Post by lee on Oct 12, 2023 2:10:06 GMT
Weird Western Tales
Terror At FireHawk Canyon
Northwestern Wyoming Territory, Late October, 1871—
The old man moved slowly across the yard, heading from the well back to the large cabin. As the sun began to dip behind the peaks, a cold autumn wind rushed down from the summit. Frigid tendrils whip his once-red hair around his face while trying to find openings in his clothing to bite into the flesh below. Rather than stop and adjust the old blanket wrapped around his shoulders, he continued on to the cabin, grumbling as he went.
Inside the cabin, a second old man sat at a table filling the second of three oil lamps. He looked up when the door opened. Leaving the lamps, he stood and walked over to retrieve the bucket from his friend. “How’s the well lookin’?”
The first man removed the blanket to reveal a set of well-worn buckskins, much like those of his companion. He walked to the fire and stretched his hands toward the radiating warmth. “I suspect there will be a thin layer of ice come morning. I did manage to get the stone wrapped in deer hide and tied off in case we have to drop it in to break the ice.”
After setting the bucket of water near the fire as well, the second man went back to filling up the remaining lantern. “I’ll head out and bring in more wood in case it snows tonight.”
“Good idea,” his friend said, removing the coffee pot from the stove and filling it with the water he had just brought in. “I suspect we will be lucky to escape with nothing less than a dusting,” he guessed.
Once the lamps were filled and trimmed, the second man walked to the door and removed a heavy coat of buffalo hide from a peg. Remaining on the peg was a thick, red and white striped wool cap, which he donned, and a pair of beaver skin gloves.
“Think that’ll be enough to keep you warm, Hawk?” the other man asked with a grin.
“Firehair, ya old coot,” Hawk said, pulling the cap over his bald head. “Ya can’t tell me ya didn’t wish ya would have thought of this once ya were outside.”
Firehair grinned. “Regretted it every step of the way. Face it, Hawk. We’re getting too dad blamed old for this. Maybe it’s time we consider moving a bit further south.”
Hawk pulled the door open, allowing a gust of wind to enter like an invited guest. “We might just have to,” he said. “Yer startin’ to sound like this mountain air is drivin’ you plum loco.” With that, he stepped out onto the small porch and moved around to the side of the house.
It didn’t take long once he was outside for Hawk to realize the night was going to be a cold one. In addition to the two armloads of wood he intended to take inside the cabin, he decided to move a few extra armloads from the side of the cabin to the porch just outside the door.
Looking up at the last of the suns rays struggling to remain visible, Hawk estimated it to be just past 6 o’clock. “’Bout supper time,” he said, the evening air catching his words and turning them into frosty mist. As he took the second load of wood in, he saw Firehair putting grease in the skillet.
“I’m going to fix the last of those elk steaks,” the man said. “We’ve had them the longest. No sense in letting them go to waste.”
“Sounds good,” Hawk replied. “I think I’m gonna make sure the horses have hay and maybe throw an extra blanket on them.”
“Probably be a good idea.”
Hawk left the warmth of the cabin and made his way to the small barn not far from the well. Drawing close, he stretched out his hand to unlatch the door, but paused for a moment to listen. Something wasn’t setting right with him. He grew leery when he could hear nothing coming from inside. Despite the wind, he unbuttoned his coat and removed a tomahawk from where it usually stayed, tucked into his belt. Gently, he eased the door open.
There was still enough light to see by, and from what he could tell, aside from the horses there was nothing in the barn that shouldn’t be there. Still, there was something, a feeling of sorts, one which had kept him alive for over seventy years, that kept his tomahawk in his hand. Moving slowly to the first stall, he reached for a blanket with one hand while sliding weapon back into his belt with the other. With his eyes constantly moving, Hawk started to cover Firehair’s horse, then stopped when he realized Ember had not moved. He looked at his own horse, Raven, and saw it, too, was standing stock still. He waved his hand in front of Ember’s face and the only response he received in return was the twitch of her right ear.
“Ember,” he finally whispered.
The horse neighed softly, but kept its attention focused on the wall, the same spot Raven was watching.
Hawk put the blankets over both horses, then moved to the wall that had captured so much of their attention. Seeing nothing, he made sure they were fed then drew his tomahawk once again.
