Vultures' Moon Read online

  Rustlers!

  Jed could see how it might have gone down: Turpin, his defences woefully inadequate, had been outnumbered, outgunned by a marauding gang. His wife and kids - if he had them - cowering in the house, barricaded in. Turpin had got away, had fled to Tarnation to fetch help. A blast to his back as he sprinted had finally done for him.

  They were met at the gate by a woman in a shawl; her eyes were red from crying. At her petticoats, an infant girl, whose eyes were wide as she took in the approaching figure of the magnificent Horse.

  Wordlessly, the woman waved the wagon onto the property. She picked up the toddler who was in danger of dashing under the wheels and followed.

  Jed remained in his seat, awaiting instructions, but Billy hopped down and, a little tactlessly, brandished a shining shovel.

  “Have you picked out a spot?” he grinned at the widow, keen to get started.

  Turpin’s widow ignored him. She spoke instead to the man in the driving seat.

  “Fixed a pot of coffee,” she announced. “Refreshing after your ride.”

  Jed tipped his hat.

  “Obliged, ma’m.” He dropped down and unhitched Horse.

  “Batch of biscuits too,” the woman added. She ushered Jed over the threshold of the humble homestead. Jed sent a warning glance to the boy: Wait out here and don’t use that blasted shovel. The boy grinned in response but it was unclear if he understood.

  ***

  Mrs Turpin poured hot, pungent coffee and then, wringing her hands, gave her accounts of events and it had gone pretty much as Jed had imagined. Except, of course, she didn’t know her husband had made it all the way to Tarnation. She had heard the gun blast and soon after that the men had rounded up the critters and rode off, leaving her and her young un in the house, unmolested.

  “My brave Bobby...” She looked at the window but not through it. “Who would do such a thing, Mister? Who would rob a woman of her husband? Who would take our livelihood? My baby and me, we ain’t got no other means of support. With Bobby gone and the critters too... I cain’t keep this place going on my own.”

  To distract herself from the emotional outburst that was welling up within her, she picked up the child from the rush mat and offered it a biscuit from the cooling rack. The little girl seized it with gusto and tried to ram the whole thing into her mouth at once.

  Jed, his coffee untouched, got to his feet and put his hat back on. There was a job to be done. Mrs Turpin composed herself.

  “I’m thinking over yonder, ‘neath the tree.” She led the gunslinger out to point out the spot. They were both surprised to see the prone figure of the undertaker’s boy, face down in the yard.

  Jed hurried to him. Billy was alive; there was not a mark on him but his skin had taken on a sickly hue and a tacky sheen of sweat.

  “Ma’m,” Jed looked over his shoulder, “What kind of critters were you farming here?”

  Her answer filled him with dread.

  “Sheep,” she said, almost apologetically.

  “And I’m guessing it wasn’t for the wool.” Jed picked up the boy and carried him to the back of the wagon. “I’ll bury your husband right now, ma’m. So you prepare to say your farewell to him pretty quick-smart. We don’t have long before the whole place turns bad.”

  The widow gave out a yelp. In a panic she looked for the child and snatched her up, away from the poisonous ground, as quick as she could.

  Jed found the boy’s shovel and set to work. The grave wasn’t as deep as he would have liked but he figured no wild dogs would be happening along to disinter the bones. Not on this land. Without the sheep to graze and purify the soil, the dark dust would take over completely - within a day, most likely. Already, the pasture was losing its emerald gleam. Patches of grey and brown were mottling the turf. Jed dug faster. His own lungs were fine; the dark dust would not affect them, but he knew there’d be no getting the widow and the bairn away from the property before they gave poor Bobby Turpin a send-off.

  He placed the shrouded body in the ground and withdrew to give the woman a moment of privacy with her husband.

  “Sheep, eh?” Horse muttered. “Sounds like Plisp’s handiwork to me. Not only does he rob folk of their livelihood he destroys the land they live on.”

  “Seems mighty small-time to me,” Jed whispered. He didn’t want his words to carry to the widow’s ears. “This is only part of it, I reckon. I reckon Plisp’s got other irons in the fire.”

