The Road to Hellfire Page 20

  And Hellfire was the perfect town for Cane. It was a growing Texas community, much like any other — except for its proximity to Silver Mesa. The mesa loomed over Hellfire, keeping it covered in shadow. The mysterious silver rocks of that odd landmark were a magnet for all manner of weirdness. Cane had plenty of experience with that and knew he could handle it. Church-going, respectable, hymn-singing women were a different matter entirely.

  After tying on his gun belt, sliding in two revolvers and pinning the gold star to his coat, Cane set his broad-brimmed hat over his head and stepped out onto the boardwalk outside. Someone was waiting for him – Hellfire’s newspaperman, Barnaby Bennet. The portly Bennet seemed like an overfed chipmunk, complete with his bulging cheeks. He was already scribbling in a pad.

  “Ah! Mr. Cane – any statement for the Hellfire Hellion?” Bennet asked, his pencil poised.

  “Got a question,” Cane answered. “What the hell are them ladies doing?”

  He watched the small column of women suddenly come to a stop. They wore fine calico dresses and straw hats or bonnets. Many of them carried signs with bible quotes or large wooden crucifixes. The only man in their ranks was Reverend Matthias Wingrouse, Hellfire’s preacher. The marchers stood before the biggest saloon in town, the Silver Lilly, and seemed to double the volume of their hymns. They were doing ‘Onwards Christian Soldiers’ now.

  Barnaby Bennet wore a brown checkered suit and bowler hat. He waddled behind Cane, following him down the street. “A protest, I believe – a temperance protest.” His turned another page, the pencil still scribbling. “Yes, they are here to stop the influence of alcohol and bringing the battle to the demon’s very doorstep.” He doubled his pace, trying to keep up with Cane. “It is legal, after all – guaranteed in the Bill of Rights and enshrined by our Founding Fathers is the right of free assembly.”

  “Yeah,” Cane muttered. “But not the right to make a goddamn racket at all hours.”

  He reached the line of women, just as their hymn reached the chorus. Cane stepped in front of them, moving between the temperance marchers and the broad, gray-painted hulk of the Silver Lilly. Cane looked them over and his eyes settled on Reverend Wingrouse. He reached out, grabbed the Reverend’s arm and yanked him closer. Wingrouse was a sprightly man, his black suit and white collar neatly creased. His white hair was tangled as steel wool.

  “Preacher,” Cane said. “We ought to talk.”

  Reverend Wingrouse winced. He looked back at the temperance workers and nodded. Their hymn abruptly ended. “There is nothing to discuss!” Reverend Wingrouse said, staring back at the women. “We are here to battle demon rum and we will not be turned back, by any of the devil’s tools!” He nodded to the women, building up his own confidence. “And God will see us through!”

  One of the women, a plump matron with brilliant blonde hair and a bright pink dress, clapped her heads. “Bravo, Reverend Wingrouse – the righteous strength of Christ shines through you!” She darted closer to Cane and took her place next to the reverend. “I am Doris Mills, Sheriff Cane – the wife of Bayard Mills, who runs Hellfire’s bank.” She looked back at her compatriots. “And many of my fellow walkers in the light have husbands who are similar leading citizens of our little town.”

  She was right – and it wasn’t the sheriff’s job to roughly treat a bunch of women for singing hymns, no matter how annoying they were. He let go of Reverend Wingrouse’s arm. “It’s not that I’m doubting your faith or your right to worship or pray,” Cane said. “It’s simply the noise you’re making, with all your caterwauling and carrying-on.” He looked back at the Silvery Lilly. The doors were opening. “And besides, ain’t there something else Jesus Christ would want you doing, besides marching around outside a saloon and raising hell?” He grimaced. “Pardon my language.”

  The double doors to the Silver Lilly slammed open and its owner, a gray-haired woman known as Madam Pullkey, stepped into the street with a shotgun in the crook of her arm. She looked at Doris Mills, Reverend Wingrouse and Sheriff Cane and then shook her head.

  “My, oh my,” Pullkey muttered. “The forces of law and order, arrayed against my joint.”

  Bennet raised his pencil. “A marvelous quote!” he called. “May I write that in—”

  “You may not.” Cane glared at Bennet. “And shut up.” He turned back to Pullkey. “Look, ma’am – you know I ain’t got no problem with the business you run. After all, you do your best to keep unlawful types out and make sure your customers don’t get too drunk. And you take good care of the girls you got working for you.”

  “That’s me,” Madam Pullkey agreed. “A regular saint. So do I deserve these self-righteous harridans singing hymns and causing pure agony for everyone with the misfortune of a hang-over, at this terrible hour of the morning? I think you know the answer, sheriff.”

  Reverend Wingrouse shook his head vigorously. “We will not be turned from the holy path!” he cried. “Your establishment, Madam Pullkey, is spreading Satan in the drops of liquor you purvey. That must end.”

