Westward Weird

by Martin H. Greenberg

  “Carson, I can’t see nothing,” Duncan whispered. His friend was a hunched black silhouette ahead of him.

  “It’s here,” Carson said. “Right there!” He leveled the gun. Duncan blinked his eyes and squinted. A long-tailed shadow flitted across a pool of light.

  Then the smell hit them. His eyes watered at the sour muskiness.

  “Ayooooooo!”

  The cry was right under their noses. Carson swung the barrel toward the noise. A pair of glowing orange eyes were inches from the two men. Duncan got a glimpse of shaggy gray fur and two tall ears. How could it move that fast?

  BLAM!

  Duncan almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of the shot. The eyes faded for a second then lit up again, stronger than before. A growl erupted, low and menacing. Duncan froze. Carson cocked the gun and pulled the trigger again. The smoke went right between the golden lights. The eyes didn’t even close.

  “That ain’t natural!” Duncan gasped.

  The beast bared long white teeth in a growl. It sprang at Carson. The young man swung the rifle like a bat. It hit the creature right in the jaw. It reached up a paw and grasped the gun around the barrel. It had hands like a man!

  He had no more time to analyze the problem. He threw himself on the beast’s back and put an arm around its throat, trying to pull it off Carson. Its muscles rippled under the coarse fur, hard as iron. Carson kicked and punched at the beast. Its teeth snapped at his neck.

  “Get it off me! Get it off me!”

  Duncan hung on its back, flopping around like an opera cloak. He kicked at it with both feet, hoping to hit a kidney or some other sensitive spot. The beast howled. It gave a mighty heave, and Duncan went flying off. He landed hard in the grass and lay stunned for a moment. His hip hurt, but he rolled over and felt for his gun. He managed to cock it, closed his eyes and fired.

  KER-POW!

  “Yaller-bellied sows, Duncan, you almost hit me!” Carson shouted.

  Duncan opened his eyes. Carson stood alone in the moonlight. His right sleeve was torn off, and he was holding his pants up with one hand.

  “Where’s the wolf?” Duncan asked.

  “Gone,” Carson said. “Shoved me off and ran away. Damn it to hell.”

  Duncan got up and brushed himself off. “I think it might’ve been from hell, Carson. That wasn’t a natural creature. You hit it square with two bullets, and it didn’t even stop.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in hell,” Carson said, sourly.

  “I believe in science,” Duncan said. “And physics says when you hit a solid object with another solid object you’re going to get a reaction. Nothing happened. And it had a man’s hands. That’s not a normal wolf.”

  “That’s against God and nature,” Carson agreed. He was too mad to be scared, like a sensible man. “Got to be some kind of enchantment. Let’s go find Owl Feather.”

  “It’s got to be three in the morning!”

  “Then he’ll be easy to find.”

  ~ * ~

  Duncan sat blearily next to the fireplace in Owl Feather’s small two-room house, listening to the same set of questions and answers over and over again. He knew he’d hear them in his sleep. Carson jabbed his forefinger into his other palm.

  “I shot it twice, point blank range! Why didn’t it fall down and die?”

  “You can’t kill one body without killing the other,” Owl Feather said. He sat on his bed wrapped up in a blanket. With his long black braids framing his hawk-nosed face he looked a lot more like one of his ancestors than the respectable businessman who wore a suit to work at the mineral springs. “They can only walk under the full moon’s light because they’re two bodies with one soul. Divide one from the other, and both may die.”

  “That don’t mean anything, Owl,” Carson complained. “I need an answer that will help me kill that goddamned wolf!”

  “That is the only answer,” Owl said, imperturbably. “Now why don’t you go home and let me sleep? Some of us got jobs to go to.” He glanced at the window. The moon had set, and the sky was lightening to denim blue. “In about an hour.” He cocked his head at Duncan. “Your ma’s making buttermilk biscuits. She bakes better than anyone else in town.”

  “I know,” Duncan said, summoning up his manners from somewhere. “Come on over and have some. I know she makes enough for the entire United States Army.”

  “Thank you, my brother. I will.”

  “You act like my betrothed wasn’t important enough to care about,” Carson said, lowering brows that were as black as Owl’s.

  “I have sung songs to ensure her spirit is at peace,” Owl said. “Now I must deal with the living. So must you.”

  “That wolf’s living! It ought to be dead!”

  “Okay,” Duncan said, rousing himself in hopes of getting an hour of sleep before he had to go back to the train yard. Owl never lied or even stretched the truth. No matter how much like a story by Mr. H.G. Wells the whole thing sounded, if Owl said it was true, then it was true. Duncan never argued with facts. “What do we need to do to divide that wolf in two?”

  Owl studied him for a moment. His dark eyes seemed to have no pupils at all. Then he reached over to the table next to his bed and picked up the collection of necklaces he wore every day. He selected one and handed it to Duncan.

  “This has virtues to bring things back to the way they started. And don’t forget, silver puts them under your power. It’s the only thing that will.” Owl looked out the window at the paling sky and sighed. “No time to sleep. Better eat and welcome the day.”