Returning to the door, he left the barn then walked around to inspect the wall from the outside. Again, nothing. A cold chill ran the length of his spine and he slowly turned to face the darkness beyond the fence surrounding their place. And listened.
Nothing.
He double checked the barn latch, took one final look and listen to the growing darkness, then returned to the cabin. The first of what promised to be many snowflakes came to a rest on Hawk’s coat as he was stepping up on the porch.
Back inside, Hawk removed his coat and hung it be the fireplace. At the cook stove, Firehair was preparing to turn the steaks.
“Coffee is ready,” Firehair said.
Before walking away from the fireplace, Hawk reached up and took down the two rifles—one was a .44 caliber Winchester Model 1866 and the other, a .44 caliber Henry repeating rifle—hanging there. He placed them on the table then walked over and got a cup of coffee.
“What took you so long?” Firehair asked. When he turned and saw their rifles, he nodded. “Are you expecting trouble?”
“Somethin’ out there,” he hooked his thumb toward the door. “Somethin’ out there doesn’t feel right.”
“What do you think it is?” Firehair asked.
Hawk shook his head. “Not sure.” He proceeded to tell his friend about the horses and of the eerie feeling he got outside.
Firehair checked the steaks, then stepped into his bedroom for a moment. When he returned, he placed a couple of small bundles of sage on the table. Hawk didn’t have to ask what it was for; he knew his friend was planning to cleanse their home.
“Are ya sure it will take all of that just for the cabin?” Hawk asked.
“That is much more than what we need for the cabin, but I think we should walk the perimeter of the property as well.”
In the nearly half a century since the two men had been friends, Hawk had learned there was more to the things Firehair did than just superstition. “Perhaps that would be a good idea.” He looked at the stove. “How long before the food’s ready?”
“Not long enough to do what needs to be done.” Firehair thought for a moment. “It might be a bit tough when we eat it, but I could set it aside until we finish.”
Hawk thought for a moment, then nodded his head in agreement. “Somethin’s comin’. I feel like we are gonna to need all the help the Great Spirit can give us.”
Firehair moved the skillet off the fire, then both men donned their buffalo coats. Each man took a bundle of sage then approached the fireplace. As Firehair began to saying a prayer, they held their bundles to the fire until the sage began to smoke. Still reciting his prayer, Firehair led the way outside.
Once outside, Hawk began to walk slowly around the house while Firehair moved to the fence line and began walking the perimeter, each man repeating the words of the prayer as they went. After making a circuit around the house, Hawk moved on to the barn, even stopping to circle the well on the way.
Firehair returned to the entrance of their property, completing his own circuit, then stared into the darkness that filled the canyon. Like Hawk earlier, he, too sensed something beyond his range of sight.
Hawk saw his friend staring into the darkness as he finished making his circuit around the barn. Still fairly mobile for a man in his seventies, he hurried to the cabin and rushed inside. When he emerged, he was carrying both rifles, their ammunition, and his own gun belt. His Bisley Model Single Action pistol was in his hand by the time he reached Firehair.
Firehair took the Henry and a box of shells from Hawk and began to load it while the latter kept his pistol trained on the darkness. Once he was finished, he trained his rifle on the darkness and allowed Hawk to load his own. Hawk slid his pistol back into its holster, strapped the gun belt around his waist, loaded his rifle, then moved his tomahawk to the front of his belt, in case he needed it.
“Do you hear that?” Firehair asked.
Although hearing anything over the wind was close to impossible, Hawk thought he could hear what sounded like cries. “Sounds like somebody’s in trouble.”
“Someone young,” Firehair replied.
Hawk started to head in the direction of the cries, but Firehair stopped him. “There are things in this world that are not as they seem,” he said. “It would be best if we waited until we are sure we know what is out there before we put ourselves at risk.”
“I’ve lived a long enough life that the risk don’t mean much to me,” Hawk said. “If there’s a young’un out there in trouble, I couldn’t live with myself knowing I stood here doin’ nothin’ to save him.”
“I agree,” Firehair replied. “But there are things that dwell in the hidden places that often mimic children, or women, to lure a man to his doom.”
“Well,” the frustration in Hawk’s voice was noticeable, “I’ll not wait much longer.”
“You don’t have to,” Firehair said, suddenly firing into the darkness just as a child emerged.