  “Amen, Reverend.” Doris Mills clapped her hands. She raised her voice, breaking once more into a hymn. “Shall we gather at the river! The beautiful, beautiful river! Shall we gather at the river, that flows by the throne of God!” The other temperance women took up the cry.

  Cane grimaced. Being a sheriff was far harder than he thought. He finally drew out his revolver, leveled it at the ground and fired, kicking up a storm of dust and ending the hymn. “Shut your mouths!” he cried. “I don’t give a damn if Jesus himself wants to sing Dixie – he don’t got a right to go hollering in the early morning.” He looked from Pullkey to Mills and Reverend Wingrouse. “Now, tell you what – y’all got a pair of different views and that’s need settling. What do you say we go to my office, have a little coffee, talk this out and figure something that won’t require singing or shotgun fire? How you reckon that sounds?”

  Wingrouse looked at Mills and she gave a nod. “Mrs. Mills and I would not be averse to compromise,” he said. He stared nervously at Madam Pullkey’s shotgun. “And I’m sure the Lord would want us all to by brothers and sisters united by good will and fellowship.”

  “Amen, Reverend,” Doris Mills added.

  “We can talk,” Madam Pulley agreed. “No harm in it.”

  “All right.” Cane pointed down the wide street of Hellfire. “Let’s just head up to my office and—”

  But before he could finish his command, someone came running out from a dingy alley that bordered two saloons. It was a woman, but that was not apparent at first glance. Her freckled face was hidden behind a spray of mud and dust, her tangled black hair in a clumsy bun and she wore blue Union army trousers with a similarly ragged cavalry coat over her shirt and gray vest. A forage cap was pulled low over her eyes, while a revolver was on her hip and a bottle swung in her hands.

  “Sheriff!” she was bellowing hoarsely. “Sheriff!” She came to a sudden halt before Cane. “I need your help, sheriff!” she cried. “There some kind of—”

  “Who the hell are you?” Cane asked. He glanced at Mills and Reverend Wingrouse. “Pardon my language,” he muttered.

  “It’s Nelly Needles, not that it matters much.” Her voice was a Western twang, slurred and tied. “But there ain’t time for me to relate to you my whole life story, including parentage and present occupation – which is drunk, if you must know – and a thousand other goddamn particulars.” Nelly struggled to catch her breath. She brushed a dark strand of hair from her face. “Because I just saw a monster stalk by my sleeping place outside of Big Pete’s Watering Hole and it must be stopped. It was like a bear, I think, but all a-gleaming and a-shining in the morning light, like it had glass instead of fur.”

  Reverend Wingrouse whispered to Doris Mills. “A drunken hallucination, surely.”

  The Reverend was most likely correct. Strange happenings were not unknown in Silver Mesa, but a drunkard’s tale always strained credibility. “You’d best head on back
to whatever hole you crawled out of,” Cane told Nelly. “Before you cause yourself some real trouble.”

  “Oh yes!” Nelly snarled. “I’ll just head on back and bury myself in the sand, like I’m some goddamn coward afraid of a fight with some damn shining glass-furred Grizzly! And maybe I’ll have myself a relaxing nap, forgetting that the damn critter will be slinking around town, waiting to munch on some mother’s child given the chance.” She shook her head. “Not likely, Sheriff. You can say what you want about Nelly Needles, but she don’t duck a fight – especially against no glass-furred bear.”

  “What was this bear doing, exactly?” Bennet asked, his pencil poised. “If I may ask?”

  Nelly Needles considered the question. “Rooting around in some litter, not far from where I was sleeping. I looked up and he was already loping off, growling like the dickens.” She rested a hand on her chest. “Oh Jesus,” Nelly muttered. “I shouldn’t have had so much to drink last night…”

  She vomited, spraying a blast of thick gray puke over Reverend Wingrouse and Doris Mills. Cane glared at Nelly as she sank down. Doris Mills screamed and began to cry, while Reverend Wingrouse tried to console her. The Reverend looked up from Doris and pointed at Nelly. “Living proof of alcohol’s destructive power!” he roared. “There can be no negotiating with such a devil!”

  “Amen!” Doris wailed. “Come on, ladies! I must change and bathe for at least an hour and then we will prepare for the grand parade this afternoon!” She hurried away, Reverend Wingrouse supporting her. The other temperance marchers followed, staring up once more into ‘Shall we Gather at The River’ as they strode down the street. As they departed, Madam Pullkey shook her head and walked back into her saloon. Their tentative peace had been broken – and it might not appear again.

  Cane glared hatefully at Needles. “You drunk scumbelly!” he growled. “I had them ready to talk things over and come to an accord and you went and spoiled it.”

  There was no answer. Nelly was on her knees, heaving slowly. No more vomit escapes her lips. Cane watched her and noticed the pale look on her face. He sighed, just as Nelly wiped her filthy mouth on her sleeve and glared at him. “I won’t be looked down at by no one,” she said. “Especially not someone as ugly as you, sheriff.”

