Less Than Human (32 page)

A little voice in Matt's head said he was a damn fool for making snap judgments, that the only reason he was doing this was because the kid reminded him of himself when he was younger. He thanked the voice very kindly when it was through, then leaned over and stuck out his hand.

"Mister billiards player, I'm willing to take a chance if you are. On one condition, though."

"What?"

"That you never tell anybody how that buffalo caught me. It wouldn't do much for my reputation. Or your life expectancy."

The young man stared at the hand for a moment. A huge smile split his face as he grasped it and shook. "They'll never hear it from me."

Partnerships had been formed on a lot less.

The Cimmaron

T
hings were going well as summer turned to autumn.

Steven and Matt were killing and skinning about thirty animals a day. The work was filthy and backbreaking, but the pay was hard to beat. Matt held up his end of the bargain on the work, though it was obvious from the halting way he moved that the doctor's words had held true; he would never walk right again.

When they had enough hides cured to fill the wagon, they would drive to Dodge, and it seemed that they couldn't supply enough to the eager buyers.

Both men had accumulated a tidy sum of money as autumn gave way to the first signs of winter.

They decided on one last trip before the bad snows came. The idea proved a mistake.

On December 18, the worst blizzard in years struck. The sky turned gunmetal gray as the temperature dropped far below zero. And if matters weren't bad enough already, the snow came, burying familiar landmarks beneath a blanket of white, until the two men had no idea of where they were.

They tried to make camp, but the wind was so brutal that all their efforts to build a fire ended in failure. Matt knew that if they didn't find shelter they would be dead before morning. He forced the horses on, knowing that it was dangerous, knowing he had no choice.

Sitting hunched over, trying to protect himself from the wind, Matt was jolted when the lead horse stumbled. "Whoa, you jug heads," he yelled, pulling back on the lines.

The team stopped and their labored breathing filled the air with plumes of whiteness. As Steven bent down to have a look at the lead horse's legs, he thought he spied a small opening in the side of the hill. He pawed at eyes that were nearly frozen shut. Snow blind, he must be going snow blind. Either that or it was his imagination showing him what he desperately wanted to see. As if to make him doubt, the swirling snow kicked up and he could see nothing.

"What's wrong?" Matt yelled, trying to be heard over wind that could drown a man's voice at twenty feet.

Steven called back through cupped hands, "Hold on, thought I saw something." He plodded through the drifts on wooden legs, up to the entrance of the hole. The opening was small, not much bigger than an oversized prairie dog burrow. He stared at it thoughtfully. Maybe if a man got down on his stomach, he might fit through.

"Looks like some kind of den, or maybe a cave," he shouted in Matt's direction. "Better bring that cannon of yours, in case we run up on something that don't want company."

Matt grasped his Sharps in hands he could no longer feel and climbed down from the wagon. In his whole life, he couldn't ever recall being this cold. That wind cut into a man like a knife.

"Work your way inside, and see if you can light a match while I cover you."

Steven fumbled around in his pocket a few seconds before coming up with one, but his fingers were so numb he had trouble holding it. He scooted into the entrance, trying to protect the match from the wind. After five or six futile tries, he finally succeeded in getting it lit. He crawled the rest of the way into the opening with Matt following close behind.

Once they were inside, they saw that it was indeed a cave and bigger than they first thought. They couldn't tell how big from Steven's match, only that they were able to stand. At first glance nothing seemed to be living inside, so they quickly turned and went back to the wagon to gather some firewood they had stored there earlier. Soon they had a roaring fire going.

"If you don't back up, you're going to catch on fire," Matt observed as Steven hugged the blaze.

"I don't care. At least I'll die warm."

Grudgingly, the younger man moved away from the fire. "You stay here and warm up those old bones, and I'll go see about the horses. But first, one for the road." He backed up and stood over the flames until Matt swore he saw smoke curling up from Steven's backside.

Steven returned a few minutes later with both arms full. "If you was to look around that mess, you might scare us up a bite to eat while I get some snow to melt for coffee."