  ~ * ~

  Ma was baking, as Owl had said. Though he lived over two miles away, he always knew what she was making. Her round, plump face was red as usual, but it was from crying instead of exertion. She dabbed tears away with her flour-dusted sleeve and forced a smile for the guests.

  “Hey, there, Owl, Carson. Sit down. I’ll pour you some coffee.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Hopkin,” Owl said, sliding into a chair at the kitchen table. “Blessings on this house.”

  Ma turned away toward the stove. Duncan came up and whispered in her ear.

  “Ma, why are you crying? What’s wrong?”

  She turned fierce blue eyes on him.

  “You are never to mention Nancy Bellamy to me again for the rest of my life. She is as dead to me as ... as my poor Josephine!”

  “Why? Aunt Nan was your best childhood friend.”

  She took a folded paper out of the pocket of her big white apron and shook it at Duncan. He opened it and read it.

  Saw your Jo at Mr. Meyer’s jewelry store looking at engagement rings with that handsome Pettigrew boy. Couldn’t miss him with that head of gray hair. She looked so happy! So glad to know I heard wrong. Let me know when I can congratulate you.

  The letter was dated only two days before. He was a little shaken by it, but handed it back.

  “Well, come on, Ma, Aunt Nan is mistaken. She must have seen Tim Pettigrew. All the Pettigrews turn gray as soon as they reach their majority. He was with some other girl that he is going to marry that’s all.”

  Ma was adamant. “No. She’s tormenting me with lies! I never want to hear that woman’s name again!”

  The three men ate their breakfast in silence. Owl took a few biscuits wrapped up in a napkin for later. Carson growled over his food. When he left, he glared at Duncan.

  “Just find me a way to kill that wolf,” he said, and stalked out.

  Duncan sat for a while, thinking hard. What Owl said stuck in his mind. Separate the souls, and the bodies were vulnerable.

  He kissed Ma on the cheek and went out to his workshop.

  It took a wheelbarrow to manage the heavy, cylindrical black case with its curved silver arms, but he managed to carry the Log Splitter to work with him to the train yard. Over his lunch hour, he adapted it to take in Owl’s beads. His fellow mechanics were glad to help, though they didn’t properly understand what he was doing. The beads looked pretty mystical. S
ome were made of a strange gray stone that was shiny as metal. A few were garnets as big as grapes. The rest were carved buffalo horn that gave him a little shock as he handled each one. They had to go in between the emitter and the lenses in the arms that focused the power. Since none of them were shaped the same, it was tricky. He wasn’t sure but that it might blow up when he used it.

  When he was done, he had a gadget designed to split natures by lightning. It ran on a self-actuating dynamo with a drum wound with silver wire finer than hair. When he flipped the switch, the drum started to rotate, generating sparks that crackled between the two arms. The electrical force built up it lanced outward to a point. He experimented on a water bucket and a drop-forged ball peen hammer. They both melted into puddles of iron. The Log Splitter vibrated mightily, but it held together. There was no telling if it would work on a wolf with two bodies, but it was worth a try. He’d scorch its tail anyhow. Satisfied, he finished his shift and waited for Carson to arrive.

  “I suppose you want to bring a mule team out with us?” Carson asked sourly, surveying the insulated black case and its makeshift carriage. “That thing is the size of a safe!”

  Duncan put up with a lot of his guff because Carson was his oldest friend, but he wasn’t taking any abuse of his inventions. He put his hands on his hips and glared.

  “I suppose you want to go shake Owl’s necklace at them by itself?” he asked.

  Carson backed down, but only a little. “Of course not! But this had better work. I want that wolf’s pelt on my floor.”

  “Nothing’s sure,” Duncan admitted. “But it’s an experiment. We can only fail until we succeed.”

  ~ * ~

  “There it goes!” Carson bellowed, stumbling over the uneven ground under a full moon the size of a barn. He put one leg in a gopher hole and measured his length on the ground. Duncan saw his arm go up, pointing desperately. “Shoot it!”

  “Can’t! Too far away!” Duncan panted. He shoved the Log Splitter along in the wheelbarrow yards behind his friend. It was heavy, kicking dirt up from under the wheel. It sprayed him in the face. He spat out grass and dust.

  The gray shadow flitted out of reach as if playing with them. It seemed to enjoy frolicking in the eldritch light. It disappeared from plain sight and popped up in another place entirely as if distance meant nothing to it. Carson clambered up and followed, swearing loudly.

  They followed it downhill into Edward Posner’s orchard. The shadow ducked back and forth between the apple trees. Showers of sweet-scented blossoms fell on Duncan as he maneuvered the wheelbarrow over the gnarled roots. Mr. Posner would be mighty angry if they damaged any of the trees. He could smell his own sweat.

  No, that wasn’t him. The bitter stench welled up, giving Duncan his only warning.

  “Carson!” he shouted. The wolf loomed up out of nowhere, grinning at him. It heeled over and galloped down the row, out of reach. It looked like it was laughing over its shoulder. Carson pursued it, winging off shot after shot with his rifle. The two of them went around and around the orchard, while Duncan tried to spot the wolf and level his Splitter on it.

