MPF Classic – High Moon

I realized something interesting. The story that precedes the current "live" story, The Devil's Due, does not appear in text on the site. It's appeared elsewhere, but not here in text – just audio. So, because this will go up on Amazon when Devil's Due will, and because I'm a completist, here's the text of my Great Hites story – "High Moon".

The little town, if you could call eight buildings and one street a town, seemed peaceful enough. A little stream meandered out of the mountains that surrounded the town on two sides, the afternoon air was cool and fresh, and the sky shone overhead. It looked like a little slice of heaven. But I knew a few things about sleepy little towns, and I wasn't about to let this one get the drop on me.

I got down off Bones, and thought. It was the evening of the 14th, I might be early. But knowing the Preacher, he'd meant me to be here today. Or tonight. I shook my head. The things one does for one's immortal soul. Such as it is.

Three done and down, Sinner, the Preacher had cackled.  Now, go NORTH, young man! North!  I still remembered his scarecrow frame, his crazy silver hair, and his harsh crooked nose below beady blue eyes.  Up in Colorado, they're sipping the Earth's black blood! Canon City! You've got to be there by the fifteenth, or…  and the Preacher had paused.

I'd finished the sentence for him. "Or there'll be Hell to pay."

The Preacher had cackled.  That's right, Sinner. Hell to pay, indeed!

And now here we were. "Well, Bones, it's a pretty little Eden we've found ourselves, isn't it? Will we play the snake or find it?" Bones shook his mane with a whinny. I chuckled at him. "I know, I know. But if my Daddy can reference the Book, why can't I?"

Bones did his best to ignore that. Horses are good at ignoring things when they want to. I checked my pistol and the silver circles on my black hat. Then I started walking, leading Bones by the reins. Where the Preacher sent me, there was trouble, no doubt about it. This would be no different.

Canon City was a pretentious name for a handful of ramshackle buildings even if it did have a hotel and a bathhouse. I stabled Bones for the night, and considered the bathhouse. Goodness knew I needed it after a week on the trail, but it was already early evening. I shrugged, totaled my meager sums in my head, and reckoned I had time for a bath.

Let no man say otherwise, hot water is absolute proof of God's love for His children. A hot meal isn't bad either, and this was also provided by the accommodating proprietor of the bath house, prior to a good soak. He was a large, jolly man, slightly balding, but his fantastic black mustache drew most of the attention away from those areas. Midnight black, waxed and curled at the ends, it did an almost adequate job of distracting one from the way his eyes kept straying to the door… to the window beyond, and the setting sun.

"Waiting for someone, Mister?" He started at the sound of my voice.

"I'm sorry… what?" He was tapping the fingers of either hand together, only half paying attention to me. His eyes were still fixed on the door.

"Are you waiting for someone? You keep staring out there."

He jerked his head away from the door and back to me. "It's only that it's getting late," he said with an apologetic laugh. "I've got to be home by dark."

I considered his answer. "I can pay extra if that's an issue. And getting home shouldn't be too much of a problem – there's a full moon tonight."

The color drained from the bath house owner's face at that, and he laughed again – strained, nervous. "No, it's my wife. If I'm not home, she'll… worry."

I considered that for a moment, then nodded. The picture was starting to get a little clearer. I stood and held my hand out for a towel, which the man was only too glad to give, and he practically sighed with relief as I stepped out of the tub to dry and dress myself.

I changed into a clean white shirt, covering it with my usual ensemble. Black pants and vest. A string tie, as I would be visiting a local saloon to replenish my funds, and my black hat, with the silver chain of circles around my head.

"You might not want to show your gun here," the bath house owner said, as he drained the water and prepared to close up the place.

I looked at the man, and snorted a chuckle. If there was evil here, and the Preacher had sent me after it, most likely it was centered in the saloon. And even if it wasn't, it would more than likely stop by for a drink. Really, I was killing two or three birds with one stone by heading in that direction. And knowing the Preacher and his tasks, I'd be killing more than birds before the night was through.

I took the gun.

The saloon was nearly empty. The bartender gave me a hard look as I entered, but seeing I was a stranger, he kept whatever he had to say to himself.

There were a few tables, but except for me and the bartender, there were only four men in the place, sitting at a table in the back corner. The shades had been drawn in such a way that the dying rays of the sun lit up the room – except for that corner.

I walked up to the bartender, and put a hand on the bar.

"Bar's closed, stranger." the bartender said.

"Doesn't look closed to me," I said, looking back at the men playing cards.

"That's a private party, and you're not invited." the bartender said, jerking his head toward the open door.

"Now, Sully, that's no way to treat a stranger who's just come to town." The voice reminded me of someone grating stones together. Deep, dry, maybe a bit of growl at the end.

The bartender hesitated, then nodded toward the corner. "Sure thing, Mr. Travis." He turned back to me. "What'll you have?"

