Authors: Dennis Yates
“That would take too long,” Rudy replied. “Besides, some of the other searchers might notice the smoke and come running. Then we’d have to split up the reward some more, which I don’t intend to do. Now one of you fire up a lantern, because I’m going in to get this son of a bitch.”
Rudy checked his pistol again to make sure it was fully loaded. Phil passed him his flask of stolen whiskey and he took a long drink to warm his bones and give him courage. Sam handed him the kerosene lantern. A rope was tied to Rudy’s ankle so as to help him if he got lost or if they needed to pull Maynard out of the cave.
“Okay boys, I’ll let you know if I get into any trouble. I’ll kill him if I have too. However it goes, I want you to be ready with the rope if I happen to need it. One shake means I’m lost and need help, two shakes means you’re going to be pulling out Maynard, dead or alive.”
Rudy’s companions nodded grimly. They were still overwhelmed by their companion’s bravado. It wasn’t merely blind foolishness that made Rudy so different from other boys his own age. He’d killed his first man when he was only twelve, after a drifter who’d greatly underestimated the boy decided to break into his home while his father was in town getting a leg put in a cast and his mother lay in bed with one of her debilitating headaches.
“Wish me luck,” he told them before he flopped down on his belly and crawled forward, the lantern in one hand and his pistol in the other. His companions watched as he slid through the small opening until his boots disappeared.
“Shit Phil, he’s actually done it,” said Sam.
“Better him than me,” Phil grinned. “The boy is plain crazy in the head.”
They both knelt down close to the entrance and watched Rudy’s lantern edge further back into the cave while the oily rope tickled their palms.
****
It took Rudy’s eyes several minutes to adjust to the darkness. He didn’t have to slide on his stomach for very long before he was able to stand on his feet. Carrying the lantern in one hand and his pistol in the other, he stepped forward.
“I know you’re in here, Charlie Maynard,” he said in deepest voice he could muster, “You’re surrounded, and you might as well give up before I shoot you, because I don’t give a damn either way.”
Rudy’s threat didn’t echo up through the cave as he’d hoped, but quickly deadened against the rock walls painted with bat guano. He stood still for a moment and listened hard for any sign of Maynard. On the moist dirt floor he noticed a fresh set of boot prints filled with foul-smelling water. He followed the tracks with his eyes until they ended near an archway were a lone figure stood watching him.
The boy gasped, took a few steps backwards and cocked his pistol.
“I see you, Maynard! Put your hands in the air if you know what’s good for you.”
Maynard raised his hands without a word and moved forward. Rudy couldn’t believe his eyes. The killer was taller than he’d imagined him, and his long shadow jackknifed against the rock wall behind him.
Suddenly the rope tied around Rudy’s ankle jerked to life, almost pulling him over before he dug his heels deep into the muck to steady himself.
What the hell were those damn fools outside doing now? I haven’t given them the signal yet!
Although it was normal for Rudy to think about what kind of punishment to deliver to his friends when things of this nature occurred, he managed to bottle it up for later. At the moment he had himself a big fish to catch. Charlie Maynard, the most wanted man in the West! Rudy was looking forward to becoming famous…
“You’re close enough,” he said. He threw Maynard a small length of rope. “Now tie your hands together real good. And don’t try cheating because I’m going to check your work.”
A crooked smile spread across Maynard’s face as he picked up the rope and began to wind it around his wrists. His eyes remained fixed on Rudy’s ankle, where the rope had sprung to life again and tugged violently. Fuming, Rudy set the lantern down on the ground and gave the rope a sharp pull while still keeping his pistol leveled on Maynard. Distracted, he’d forgotten his own pre-agreed signals. When the rope answered with another series of tugs, Rudy fumbled for his knife to cut himself free. It was at that instant when Maynard sprang at him and Rudy swung his pistol and fired.
Maynard shifted sideways and the bullet whizzed past his head and struck rock. Then suddenly he pitched forward and began clutching at his shoulder and cursing.
Rudy couldn’t believe his good fortune. The bullet had ricochet off the wall and hit Maynard! The injured man continued to lurch toward him and he took aim once again.
“Stop where you are mister or I’m going to put this one right in your heart.”
“It’s over little man,” Maynard hissed through gritted teeth.
Rudy smiled back at him. “Dead or Alive” the poster in town had read. There wasn’t a question now of what he should do. He wasn’t afraid of killing a man if he needed to. He aimed the pistol at Maynard’s chest when the rope around his ankle suddenly jerked him off his feet and sent him flying onto his back. He struck his head on a rock and cried out. The rope began to pull him away, and he tried to find a place to anchor his hands but the rock was too slippery. Skidding fast across the mud, he headed for the mouth of the cave.
“Sam! Phil! Stop pulling the fucking rope!” he screamed.
He popped out of the cave like a champagne cork and was knocked out when his head struck a tree trunk.
****
When Rudy came to again he lay still for a long time. He tried to remember where he was. He’d had the strangest experience. He’d felt his mind soaring away from his body, and when he got as high as the mountain tops he’d willed it to come back. Something tickled his nose, and when he opened his eyes he saw thousands of downy snowflakes descending toward him. As he watched the snowflakes, he noticed they also had bits of red in them, like blood.
He sat up and turned to look at the large dead spruce leaning out over the mouth of the cave as if it were the skeleton of some mythical beast. On two separate limbs he saw Phil and Sam. At first he thought they were just fooling around and he almost cussed at them until he saw the reason they floated in the air like they did. His posse had been skewered through by the dead tree’s branches… As the wind blew down the mountain, their corpses bobbed in the air like meat about to be roasted over a fire. Blood strayed from their mouths and down over the jutting ends of the branches and mingled with the falling snow.
