by Hunter Shea
If death had a face, this was it.
The concussion of the gun blast made my ears ring so hard I was dizzy. Teta whirled around and opened fire, putting three bullets into it.
All four bullets didn’t even make it flinch. I wasn’t even sure if they found their mark at all. It was as if something swallowed them up before they could reach their final destination.
It lifted a gigantic foot and squashed the candle, casting itself back into the darkness. But the eyes remained.
“Let’s get the hell out of here!” I shouted.
We turned tail and high-stepped it as fast as we could.
When the creature did finally make a noise, it turned my insides to water. It let loose with a howl that was a cross between an angry mountain lion and a sick bull moose. All I could think was that it was just a warning before it charged.
I was right.
Heavy footsteps pounded behind us.
My heart was in my throat. We’d shot the damn thing four times and we may as well have tossed our dirty socks at it. If we turned and emptied our pistols, would that be enough to kill it? If we kept running, would it catch up to us? We had no chance in a hand-to-hand situation.
Run or shoot?
“Faster!” I screamed close to Teta’s ear.
We came to a big turn in the tunnel and bounced off the wall. I felt my shirt tear. My upper arm burned as it was slashed open by the rocks.
The light from our lamps danced crazily along the walls. It felt as if we were close to outrunning the light, we were moving so fast.
Still, the footsteps were gaining on us.
I reached back and took a wild shot. I figured the monster was so big it would be hard to miss.
Like an angel of mercy, the sharp light of the mine’s exit came into view.
Selma!
We were leading the creature right to her.
Chapter Twenty-Three
We hit the sunlight and I had to bow my head to keep from being blinded. “Selma!” I called out, sweeping my head from side to side, looking for her feet. She answered right away. “Nat, what is it? Are you hurt? I heard shots!”
Her fingers brushed against the wound on my arm. It stung like a hornet. “Stay behind me,” I barked.
Teta and I pulled our hats as low as we could over our brows, faced the mine entrance and had our guns at the ready.
“What’s going on?”
As my eyes adjusted, I pulled Teta’s arm so he could follow me as I edged to where we’d hitched the horses.
“Selma, mount up.” The mine stayed silent.
“Here, use this,” Teta said, handing me my rifle. If the Colt was a pea shooter against the monster, the Winchester would give it something to really think about.
Selma hesitated. “I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to. Just do what Nat says,” Teta said.
The leather of her saddle creaked as she swung herself up.
I was about to do the same when a shuffling sound bled out of the cave. My shoulders tensed and I had to concentrate to slow my heartbeat. Dead men let their nerves get the best of them.
The sound of footsteps grew closer.
I turned to Teta. “Empty everything you got into it.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice, jefe.”
Heavy beads of sweat ran down his face like a waterfall.
My plan was to get off a shot, then swat Selma’s horse on the rear to clear her out of the area. That way I could concentrate on what needed to be done without worrying about her safety. If I aimed right, and I was lucky, maybe one shot was all I’d need.
“Here it comes,” Teta growled.
My finger tensed on the trigger. The sun felt like a branding iron against the tear in my arm. My horse nickered and pawed at the ground. It was kill-or-be-killed time. I was opting for the former.
A pale pair of trembling hands emerged from the darkness of the mine’s entrance. “Please, don’t shoot!”
It was followed by a quick bark.
A man with long, white hair and a matching beard stumbled out of the mine. Beside him was a mutt that looked like a patchwork of a dozen different dogs. You could see its ribs poking out from beneath its scraggly fur. I would imagine we would have been able to make out every bone of the emaciated man’s body if he weren’t wrapped up in a very loose shirt and britches held up by several loops of rope around his narrow waist.
His eyes were red rimmed but seemed unaffected by the brilliant sun. He was a sore thing to see. He looked like he’d been rolled into the mine and left to die of starvation.
Teta turned to me with a look that said this can’t be happening!
“Stay right where you are,” I said, keeping my rifle trained on the center of his chest.
He raised his hands as high as they could go and stopped. Even the dog settled onto its hind legs. We could see the man’s knees shaking – either from fear or exhaustion, it was too hard to tell.
I wasn’t sure what to say or do next. Clearly he wasn’t what Teta and I had seen and heard back in the tunnel. How in the hell did he and his mutt get by the creature? It had filled the breadth of the tunnel. Even a rat couldn’t have squeezed by it.
Maybe there were offshoots that we hadn’t noticed. It was the only logical explanation. “Who are you?” I asked. Teta took a few wary steps toward him, his rifle going from the man to the dog. I’d seen plenty of mongrels take a fellow out to protect their master. You couldn’t be too careful around them.
“Franklin?” Selma said.
She got off her horse and stood a step behind me. “Franklin, is that you?”
He looked around at first, as if he couldn’t locate the source of the voice. He scrunched his eyes and peered in my direction.
“Selma?” His voice was hoarse, as dry as desert gravel.
“Oh my God, Frank!”