I shrugged. "What can I get for this?" I pulled a dollar from my vest and laid it on the dark-colored wood. He glanced at it, then at me, and took the dollar. Strolling to the back, he came back with a brown bottle, which he set down next to me.

I took the bottle – it was cool! He must have been keeping these in water from the mountain stream. I raised it slowly to my lips, and almost spit it back out again. I looked at the bartender from under raised eyebrows. "Sasparilla?"

The bartender didn't look up, he just kept wiping. "You're going to want to keep your wits around you tonight, stranger," he muttered under his breath.

I considered that, shrugged, and took another pull from the bottle. Turning to the corner, I raised it in salute. "Thank you, sir, for allowing me to attend your party."

The voice laughed at me with its grating voice, and I could see white teeth bared in what I assume was a smile. It was the only thing I could make out in the corner. "Care to join us for a round of poker?"

I took another pull at the dark bottle. "Don't mind if I do." I approached the corner slowly, letting my eyes adjust. The man who had addressed me had a broad face, dark thick hair that came down into big sideburns on either side of his mouth. The mouth full of shiny white teeth that seemed to glisten as I got closer.

He shuffled the cards expertly, sniffing the air. Cutting the deck, he licked his lips. "You smell like blood, stranger. Blood and… sulfur?" He sniffed again, and his eyes – and the disconcerting smile – grew even wider. "Well, tan my hide. Royalty. You'll fit in here just fine."

The smile on my face died somewhere between my lips and my eyes. "'Fraid not, mister. Momma was a simple Scottish girl from the old country."

The man shuffled the cards again with a throaty chuckle. "Don't think it's your mother's side of the family I'm smelling."

I quickly glanced at the other people sitting at the table. The one to my left was pale, with stringy yellow hair hanging down around his thin face. The one to my right had a huge, bulbous nose, and what appeared to be a permanent scowl under cold, grey eyes. And the other one, sitting to the leader's right, had a thick, curly black beard and a tan hat. The leader motioned to the space between the two opposite him. "Pull up a chair, Mr…"

"McAllen. Seth McAllen."

"And I'm Daniel Travis. These are my deputies. Conroe," he nodded at the stringy-haired man, "and Will", the scowling big-nosed one on my right, "and Matthias here is my brother."

I pulled a chair over to the table. "Deputies?" I asked.

"Yes. I'm the local sheriff." He pulled back his jacket to show the tin star pinned to his vest.

"Mmm… Spent some time in Texas with the Rangers myself. But I imagine you don't have too much trouble here in this little town."

"You might be surprised. Local folks aren't any trouble, but every now and then we get… strangers, and they're usually up to no good. They've heard about the oil." He started dealing the cards.

Conroe piped up. "Greedy little con-men from back East, mostly." His voice was nasal, and his breath reeked of onions.

The smile disappeared from Mr. Travis' face for a moment. "Yes, we've had some troubles. But nothing we couldn't take care of, right boys?" They all laughed short, hard barks of laughter. The cards were dealt and I took a glance at my hand.

Three nines, an ace, and the Queen of Hearts. It was a good hand. But then, cards and I had something of an understanding. They were always good hands.

We played, and I nursed that big bottle while we did. The men around me drank like fish, but it didn't seem to affect them. At least, it didn't affect their card playing, not that it mattered. Oh, I folded occasionally, and dealt off the bottom to the men around me when I could. After three hours, I was only up thirty dollars. It was part of the understanding. But it was also getting late, and I had a good idea of what I needed to do.

That last hand was fantastic. The cards knew I was done, and they seemed determined to send me off in style. I played the men as well as I could, growing the pot bigger and bigger. By the time we were done, there was a few hundred dollars on the table, and the ownership of Bones was in question. He hated it when I gambled with him. And he absolutely refused to believe me when I insisted that I never gamble.

So when I revealed the royal flush, the color drained out of Will's nose, and Connor growled at me. Travis and his brother both smiled coldly at me.

"I do believe you are a cheater." Sheriff Travis said.

"I beg your pardon, Sheriff. But I never cheat." And I reached for the pot.

Connor grabbed my hand as I was pulling the money my way. "You'd have to have the devil's own luck to come up with that hand."

I glared at him. "Let go of my hand, sir."

"You are a liar and a cheat," Will growled.

"And there's more of us than there are of you. And we happen to be the law." Connor added.

I could feel the heat rise in my face, and Connor, seeing my eyes, removed his hand. "In the Rangers we had a saying. No man in the wrong can stand up against a fellow that's in the right and keeps on a-comin'. But if you're so upset, then here." I threw half the bills back on the table. "I won that hand, fair and square, but I'm not a heartless dog." Now, I'll admit, saying that I'd won the hand fair and square may have been a bit of a stretch, but luck isn't cheating. Still, at my comment they all stood up, and Will and Connor reached for their guns. I held my hands up in protest. "I didn't mean anything by it, Sheriff… Deputies… Matthias. Can't imagine why anyone would take offense at that anyway."