Rudy bit his lip and looked away. He tried to stand, but his legs felt broken. He heard a movement behind him and slid around to see what it was. Maynard stepped outside the cave and stood below the tree for a long time, catching the snow on his tongue. Rudy struggled to say something and only choked. Maynard turned his head and smiled. He lifted Rudy’s pistol and waved it.
“Thanks for the piece, boy.”
“Give that back,” Rudy mumbled. “It belongs to my Daddy.”
Maynard ignored him and began to walk away, the shoulder were he’d been winged by Rudy’s shot stiffening at an odd angle. From what Rudy could tell, the man was hurt pretty bad. It would be difficult for someone in Maynard’s shape to get far in this weather. He only wished he could alert others about what was happening.
They’ll see his blood on the snow and track him down. He doesn’t have a chance in hell…
He watched as Maynard stopped several yards away and turned to laugh at him. That’s when Rudy noticed the dark shapes drop the rope attached to his ankle and move toward him. The snow seemed to melt as they floated forward. Rudy was confused. Had another posse come for his rescue? Why weren’t they shouting at Maynard, or filling him with bullets?
Rudy couldn’t make out their faces beneath the brims of their hats. They reminded him of the long-bearded prospectors he’d seen pass through town. Half-starved men dressed in rags. Except these two smelled strongly of death.
“Who are you?” Rudy asked.
They seemed not to hear him. They slowly lifted Rudy in the air and carried him toward the tree where his dead friends stared down at him.
“Stop! What do you want? Can’t you see that Maynard is getting away?”
He tried to squirm free from their grasp but it was of no use. The more he struggled, the deeper their long yellow nails sank into his flesh.
Rudy soon spotted the branch they’d readied for him and began to scream.
After they were finished, the two figures picked up their satchels of stolen gold and followed Maynard’s footprints in the deepening snow.
CHAPTER 21
It wasn’t until the following morning that the bounty hunters managed to chase Maynard up into one of the mountain glaciers. Sheriff Longhorn had been close enough by to join the small party of men. They had Maynard backed up next to a crevasse in the sloping field of ice.
By afternoon they’d managed to once again exhaust Maynard’s ammo supply, yet they knew this was the least of their worries. They’d seen the trail of mutilated bodies Maynard had left behind. No ordinary man could have done what they’d witnessed, unless he was the very devil himself.
The stories they’d heard from the few survivors no longer sounded like the talk of men who’d lost their minds. Nearly everyone who’d gotten close to Maynard saw his twin demons, in a variety of forms.
Surrounded by several men with their rifles trained on Maynard, Longhorn shouted at the killer to give himself up. Moving together as one, the men stepped closer until they could see Maynard’s face.
“Give your self up,” shouted Longhorn. “There’s no way out this time.”
Maynard spoke to the two pale men standing next to him. They were unarmed and loaded down with heavy satchels and burlap sacks of gold. Longhorn couldn’t understand how the rail-thin men could possibly have the strength to carry all that weight. The longer he watched the more he became convinced that something wasn’t right. Then Hicks said their necks were slit and handed him a glass and he’d almost dropped it after he looked.
They weren’t ordinary men, that’s for sure. Unless you think a dead man that moves is something ordinary…
After the two corpses tossed the gold next to Maynard’s feet, they turned and charged Longhorn and the others. It took more rounds than the bounty hunters had expected to bring them down and even then they continued to crawl toward them across the snow until their heads had been blown off their necks.
Maynard had watched silently. Then he dumped the horde into the dark fissure behind him and grinned as the bounty hunters scowled in disbelief.
“You cannot kill me,” he shouted. He backed up to the lip of the crevasse with a loaded saddlebag slung over his shoulder, opened his arms wide and fell backwards into the crevasse.
Those who witnessed his fall claimed to have seen shadows rise from the slain men rush to join their master.
A search was conducted afterwards, but neither Maynard nor the gold was ever found. Satisfied the devil must have fallen all the way back to hell, Longhorn and the others returned home to bury their dead.
A peace settled over Wrath Butte for the next several years. Longhorn retired and was replaced by Sheriff Underwood. For Underwood, the relative peace of Wrath Butte didn’t completely unravel again until after Jared Horn began selling his carving pictures. Had the elders in town been aware that Horn was spending time up in the glacier, they might have warned others of the danger.
CHAPTER 22
Although he sometimes freaked even himself out by what he was capable of doing, Walker Marsh was having a hell of a good time. Riding the razor’s edge was the way he always preferred it, and it had been such a long time since he’d experienced the thrill, even with strings attached. As a soldier in Vietnam, he’d had the opportunity to develop a particular taste for things he could only experience with great difficulty back home. The jungle, however, had afforded him much greater cover, until the day when Marsh’s commanding officer discovered what he was doing, leaving Marsh with no choice but to kill the man while he slept.
Unlike his fellow vets, Marsh never had any dreams to pursue when he stepped off the plane in San Francisco on a sunny afternoon and was greeted by a crowd who spat and screamed at him for killing babies. By the mid-seventies he took overseas mercenary work until mental health problems began to interfere with future job prospects. He’d never imagined the day when the shadowy people who hired mercenaries would suddenly become so picky. Afterwards, he found himself taking on the driving and bodyguard duties for a network of very wealthy and paranoid men, and it was during this time in Walker’s life that he wisely chose to shed his mercenary identity like an old skin. Replacing the military jargon that had flowed off his tongue naturally for so many years, he tried his best to sound like the loyal servant his employers expected. The severe mood swings had lessened, and what fear people still had of him actually worked in his favor. Walker lasted at the job for almost seven years, until he discovered one day that his employers were planning to make him take the rap for a double murder one of them had committed during a drunken rage at a hotel in Miami, forcing him to run with nothing more than five hundred dollars cash and the clothes on his back.