  Bennet stepped gingerly next to Sheriff Cane. “I wouldn’t take insult at her words. Nelly Needles is not exactly a leading light amongst Hellfire’s citizenry.” He offered a quick smile. “And my compliments on handling the temperance march.”

  “I didn’t handle nothing. Just delayed it.” Cane looked down the street to the church. It was at the far end of Hellfire, opposite the schoolhouse and surrounded by the other respectable businesses and homes. “I’ll see if I can have a talk with Reverend Wingrouse and maybe do better.” He looked at Nelly and grabbed her shoulder, hauling her to her feet. “But I first, I’d best see to Miss Needles here.”

  “Where you taken me, you scar-faced ox!” Nelly cried. “We ain’t got time for this, not with the damn glass bear pawing around and wanting to munch on some poor unsuspecting bastard!” She did not struggle, even if her hoarse insults continued. “But where are you taken me?”

  “Someone just as annoying as you,” Cane muttered. “You’ll hate him, I hope.”

  A Division of Whampa, LLC

  P.O. Box 2540

  Dulles, VA 20101

  Tel/Fax: 800-998-2509

  http://curiosityquills.com

  © 2013 Michael Panush

  http://www.clarkreeper.com

  Cover design by Ricky Gunawan

  http://ricky-gunawan.daportfolio.com

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information about Subsidiary Rights, Bulk Purchases, Live Events, or any other questions - please contact Curiosity Quills Press at info@curiosityquills.com, or visit http://curiosityquills.com

  ISBN: 978-1-62007-238-7 (ebook)

  ISBN: 978-1-62007-239-4 (paperback)

  ISBN: 978-1-62007-240-0 (hardcover)

  Dinosaur Jazz, by Michael Panush

  (http://curiosityquills.com/dinosaur-jazz/)

  Acheron Island is a world lost to time, home to prehistoric creatures from earth’s savage past – and Sir Edwin Crowe, son of one of the world’s last Gentleman Adventurers. When ruthless American businessman, Selwyn Slade, brings an army of corporate cronies and modern industrial power to conquer this world from the past, it’s up to Sir Edwin to protect these prehistoric lands.

  Its Jazz Age meets the Mesozoic Age in a world where cave men, gangsters, hunters, zeppelins, pirates, warlords and dinosaurs clash for a chance of survival. All that and more is waiting for you in Dinosaur Jazz, a tale of high adventure in a prehistoric world.

  Stein & Candle Dective Agency, Vol. 1, by Michael Panush

  (http://curiosityquills.com/stein-candle-vol-1/)

  Morton Candle is a hardboiled ex-paratrooper just back from storming across Europe. Weatherby Stein is a fourteen-year-old boy genius and scion to the greatest occult family in Europe. Together, they form the Stein & Candle Detective Agency – ready to take the weirdest jobs in the Freewheeling Fifties.

  From a vampire’s decaying mansion to the mob-controlled streets of Havana, they’ll take on roadside attractions gone wrong, hordes of the living dead, and ride against the Devil in a high speed car race to the death.

  Stein & Candle Dective Agency, Vol. 2, by Michael Panush

  (http://curiosityquills.com/stein-candle-vol-2/)

  A wealthy Hawaiian hotelier is chewed to death by sharks – in his penthouse office. A traveling salesman goes missing – in a shady New England town full of monstrous fishmen. A new casino gets supernaturally good luck in Vegas – thanks to ancient Egyptian magic.

  These are the cases taken by the Stein & Candle Detective Agency. But sometimes, arcane evil goes back a long way and a dangerous force from deep in the past of Stein’s family is about rise. Weatherby and Mort will put everything they have into stopping it – and it might not be enough.

  Stein & Candle Dective Agency, Vol. 3, by Michael Panush

  (http://curiosityquills.com/stein-candle-vol-3/)

  For Weatherby Stein and Morton Candle – private detectives specializing in the paranormal – life normally isn’t easy. They deal with cases that pit them against ferocious demons in the Tokyo underworld, Satan-worshipping teenagers in a seemingly normal suburb and lizard-men in a Lake Tahoe lounge, and they still manage to come out on top. But now one of Weatherby’s ancient ancestors, the villainous Viscount Wagner Stein, has been resurrected and is looking to stir up trouble – and he’s not alone.

  Weatherby, Morton and their allies must make a stand to stop the evils of the past from corrupting of the future – and only one side will emerge alive.

  Appetizer:

  Book Cover

  Title Page

  Main Course:

  Rats

  Apache Gold

  At Coffin's Close

  Blood Pass

  The Makings Of A Gunslinger

  Hungry Ghosts

  On Angel's Wings, Part I

  On Angel's Wings, Part II

  Dessert:

  Closing

  About the Author

  A Taste of El Mosaico, Vol. 3: Hellfire, by Michael Panush

  Copyright & Publisher

  More from Curiosity Quills Press