  “I reckon so too,” Horse agreed. “Now can we get out of here, please? That boy’s going need the services of either Doc Brandy or Nathaniel Grady.”

  Jed gave Horse a pat and, hat in hand, told the widow to grab the bare essentials and climb onto the wagon.

  ***

  “I always said cultivating the North Quarter was a bad idea,” Doc Brandy took the boy’s pulse. “Place is too unstable. Nigh on impossible to keep the dust at bay, no matter how many sheep you got.”

  “The boy going to pull through, Doc?” Jed was also at the boy’s bedside. Mrs Turpin and the child were quarantined in another room above Brandy’s surgery.

  “Could go either way,” Doc admitted.

  “Would his chances be better if’n I hadn’t hung around to bury that fellow?”

  Doc patted the gunslinger’s arm.

  “Unlikely,” he said. “You cain’t blame yourself. This is all down to Farkin Plisp and no one else.”

  “Far as we know,” Jed added.

  “Come off it; you feel it in every part of you. This has Plisp all over it. You don’t need to see his calling card.”

  Jed nodded at the ceiling.

  “And the woman? The babe?”

  Doc looked downcast.

  “They were on the property overnight, with the sheep gone. More exposure to the dark dust... It don’t look good, Jed.”

  “And have I done wrong, bringing them into town? Have I put the whole of Tarnation at risk?”

  “I doubt it,” Doc poured himself a generous shot of the drink that shared his name. Jed shook his head, declining a glass. “What I know about the dark dust - it don’t travel from person to person. It’s an environmental thing. Let me put it this way: a rattlesnake ain’t going to mosey into a saloon full of people and start striking out. But you go wanderin’ into that rattlesnake’s nest and you’re going to get yourself bit.”

  “And the Turpins - they built their farm on a rattler’s nest?”

  “They were just trying to make a life for themselves. Land’s at a premium on Vultures’ Moon. Dangerous ground up in the North Quarter. But land there sells cheap. As long as you got the critters to graze away the dust, you can grow all sorts of things.”

  “Hmm.” Jed mulled this over. As far as he saw, the Turpins weren’t growing anything much. Their whole property seemed to be given over to pasture, to sheep grazing away the dark dust. Jed quashed his misgivings. Perhaps it was too early for them to plant something like an orchard or a vegetable patch. Now, they never would.

  “What are you going to do about it?” Doc watched the gunslinger walk around the room, deep in thought.

  Jed looked at the doc and at the shivering, sweating figure on the bed.

  “Going to find me Farkin Plisp,” he said grimly. “And whatever he’s up to, I’m going to stop it.”

  Up The Creek!

  Jed ordered breakfast in the Last Gasp but before he could touch a mouthful of the beans and hot bread, he was joined at his table by the singer, Miss Kitty. She was more soberly dressed at this time of day: every button done up, her hair covered by a bonnet but there was still the makeup that marked her as a professional good-looker. Her prime was only recently behind her; she was still a handsome woman.

  She eyed his plate.

  “That little lot’ll set you up for the lo
ng ride,” she observed. Jed didn’t reply. Neither did he eat.

  Miss Kitty eased herself onto a stool and propped her elbows on the table.

  “So, how does one go about finding a devil like Farkin Plisp?” She was trying to keep a casual tone to her voice. Just making idle conversation. She arched an eyebrow, waiting for Jed to respond.

  “We go back a-ways.” Jed muttered. His fork shifted some beans around.

  “You headed North, then? I figure he wouldn’t bring those rustled critters this-a-way. Not if he knows you’re in town.”

  Jed met her gaze.

  “He don’t know I’m in town.”

  Miss Kitty pouted.

  “Honey lamb, everybody knows you’re in town. People sleeping a whole lot better because of it.”

  Her fingers were dancing across the table towards his hand. Jed withdrew it before they got there.

  “So I figure he’d go north...Sell those critters on up there...”

  “If he has a mind to sell them,” Jed completed her thought. Miss Kitty looked surprised.

