“Mr. Smith, I ask that you give me your advice.”
Elijah leaned back in his chair. That was the sort of thing he liked to hear. He could tell his fellow churchgoers how his employees came to him for aid, even the least of them. He knew what the problem was. John Garton had an eye for a pretty girl and wanted to marry this one. No doubt, she was humble at her good fortune and wished to be sure that her employer agreed. Garton had hinted that he'd had his way with her, and that Elijah Smith most strongly disapproved. But so long as he married the girl there was no harm done.
He listened to Ines' faltering words and was stunned into silence. Far from wishing to marry the man who had most likely already dishonored her, she wanted her employer to send him away. Or, at the least, it seemed, to order John Garton to leave her be.
“He raped you?” That was the only thing he could think of.
Ines was stunned in turn before understanding came to her. Her head lifted proudly. “No, sir. He has laid no hand on me, ever. But he wishes to marry me, by force he has said if I come not willing. I want none of him. I would not wed John Garton, even if he had raped me.”
Elijah Smith looked at her and was angered by this folly. John Garton was a good foreman, if he had his mind set on the girl why should he not wed her? And if she would not, then he'd have a foreman who did not have his mind on his work while the girl was nearby. Worse still, if Garton did as the girl claimed he'd threatened then it would be a scandal - and Elijah Smith went to church each Sunday. There they would ask perhaps, why he had not prevented it. He made up his mind.
“I will give you the advice you asked for, Ines. Marry John and be a good wife to him. Or if you are so set against that, take this,” he dug into his pocket and spilled three gold eagles into her hand. “Here, a month’s wages for a cowhand. You and your mother catch the stage for another place, because you no longer have a job here unless you are marrying John. Marry him and the money is yours anyway.”
It was worth it to him to have her gone-or wed-and his good foreman with his mind back on the ranch's prosperity again. Or at the least, the girl would be gone without a scandal that would tarnish Elijah's reputation.
Ines stood staring, her fingers clasped around the coins. She saw from Elijah's face that there was no appeal. Very well then, it must be Texas. She had little here, she could pack it all into a sack and be gone in an hour and walking into her mother's room in town in two more. It would be dark when she arrived and dusk for the last part of the journey but she was not afraid, she'd walked the road to Bodie often enough to know every foot of it.
She had packed her meager belongings and was halfway home when John Garton rode back from where he and his men had been gathering the cattle. He went quietly to her room-to find the girl and all that she owned were gone. He went to Elijah and heard with increasing rage of the talk his boss had had with the girl.
So, she would not wed him of her free will. Well, then, she would wed him anyhow and once she was in his hands he would know how to tame her. He took his best mount, a dun that liked to run, and followed the road at a speed that would bring him up with her long before she reached town - even if she did not stop on the way to rest a while.
Ines had stopped. It was a warm night, little though her belongings weighed they seemed heavy after she had walked past halfway, and there was a convenient boulder when she could sit a while. But as she approached she could see a man already sat there, nearby a roan grazed. A fine beast, wearing a very old-fashioned saddle. The man was of middle-age and medium size, a Mexican lithe as a cat with an old cap and ball gun on one hip and a sheathed knife at the other.
Ines slowed and he smiled at her. “Ay, chiquita, come and sit and do not be afraid. I had a wife and a daughter once and in their name and for the love I had for them no harm shall come to you. Tell me, your face seems known to me. Where do you go so late and who are your kin?”
“I am Ines McGovern, my mother is Maria McGovern who was Ines Mendoza.”
He nodded. “Ines Mendoza of the land that borders the river, and of the family of Juan Cuchillo?”
“Yes, you knew her?”
“Not her, but her mother and her father before her.” He moved abruptly, his hand going into his shirt. “I came on a long road to bring her something.”
Ines would have feared him, but for the kindness she saw in his eyes. She waited, watching him as he removed a small roll of white buckskin tied close, from inside his shirt. She noticed a small scar that wandered down his left cheek, a thin white wandering line. At his throat was an Indian medallion made of beads, a circle of white with a black center. He saw her looking at it.
