Deadtown and Other Tales of Horror Set in the Old West

by Carl Hose

  “I know my job,” Calvert said, leaning over the side of his horse to deposit a thick ball of spit on the ground.

  “Then I suggest you do it,” Hank said. “We ain’t gettin’ paid to jackass around. Stay where you belong.”

  John Reno was the only man Hank didn’t need to worry about. He was the outrider in the outfit. A good man for the job too. He never let the cattle wander, never gave no trouble, and always put in a good day’s work for the pay. He was out there now, a little south of the herd, his head down against the wind with his eyes tilted up to maintain coverage of the herd.

  Calvert watched Hank move to the front of the herd. He drew his Bowie knife and licked the blade. “I’ll kill that bastard when this is all over,” he said, then slid the knife back in its sheath.

  “Cain’t wait for it,” Angus agreed, grinning at the thought. “Sum bitch ain’t been nothin’ but a pain in my ass since we signed on.”

  The wind howled as it increased intensity, kicking up violent bursts of dust. The cattle began to scatter and the crew fought to keep them in line.

  “Head ’em up—”

  Hank’s words were swallowed in the storm.

  * * *

  Sarah heard it again, a dull thump just outside the door. She told herself it was only the wind. There was a storm heading this way.

  She hoped that was all it was.

  She kept a Sharps at arm’s length just in case. She wasn’t one for violence, but she was a woman who could pull a trigger if it had to be done.

  She needed a strong cup of tea. Tea would take the edge off her nerves. A damn shame, getting all worked up over wind. She’d seen enough storms in her lifetime to know what to expect.

  She fetched water for the tea and put it over the fire to boil. She sat to work on a quilt she’d been meaning to finish for some time.

  A sudden pounding on the door made her jump. She let the quilt fall from her lap as she moved to grab her rifle.

  “Who’s there?” she called out, aiming the rifle at the door.

  “Name’s John Reno,” came the voice outside.

  “Means nothin’ to me,” she said, letting her finger tighten on the trigger. “What business do you have with me?”

  “I’m wounded, ma’am,” he answered. “I’m a cattle herder. Got separated from my outfit in the storm.”

  Sarah threw the bolt on the door and stepped back. She leveled the rifle at the door again, and said, “Come in, but do it slow. I got a gun.”

  The door squeaked open on its hinge. Reno stepped cautiously into the cabin, his hands raised. He came up short when he came face to face with the business end of the Sharps. “Ain’t no need for that,” he said.

  “You don’t look hurt to me,” she said suspiciously.

  “Got a real good size bump on the back of my head you could take a look at, if that would ease your mind,” he said.

  She didn’t respond. She kept the rifle trained on him as she thought about her next move.

  “Look,” he said, licking his dry lips, not taking his eyes off the big fifty she had in her hands, “I hope you ain’t about to use that thing on me, but if you’re plannin’ on it, I could use some chow before you do.”

  He gave her an easy smile that made her relax.

  “Besides,” he added, “I don’t yet know your name.”

  She couldn’t help letting a tiny smile escape, warming to his easy manner and sense of humor. She lowered the rifle. “I have chipped beef and beans,” she said. “And my name’s Sarah.”

  “Couldn’t ask for better than chipped beef and beans,” he told her. “And Sarah’s a right pretty name.”

  “I was makin’ tea for myself, but you look like coffee would suit you.”

  He nodded. “If it ain’t too much trouble.”

  “No trouble at all,” she assured him.

  She moved around the tiny cabin quickly, setting coffee to boil and putting food on the stove to warm. Reno watched her for a moment, then he helped himself to a chair at the little kitchen table.

  “How does an experienced cattle man get separated from his cattle?” she asked in a conversational tone.

  “Like I said, ma’am, there was a storm. Would’ve been able to hold my own, ’cept my horse got scared and threw me. I hit my head on somethin’ real solid. I was alone when I woke up. Lucky I found my horse, or I’d still be walkin’.” He paused to watch her work, then said, “You alone here?”

