Murder in Mushroom Valley

by Scotty V Casper

  Utah’s Central Desert had never looked lovelier. To the uninitiated, the desert is a terrifically hot, barren, treacherous, parched wasteland. But to those in the know, it is a place of richness, a place teeming with rugged plants and animals, a place of great beauty.

  While the couple prepared their campsite, they took the time to look out over the landscape. The sun was slanting in from the West, and the desert was dappled by the sun, creeping in around various cloud formations. It was a study in contrast. The scene stretched before them was spotted with ironwood trees, cercocarpus, sagebrush, and cedar. Not only was the desert at that time a treat for the eyes, it was also a treat for the body as the desert began to cool. A leopard lizard was aware of the forthcoming night, and it skittered across a game trail, heading to its nighttime refuge.

  “It really is lovely out here in this harsh, old desert,” Amanda said as she looked out over the land stretched before her.

  “Yes, it is,” Bryan said, breaking a long silence. “I love the deserts here in this here Western land. Here’s the thing about the desert—a man can’t conquer it. He must learn to live with it in order to co-exist with the old girl.”

  “You know, Bryan, I am beginning to change my mind about you. At first, I thought you were just an unlettered lout, but you surprise me at times with your depth of thinking.”

  “I was born and reared in Midway, Utah, and I’ve had eight years of reading, writing, and ciphering.”

  “Midway,” Amanda said in disbelief. “Why, we were raised a mere twenty miles apart. I was born and raised in Provo, Utah. I’m a recent graduate of Brigham Young Academy.”

  “We were speaking of the desert,” Bryan said, staring at Amanda with a set of sparkling blue eyes. Some had said he had a pair of eyes that rightly belonged on a woman because of their lustrous beauty. “In places, the desert looks flat, but make no mistake, there are any number of small gullies and hillocks out there. An entire tribe of Apaches could be hidden right there on our doorstep, and we wouldn’t know it until they swarmed in and lifted our hair. What I’m saying is, keep your eyes and ears open. Those Apaches are supposed to be camping in a grove of cottonwoods outside Hanksville, but they are notional and could be watching us right now and thinking about lifting our topknots.”

  Bryan built a fire about the size of a dinner plate and set coffee to boiling. He placed the fire beneath a juniper tree to dissipate the smoke so as not to notify the Apaches of their whereabouts. Next, he opened a can of beans and sliced off some large chunks of bacon from a big hunk he had that was salted down in a burlap bag. “This won’t be like we’re dining at Delmonico’s in New York, but it will serve to keep body and soul together. Do you drink coffee?”

  “No, I won’t drink the stuff,” Amanda said, shaking her head. “It is against the Word of Wisdom mandated by the Mormon Church. Our religion has forbidden its members to drink hot beverages or to partake of tobacco or spirits of alcohol.”

  “I can understand the ban on tobacco and alcohol, but coffee never, ever, hurt a soul. I lived right next door to an LDS church in Midway, but I never darkened the door. I just wasn’t a believer in many of their silly and restrictive rules. To me, it is just so much hooey.”

  “So much hooey, you say.” Amanda stamped her foot again. It would almost seem like her foot would be beginning to get sore. “I’ll have you know, I was just married to my sweet Michael up north of here in the Manti Temple. I took their holy vows, and now I feel the spirit of the Lord. He is ever-present and guides me in every aspect of my life.”

  “Ever-present?” Bryan asked as he chuckled and stirred the beans. “Was He present when ol’ Seth was fixin’ to have his way with you? Would He have been present when the Apaches took their turn with you and then hung you upside down over a slow fire to let your brains slowly broil in your skull? Would the Savior have been at hand when they took their knives to your blackened body and carved you up like a Christmas turkey?”

  “What you are saying is just so ugly.”

  “I know. At times, we live in an ugly world. Yes, I do believe in a Supreme Being. Our bodies are a marvel of fleshly engineering, and the complex systems of plants and animals didn’t happen by chance—they were designed by a Being of infinite knowledge. But I don’t believe that a Supreme Being hovers over us and protects us from even the slightest thing like a bee sting. No, I do not.”