"More buffalo meat?" Matt asked.

"Yeah, that's all we got."

"God, what I wouldn't give for some beans."

They ate quickly and in silence, wolfing down their food, and when they were finished, Matt pulled out his pipe and worked on getting it lit. Soon fragrant smoke drifted across the fire. Outside the wind raged at the cave entrance, its thin keening sounding like something hungry.

"I don't know about you," Steven said, "but I didn't think we was gonna make it there for a while."

"Yeah," Matt agreed around his pipe, "I was beginning to have some serious doubts my ownself. It must be twenty-five, thirty below out there." He gave his head a wry shake. "Guess maybe we should have quit this game a mite sooner."

Steven cleaned off the plates while Matt worked on his pipe some more. After a few minutes Matt knocked the ancient briar out and stuck it in his coat pocket. "I think I'd sleep better after a look around. Hate to have a grumpy old bear climb into bed with me. 'Less, of course—" he winked—"she was female. We got any of those torches you rigged up?"

"Look under the wagon seat, over on the left side. Should be two or three still under there."

Matt reappeared a few minutes later. "I thought you were trying to hide them," he grumbled, stamping snow from his feet and backing up to the fire. After he warmed himself, he stuck the end of a torch into the fire and, when it flared into life, he handed it over.

"Steven, my boy," he said, hefting the Sharps, "let's go have a look-see around."

As Steven held the torch high, they treaded their way deeper into the darkness, pausing for a moment to stare at some boulders that circled the floor in an almost perfect ring. Tall as a man, they didn't look natural. They looked as if they had been placed there. A rusty stain rested in the middle of the stones, looking like the remnants of long-dried blood. There was something about the rocks that reminded Matt of silent old men sitting around a campfire, brooding about a secret they would tell if they only had the ability to speak.

Matt was glad to be away from the huge stones.

The cave went back a lot farther than either man would have thought. Their footsteps floated back with a ring that took some time dying.

Droppings, speckled with white, littered the floor.

"What do you think caused those?"

"Bats'd be my guess," Matt answered, a smile crossing his face as he warmed to the subject. "When I was down in Mexico, I seen bats that'd suck the blood right out of a man's body. Yes sir, do it while he was sleeping. I ever tell you about 'em?"

"No, and I wished you hadn't told me now." Despite the easy banter, the prospect of finding their way back caused the younger man's back to prickle with sweat.

They had taken several convoluted turns when the torch began to flicker. Matt handed over another. There was barely enough fire left to light the new one and, for an instant, the darkness moved in close, reminding them how far beneath the earth they were.

An anxious moment followed before the new torch caught. "We only got one left," Steven pointed out.

"I can count."

"Shouldn't we be thinking about getting back?"

"What do you make of that?" Matt asked, pointing at a bulky object draped in shadow.

"I don't see a thing."

A dry, rustling sound carried, like the wind blowing leaves across the ground, before silence once again descended upon the chamber. Matt readied the Sharps, prepared to shoot at the first sign of movement. As he neared the object, it seemed as though a sliver of ice had been driven into his chest. An inner voice warned him of danger and his nerves were stretched tighter than wet rawhide by the time he was close enough to see what rested in the darkness.

Both men stared in disbelief. In front of them was… an Indian burial platform. The rustling sound had come from the wind moving around what was left of the blankets. Everything was rotted, and that accounted for the musty smell to the place. But beneath that, barely discernible, was another odor, one that Matt had never smelled before. Whatever it was, it was sickening.

Steven was the first to speak. "What kind of Indians would put their dead in a godforsaken place like this?"

"None that I know of," was Matt's flat reply.

"I always heard they like to be buried on high ground, so's their spirits could sort of watch over things." Steven lowered his voice several notches. Something about this place made a man want to whisper. "You know, it don't make no sense why somebody would go to all that trouble, just to put one man back here."

There was a reason that Matt knew of, but he said nothing. He started to turn away when something caught his eye.

