The Valley Page 2

  “I was near to packing up and following you out Jake. I even got as far as putting the saddlebags on old Bess, but Bill Jackson put an end to that. He was rooting around looking for anything that might have come out of the shaft with the flood. He found a nugget, big as a cold whore’s nipple, at the foot of the rockslide, and another even bigger up at the mouth of the cave, just lying there as if it had been put down for someone to find. It fair put the gold fever into those that were left. Up that hill they went, a-hollering and a-whooping. There were more nuggets lying on the floor of the mine. Jock Simpson got hisself dead arguing with Farting Bill over one big ‘un. After that there was no stopping them.

  “They all went up into the cave in the late afternoon yesterday, leaving just Irish Jim and me here. Ain’t one of them has come back. Jim said he heard gunshots just after dawn, but I ain’t so sure I can believe him as he’s been at the hooch. He says there’s a kelpie in the creek, and he’s been seeing leprechauns.

  “I plan to leave Jim with the horses and head up to have a look-see in the cave. If there is a mother-lode in there, we need to get a Stratford name on the stake. I’ll leave a trail as I go like we did at Granddaddy’s place.

  “I’ve put what we found so far in the place where Mother will never find it. If I don’t return, it’s all yours little brother. Give what you can to Maureen to keep the farm going, and make sure she don’t pine away as an old spinster. As for the rest, don’t spend it all on booze and whores, or if you do, make sure they’re good ones.

  “Your big brother, George.”

  Jake had tears in his eyes as he put the papers down.

  Shit George, you can’t go and die on me. We ain’t even said goodbye.

  He wiped the tears away and had just started in on reading the note again when Pat came to the door.

  “There ain’t nothing but black powder and digging tools in the other hut,” the big man said. “And there ain’t no sign of any folks. Where are they all at Jake? Where’d they go?”

  Jake was about to pass the note over when he remembered that Pat had never taken to schooling. He could write his name if he needed to, but even that was a struggle for him.

  Jake held the note up.

  “George left us a message. They went up into the caves Pat,” he said. “They went to look for the mother-lode. That’s why they ain’t here. They found the gold.”

  Pat’s eyes lit up.

  “Then that’s where we’ll go too,” he said. “I can’t wait to see Jim and tell him our stories.”

  Jake had been thinking about Irish Jim, and the red stains on the grass in the corral.

  I plan to leave Jim with the horses.

  Jake was very afraid that Jim, and the horses, were now in the same place.

  4

  The sky had darkened by the time they stowed the provisions and got the horses settled. The animals refused to settle anywhere near the old corral, and ended up being tethered to a post near the wagon. Even then they were skittish and nervous.

  “They’s spooked, right enough,” Big Pat said. “But ain’t nuthin’ special. Horses is stupid beasts, afeared of new places. They’ll settle down.”

  The Squire and The Pastor went in search of some coffee. Frank helped Big Pat stockpile everything they brought with them, packing it all tight into the second hut. Frank noted wryly that most of the Squire and the Pastor’s gear consisted of ammo, whereas the rest of them had brought mainly food and bedding.

  Fighting men like you and me…

  The words kept coming back to mind, as if they were mocking him. He lit a pipe and sucked smoke as he tried to blank them out. Big Pat stood beside him, staring out at the rubble.

  “We was just getting it nice,” Pat said softly. “I had a home. First real one I ever had.”

  Frank had no words to comfort the man.

  Hell, I haven’t even got enough to comfort myself.

  The two of them stood for a while watching the sun go down behind the mountains. The smell of brewing coffee wafted across from the main hut, but it wasn’t enough to tempt Frank inside.

  Behind them an argument had started up in the main hut. Voices were raised in anger, mainly young Strang’s high-pitched nasal whine.

  “You promised, you fucker. And if you don’t give me my gold, I’ll blow your fucking head off.”

  That boy sure has a mouth on him. Going to get himself killed some day.

