The Phantom of Witch's Tree by Mark Lunde

Author:Mark Lunde [Lunde, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Paranormal Western
Publisher: Untreed Reads
Published: 2018-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

The Faint Hope of Reconciliation Comes Too Late

The next morning the downstairs windows were draped in black as Matt made his way from his room into the lobby of the Cattleman’s Hotel. He was checking out. He carried his rifle, and his leather saddlebags were draped over his shoulder. Mr. Alvarez was behind the desk as usual, but seeing that he was dead was not as garrulous as had been his wont. A mortician was applying putty to the bullet hole in the corpse’s forehead and a photographer was attempting to get the thing to sit up straight. Now that rigor mortis had bid adieu Mr. Alvarez was uncooperative and kept sliding to the floor, thereby rumpling the suit he was to be posed in. This did little for the photographer’s patience, and finally he declared he was going to nail the corpse to the stool.

“Funeral’s at eleven tomorrow,” the new desk clerk told Matt. She was at the end of the desk as far away from the ghoulish shenanigans as possible. “In the colored cemetery, of course.”

“Colored? He told me he was Spanish.”

“Heavens, no. Miguel was a notorious fibber. We just humored the poor man. As for me, let me tell you I’ve had an awful week, what with finding the poor English fellow and…you boys stop that!”

The photographer and the mortician each held the dead man’s cheeks with a thumb and forefinger so that the corpse seemed to grin.

“You don’t think that looks natural?” the mortician asked with a wink.

“Gives me the willies,” the clerk said. “And hurry up. Miguel’s getting ripe.”

“Well, we need good poses,” the photographer snapped, a little miffed his antics were unappreciated. “Newspapers want decent quality and they’re willing to pay for it. Four boys get gunned down, and darned if it isn’t the Wild West all over again. Good for business, I say.”

It was true. Yesterday Malo had been full of newly arrived tourists and reporters from the big newspapers, and it was rumored that the famed former lawman Bat Masterson was coming out from the New York Morning Telegraph. If these visitors expected the Tombstone or Dodge of the old days perhaps they were disappointed to find a miniature Chicago replete with telephones, automobiles and electric lights. But to add to the fun the Chamber of Commerce had hired local wags. These buckos were now sporting gun belts and scowls as if that was the expected thing, and some canny fellow was escorting onlookers out to the murder site at fifty cents per head. The Belly Barons had got into the act as well. During the night hired delivery boys had distributed flyers all over Malo advertising Widow Tree as the real thing. Matt picked up one on the counter and read:

WILD SALOONS!

GAMBLERS AND GUNFIGHTERS!

DANCE HALL GIRLS!

COME SEE THE WEST AS IT ONCE WAS…

ONLY IN WIDOW TREE!

The clerk turned to Matt and said, “This came for you yesterday, but I forgot about it in all the excitement.”

Matt read the telegram from his father and slipped it into his vest pocket.

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