Skinwalkers (5 page)

“This your joint,
ain’t
it?“ He asked the question of the one-armed man, though his gaze never left the
Indians’s
.

“That it is,“ the man said. “Name’s Garret. This here’s Little Joe. The
cunt
in the corner trying to set policy for my bar is Hank.“

“What do you have to say personally on the matter?“

Garrett stood in silence, looking the bounty hunter over.

“There’s only one kind of hombre I don’t serve in this establishment—“

The bounty hunter slapped his saddlebag down across the bar, the clink of the coinage inside audible throughout the room.

“But you
ain’t
it,“ Garrett said. “What are you drinking?“

The room relaxed. Hands eased away from pistol-grips.

The bounty hunter nodded at Little Joe. “Whiskey.“ The Indian nodded back and released the trigger on the scattergun beneath the bar as he turned to fix the bounty
hunter’s
drink.

“You have quite the talent for making friends,“ Farnsworth said. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in asking if I might, too—?“

“No!“ the bounty hunter said. Little Joe sat a shot glass down in front of him. The bounty hunter devoured its contents in a single swallow.

“I didn’t see a jail,“ the bounty hunter said, turning his attention to Garrett. “I need to secure my prisoner for the night.“

Garrett nodded. “There’s a stove in my office upstairs. You can shackle him to it. Come on.“

From
Croatoan
Unbound
, by Lesley Robinson…

While the ultimate disposition of Perdition’s townsfolk remains undocumented, multiple theories have been formulated in regard to their fate.

The most likely is that the township moved wholesale when the railroad missed them to instead travel through the nearby city of San Ramirez. The family of Perdition’s founder, the noted Santa Anna loyalist Benito
Ignacia
, returned to their native land of Mexico soon after their patriarch lost his life in a riding accident. In addition, Perdition was already recorded to have suffered a significant decrease in population with the onset of the Colorado Gold Rush in 1859. Although Perdition saw a brief resurgence in the form of Anglo-American settlers during the early 1860s who gave the town its lasting moniker, it is doubtless the railroad’s decision to lay track through the neighboring city hammered the proverbial nail in the coffin of what would’ve already been a ghost town. When Perdition’s residents saw the city’s one opportunity for socio-economic growth falter and then die, abandonment of the township for other more established places of residence would have seemed the only logical course of action.

Another more circumstantial theory is that, being unable to eke out a living as a township, the people of Perdition dispersed to be absorbed by the indigenous population. The
Utalo
, a Native American people having substantial numbers in that part of New Mexico, have the support of some historians in their claims that their ancestors incorporated the people of Perdition into their tribe. To date, the United States government has denied the
Utalo
federal “Indian“ status due to their high degree of mixed ancestry. Further evidence in support of this theory is the
Utalo
religion, a mixture of tribal philosophy and Fundamentalist Christianity unlike any other found among the Native American peoples. This theory was proposed by American anthropologist James Clayton in his book, Perdition Lost: In search of America’s True Ghost Town. However, Clayton would be the first to admit that there is no true empirical evidence to substantiate his findings.

Probably the most talked about and least supported hypothesis for Perdition’s disappearance is that the township fell victim of some type of paranormal occurrence that wiped it from the face of the earth. Speculation has ranged from the ever popular alien abduction theory to the even more ludicrous Seventh Seal Theory. The latter takes its name from the biblical book of Revelation. The story of Seventh Seal speaks of hell opening up to scourge the immoral and unjust. Certain translations even mention hell swallowing those found guilty of sin.

There is little doubt the town’s name and the supernatural taboo attributed to the area by its indigenous peoples have fueled supposition in this regard. Though, to date, all claims to this effect remain unfounded.

If the scorched earth located roughly thirty miles south of San Ramirez is in actuality the remains of the township of Perdition, it is more likely the phenomenon which produced it is natural in occurrence. Such naturally occurring phenomenon might be a land-logged equivalent of the escaping methane hydrates along the continental shelf now considered to be the cause for the disappearance of vessels in the Bermuda Triangle …

THE WOUNDED PRIVATE

“W
hen my innocence is proven at last,“ Farnsworth yelled through Garrett’s office door, “you brigands shall rue the day you crossed swords with J.T. Farnsworth!“

“Got a highfalutin mouth on him, don’t he, stranger?“ Garrett led the bounty hunter off the promenade and down the stairs.

“That’s the professor, all right.“

“What’d he do?“

“Nothing you need be concerned about.“

Garrett scowled. They reached the main floor and he found something to occupy himself with that didn’t include the bounty hunter.

The latter saddled up to the bar, pretending not to hear the derogatory remarks issuing from the card players.

“Fucking nigger just roll in here like his fucking shit don’t stink,“ Hank said. Lacey’s arms were around his neck.

“He’s brown as shit, Hank,“ Robby said, elbowing his friend for approval.

“That he is, Robby. Browner than the brownest shit ever come out my ass, even after eating the Doc’s pork chops, that I can tell you!“
 

Hank guffawed until he felt Lacey’s arms leave his neck. He watched in astonishment as she stumbled up to the bar to lean on the bounty hunter.