Squinting in the dim light, he tried to make it out. Pictures. Lots and lots of pictures. The cave wall had been painted into one huge mural.

"Bring over that torch."

In the flickering light they studied the paintings, trying hard to understand why someone would go to the trouble to draw pictures that no one would ever see. They were crude slashes of color, barely more than stick men. Large portions were faded or gone altogether, so it was difficult to make sense of what they were trying to say.

"What's all this mean?"

"It means," Matt answered softly, "we're standing in the burial chamber of a medicine man."

"What in Sam Hell is a medicine man?"

"Indians believe there are some men who can heal the sick with magic, control spirits, that sort of thing. They're held in great respect by the rest of the tribe."

"Yeah? Then why'd they stick him in here?"

"Cause they were afraid of him."

"That don't make no sense," Steven answered. "The son of a bitch is dead."

"Indians are superstitious, that's all."

"You sure don't look too convinced from where I'm standing," Steven replied, watching the older man's face. "You sure there ain't more to this than what you're telling?"

"Come on, I'll show you there's nothing to be afraid of!"

Matt angrily grabbed the torch from Steven and walked over to the platform. Holding the light above his head, he studied the remains of the figure lying on the bare wood. Both men steeled themselves at the sight. It was impossible to tell how long the skeleton had lain there, but all the clothing had rotted away long ago, along with the flesh, and the only things that still clung to the yellowed bones were patches of skin. One had a feathered snake on it.

Matt felt as if he had been kicked in the stomach.

But that wasn't the worst of it.

"Who could do something like that?" Steven asked, his face turning ashen. "Drive stakes through his hands and feet, and then leave him in the dark. I bet he was still alive when they brought him here."

Matt saw that Steven was getting scared and put a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. "Don't get yourself worked up, son. He's dead and the dead can't hurt you. Besides, he was killed before they brought him here. Look at his skull, it's damn near busted in two."

Something was odd about the crack, though.

"Let's get out on back to the fire," Steven said, nervously licking his lips as the second torch began to flicker, throwing shadows that made the stick men seem to move.

Matt needed no encouragement.

Their campfire led them the last few yards through the dark, and though neither of them said anything, both were glad to be away from the dead medicine man. They stoked up the fire as they made preparations to turn in for the night. But sleep was the farthest thing from their minds.

"Think I'll go out and seen what the weather's doing," Steven said, making the first excuse. "Maybe if the snow's quit, we can get an early start in the morning."

"Good idea. Check the horses and make sure they're doing all right. Make damn sure to give 'em some extra feed." Steven made no effort to move.

"What's on your mind?" Matt asked in a wary tone.

"I was thinking maybe one of us should keep watch tonight. You know… just in case there's something to what we saw back there." Steven laughed but his laugh sounded strained.

"What we saw back there was just a few smudges of paint and the rotting bones of some dead Indian." Matt's words were a curious mixture of mocking and concern. "You ain't afraid of that, are you?"

Steven looked ashamed, yet from his voice, Matt could tell he was still scared. "It's the way you looked when you first saw those paintings. Your face turned pale, like you'd seen your own ghost. Something bad happened back there. I don't claim to know what it was, but it just felt wrong. I think we should get out of here tonight. Right now."

"How far you think we'd get in that storm?" Matt hunkered down and poked at the fire even though it was burning just fine. "I done told you everything I know about what we saw. Will you quit bending my ear and get some rest?"

Steven looked closely at Matt, trying to gauge the truth of his words. A look of reluctance crossed his face but he finally nodded. "Don't forget to wake me up in a few hours."

Matt nodded. "You can count on it."

As Steven wrapped up and prepared for sleep, Matt stared into the flames, brooding about what he'd seen earlier. There were gaps in the story on the cave wall, still he was able to fill in most of the missing pieces… because he'd heard the story once before. His memories carried him back to when he was young and living with the Sioux, back to a distant night when he had heard a story he had never forgotten: