. There was enough of that when Drake was rampaging around.”

  “I have to agree. But we can’t simply leave the body here.”

  “Of course not.
”

  “Of course not,” Doc Tucker echoed.

  Tiberius returned the doctor’s flask.

  “Doc… do you have a shovel?”

  IX

  Midnight found Tiberius waiting in the darkness, guarding the mound of leaves and branches that covered John’s corpse. He’d hoped for the clouds to come back, but the moon shone bright in the clear, dark blue sky. He’d hoped for the shadows, like a nocturnal animal, so he could return the miner to his grave before anyone found out about the ghastly desecration.

  Tiberius clenched his muscles when he heard short steps crackling on the dead leaves, and he didn’t relax until he saw the red face of Doc Tucker under his thick, woolen scarf. A leather strap crossed the doctor’s chest and the tips of a pair of shovels poked over his head. He dragged a stretcher behind him, leaving a trace on the muddy ground, and held a rusty oil lamp in his right hand.

  Tiberius helped him place the stretcher close to the hidden corpse, then grabbed his lamp and blew out the flame. “Did you want to wake the whole town up or what?”

  Doc Tucker wiped the sweat off his forehead. “You’re welcome, by the way. How were you thinking of carrying him otherwise, huh? It was you who insisted in not bringing the damned horses.”

  “We need to be quiet.”

  “That horse bit you when you were ten, Tiberius. It’s about time you overcame that irrational fear of yours.”

  Tiberius grunted. “I don’t fear horses. I just… I don’t trust them.” Tiberius removed the branches on top of the dead body. “Here, help me move… Doc?“

  Doc Tucker stared at the starry sky. “I can’t believe you dragged me into this mess, Tiberius,” he said without turning his face. “You, more than anyone, should know I hate going to that damned hill.”

  “I owe you one.”

  Doc Tucker sighed. He helped Tiberius place the corpse on top of the stretcher. The body smelled of earth and rot and left a gray puddle under the pine.