Terror At FireHawk Canyon
1
Northwestern Wyoming Territory, Late October, 1871—
The old man moved slowly across the yard, heading from the well back to the large cabin. As the sun began to dip behind the peaks, a cold autumn wind rushed down from the summit. Frigid tendrils whip his once-red hair around his face while trying to find openings in his clothing to bite into the flesh below. Rather than stop and adjust the old blanket wrapped around his shoulders, he continued on to the cabin, grumbling as he went.
Inside the cabin, a second old man sat at a table filling the second of three oil lamps. He looked up when the door opened. Leaving the lamps, he stood and walked over to retrieve the bucket from his friend. “How’s the well lookin’?”
The first man removed the blanket to reveal a set of well-worn buckskins, much like those of his companion. He walked to the fire and stretched his hands toward the radiating warmth. “I suspect there will be a thin layer of ice come morning. I did manage to get the stone wrapped in deer hide and tied off in case we have to drop it in to break the ice.”
After setting the bucket of water near the fire as well, the second man went back to filling up the remaining lantern. “I’ll head out and bring in more wood in case it snows tonight.”
“Good idea,” his friend said, removing the coffee pot from the stove and filling it with the water he had just brought in. “I suspect we will be lucky to escape with nothing less than a dusting,” he guessed.
Once the lamps were filled and trimmed, the second man walked to the door and removed a heavy coat of buffalo hide from a peg. Remaining on the peg was a thick, red and white striped wool cap, which he donned, and a pair of beaver skin gloves.
“Think that’ll be enough to keep you warm, Hawk?” the other man asked with a grin.
“Firehair, ya old coot,” Hawk said, pulling the cap over his bald head. “Ya can’t tell me ya didn’t wish ya would have thought of this once ya were outside.”
Firehair grinned. “Regretted it every step of the way. Face it, Hawk. We’re getting too dad blamed old for this. Maybe it’s time we consider moving a bit further south.”
Hawk pulled the door open, allowing a gust of wind to enter like an invited guest. “We might just have to,” he said. “Yer startin’ to sound like this mountain air is drivin’ you plum loco.” With that, he stepped out onto the small porch and moved around to the side of the house.
It didn’t take long once he was outside for Hawk to realize the night was going to be a cold one. In addition to the two armloads of wood he intended to take inside the cabin, he decided to move a few extra armloads from the side of the cabin to the porch just outside the door.
Looking up at the last of the suns rays struggling to remain visible, Hawk estimated it to be just past 6 o’clock. “’Bout supper time,” he said, the evening air catching his words and turning them into frosty mist. As he took the second load of wood in, he saw Firehair putting grease in the skillet.
“I’m going to fix the last of those elk steaks,” the man said. “We’ve had them the longest. No sense in letting them go to waste.”
“Sounds good,” Hawk replied. “I think I’m gonna make sure the horses have hay and maybe throw an extra blanket on them.”
“Probably be a good idea.”
Hawk left the warmth of the cabin and made his way to the small barn not far from the well. Drawing close, he stretched out his hand to unlatch the door, but paused for a moment to listen. Something wasn’t setting right with him. He grew leery when he could hear nothing coming from inside. Despite the wind, he unbuttoned his coat and removed a tomahawk from where it usually stayed, tucked into his belt. Gently, he eased the door open.
There was still enough light to see by, and from what he could tell, aside from the horses there was nothing in the barn that shouldn’t be there. Still, there was something, a feeling of sorts, one which had kept him alive for over seventy years, that kept his tomahawk in his hand. Moving slowly to the first stall, he reached for a blanket with one hand while sliding weapon back into his belt with the other. With his eyes constantly moving, Hawk started to cover Firehair’s horse, then stopped when he realized Ember had not moved. He looked at his own horse, Raven, and saw it, too, was standing stock still. He waved his hand in front of Ember’s face and the only response he received in return was the twitch of her right ear.
“Ember,” he finally whispered.
The horse neighed softly, but kept its attention focused on the wall, the same spot Raven was watching.
Hawk put the blankets over both horses, then moved to the wall that had captured so much of their attention. Seeing nothing, he made sure they were fed then drew his tomahawk once again.