  “But that’s what rustlers do, ain’t it? Sell what they steal?”

  “Ma’m,” Jed stood up. He put his hat on. “Farkin Plisp ain’t no ordinary rustler. Folk need to remember that.” He nodded a goodbye and turned to leave. Miss Kitty was about to protest he hadn’t finished his beans when they were joined by Deputy Dawson, out of breath. He panted his relief to find the gunslinger.

  “Stars be praised, you’re still here,” the gangly young man gasped. He wore his tin star with pride although he couldn’t have long been out of short trousers. The gunslinger waited patiently for the deputy to get some air in his lungs. Dawson tried to puff the words out before he was ready. “There’s been another one. ’Nother rustling. South of here, down at Spit Creek.”

  Miss Kitty reacted. The gunslinger remained impassive.

  “How do you know this?”

  “Word just come through. Old Pettifogger the carpetbagger was passing that way. He’s with Doc Brandy now. Lookin’ like he’s been poisoned. Whole ranch wiped out, he says. Entire family bit the dust.”

  “Dust...”

  Dawson paused to try to read the gunslinger’s expression.

  Behind them, Miss Kitty got to her feet.

  “I reckon you’ll be heading down to Spit Creek then?”

  Jed ignored her, addressing his words to the deputy.

  “With Doc Brandy, you said?”

  “Yessir.”

  Jed nodded. He tipped his hat to Miss Kitty and then nodded towards the plate.

  “Mighty fine beans,” he told the deputy. “Awful shame to waste them.”

  He left the young man to tuck in.

  ***

  Doc Brandy scratched his mutton chops. He looked tired - worried, Jed would have said.

  “Exactly the same,” the doc’s shoulders heaved. “Dark dust. Just like the Turpins. The kiddy died, by the way. The mother’s beside herself. Won’t let Nathaniel take the child.

  I don’t know if it’s a greater tragedy that she’s going to pull through and have to live with her losses.”

  Jed took off his hat as a sign of respect for the toddler.

  “And old Pettifogger? He going to make it?”

  Doc Brandy pulled a face.

  “He up for talking?”

  “I gave him something to help him sleep.” Doc poured water from a ewer and washed his hands in a porcelain bowl. “Maybe when he wakes - if he wakes...”

  “No time for that,” Jed put his hat back on. “Got to get to the creek.”

  “Plisp will be long gone.”

  “I know. But I need to see if there’s any clues. Where he’s taking the critters and what he wants them for.”

  “What do you mean? You don’t think he’s doing this for money?”

  “I can answer that.” It was Mrs Turpin. She was in the doorway. She looked pale and haggard and she was clinging to the doorpost for support. Doc Brandy hurried to her with a chair and helped her into it. She saw his eyes dart to the ceiling; she had left the child upstairs. “You can take her - I want to do right by my baby. And that’s why I’m going to tell you this although that...man made us promise we would never breathe a word. But what can he do to me now? Death would be a kindness.”

  Her body was seized by a wracking fit of coughs. Doc handed her some water.

  “That man?” Jed prompted. Mrs Turpin nodded rapidly. Her voice was croaky with emotion rather than the coughing.

  “Told us we must tell nobody. We were to tend to the critters as if they was our own. Breed them. Any land that was cleared and made fit we could keep, he said. We couldn’t believe it; it seemed like a good deal. A free homestead and a plot of our own! But if you makes a deal with a devil, you have to be prepared for when that deal goes sour.”

  “The critters were his?” Doc Brandy interrupted. “Why would he rustle his own critters?”

  Jed sent him a frown; he wanted to hear the rest of the widow’s tale.

  “He said we’d done well to increase the flock like we did. We thought he’d be pleased. And he was, but he said it weren’t personal and then he and his men just took everything. My Bobby tried to reason with him; leave us a couple of critters at least, a breeding pair so we can keep the land going. But there was no reasoning. Wanted to shut us up, I reckon. Leave us there to let the dust take us. But Bobby got away. I thought they’d killed him but he was a brave man. He made it all the way to town with his back blasted to the bone, trying to fetch help.”

