Drovers and Demons_A Weird Tale of the Old West by Scott Langrel

Author:Scott Langrel [Langrel, Scott]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2018-01-11T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

The storm broke about halfway to town, settling into a cool mist which was just enough to keep their clothes from drying. The dark thunderheads receded, replaced by a ceiling of dull, gray clouds which didn’t seem to be moving at all. The air temperature had dropped considerably, and Murphy actually suppressed a slight shiver as they maneuvered their mounts along the trail, being careful to steer the horses clear of the deep trenches cut into the sandy soil by the recent gully washer.

“A fog’s rising,” Loco remarked, pointing into the distance. “The storm cooled the air too fast. It’ll be thick as pea soup by nightfall.”

“I don’t know as to whether I’ve heard you utter one positive word since we met,” Murphy grumbled from his saddle.

“Would you like me to sugarcoat it for you?” Loco asked sweetly.

“I’d like to catch a break,” Murphy replied, pulling the collar of his sopping coat tighter around his neck.

Loco shrugged. “It could be worse. We still have a chance to eradicate the Anasazi in Vulture City. And we have the element of surprise on our side.”

“Excuse me if I don’t dismount and do cartwheels,” Murphy griped.

“See, there’s your problem,” Loco observed. “You’re a pessimist.”

“I am not a pessimist,” Murphy countered. “I’m a realist. It’s not my nature to look at things through rose-colored glasses. I see things the way they are.”

“Still, a positive attitude would greatly improve your disposition.”

“My disposition doesn’t need improving. It’s the situations I find myself in that need refinement.”

“I wouldn’t count on that anytime soon,” Loco said as the outline of Vulture City appeared on the gray horizon.

“It looks dead from here,” Murphy remarked. “And quiet.”

“Could be the storm ran everyone indoors,” Loco theorized.

“Maybe,” Murphy agreed, though his tone didn’t sound too hopeful.

They rode in silence until they reached the outskirts of the small town. Up close, the burg seemed even more deserted than it had from a distance. In the murky dusk, no windows glowed with the faint light of candles or lamps. There was no rambunctious roar from the usually boisterous saloon; the muddy streets were eerily silent and still.

“I don’t think we’re going to like what we find here,” Murphy said softly.

“Maybe not, but we have to look,” Loco replied. “If they’re already gone, it’s going to be a long, hard ride to Phoenix.”

“How many of them do you think there are?” Murphy asked, checking to ascertain that all of the ammo loops on his gun belt were full.

“No way of knowing for sure,” Loco answered. “Maybe a dozen, maybe a hundred. The legends don’t give an exact number of the tribal leaders who were initially imprisoned in the cavern.” He made his own physical check of his weapons. “I guess we should prepare for the worst-case scenario, though.”

“Who’s the pessimist now?” Murphy asked, smiling grimly.

“Apparently, you’ve begun to rub off on me,” Loco admitted.

“Then there’s hope for you yet. Let’s hit the saloon first, see if anyone’s there.”

They rode straight in, eschewing any attempt at stealth.

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