  She glanced at him over her shoulder, holding a ladle of chipped beef between the pot and the bowl. “I’m alone,” she finally answered. “My husband died a while back.”

  He nodded, took the makings for a cigarette from his shirt pocket, and said, “You mind?” as he held the tobacco up for her inspection.

  “Go right ahead,” she said.

  He rolled the cigarette, stuck it between his lips, then struck a match on the table. “Sorry to hear about your husband,” he said. “Pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be alone.”

  “I prefer you don’t refer to me as a pretty little thing, Mister Reno,” she said. “And as far as my husband goes, you didn’t kill him, so you have no reason to be sorry.”

  “Didn’t mean no offense, ma’am. Just makin’ conversation is all.”

  She set a piled-high plate of steaming food in front of him. He leaned over it, inhaling the intoxicating aroma. Sarah took a chair across from him, watching as he forgot his manners and began to shovel food into his mouth.

  “How do you plan to find your outfit?” she asked.

  “They’re takin’ the Cox Trail straight into Oklahoma. I reckon I can ride through the night and catch ’em in Dry Creek by sun up.”

  “With the storm right behind you?”

  “Ain’t like I never done it before,” he said.

  She took a minute to consider, then said, “You can bunk in the barn. It isn’t much, but you’ll get a good night’s rest.”

  “’Preciate it, ma’am, I really do, but I believe I’ll be on my way when I finish the meal. You got any bread?”

  “Not fresh,” she said. She retrieved a plate with two hard biscuits on it. “This will have to do.”

  “I’ve eaten worse,” he said, breaking off a piece of biscuit and stuffing it into his mouth alongside a forkful of beef.

  After he cleaned his plate, Reno drank two more cups of coffee, smoked a cigarette, then stood to leave. Sarah offered to make him coffee for the ride. He declined. “Can’t thank ya enough for the meal,” he said. “Much obliged for the barn offer too.”

  “You can still change your mind about that,” she said.

  “Can’t afford the lost time, ma’am, but like I said, I appreciate the offer.”

  She walked him to the door and watched him disappear into the thick darkness. Long after she lost sight of him and the sound of horse hooves had faded away, Sarah stood in the doorway. It was only when she realized she was freezing cold that she clutched her shawl around her shoulders and went back inside.

  * * *

  It looked different to him in the light of day. Reno eased his mare to a halt and dismounted, leaving her to graze on a clump of grass.

  He approached the cabin, half expecting Sarah to come out and greet him. He saw the door was slightly ajar. He called Sarah’s name and got no response. His gut was tight. His nose for trouble was kicking in now.

  He tried to chalk his sense of dread up to the fact that he’d found most of his outfit dead not long after leaving Sarah, but he knew it wasn’t all due to that fact. There was something wrong here. Something that may or may not be tied to the deaths of the men he’d been riding with.

  “Sarah,” he called again, pushing the cabin door open to look inside.

  The crack of a rifle shot rang out. Reno jerked his head back just in time to avoid having it blown clean off. The heavy bullet bit into the wood frame of the door right where he’d been a moment earlier.

  He drew his Colt and rammed the heel of his boot hard against the
door, dropping to his knees inside the cabin, more than prepared to blow some unlucky fool’s head clean off his shoulders. His eyes darted this way and that, searching the cabin for any threat.

  Sarah was alone. She looked a mess, her back against the stove as she pointed a rifle at him. Her hair, just last night all shiny and beautiful, was in tangles. Her face was puffy and near turning blue. Her pretty dress dangled from her body in tatters, leaving most of her private parts in clear view.

  “You alright?” Reno asked, slipping his gun into his holster.

  Sarah responded with a glazed look that seemed lost to the world.

  “What happened here?”

  Reno moved to her side, knelt, and gently eased the barrel of the rifle toward the floor. Sarah loosened her grip enough to allow him to take the rifle from her hands.

  He helped her to her feet and led her over to the table, then he retrieved a ladle full of cold water from the spring room and made her drink some. He poured a little of the remaining water on a cloth and dabbed away the dried blood on her forehead.