  She dissolved into sobs, her whole body shaking.

  Jed drew Doc Brandy aside.

  “This puts a different shine on things,” Jed grumbled. “This ain’t just rustling.”

  “What’s he up to? Plisp.”

  “I don’t know...” Jed looked at the sobbing woman. “But I sure as Hell am going to find out.”

  ***

  Jed stepped outside. He whistled loudly. Horse arrived.

  “I hate it when you do that,” it complained.

  “Hope you’re rested,” Jed ignored Horse’s bad mood. “We need to go to the store. Got a long ride ahead.”

  “Fantastic,” said Horse.

  It waited outside Clem’s General Store while Jed acquired provisions for their journey. When in public alone, Horse preferred to adopt a blank expression although its eyes were forever scanning the surroundings. It looked up and down the street, ever alert. Other Horses trotted by, pulling wagons, bearing riders. Horse didn’t acknowledge them although he knew they were scanning him too.

  Jed emerged from the huge barn of a building. Behind him a little man in a long apron carried sacks of fodder. These were loaded into leather saddlebags. Horse made adjustments for the additional weight.

  “Fine animal,” the little man said in approval.

  “Thanks, Clem.” Jed paid the storekeeper. Clem stayed on his porch, watching the gunslinger mount and ride off.

  Fine animal indeed, he concluded and went back inside.

  ***

  Before long, Jed and Horse were miles out of Tarnation. The road deteriorated to little more than a dirt track through the scrubland. Ahead to the southeast, the edge of the great desert; to the southwest, rocky outcrops topped with chaparral bordered the valley that was their destination. The ground rose as they approached the rugged stone sentinels. By mid-afternoon, they were looking over the lip of the ridge and into the valley below.

  “Something’s wrong,” Horse tasted the air.

  “Dark dust,” Jed patted Horse’s neck. “Nothing for us to worry about.”

  They could see, even from that height, that the creek, which should have been glittering silver in the afternoon sun, was clogged and sluggish with grey and brown. Withe
red clumps of plants, shrivelled skeletons of their former selves, hung heavy with deposits of dust.

  “Nice spot for a picnic,” said Horse. “We going down?”

  “Not just yet,” Jed looked around. “Reckon we camp behind yonder rocks. Need to think about this.”

  “Think like Plisp, you mean.”

  Jed gave Horse another pat. Too clever by half sometimes. He dismounted and led Horse by the reins along the rim of the valley.

  “Is that wise, do you think?” Horse added. Jed didn’t reply. “Could be dangerous, tapping into his mind.”

  Jed exhaled in annoyance.

  “I mean it’s none of my business,” Horse continued as Jed unloaded the provisions and began to make a fire. “But I am concerned...”

  Jed kept his back to Horse as he coaxed some dry grass to light. His shoulders were tensed. He didn’t need Horse to point out the dangers of what he was about to attempt but as far as he knew, this was Plisp’s most recent location. Something of him might still be in the air.

  He crushed some aromatic pods in the bottom of a tin bowl and added water to make a paste. He heated the paste over the flames. The pungent smell made him feel heady almost immediately. Horse watched in disapproval but made no further comment.

  When the paste was ready, Jed slathered it onto a hunk of bread and took a bite. He lay on his blanket and closed his eyes, letting his thoughts rise to the sky and then swoop into the valley. Like a soaring bird, his mind sought out any hints of what had happened. He caught the screams of the dying ranchers. He heard faded echoes of the gun blasts and the bleats of woolly critters. He could smell the sweat of Plisp’s men and taste the fear of the ranchers’ families. But he could find no trace of Farkin Plisp.

  He would have to go deeper, cast his mind wider.

  He conjured up an image of his old adversary. A tall man, a body of shadows. A long coat and a broad hat. Eyes...two flashes of red.

  He couldn’t remember Plisp’s face. The image would not form. The figure dissolved into the night sky. Jed thought he heard the rumble of mocking laughter, like distant malevolent thunder.

  Water yanked him from his trance and he sat up, wiping his face and spluttering.