Selma blew by me and ran to the man, taking him in her arms. Teta and I swung our rifles down quickly.
He kept his elbows locked and arms straight above him while she wrapped her own around his upper back. I saw the beginnings of a smile amidst the wild, cottony hairs of his beard. I told him he could put his hands down.
When he did, the rest of his body followed suit. He would have hit the ground if Selma hadn’t been there to hold him up. Teta moved in to help her. I kept my distance, my eyes on the dog, the mine and the man. I’d moved the rifle to my left hand so my right could pull my pistol out of the holster. If he made any sudden moves, I wanted to be able to take a tactical shot without harming Teta and Selma in the process.
“Bring him over here,” I said, pointing with my rifle to a shady spot under an evergreen tree. There was a bed of brown pine needles that would make as good a place to sit as any. The dog followed them with its tail between its legs, sitting by Frank’s feet when they laid him flat.
“I need water,” Selma said. She ran to her horse and grabbed her canteen. She untucked her shirt and poured a little on its end. She dabbed at his lips with the moist material. His eyes fluttered a good bit and his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm.
Moving behind Frank, she lifted him by the back of his neck and rested his head in her lap. Now that his head was elevated, she let a few drops of water from the canteen trickle past his lips. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as the water worked its way down his throat.
Teta and I were now just spectators. I had too many questions to even know where to begin.
“This guy looks like Methuselah back from the dead,” Teta whispered.
“Meth-who?”
“A very old man in the Bible. Where the hell did this guy come from? You and I both saw that…thing. He wouldn’t stand a chance getting past it.”
“The only thing I know for sure is that I damn sure don’t know a thing anymore. And
who is he to Selma? I’m a little bothered by the odds of her knowing him.”
The man was a little more awake now and taking long sips from Selma’s canteen. He pushed himself up on his elbows, looking around with wide, confused eyes. The mangy mutt got up and pushed his nose against the man’s neck and beard. The man winced and tried to nudge it away with a shaky hand.
“We need to get him back to town,” Selma said. “Can you help get him on my horse?”
“I think it’s better he rides with me,” I said. I didn’t trust the man or the circumstances of his sudden and unbelievable appearance. Not by a long shot.
Selma looked like she was going to put up a fuss, but Teta broke her head of steam by moving over to get the man on his feet. “Come on, old-timer. We’ll get you back to camp and put some of Selma’s good cooking in that belly.”
The man groaned as Teta draped his arm over his neck. I took my saddle off and dressed it over Teta’s less-than-handsome stallion. It would be easier for me to ride bareback with the man in front of me. I lashed a leather strap around the both of us because he was so unsteady.
Before we left, I took one last look at the mine’s entrance. It was dark and empty and silent. It would be a cold day in hell before I ever went back in there.
The dog scooted ahead of us and actually led the way into town. It knew the way without taking a single wrong turn. With our luck, the dog knew more about what was going on than all of us combined.
And it wasn’t talking.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Because of the condition of our guest, we had an early supper. Selma got started on a repeat of our breakfast while we set Franklin up in the house. He was asleep before his head hit the saddle we’d placed a blanket over as a pillow.
Teta tended to the horses, taking the rifle and shotgun with him so he could give them a good cleaning.
Selma squatted by the fire. She added eight fat slabs of thick bacon to the cast-iron skillet. They sizzled something fierce and the air instantly smelled like heaven.
“I hope you’ll have plenty of biscuits to go with that,” I said, deciding to take things slow and see where they led.
“You won’t go hungry,” she said, concentrating on getting the food together. She was all business now. It was easy to see she was upset.
“Well, Franklin’s inside with his dog. They’re both sawing wood.”
“Thank you for helping him.”
“It’s not in my nature to leave a man when he needs a hand.”
I rolled a cigarette and took a long drag, leaving silence between us, hoping she’d fill it. Instead, she fetched some water and started her biscuit batter. I was tempted to lend her a hand, just like I used to with my dad on the cattle trail. The man could cook. I had a tendency to think I could, but in practice I left a lot to be desired. A man can’t be good at everything. Some were good at nothing.
Realizing that information was not going to be forthcoming, I took a new approach. There had to be a reason she wasn’t volunteering how she knew the old geezer sleeping in our commandeered house.
When I saw that the food was good to go on its own for a bit, I walked over and placed a hand on Selma’s shoulder. “I think we need to talk about your friend.”
She looked up at me with quiet resignation, and a touch of what I could best tell was trepidation. She wiped her hands on the front of her jeans and nodded slowly.
“The big question is, how do you know this Franklin fella?”
“Do you remember when I told you my husband came out to Hecla with his brothers?” She paused, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. “Franklin is one of them.”
So, she sees her husband looking in on her in the middle of the night, and now his brother shows up out of the blue or, in this case, black of the mine. Things were beginning to shake out. Could all of the mystery of Hecla be Hank Smartwood and his brothers conspiring to keep the gold for themselves by driving out everyone who came sniffing around? Or worse? “That has to feel good for you, then. It brings you one step closer to your husband.”
Selma turned away and stared off at the hills. A sharp breeze picked up her hair, which danced behind her. It was tempting to reach out and run its velvety strands between my fingers. It was one of my things. Every woman I’d met appreciated that particular fancy.
“Everything’s wrong about it,” she said so low I couldn’t be sure she wasn’t just talking to herself.
“I’ll agree his turning up, considering the prior circumstances, is a mite peculiar.”
She spun to face me and there were tears in her eyes. They quivered at the brim of her eyelids but didn’t fall.
“You don’t understand. My husband was the middle child of eleven. When he left for Hecla, he was only thirty-four.”
“What does that have to do with his brother?”
Her next words sent bitter shards through my blood. “Franklin is the baby of the family. He’s only twenty-two!”
* * *
After Selma’s confession, there wasn’t much else to say. If I opened my mouth, only unanswerable questions would tumble out. I left her to fixing supper. Keeping her hands busy would prevent worry from digging deeper into her mind. I went round back to tell Teta the news.
“That man is not in his twenties. Maybe a hundred and twenty. I’ve seen bad things age a man, but not like that.”
He cast a glance in Selma’s direction and I could see the doubt creeping into his deep-set eyes.
“I don’t know what else to tell you. I think we need to have a talk with young Franklin when he wakes from his beauty nap.”
“My bad feelings about this place keep getting worse.”
I removed my hat and scratched my head. My hair was a wet, dirty mop. “I know how you feel. Every time I think I have a handle on things, something else comes along and I get all balled up. Maybe this Franklin kid is sick with something he caught in the mine. At first, I thought maybe Hank and his little band of brothers were conspiring to chase folks from the mine so they could keep the gold for themselves. You think it’s possible they’re doing it to keep others from catching whatever Franklin has?”
Teta took a long while to think it over, absently brushing his horse down. “That might explain why her husband was looking at her the way he did through the window. He wanted to scare her off. If he loved her, and he knew it was dangerous, he would do whatever it took to keep her from harm, no?”
“Seems an odd way to go about it, but I’ve seen men do all sorts of things that don’t make sense at first blush. I think we should hold off on the whiskey tonight. Be smart to keep our heads straight.”
“That’s one way of looking at it.”
Teta smirked and headed over to the fire.
Within the hour, Selma declared supper ready. While Teta filled his plate, I went in to get Franklin. Selma stopped me, saying, “Maybe we should let him sleep. I can always save some for later, when he wakes up on his own.”
I shook my head. “From the looks of him, he needs food more than a few winks. He can always go back to sleep when he’s done. Your biscuits and bacon will set his stomach right.” I tried to smile and knew I’d failed. Maybe he did need sleep more than a hot meal, but I was tired of waiting for answers. I needed him up and talking.
When I stepped into the house, he was standing by the window with his back to me. The sun filtered in through the glass and obscured his features, so he was only a scrawny shadow.
“Supper’s ready.”
He didn’t acknowledge me. I walked closer. The clink of my spurs alone should have been enough to catch his attention. His dog was by his side, staring in the same direction; except the mutt wasn’t big enough to see out the window, so it eyeballed the wall.
“Hey, Franklin, Selma cooked you up a nice meal. You want to come outside?”
His head twitch
ed at the mention of her name and he slowly turned to me. He shuffled past without saying a word, his dog in tow. His body sagged in the dog’s direction as he walked and I thought he might collapse on the mutt.
Selma handed Frank a full plate and a cup of water. He looked at his plate as if it were the first time he’d ever seen food. Selma had to put a spoon in his hand and help him scoop up some beans. Their dark-red juice ran over his lips, staining his white beard. He was in worse shape than I thought.
Teta balanced his plate on his thigh so he could keep one hand by the butt of his pistol.
I waited until Franklin got the hang of things before questioning him. His hand trembled when he brought a biscuit to his lips. Flakes broke off and peppered the ground.
“Selma tells me you’re her husband’s brother.”
His eye shifted to me, but he continued to chew on his biscuit. I could feel Selma’s gaze bore into the side of my head.
“You been out here all this time, in the mine?” Franklin let his dog lap some beans off his spoon.
“Did you hear or see anything in the mine when my friend and I were in there earlier?”
Selma started in by saying, “I don’t think he’s ready to—”
I held up my hand to shush her. It was beginning to feel like she was covering for him and, in turn, playing us for fools. Sure, it could have just been a woman’s concern for a family member, but I couldn’t afford to turn a blind eye to any angle.
“Franklin, I’m talking to you, son.”
Even in his semidazed state, he could hear in my voice that I was at the end of my tether. He finally turned to me, giving me his full attention.
“You were in the mine the same time as Teta and me. Care to tell me what happened in there?”
Selma cocked an eyebrow. We still hadn’t told her what had chased us out of the mine. Or at least what we thought had chased us. I suspected Franklin knew a good deal more about it.
“The mine is very – dark,” he rasped. “Hard to see. You have to rely on your ears.”