  He figured he had a maximum of four tries with the Splitter before the insides slagged. Each successive try would be weaker than the one before. It’d be best if he could take the wolf down with the first one. Carson, if he had any ammunition left, could finish it after that.

  The wolf, with Carson shouting and puffing in pursuit, came roaring around four rows up. They were heading straight for him.

  “Shoot it!” Carson yelled at him.

  “I might hit you! Get down!”

  Carson threw himself face first on the ground. “Shoot it!”

  Duncan flipped up the switch. The dynamo wowed as it came on. He urged it to hurry up and gather up power. Tiny sparks were playing between the ends of the curved metal arms, but they wouldn’t stop a hummingbird.

  Come on! he begged it.

  But the wolf moved faster than a man could think. The wolf gathered itself and sprang. Duncan’s eyes went wide. It crashed into him, bearing him over backwards. He hit his head against an apple tree and saw stars. The wolf grabbed his throat in its teeth and started to squeeze.

  “Duncan!” Carson shouted. Duncan heard the sound of his friend’s rifle. The wolf jerked several times as each bullet hit it, but it didn’t fall. Duncan thought he was done for.

  Suddenly, it let out a yelp and loosened its grip. Duncan wriggled away under the boughs of the apple tree, clutching his throat. Carson must have gotten it at last.

  But it wasn’t Carson that had the wolf at bay. It was another wolf. There were two wolves!

  The newcomer was smaller and had a browner coat than the first one. It snarled fiercely at the bigger wolf. They circled one another, then leaped for each other’s throat. Growling, they separated and tried again.

  “It’s his mate,” Carson croaked, hurrying over to help him up. “They’re fighting.”

  “We’ll get him while he’s busy,” Duncan said. He staggered to the Splitter. Blue sparks were now arcing between the arms. Plenty of charge. “This is our best shot, Carson. You be ready.”

  Carson cocked his rifle again. “I’m ready.”

  “Okay, then.”

  Duncan threw the switch.

  The whole orchard turned to stark black and white as lightning leaped out of the Splitter. It hit the big wolf square in the side. It let out a whine of pain and staggered sideways.

  Duncan thought it was a trick of the light, but the creature blurred. Suddenly, it stood up tall, and split into two pieces, one dark and one light. It was two bodies with one soul!

  It took him a moment to realize that the light one was the shape of a man, all but hairless and naked as a jaybird. The dark one, still a wolf but much diminished in size, opened terrified red eyes at all the people and fled down the rows, yelping. The man tottered and fell down.

  Carson strode to him, with Duncan tagging along behind.

  “I know him,” Duncan said, peering down. The man on the ground looked young, but his hair was pale silver gray. “It’s that Tim Pettigrew.”

  “That’s impossible! How could he be a wolf?”

  “He’s gotta be like one of those loops in the stories the French traders tell,” Duncan said. “A loop garoo. A wolf-man.”

  “Well, then, he’s a monster.” Carson put his foot on Tim Pettigrew’s chest and aimed the rifle right up his nose. “Did you kill my Jo?”

  “She’s not your Jo,” Tim said. He looked more meek than he ever did on the street, but it was hard to look dignified when you’re stark naked and lying on your back in the dirt. Duncan had to admit that he was a pretty good-looking man. He had a long, square jaw and a straight nose not unlike a muzzle. His eyes, though, were plain blue. Tim stared up at the moon in shock, then examined his arms, pale in the moonlight. “What have you done to me?”

  “What did you do with her?” Carson demanded. “It had to be you who snagged her out of her room and killed her! You’re a dead man, Pettigrew!” He cocked the rifle.

  “No!” Tim protested, holding his hands up. “She’s not dead!”

  The smaller wolf let out a fierce growl. Its haunches twitched like a cat’s, and it bounded at Carson’s chest. The rifle got knocked upward, and the shot pinged into the trees. The wolf grabbed the rifle out of Carson’s fingers with her teeth and tossed it to one side. Then it went for his throat with her teeth.

  Duncan stared in disbelief. He realized suddenly what he must be looking at. All logic was against it, but intuition was for it. Aunt Nan wasn’t wrong!

  “Josephine Hopkin, leave him be, or I will tell Ma what kind of hijinks you have been up to!”

  The small wolf stopped chewing on Carson’s throat and looked up at him with wide, bewildered eyes. Carson fought his way free.

  “What’s the matter with you, Duncan? Wolves can’t understand human speech!”

  “This isn’t a wolf either,” Duncan said. “That’s my sister Jos
ephine. Like he was, until we split him up. She’s a loop garoo, too.” He kicked Tim in the leg. “That means you bit her, you scoundrel! My pa is going to take you to court, but not until I finish kicking you around this whole orchard!”

  “I can explain,” Tim began.

  “You’re talking nonsense,” Carson said, bewildered. “He must have been next to the wolf in the bushes.”

  “He was the wolf, and she’s one, too,” Duncan said stoutly. “I can prove it.” He looked at the sky. A line of blue glimmered at the eastern horizon. “In about an hour.”