Sheriff Travis just grinned his white-toothed grin, and gestured to the door. "Why don't we settle this outside?"

I shrugged, and waved to the door. And that was when I got a glance at the bartender as he strolled to the back. He had gone sheet-white, and I heard the latch lock as he closed the door behind him.

I stood. "After you, gentlemen."

Travis and his brother led the way, while Connor and Will followed me out. I left the pot on the table. I'd be back for it.

The four men paused before they left the saloon to fix their hats. As we walked to the street, the bright full moon shone directly overhead, and their faces were shadowed by their wide brims. Will and Connor followed the Sheriff and Matthias to one side of the street.

"Four against one? Hardly seems fair."

"Well," Matthias talked – for the first time that night – "Like Connor said… you do have the devil's own luck," and the four men took off their hats.

Under the silver moonlight, their forms grew hazy, melting and changing until four large wolves stood in their stead. One was pale, yellow, and mangy – Connor. One had a huge nose, and cold eyes – Will, and the two in the middle – thick and black-furred – those would be the Sheriff and his Brother.

I smiled, and reached up to pull the Rangers badge from my vest pocket. I pinned the silver star in the circle to my vest, just over my heart. If anything, it was the wolves that seemed nervous to see the silver. I shook my head. Silver on my hat all night, and now they cringed? I shrugged. "All right, Sheriff. You know my daddy. But I'm here representing someone else. In the name of the Power that sustains this land, I'm here to end you."

The stringy haired wolf and the large nosed one charged. My hand dropped to my revolver, and I drew, firing once at the smaller werewolf, twice at the larger one. They dropped where they'd been hit, Connor yelping once in pain, and Will not making a sound at all as they fell dead.

"HOW?" the Sheriff-wolf growled at me.

I pulled a bullet from my pocket and held it up in the moonlight. The glint of the silver shone under the moon as if illuminated from within.

I fired again, missing as they scattered to either side of the street. Only two bullets left in my pistol. Another miss would mean I'd have to reload. And whichever was left would have me.

I walked slowly down the street, pausing at the gaps between buildings. One street, nothing. Two, still nothing. At the third, I saw the gleam of white teeth on my left, but as I turned to shoot, I heard a scrabble behind me. I whirled and fired as Matthias leapt for my face.

Two shots rang out in the night, then Matthias hit, his bulk dragging me to the ground. But he was limp and heavy – dead before he'd landed. I shoved him off to one side, and the Sheriff was on me.

He paused, straddling my chest and staring down at me with his cold eyes. "You killed my brother, and my friends. But you'll not end me this day, demon child."

That was when I jammed the bullet I still held in my left hand into his eye. The wolf howled in pain, rolling over and over as the silver burned blue flame in the moonlight. I stood and pulled a single bullet from my belt, loading my Peacemaker.

Unlike my daddy, I am not a cruel man. A single shot rang out in the night, and it was done. The wolves shimmered in the moonlight, transforming back into men. I shook my head and turned back towards the hotel.

After two steps, I saw something shining in the dust of the road. Bending over, I picked up a single silver dime. I fingered the silver coin for a moment, then tucked it behind one of the circles on my hat.  Four done and down, I thought to myself, hearing the Preacher's mad cackle in my head.  Twenty-six to go.

The inn was locked, of course, but after a few minutes of insistent pounding, the innkeeper had let me in to grab what sleep I could before the dawn.

As I left the hotel the next morning, the whole town was out waiting for me. There were thanks, and tears, and hands were shook. A reward was offered, which I declined.

Then I remembered that I'd left the pot sitting on the saloon table. I headed in that direction, not really believing it would still be there.

Of course it was. No one goes to a saloon first thing in the morning. The bartender nodded as I entered. "I figured, I really shouldn't touch the money either way." He put a cold brown bottle on the bar, and went back to polishing glasses.

I strolled back to the corner, bottle in hand, and found the Preacher sitting in Dan Travis' seat. "Well done, Sinner. Claim your prize?"

I stared at the Preacher, sipping from the bottle, and not reaching for the pot. "Where to now?"

The Preacher's wrinkled pale face broke into a wide grin. "Virginia!"

I stared at him. "Virginia?"

The Preacher nodded at me. "That's right, Sinner. Alabama hedge-wizard trying his hand at necromancy in Richmond. Seems convinced the South will rise again!"

I shook my head at the Preacher. It would be a few days ride to Wyoming, but the railroad had just been finished there. And chances were good that I'd need more bullets when I got to Virginia. So I grabbed a fistful of dollars, and strolled out into the morning sun.

END

The cover image is by Michael Martelli. It's used under a Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic License, the text of which is available here. And the original picture is available here.