  Frank wanted no part of it. He stayed outside, until the sun disappeared behind the mountains. A chill set in that finally forced him and the big man to head for the relative warmth indoors.

  Just as they turned away there was a loud splash in the creek below. They both stopped and turned towards it. The sound wasn’t repeated, and the shadows were already too dark down there to see anything.

  “Fish?” Frank said.

  “Ain’t seen no fish in all the time we was here,” Pat replied. “Frogs maybe?”

  Biggest frog in the world never made a splash like that.

  But, like Jake before him, Frank realized just how fragile the big man was emotionally. Pat was crying again. He had hardly stopped since their arrival. Frank still had no idea how to console him, nor even how to start.

  Awkwardly, he patted Pat’s arm.

  “Let’s get some coffee inside us big man,” Frank said. “And tomorrow, we’ll look for your friends.”

  Pat almost smiled.

  “You’ll help us?”

  Frank nodded.

  “That’s what I’m here for. That’s why Jake hired us.”

  Pat shook his head.

  “Nope. You ain’t here to help us folks. You’re here for the gold. Just like the rest of them.”

  “No, I’m not,” Frank started, but Pat had already walked away. He wanted to call after the man, to tell him that the gold made no never-mind to him. But to do that would be to acknowledge the turmoil inside him, and he wasn’t ready to bare that pain to anyone.

  Maybe not even to myself.

  Frank followed Pat into the hut. Almost immediately he wished he’d stayed outside and had another smoke. An argument raged among the four men there, and it looked like one that might quickly descend into gunplay.

  Eric Strang waved two pieces of paper in Jake Stratford’s face.

  “I’ve put what we found so far in the place where Mother will never find it,” Strang shouted, his voice high and whining. “That’s what it says. He’s talking about the gold, isn’t he?”

  To Frank he sounded just like a spoilt child complaining that he hadn’t been given an egg for breakfast.

  He needs a slapping down. And if he’s not careful, he’s going to get one.

  Jake said nothing, but Frank saw that his gun hand never strayed far from his holster, and he never took his eyes from Strang’s face. The Pastor and the Squire looked on. They too looked ready to draw at any moment.

  But on whose side?

  “You had better tell us where the loot is lad,” the Squire said to Jake. “It is what we were promised after all.”

  “You were promised payment for protecting the settlement,” Jake said, never taking his eyes off Strang. “And we are a mite late for that, don’t you think?”

  “And yet, you brought us here,” the Pastor said. “You owe us for the time spent on the journey. And remember what the book says -- God loveth a cheerful giver.”

  “Didn’t he also say it is hard for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven?”

  The Pastor laughed.

  “Don’t go trying to quote scripture at me boy. We’ll be here all night.”

  Jake laughed. He was still staring at Strang.

  “I ain’t going nowhere.”

  Strang had been getting steadily angrier while the others spoke. He pulled out the Walker and shoved it in Jake’s face once more.

  Frank flinched, but Jake didn’t move.

  “You tried that earlier lad,” Jake said. “It didn’t work then, and it sure ain’t gonna work now.”

/>   The Squire laughed.

  “Put your cannon away boy,” he said. “If you blow his head off, we will never get paid.”

  Strang kept the gun pointed straight at Jake.

  Frank knew the look on the youth’s face, the need for action, the need to prove that you were somebody. He’d had the same urge himself less than a year ago. It had taken the slaughter at Shiloh to burn it out of him. He wasn’t ready to see any more death here. He stepped forward, taking out his own pistol. In one smooth movement he reversed it and clubbed Strang on the back of the head.

  The youth collapsed in a heap at Frank’s feet. The Walker clattered to the floor alongside him, and went off with a bang that rang in Frank’s ears for seconds afterwards. The shot dug a two-inch gouge out of the cabin wall.

  The men stood around looking down at Strang.

  “Thanks, much appreciated,” Jake said.

  Frank nodded.

  “Just didn’t want to see anyone get killed that didn’t need to.”