  Dressing her was the next order of business. He found a chemise in a wooden stand by her bed and brought it to her, laying it on the table. “I’d appreciate if you’d save me the embarrassment of havin’ to put this on you.”

  She looked beyond him, staring at the cabin door. He sighed and lifted her to her feet again. He walked her to the bed and had her sit, then he retrieved the nightshirt and held it out to her again, still hoping she’d be the one to put it on. When she didn’t respond, he said, “Suit yourself,” and removed the remains of her dress, doing his best to keep his eyes averted.

  His hand brushed one soft, full breast. He felt guilty for the pleasure it gave him. “Damned sorry about that,” he said, quickly pulling the nightshirt over her head and laying her back on the bed. “I’ll be right over there if you need me for anything.”

  She curled into a fetal position and closed her eyes.

  Reno pulled a thick blanket over her and left her to sleep.

  * * *

  Reno woke to the smell of bacon. His back hurt from a long night in a wooden rocker. He pushed his hat up from his eyes, stood up and stretched, then reached for his cigarette makings.

  Sarah was at the stove, working on a meal. “You hungry?” she asked over her shoulder.

  “Starvin’” he said, taking a seat at the table.

  She set a plate of bacon and eggs in front of him.

  “Eat,” she said, then went back to the stove and poured coffee.

  “You didn’t have to go to the trouble,” Reno said.

  “It was no trouble,” she replied. She pulled out a chair and sat across from him. “I can’t thank you enough for last night.”

  “No need,” he said.

  She smiled. There was that easy manner and sense of humor Reno remembered from his last visit.

  “Why did you come back?” she asked.

  “Ran into some trouble. Found four of my outfit dead.” He washed a mouthful of food down with a gulp of coffee, measured his next question carefully, and said, “What happened here?”

  She lowered her eyes. Reno allowed her time to gather her thoughts. She finally looked up again, speaking slowly as she recounted being raped.

  “Anything about those two men that stands out?” Reno asked.

  He pushed his empty plate away and started rolling another cigarette.

  “The only thing that really stands out is that one of them kept playing with his knife, touching me with it, telling me he was going to cut my throat . . .”

  “Did you happen to catch any names?” Reno asked.

  “The one who had the knife, he called the other man Angus, I think. That’s what I remember. He called him Angus.”

  “Angus and Calvert,” Reno said.

  “You know them?”

  “Afraid I do,” Reno answered. “Those are the two I didn’t find dead when I found my outfit. Pretty well figgers who did the killin’, don’t it?”

  Sarah refilled Reno’s coffee cup. He checked the cylinder of his weapon. Two of the chambers were empty. He slipped a bullet into each, put the Colt away, and stood to leave.

  “You’re riding out again?” she asked, concern edging her voice.

  “Afraid so,” he said. “Got two good reasons to go.”

  She followed him to the door, taking hold of his arm as he started out.

  “I’ll be fine,” he said.

  Their eyes met for a long moment. She wanted to ask him to stay, but she knew what his response would be. His eyes had changed. They were cold, hard eyes—the eyes of a man bent on revenge.

  She watched him ride away from her for a second time, once again fighting the urge to go after him, afraid that once he was out of her sight this time, she would never see him again.

  * * *

  They had a good lead, but Reno figured on catching up with them in Dry Creek. There was a saloon and a whorehouse there. The temptation to take advantage of booze and whores would be too much for the two men to resist, and Reno knew they’d be too full of themselves to suspect they were being followed.

  Reno was not a violent man by nature. He preferred to keep to himself, earn a living, and steer away from business that didn’t concern him. A man could only be expected to overlook so much, though, and this business of cold-blooded murder and rape was where Reno drew the line.

  He rode hard through the night. His body ached by the time he reached Dry Creek a little after sun up. He dismounted in front of a home-style eatery, rolled a cigarette, then wandered inside for a cup of coffee, taking a table facing the street so he had a good view of everything outside.