  “Oh, you are just impossible. I don’t want to talk to you anymore. Let’s eat; I’m starved.”

  “That’s fine with me,” Bryan said as he chuckled, thinking on how iritating the danged woman could be.

  All the time they ate, Bryan avoided looking directly at the fire and ruining his night vision. If the Apaches attacked, he wanted to be able to see them. Then when they finished eating, he scattered sand on the fire so that it wouldn’t be a beacon in the night and lure Apaches to their campsite. But he had decided earlier to take a chance with the small fire to prepare their supper.

  When they got ready to get into their bedrolls, Bryan took the time to coil a rope around hers. “Why did you do that?” she asked.

  “I’m not certain it works,” he said, as he shrugged. “But I’ve heard a rattlesnake won’t cross a rope.”

  “Rattlesnake? Oh, how dreadful. Here?”

  “Yes, here. This is a desert, you know, and deserts and rattlers go hand in hand.”

  “What about you? What about a rope for you?”

  “I’ll be all right. Besides, I only have one rope.”

  “My, oh my, you are being chivalrous. Who would have thought?”

  “Amanda, I’m only going to take so much of that sassy mouth of yours before I turn you over my knee.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “Yes, I would,” he said, chuckling, as he bent down to remove his boots. “Try me.”

  Amanda got to thinking about it being nighttime and having a strange man within reach of her. “Will this rope serve to keep you away from me much the same as it does the rattlers?” she asked as she slipped under the blankets.

  “You won’t have to worry about me tonight. I’ve never cared for a woman with buck teeth.” After he got that out, he couldn’t help himself. He laughed long and hard.

  Amanda was seething over the statement, but it got her to thinking, so she tested her teeth with her fingertips. “I don’t have buck teeth,” she snapped. “In fact, I have very nice teeth.”

  Later that evening, just before Bryan nodded off, he heard Amanda gently sobbing over in her bedroll. Even though she was an exasperating female, he felt sorry for her. Losing one’s spouse during the honeymoon had to be very difficult. Actually, losing a spouse at any time had to be tough.

  The next morning, Bryan was the first to wake up. “Amanda,” he called in a deep, low voice because a high, sibilant tone will carry great distances across the desert. He didn’t want Apaches pouring down on them before they even had their breakfast.

  “Yes,” she said, obviously irritated. “Can’t you let me sleep a bit longer?”

  “No, we need to get going while it is still cool. If we start moving now, we can be in Hanksville before noon, and I can, at long last, be shed of you.”

  She ignored that nasty remark. “Oh, alright, I’ll get up.”

  “Before you put on your boots, make sure you shake them out. Putting your foot on a scorpion or tarantula is never a fun experience.”

  “Alright,” she said. She held her boots out away from her body and shook them. ’There’d best not be any critters in my boots ,’ she thought.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Later that morning, Bryan stopped to give his horse a blow. Riding double is hard on a horse, and it is a good way to ruin or kill a good horse. “What’s your horse’s name?” Amanda asked.

  “Cayuse.”

  “That’s not very original, is it?”

  “It’s a good enough name, in my opinion. See, I’m just a simple man, trying to carve out a simple life here in the West.”

/>   “Oh well, simple man, did you know that you stink?”

  “There you go again. Didn’t your mama teach you any manners? It’s not like there’s a lot of bathtubs out in this here desert.”

  “I meant nothing by it. I suppose I’m getting a little ripe myself,” she said, chuckling. “At least you have nice clothes, albeit covered in trail flour. Bryan, do you mind me asking . . . what work do you do to sustain yourself?”

  “I’m a bounty hunter,” he said as he turned and gazed at her with his shimmering blue eyes.

  “Oh, how awful. You kill men for a living?”

  “I only kill them when they resist being taken in alive and they make a play to kill me. But I have to admit, it makes it a bit easier, bringing them in for the bounty draped over my pack horse. I don’t have to worry about them bashing my head in while I sleep, and I don’t have to listen to their whining and foul language.”

