Саймон Бествик - The Devil and the Deep - Horror Stories of the Sea

Then, as Bird King started up the next slope, the silhouette of a horse and rider appeared at the hilltop behind them. Charley’s heart leaped.

But then the rider extended a long arm toward Charley and Bird King, and fire shot from its end.

Charley heard the bullet buzz past his ear like an enraged bee. He ducked and urged Bird King to run faster. But Bird King was already running as fast as he could, his hooves pounding even louder than the thunder behind them. And they were heading uphill now. So they were a good target.

Another bullet buzzed past, and Charley was sure that it flew through his hair. So he slid down to Bird King’s right side, clamping his legs as tightly as he could against the stallion’s body and clinging to his mane. Bird King snorted but didn’t slow. He charged on, upward through the hissing grass.

Charley had the sudden thought that he was riding like a Comanche now.

Then Bird King squealed, lurched, and twisted to the right. Charley was flung into the air, and he flew a long way before hitting the ground and tumbling across the slope.

He lay on his back then, trying to breathe. The air had been knocked from his lungs. He couldn’t tell whether he had broken an arm or leg, because he couldn’t feel anything. Dark blades of grass waved in the wind over his face, framing a patch of purple sky with the black edge of a cloud pushing through. The cloud ate a tiny point of light that might have been a star.

Then the sound of the wind was joined by the sound of a horse’s hooves, walking.

Charley was able to suck in a breath. “Bird King?” he said, and sat up.

But Bird King was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Black-beard sat above Charley on his sorrel gelding, pointing down with his Spencer carbine. There was just enough red light from the west for Charley to see his face. It was set in a deep scowl.

“Your elders evaporated like spirits,” Black-beard said. “So I reckon you’ll have to answer for their insults yourself.”

That meant Uncle JoJim and Calico Girl had managed to get away. Charley was glad. But he was worried about Bird King.

“Did you kill my horse?” he asked.

Black-beard gave a shrug. “My shot struck him, but I cannot say whether the wound was mortal. However, he was well enough to run over the hill. Perhaps he fell on the far side and died. Or perhaps I’ll retrieve him for myself. Either way, it’s no concern of yours.”

Another horse stepped up beside Black-beard’s gelding then. It was the roan mare, and Joshua was riding it. He had lost his straw hat, and his blond hair danced in the wind. The other gelding walked beside him, riderless, tied to the roan’s saddle horn.

“My pa is dead,” Joshua said. “I tried to pull out the lance, but I couldn’t. It was stuck in the ground. And I begged Pa to move, but he wouldn’t. So he’s dead. He’s dead because of you and yours.” Joshua’s thin voice quavered, and his face shifted between anger and agony.

Black-beard flipped the Spencer’s strap from his shoulders, and he held the butt of the rifle toward Joshua.

“You’ve lost family,” Black-beard said. “So you may do this. It’s already cocked. Hold it tight against your shoulder. And don’t worry about the horses. They’re used to the sound.”

Joshua took the Spencer, placed the stock against his shoulder, and pointed the muzzle at Charley.

Charley looked up at him. “I had thought you might feel friendly toward me,” he said.

Joshua’s hands began to quiver in time with his voice, and the Spencer quivered with them. “You can shut up and be still.”

“Steady, boy,” Black-beard said.

Joshua hands still quivered. But it seemed to Charley that the Spencer’s muzzle was not wavering so much that the shot would miss.

Charley shifted his gaze back to Black-beard.

“Somehow,” he said, “you will suffer for hurting Bird King.”

Black-beard laughed. It was a snarl terminating in a bark.

“That’ll be a good trick,” he said.

As he spoke, lightning flashed in the south, and thunder roared. A heavy rush of wind raised the hissing of the grass to a howl.

Both Black-beard and Joshua looked back over their shoulders. And Charley looked, too.

Glowing with red light from the west and flashing with white lightning from above and behind, Captain Thomas’s enormous wagon rose over the southern hilltop with a deafening rumble. Huge sheets of canvas billowed from its posts and crossbeams, and it seemed to Charley that they sliced through the storm clouds churning overhead.

With tremendous speed, the wagon plunged down the hillside and then up the next. It drove straight toward Charley, Joshua, and Black-beard, its twelve-foot wheels spinning so fast that the spokes were a blur.

The narwhal-tusk harpoon had been affixed to a bracket at the front of the wagon, and Red-beard dangled from it upside-down and backward. He hung from the point where the tusk had pierced him through his groin and ass, and he swung back and forth. He had slid down to the harpoon’s wooden base, and the tail of the scorched water moccasin was visible between his legs. A thick, dark stain spread down his shirt and soaked his hair. His legs flopped at the knees, and his arms waved crazily. His fingertips brushed the tallgrass. And as the wagon surged forward, his face was pounded to a pulp against the ochre boards.

“Pa!” Joshua cried.

Black-beard, staring at the massive wind-wagon speeding toward him, reached toward Joshua. “Give me the rifle!” he cried.

But Joshua turned back toward Charley. His cheeks were wet with tears. He pressed his cheek against the Spencer’s stock as he aimed.

“I hate you, Injun Charley,” he said.

Then the rumble and roar of the approaching wagon was shot through with a piercing shriek, and the sound startled the gelding tied to Joshua’s saddle. It whinnied, stamped, jerked its reins from the saddle horn, and ran. The Spencer’s stock slammed into Joshua’s eye, and its muzzle swung wide as his mare reared.

Charley dove between the mare’s front legs as he heard the sharp crack of the shot. He grabbed the thick cotton strands of the saddle cinch just as the horse came down and bolted. He hung on with both hands, swinging his legs up so they wouldn’t be trampled by the rear hooves. He clung there for a few seconds until the horse screamed at a flash of lightning, stopped running, and reared again. Then he let go of the cinch and rolled away, hoping he would make it far enough.

As he came up to his knees, he saw Black-beard a dozen yards away. The man was rising to his knees as well, clutching his left shoulder with his right hand. His fine, flat-crowned hat was gone.

“God damn you, boy!” Black-beard roared. “You shot me with my own gun!”

Then Black-beard got to his feet and turned to face south. He completed the turn just in time for Red-beard’s dangling head to collide with his, and it knocked him flat onto the hillside.

The wind-wagon’s iron-clad right front wheel rolled over Black-beard’s skull, spewing brains and bone through the tallgrass. Then the rear wheel cut across Black-beard’s belly and severed his spine, sending his torso rolling and entrails spilling. His legs flew up and thumped against the bottom of the wagon before falling back into the grass.

Charley heard the piercing shriek cut through the rumble again. He looked up and saw Captain Thomas, his coat still smoking, standing atop the wagon at its rear. He was pulling against a heavy beam with his left arm while yanking a bundle of ropes with his right. The ropes rose to the huge sheets of canvas, and the canvas began to twist. The wagon groaned and turned, spinning up chunks of dirt and grass as the gigantic wheels shifted and slid.