  The smell of bacon and eggs made his stomach rumble. Reno hadn’t realized just how hungry he was until now. He signaled a pretty young waitress, ordered breakfast, and wolfed it down within minutes of being served, then he took his horse to the livery. He paid in advance to have her fed and rubbed down, then he took a room at the Denton Hotel, top floor and facing the street. Angus and Calvert were probably already in town, but if not, they’d show up sooner or later. When they did, Reno would be ready.

  His view of the narrow, deeply rutted street was good. Directly across from him was the restaurant. To the left, a little further down the street, was a saloon. Above the saloon was where all the whores plied their trade. A general store sat beside the restaurant, and at the south end of town, another hotel, smaller than the one Reno had picked to stay in.

  He thought of Sarah. The sooner he made it back to her, the better off he’d be. He figured there was a chance for something with her¾the possibility of a better life, maybe. He’d never been the settling-down type, but that woman stirred something deep inside him. It embarrassed him to think it, but he felt like he was already in love with her.

  He laid on the bed and slipped his Colt under the pillow. Tired as he was, he could only toss and turn, anxious to put all this business behind him. He lay there for maybe fifteen minutes before he got up and looked out the window again. The street wasn’t crowded. A group of men were playing cards on the sidewalk outside the store. Another two men were leaning against hitching posts outside the saloon, smoking and carrying on an animated conversation.

  No sign of Angus or Calvert.

  Reno went downstairs and conned the desk clerk into a look at the registry. Only four rooms in the Denton were occupied. One of them held a married couple. Two of the rooms were rented to single men, neither of whom matched the description of Angus or Calvert. Reno himself occupied the last room.

  He was on his way to check the other hotel in town when he saw Angus and Calvert. They were coming down the sidewalk, heading right for him, probably on their way to the saloon, smoking and joking like they didn’t have a thing in the world to worry about.

  Reno stood his ground, casually leaning against a post, rolling a cigarette. He never took his eyes off the two. It pissed him off to see them so cocksure of themselves, two son of a bitches who thought they could
get away with rape and murder.

  Reno wondered if he should involve the sheriff and thought better of it. Angus and Calvert had been in jail before, on more than one occasion. They were mad dogs. Jail wouldn’t change them. A dog foams at the mouth, you shoot it dead. Far as Reno was concerned, these two were drooling dogs.

  Reno took his time with his smoke after Angus and Calvert went into the saloon. When he finished, he flipped his cigarette butt away and started across the street, bent on taking care of this business once and for all. As he made his way to the saloon, he sensed the gradual slowing down of the people he passed, each of them stopping to watch him. Quick whispers went from one man to the next as they passed the word that trouble was about to break out.

  Word moved so fast that Angus and Calvert were watching the swinging doors when Reno came through them.

  “Damn, it’s good to see you, John,” Calvert said to Reno. “Thought you went down with the rest of the boys.”

  Reno moved up to the bar and asked for a whiskey. The barkeep set a glass in front of him and poured, his eyes darting back and forth between Reno and Calvert.

  “Damn shame the way we was ambushed back there,” Angus said. “Me ’n’ Cal, well, we barely got outta there alive.”

  “Lucky for you,” Reno said flatly.

  He stood at a slight angle, watching the two of them from the corner of his eye. He finished his whiskey in a gulp, then set his glass on the bar. “Gimme another,” he said.

  Angus and Calvert moved apart, making it tougher for Reno to do what he’d come to do.

  A little man with a weasel face hurried out of the saloon.

  “We don’t need any trouble here,” the barkeep said.

  Reno ignored him. Much as he wished he could promise there would be none, there was no way trouble could be avoided.

  “Let us buy that drink,” Calvert said.

  He took a step in Reno’s direction.

  “That’s more ’n’ close enough,” Reno said.

  “I don’t know what you think happened—”

  “You killed my friends,” Reno said. “And you raped a woman.”

  Calvert looked offended. “She wanted that,” he said, then he went for his gun, realizing Reno wasn’t going to be reasoned with.