  “Is he deaded?” Pat asked.

  “Let us hope so,” the Squire said.

  Jake bent and checked.

  “Nope. He’ll have a sore head in the morning, but he’ll be fine.”

  Frank remembered to breathe. Just hitting Strang had made him shake. The idea that he might have killed the lad brought gorge to his throat and he was running a cold sweat. When he tried to put the gun back in its holster his hand trembled. Everyone else was still looking at Strang so he was able to use two hands to put the pistol away.

  He had just started to calm down when the horses went into a mad frenzy outside, snorting and squealing.

  “Bear!” Jake shouted, and left at a run.

  The others followed, but Frank could only stand there, struck immobile by fear, with the sound of screaming in his ears and a wounded body at his feet.

  5

  Jake was first to reach the horses. In the dim light he couldn’t make much sense of what he was seeing. He had his pistol in his hand, but no clear sight of anything to shoot at. The horses were terrified, kicking and stomping, but there was no larger shadow among them that would signify a bear or a cougar.

  What in deuce has gotten into them?

  Jake lowered his gaze closer to the ground. A low dark shadow had one of the horses by the lower leg. It tried to drag the horse towards the creek. The horse squealed and kicked but was held firm by a large gray claw.

  Jake could scarcely believe what he saw. The nearest thing he had ever seen to the beast at the end of the claw was a plated armadillo that they’d caught and eaten in the Arizona desert. But although this beast was similarly armored, it was built more like a wood-louse at the front end, low to the ground, with a conical snout, and near eight feet long in the body alone. It had three legs on its right hand side, and Jake guessed there would be a symmetrical set on the other side. Another of the large gray claws rose in the air. It clacked with a loud crack, and the horses stomped and snorted with increased frenzy.

  The back end of the thing was all tail, a tall black whippy muscle that rose in a high arc above the beast. It swayed, almost hypnotically, back and forth, as if searching for a target. Before Jake could shoot, the tail whipped around, too fast for the eye to follow. It stuck a long barbed tip in the horse’s shoulder, the noise as it went in like a butcher cutting ribs from a side of pork.

  Two seconds later the horse fell as if pole-axed, eyes rolling in its sockets and tongue lolling from its mouth. Its forelegs waved feebly in the air as it tried to stand. The low beast started to drag it away. The creature left a deep gouge across the grass as it dragged the horse away.

  The horse snickered pitifully.

  “Shoot it,” Pat shouted. “Shoot it Jake.”

  That finally got Jake moving. He fired straight at the beast where he judged the brain might be. His shot gouged a hole in the shell that bubbled and spat yellow fluid, but the creature didn’t slow. It dragged the horse closer to the creek.

  A shot boomed close to Jake’s ear. The Pastor stood next to him, putting a round into the creature, raising another hole but yet again failing to slow it down. The Squire joined in, pumping four quick rifle shots into it. The front end was by now starting to look like a pulpy mess. An acrid smell hung in the air, a mixture of burnt powder and a foul noxious tang that tickled at Jake’s tonsils and threatened to make him hurl.

  Still the creature kept dragging the horse away. The men followed. The tail whipped backwards and forwards, looking for something to strike at. The Pastor pumped two more shots into it and more of the yellow fluid splashed.

  We’re not doing enough damage.

  Jake didn’t know what he was going to do next. Big Pat wasn’t encumbered by any such thoughts. He ran past them and grabbed the swinging tail, just avoiding being hit by the barb. He got both hands round the muscle and started to pull. The beast scuttled sideways, half-dragging Pat with it. The big man dug in his heels and pulled, but the beast, with the weight of the horse attached, was too heavy for him to move.

  But at least it was momentarily distracted. Jake stepped forward and shot at the point where the claw joined the body. Bits of shell cracked and split but it still held tight to the horse’s leg. It tightened its grip and blood poured from the leg, dark in the dim light. Jake kept firing. It took three rounds, but finally the claw came away from the body and fell to the grass. The horse was free.