“A gift from a friend,” his voice was quiet. “From one who was a ga'an dancer in his time, given me to bring a blessing, a warding off of evil.” He smiled at her. “My heart tells me that evil follows you and that a blessing and a ward would aid you this night.” He lifted the medallion from about his neck and beckoned her close. “Take it!” the words were gentle but an order and without thinking she obeyed, dropping it on the thong over her head so that it nestled below her throat.
“That is well.” He handed her the buckskin roll and pointed to the road.” Now, child, take this to your mother, and walk quickly.”
Ines took the roll in her hand and thrust it into her pack. She had guessed who the man might be, she thought. He had to be one of her father's kin, sent to bring an offer of refuge to Ines and her mother.
She smiled up at him, deep gratitude in her eyes. “I thank you for your gifts, senor.”
“Vaya con dios, Ines McGovern.”
“And you, senor. May I know your name before we part?”
“Juan. Go now and do not pause until you are safe.”
“Gracias, Juan, I will do as you bid me.”
She started walking and when she looked back some ten minutes later there was no sign of Juan or his mount. Ines walked on, ahead she could see the outskirts of Bodie in the distance, it was almost dark, but the lights glowed to show her the way home. She reached the start of the main street and paused as she heard hoof-beats that pounded nearer on the dry ground. She swung about already knowing what she would see.
John Garton, his face twisted in fury, rode towards her, people on the boardwalk were starting to look up but Ines despaired. He would seize her, carry her away, no one would stop him who was a respected man offering marriage to a part-Mexican girl too stupid to know her good fortune. Her hand closed on the medallion and her lips trembled in prayer. “Ward off this evil, as Juan said you were made to do.”
The dun reared screaming as though the Devil had barred his path and people scattered in terror. John Garton clung tight to the reins yelling with insane rage, beating his mount to force it forward. Again and again it reared, higher and higher whirling like a mad Dervish until an inevitable misstep sent the beast flailing backwards - onto the startled rider who had not moved quickly enough to leap clear. There was a cry of anger and astonishment - cut-off, a cracking sound, and the dun rolled to his hooves and stood trembling. In the dust of Bodie’s street John Garton lay still, his eyes wide and glassy.
Ines slipped away. Garton had said nothing to her, no one knew that it had been her he'd been hunting. She found her mother in the small dark room, handed her the scroll and spoke softly as the lamp was lit.
“Elijah Smith said that if I would not marry John Garton I must leave. He gave me money and said that we should seek another town.” She placed the three gold coins on the table. “I chose to leave, I would have rested at the boulder by the turnoff but another was already there. He said he knew our kin and that I was to give you this.” She handed her mother the tied roll of buckskin. “The gold will get us back to Texas without the need to touch your savings or the price of my father's mine. We have been given a choice. And John Garton is dead.”
Her mother looked up from the buckskin. “He gave us more choice than you know. But what happened to John and where did you get this?”
&n
bsp; “John followed me. I thought he would stay with the herd all night but he must have come back to the ranch and been told I was gone. He caught up with me at the edge of town. I was afraid. But the man I met on the road to Bodie gave me a medallion he said warded off evil. I held it and prayed and John's dun went mad. It reared, and fell back on him.” She looked down and trembled but just for a moment.
“And the man who met you, who gave you this?” Maria was staring at the medallion.
Ines remembered the kind eyes, the gentle voice. “He said he had not known you but he'd known your mother and her father. He said he had come to bring you this,” her finger pointed at the buckskin. “He was perhaps forty, he had a thin scar on his cheek, wavering, as if from wire. Oh, and he said that his name was Juan.” She looked at the buckskin. “Mama, what is that?”
Maria smiled, a wide joyous smile such as Ines had not seen since her father's death. “That, my daughter, are our choices returned to us. That is the deed my grandfather hid before he was slain, and that we could not find. With this in our hands I can take back our heritage, the bank will grant us money at my asking, and you shall marry only where you will.”