“Want a poke, Mister?“ Lacey slurred. She placed a tiny hand on the bounty
hunter’s
shoulder, having to stretch her arm to its full length in order to do so. “You can stick it in my ass for seven.“

The bounty hunter gazed down at her, a blank stare where pity might once have been.

“Shoo, Lacey. Get.“ Maxine pushed Lacey away and took position at the bounty
hunter’s
side. “That little rabbit
ain’t
woman enough for a big, strapping gringo like yourself, stranger. I’m Max.“

“Ms. Max,“ the man said, tipping his hat. He turned to Little Joe and gestured for another whiskey. Maxine waited for the bounty hunter to give her back his attention. She tilted her head in surprise when she realized he wasn’t going to.

“I can give you something a hell of a lot better than what’s at the bottom of that glass,“ Maxine said.

“Doubt it.“

Maxine’s head rocked back in surprise.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you like women?“

“I like them just fine.“

Maxine looked the bounty hunter up and down. He was huge, as tall and solid as Little Joe, but without his gut. And there was something about him. Maxine was not the kind of lady who indulged in schoolgirl crushes, but she felt drawn to him—saw something in his eyes that she recognized in herself.

“Then how about a poke?“ Maxine asked. She leaned in close and whispered in a conspiring tone. “On the house?“

The bounty hunter raised his glass to Little Joe, indifferent. “Another.“

“Come on. Make me feel alive again.
Please?
“

The bounty hunter turned and peered down into Maxine’s eyes. There was no sympathy or judgment in his gaze, but it did hold understanding.

“I can’t help you,“ he said under his breath. It was true, of course. Maxine knew she’d just been fooling herself.

“Then make me forget,“ she whispered. “Just for a little while.“

The bounty hunter looked at her a moment longer, then picked up his rifle from the bar and slung his saddlebag back across his shoulder. He took Maxine’s hand in his and led her away from the bar and up the stairs.

Garrett watched them go, venom in his gaze.

A
fterward, the bounty hunter lay on his side, his body rising and falling in time with his slow methodical breathing. Dust motes illuminated by the setting sun fell lazily atop him by the hundreds. Maxine lay dozing in and out as she traced her fingers along the scars on his back. Their coitus had been hard, angry, and satisfying. Death had been beaten back for a little while longer, and both were spent from the fight.

“That boy yours?“

Maxine started awake. She realized the bounty hunter was addressing her and answered.

“Yes.“

A long pause.

“Garrett his daddy?“

“His papa’s long dead.“

Another long pause.

“Is this the part where you ask me what a nice
señorita
like me—?“

“That’s your business.“

“Yes, it fucking
is
my business.“

Silence.

“So what are you two doing here?“

“A thousand reasons. None of them worth speaking.“

“You could leave.“

“And go where—? You going to save me, stranger? Take us away from here? Answer our prayers?“

More silence.

“I didn’t think so.“

Maxine retracted her hand and turned over in bed to face the wall. They lay that way for several moments, each facing away from the other. Then, slowly, the bounty hunter rolled onto his side.
Maxine
felt his hand on her shoulder and tears began to leak from her eyes. But then a scream echoed from downstairs, and the sweet dream they’d almost shared was replaced by a nightmare.

J
imbo
sat at the card table laughing, amused by Wilson’s latest joke at Hank’s expense.

“Fuck you, Wilson,“ Hank pouted. “I did bull’s-eye that ace using a mirror. Didn’t I, Robby?“

“You sure did, Hank. Sure did.“

“
Bullshit
, Hank,“ Wilson said. “And you, Robby. What do you know? If you’d ever get out of the bottle, you might realize you’re stuck so far up Hank’s ass we can see you smiling every time his chin wags.“

 
“I must add, Brother Hank,“ Reverend Phillips said, “that on the day in question I saw no such—“

“Oh, shut your cocksucker, Preacher,“ Hank said.

“Stop it. All of you,“
Jimbo
said, gasping between guffaws. “You’re killing me!“

“You never mind them.“ Gertrude slipped her fleshy arms around Hank’s neck. “Why don’t you come up stairs and let ol’
Gerdie
make you feel all right?“

“Now that puts a frightful vision in my head,“ Wilson said.

“Like a buffalo
scrogging
a
coyot
’,“
Jimbo
said.

“That
ain’t
scary,“ Robby said. “There’s this one time, when I was back in Montana, I was up in this whorehouse, smooching on this ol’ girl. I reached down to cop a feel of her
cunny
, and by God!
 
I felt a pecker down there, big and hard as my fucking arm.“

“No shit?“ Wilson said. “What’d you do?“

Robby shrugged, “Well, I’d already paid my two bits—.“

The room erupted into guffaws.

“Great God, almighty!“ Wilson said. “What about you, Preacher? You ever been face to face with
the evil one
while you was casting out devils? What are you afraid of?“

“No devils,“ Phillips said. “But an empty offering plate gets my hackles up, let me tell you.“