  “Speaking of a pack horse, you don’t have one?” she said as her face took on the look of puzzlement.

  “The poor old critter up and died on me just on the other side of Helper. I loved that old gelding. He had been with me for nearly ten years. I called him Horse. See, I was on my way to Hanksville to buy another pack horse when I met up with you. Hopefully, I can find a good pack animal at the livery stable there,” he said as he gave her a big smile.

  She liked his smile, and she had to admit to herself that he was certainly good looking—and manly. But he was just so elemental, so coarse. She gave her head a shake to rid herself of such favorable thoughts regarding Bryan because he was, well, a murderer, and the LDS church frowned on murder, condemned it. “So your pack horse was named Horse?” She laughed at that. “Did it take you long to come up with that one?”

  “No, it came to me right away,” he said as he laughed. Suddenly, he threw his body in front of hers and hurled his arms out to protect her. Just then, an arrow flew past his head, sizzling the air as it went. The arrow had no more than passed when an Apache materialized from behind a sand mound and attacked them, holding a knife that looked like it was about a foot long. Bryan flung Amanda away from him and met the attacker with his own knife—a Bowie that he pulled from his left side. It would have been better to just pull his .38 caliber Tranter and shoot the Apache. But Amanda had taken hold of his right arm just before he flung her away, and he only had a split second to toss her aside and, at the same time, pull the knife with his left hand. The Apache came in low and thrust upward with his wicked knife in an effort to disembowel Bryan. But Bryan parried the attack and took a swipe at the Apache with his Bowie, slicing the fellow’s forearm open. The Indian screamed in pain and rage and lunged at Bryan’s belly again, but Bryan was able to suck in his stomach and throw himself backward to avoid the knife.

  The Apache tried yet another assault on Bryan’s stomach, so Bryan kicked the knife out of his hand. But in so doing, he fumbled and dropped his own knife. Undeterred, the Indian came at Bryan to simply try to throttle the life out of him. He came in low, so Bryan grabbed the back of the fellow’s head with both hands, pulled his head down, and brought a knee up to meet the Apache’s face, flattening his nose. This tactic is known as the Liverpool Kiss, and that particular type kiss will naturally raise hell with a man’s features. So the Apache wallowed around for a time, holding his face and moaning. But then he seemed to recover somewhat—at least well enough to pick up his knife and resume the fight.

  The Apache leaped at Bryan a fourth time, and Bryan instantly knew he was going to try another thrust at his belly. The Apache wasn’t very original with his fighting tactics, and Bryan took advantage of it. Bryan grabbed the Apache’s arms and gave him a flying mare. The Apache landed on his back with such great force, all of the air whooshed out of his lungs. So Bryan capitalized on that by straddling the Apache and driving his Bowie in the fellow’s throat, right up to the hilt. The Apache’s eyes widened, and he looked into Bryan’s blue eyes with great hatred. That was the last thing the fellow would see because Bryan twisted the Bowie and tore his throat wide open. That action was both bloody and mortal.

  He wiped his Bowie on the Apache’s breechcloth, then bounded over to Cayuse, pulling him down on his side. In so doing, he ruined some of his supplies, but it hardly mattered because keeping himself and Amanda alive was first and foremost on his mind. “Amanda, there’s another one out there, so I want you to lay down behind Cayuse and don’t so much as expose a pinky finger until I tell you to.”

  “It’s flat out here. What are you going to hide behind?”

  “I’m going to tuck in behind that rock as best I can,” he said, pointing to a nearby rock positioned amid a field of creosote bushes.

  “Are you crazy? That rock isn’t big enough to hide a thimble,” she said as she threw her hands in the air in exasperation. “Why don’t you tuck in behind Cayuse with me?”

  “Because that Apache has a rifle that he probably stole from somebody’s ranch house after he helped kill the family and burn them out. I saw it gleaming in the sunshine a few minutes ago. You see, that Apache would then direct his fire at Cayuse, and I don’t want her killed. I love the old girl, even if she does have a bad habit of kicking and biting.”

  “So you’d rather get behind that little rock and get yourself killed?” Amanda asked.

  “I think I will be okay. Most Indians are terrible shots because they haven’t had much practice. They don’t have many firearms and even less ammunition. They have to get it all from the white man, and we are reluctant to let them get their hands on our firearms because, in the end, they will turn them against us.”

  A dust devil skittered across the desert and then pirouetted itself into oblivion some fifty yards away just as it entered a field of pancake prickly pear cactus. A red hawk screeched from somewhere above, paying little attention to the drama playing out directly below him. His only concern was finding a fat rabbit for his breakfast. “Amanda, I am quite sure that Apache won’t be able to hit me, but if I get a bead on him, I will send him off to take his place at the knee of Ussen, their spirit God. I was captured by Apaches down in the state of Sonora, Mexico one time. They sang and beat drums all night in communion with Ussen. I got out of that one with my hair. I’ll have to tell you about it sometime. Right now, though, we have an Apache to kill.”

  “If you don’t think he can hit you, let’s do this thing like you described,” she said, as she shrugged her shoulders.

  He reached behind him and pulled out a Dance Brother’s Army .44 pistol with an eight-inch barrel. “If I don’t make it through this skirmish, hide this gun from sight. When the Apache gets close enough where you can smell his stinking breath, pull it out and shoot him right in his chest. Don’t try for a head shot—you might miss. Now remember, don’t hesitate. Just shoot him because, believe me, if he captures you, you are going to suffer indignities and pain you can’t even imagine.”

  “Don’t worry. I will have no problem shooting him. After all, he just might be the very one who shot my hubby in the throat with an arrow. No, I’ll have no trouble sending the heathen to hell. Oh, incidentally, I could easily shoot him in the head, if it comes to that. I am an excellent shot with both rifles and pistols; my father taught me how to shoot.”

  “‘Sending the heathen to hell,’ you say? Somehow, a statement like that doesn’t seem in keeping with the image I have of you as a saintly little girl born and reared in the shadow of the Mormon Temple up in Salt Lake.” All the time Bryan is saying these things to Amanda, he runs his eyes over a tumble of red rocks off in the distance to make sure the Apache isn’t taking a bead on him.

  “Well, they killed my Michael, and I want them all dead—yes, dead and rotting. Sorry, I can’t help it. Bryan, most of the Bible verses say to leave revenge unto the Lord, but I have memorized one that veers off from that principle, and that’s the one I am going to follow. It is in Exodus 22: 24-25. It goes like this: Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound
, stripe for stripe. Yes,” she said, “one might say I want the sons-a-bitches dead.”

  Bryan’s eyes widened at that, and he shook his head to dispel any misconceptions he might have had about Amanda. Then he opened his mouth and laughed until his eyes filled with tears. “Alrighty then,” he managed to say. “Let’s make them sons-a-bitches dead—at least this one to begin with.”

  All the time Bryan and Amanda discussed their situation, Bryan had been hunkered down behind Cayuse, opting to risk his horse’s life for a short period of time in order to discuss the battle strategy with Amanda. It was then that he decided to draw the Apache’s fire, so he plunged over to the rock. He no more than hunkered a part of his body behind the rock than a bullet whined off it. It sent rock splinters into the side of his face, and it stung like the dickens. He wiped his hand across his face and brought back blood. Immediately after the shot, though, Bryan glanced up at the red rocks and saw a puff of smoke, so he knew where the Apache was located. At least he was aware of where the Apache had been located because the fellow would have moved after he fired the shot. So, suffice it to say, he knew approximately where the Apache was located. Nothing happened for a while because the Apache was afraid to expose any part of himself, and Bryan was reluctant to hang out any more of his body than was already on display from each side of the rock.

  The sun roasted the parched earth and heated up the rock to the point where it was painful to touch. But Bryan knew those red rocks sheltering the Apache were just as hot. Then Bryan got a break because the sun glinted off the Apache’s rifle barrel, so he had the fellow located. He was hunkered down behind an oblong- shaped boulder about the size of a Murphy wagon, and to the rear of the boulder was a cliff face that had been hollowed out near the ground by the forces of nature.