“But where would my father's family find that?”
Maria looked at her, knowing what the girl had thought. “Your father's family sent nothing,” she said quietly. “It was my grandfather who brought us this, and his medallion, given him by an Apache warrior, that warded off the evil that followed you.”
Ines stared. “Mama, my great-grandfather has been dead since before you were born.”
“That I know. But before my mother died I saw the picture she had of her father wearing the medallion, the scar down his cheek. And I--I remember that it was always the boast of Juan Cuchillo that he took care of his own. Tonight he proved that dead or living, he was a man of his word.”
Lyn McConchie (www.lynmcconchie.com) has been writing professionally since 1990. In that time she's sold almost 300 short stories and over 20 books with her latest duo being an adult fantasy, THE QUESTING ROAD, from TOR on August 3rd, the the other a supernatural YA fantasy, SUMMER OF DREAMING, published late August from Cyberwizard Productions.
"Bodie" was originally written with another story for an earlier anthology of Dave Riley's, but the other was used so Bodie was free for this anthology. It was written because the author mostly likes happy endings, enjoys both reading and writing a good ghost tale, and to the music of Leonard Cohen, Bon Jovi, and Meatloaf.
Spook
by
John Howard
Amos was so tired of courier duty. He was starting to believe he could do these runs blindfolded. Then, something made him scratch the side of his head. There was a road turning off the main road that he couldn’t place in his memory. A faded sign read VERMONT 1 mile. “Corporal Aimes, do you recall seeing that sign before?
“No, sergeant, can’t say as I do.”
“Well, I could sure go for a mug of beer,” Amos said. “I didn’t know there was a town out here.”
“We’re kind of late getting back,” the always cautious Roosevelt Aimes reminded him. “It’s already getting dark.”
“If we go and have a beer in Vermont, we’ll still be late. It’s a long ride from the Presidio and I’m thirsty.” He headed his horse down the side road.
“What kind of town is Vermont? That’s a state name, isn’t it?” the corporal asked.
“Maybe they’re homesick,” Amos said.
“Sure, that must be it,” the corporal agreed. “Wait a sec.” He dismounted and started picking up rocks.
“Ever since that Indian taught you how to do rock signals, we have to stop all the time,” Amos said.
“It just takes a minute. Half the men in our platoon can read ‘em now.” The corporal climbed back up on his horse. “There.”
Right about a mile down the road, they found a small town waiting for them, consisting of a few shops, a hotel and a few houses. Amos found what he wanted and they parked their horses in front of the saloon.
Somebody was hammering out toons on a piano as he went inside. There weren’t many people there. Two guys played cards at a table. There was the piano player, a barkeep and a saloon girl. Of course, it was early for a saloon–just getting dark. He headed for a table in back. Corporal Aimes followed.
The saloon girl soon came over. “What’ll you boys have?”
“Beer,” Amos answered. Corporal Aimes nodded in agreement.
She soon returned with two beers. “Don’t get many soldiers around here.” She handed each of them a mug.
“That’s cause there aren’t any army posts. We’re assigned to Yosemite Park,” Corporal Aimes explained.
“You’re black,” she said.
“That too,” he agreed.
“Didn’t know they had black soldiers,” she said.
“Yep.” Corporal Aimes took a sip of his beer. “Afraid so.”
Sergeant Amos Bisbee did the same. After a long day of riding in the hot sun, the beer tasted wonderful.
They each downed about half their glasses, then Corporal Aimes noticed something. “They’re taking our horses!”
They both started for the front door.
“Relax boys, just moving them over to the livery,” the barkeep said.
“You can’t do that. They’re Army property,” Amos said as he unsnapped his holster. A whisky bottle across the back of his head, courtesy of the piano player, abruptly ended the conversation.