Returning to the door, he left the barn then walked around to inspect the wall from the outside. Again, nothing. A cold chill ran the length of his spine and he slowly turned to face the darkness beyond the fence surrounding their place. And listened.
Nothing.
He double checked the barn latch, took one final look and listen to the growing darkness, then returned to the cabin. The first of what promised to be many snowflakes came to a rest on Hawk’s coat as he was stepping up on the porch.
Back inside, Hawk removed his coat and hung it be the fireplace. At the cook stove, Firehair was preparing to turn the steaks.
“Coffee is ready,” Firehair said.
Before walking away from the fireplace, Hawk reached up and took down the two rifles—one was a .44 caliber Winchester Model 1866 and the other, a .44 caliber Henry repeating rifle—hanging there. He placed them on the table then walked over and got a cup of coffee.
“What took you so long?” Firehair asked. When he turned and saw their rifles, he nodded. “Are you expecting trouble?”
“Somethin’ out there,” he hooked his thumb toward the door. “Somethin’ out there doesn’t feel right.”
“What do you think it is?” Firehair asked.
Hawk shook his head. “Not sure.” He proceeded to tell his friend about the horses and of the eerie feeling he got outside.
Firehair checked the steaks, then stepped into his bedroom for a moment. When he returned, he placed a couple of small bundles of sage on the table. Hawk didn’t have to ask what it was for; he knew his friend was planning to cleanse their home.
“Are ya sure it will take all of that just for the cabin?” Hawk asked.
“That is much more than what we need for the cabin, but I think we should walk the perimeter of the property as well.”
In the nearly half a century since the two men had been friends, Hawk had learned there was more to the things Firehair did than just superstition. “Perhaps that would be a good idea.” He looked at the stove. “How long before the food’s ready?”
“Not long enough to do what needs to be done.” Firehair thought for a moment. “It might be a bit tough when we eat it, but I could set it aside until we finish.”
Hawk thought for a moment, then nodded his head in agreement. “Somethin’s comin’. I feel like we are gonna to need all the help the Great Spirit can give us.”
Firehair moved the skillet off the fire, then both men donned their buffalo coats. Each man took a bundle of sage then approached the fireplace. As Firehair began to saying a prayer, they held their bundles to the fire until the sage began to smoke. Still reciting his prayer, Firehair led the way outside.
Once outside, Hawk began to walk slowly around the house while Firehair moved to the fence line and began walking the perimeter, each man repeating the words of the prayer as they went. After making a circuit around the house, Hawk moved on to the barn, even stopping to circle the well on the way.
Firehair returned to the entrance of their property, completing his own circuit, then stared into the darkness that filled the canyon. Like Hawk earlier, he, too sensed something beyond his range of sight.
Hawk saw his friend staring into the darkness as he finished making his circuit around the barn. Still fairly mobile for a man in his seventies, he hurried to the cabin and rushed inside. When he emerged, he was carrying both rifles, their ammunition, and his own gun belt. His Bisley Model Single Action pistol was in his hand by the time he reached Firehair.
Firehair took the Henry and a box of shells from Hawk and began to load it while the latter kept his pistol trained on the darkness. Once he was finished, he trained his rifle on the darkness and allowed Hawk to load his own. Hawk slid his pistol back into its holster, strapped the gun belt around his waist, loaded his rifle, then moved his tomahawk to the front of his belt, in case he needed it.
“Do you hear that?” Firehair asked.
Although hearing anything over the wind was close to impossible, Hawk thought he could hear what sounded like cries. “Sounds like somebody’s in trouble.”
“Someone young,” Firehair replied.
Hawk started to head in the direction of the cries, but Firehair stopped him. “There are things in this world that are not as they seem,” he said. “It would be best if we waited until we are sure we know what is out there before we put ourselves at risk.”
“I’ve lived a long enough life that the risk don’t mean much to me,” Hawk said. “If there’s a young’un out there in trouble, I couldn’t live with myself knowing I stood here doin’ nothin’ to save him.”
“I agree,” Firehair replied. “But there are things that dwell in the hidden places that often mimic children, or women, to lure a man to his doom.”
“Well,” the frustration in Hawk’s voice was noticeable, “I’ll not wait much longer.”
“You don’t have to,” Firehair said, suddenly firing into the darkness just as a child emerged.