  Now that the weight was lessened, Pat could swing the beast round his head. More of the yellow fluid, stinking and acrid, splashed everywhere. Pat screamed at the top of his voice, and, at the top of an arc, let the thing go. It flew away towards the creek, acrid gore flying behind it. It landed somewhere in the dark with a loud splash.

  Jake waited for long seconds, half expecting it to come scurrying back up the creek bed. But the night had fallen silent. After a while even the horses went quiet.

  “What in God’s name was that?” Jake asked.

  He should have known the Pastor would have an answer.

  “Thou hast sore broken us in the place of dragons and covered us with the shadow of death,” the tall man said.

  The Squire spat on the ground.

  “That was no dragon.”

  “How do you know that?” Pat said.

  “Because I killed one once, in Egypt,” the Englishman said. “A man-eater. It was nearly thirty feet long. It had teeth like knifes and…”

  Jake tuned him out and checked on the horse.

  Its leg was broken in two places, but it did not seem to be in pain; its eyes were rolled up in their sockets. At some point it had bitten through its own tongue. Blood mixed with drool and foamy spittle. It smelled nearly as bad as it looked. Its breath came hot and heavy, steaming in the night chill.

  “Ain’t no way she’s getting up lad,” the Pastor said. “I reckon you know what needs to be done?” He bent over the wound caused by the tail barb. “Poison I reckon,” he said. “And a fast one at that. Ain’t seen nothing like it since my old mare got hersel’ bit by a rattler.”

  Jake had been thinking the same thing.

  Sorry old girl.

  He patted the horse’s head, then put a bullet between its eyes. Somewhere in the dark Big Pat started to cry again. The others started to move away, but Jake called them back.

  “Help me move this,” Jake said. “We can’t leave it here. It’ll attract bear, coyote, hell, maybe even more of them things.”

  It took all four of them, but eventually they manhandled the dead horse across to the lip of the bank and tumbled it down into the creek. It fell away into the darkness. There was one loud splash then it too was gone.

  Big Pat had his eyes firmly closed. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

  “What was that thing Jake. I ain’t never seen nothing like it.”

  “I don’t think anyone has ever seen anything like it,” Jake said softly.

  “It was an abomination,” the Pastor said. “A sin against God.”

  The Squire was mo
re prosaic.

  “Some kind of large scorpion if I’m not mistaken,” he said. “Or maybe a crab of some sort?”

  “Ain’t no scorpion ever grew that big.”

  Jake picked up the chitinous claw and studied it closely. It didn’t tell him anything he didn’t know already.

  It’s big, strong and ugly, and can break a horse’s leg as easy as if it was a matchstick.

  He stood, suddenly feeling tired.

  It’s going to be a long night.

  “Pat. You stay here and watch for a while, OK? Holler if that thing comes back.”

  The big man was looking down at where they’d thrown the dead horse over the lip.

  “Do you think those things got our folks Jake,” he whispered. “Do you think?”

  Thinking was something Jake wasn’t planning on doing a lot of.

  6

  Frank Collins heard the shooting, but couldn’t bring himself to move.

  They can handle it.

  Frank couldn’t take his eyes from the boy at his feet. And boy he was. Eric Strang was hardly more than seventeen years old. Unconscious and pale, he looked even younger than that. Frank had left a lot of boys looking near the same on the field of Shiloh.

  Frank started to shake uncontrollably. Deep sobs wracked his body.

  Not again. Never again.

  He forced it away, angry with himself for the weakness.

  Shooting was still going on outside, but Frank wouldn’t move; couldn’t move. He was still in the same place when Jake came back to the hut minutes later.

  Jake didn’t speak, merely strode to his saddlebag and took out a bottle of whisky. He drank from the neck, swallowing a cupful before stopping.

  Frank couldn’t take his eyes off Jake. Something had badly frightened him and if a man like that was feeling terror, then Frank needed to know what caused it.