He came to in the town jail. His head hurt so bad he could barely sit up. His gun belt was on a chair, well out of reach from the bars. There was a small window at the back of his cell–barred, of course. He looked out, just the same. There was a gallows set up near the building. Corporal Aimes swung in the breeze.
“Killing folks, it’s what we do,” a voice from behind him explained.
Amos was having trouble taking in the situation. “What?”
The voice belonged to the barkeep. “Folks come to town. We kill them. It’s fun. Not just Negroes. We kill everybody. Didn’t want you to think we were racists.”
“What kind of sick people are you? You’ve killed a U.S. Army soldier. You don’t know how much trouble you’re in,” Amos warned. He dearly wanted some way to get his hands on his gun.
The barkeep shrugged. “No trouble at all.”
“You want that, don’t you.” The barkeep looked at the chair, then slid it over next to the bars of Amos’ cell with his boot.
Amos quickly grabbed the weapon.
“Don’t know what good it’ll do ya,” the barkeep said.
Amos drew and fired. It was like nothing had happened. “We’re already dead, soldier boy. We’re saving you for tomorrow.” He left Amos alone in his cell.
The cell was well fortified. It was obvious a bullet would not make any difference with the lock on the cell door. His pistol was completely worthless.
The sun was coming up. As it did, he noticed there were no longer any townsfolk wandering around. They didn’t seem to like sunshine. That would be a weakness, if he could just figure out how to get out of the cell. Soon, there was no one around at all, just him in his cell as the sun rose in the sky.
Late in the afternoon, Amos was gazing out the window when he noticed a shadow. “Is anyone there?” he yelled out.
He heard steps around the corner. “Sergeant Bisbee?” It was Corporal Johnson. “What are you doing in the jail? You been fighting again?”
“Are you alone?” Amos asked.
“Heck no,” Johnson said.
Amos asked, “Who’s with you?”
“Everyone. You didn’t show up last night. Wime, we was gettin’ pretty worried. Captain Smith sent us out to look for ya. We saw the signal rocks at the turnoff,” he reported. “Someone’s strung up Corporal Aimes.”
“I know. Get around to the office. Find some keys and get me out of here,” Amos ordered.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light. He noticed Corporal
Aimes was missing from the gallows. “Corporal Johnson, where is Corporal Aimes’ body?”
“I had the men take it down and cover it with a blanket. Is that okay?”
“That’s fine.”
“I found two of our horses over in the livery. Otherwise, this town is deserted,” the corporal reported.
“No, it’s hardly deserted,” Amos said. “Form a detail to take Corporal Aimes’s body back to the park. Then, everyone else, here’s what we’re going to do...”
Dusk soon arrived. The light from kerosine lanterns began to flicker in some of the buildings, especially the saloon. Soon, the piano started to play. It was not long before some of the townspeople noticed Amos sitting quietly on his horse in the town square. They ran off and soon returned with the barkeep.
“How’d you get out of jail?” the barkeep asked.
“Wasn’t too hard,” Amos replied. “You seem to be in charge?”
“Mayor, barkeep and dishwasher.” He pointed at a small man with a handle-bar moustache. “Old Gus used to be a barber. Hair don’t grow after you die. It’s just a myth. Now he’s a hangman, when we can get somebody to hang. We put up a new sign to drum up more business.”
“Yes, we saw it,” Amos replied.
“Well, a white soldier would’ve skedaddled on out of here,” the barkeep said. “You obviously ain’t that smart.”
“Probably so, but the Buffalo soldiers do things a might bit different. We don’t like seeing things left half done,” Amos stated.
“Well, you can’t kill us with your little pistol. What you got in mind?” he taunted.
Amos whistled loudly. All 22 of his men rode into town and took positions near the major buildings. Four men each took a corner of the saloon. They all were carrying torches. Amos nodded and the torches landed on the roofs. “I may not be able to kill you, but you won’t have anyplace to haunt. I’m burning your little hellhole to the ground.”
Six Guns Straight From Hell - Tales Of Horror And Dark Fantasy From The Weird Weird West Page 7