Eerie Saloon Treasure of Eerie Chapter 1
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Eerie Saloon -- Treasure Of Eerie, Prolog free porn video
The Treasure of Eerie, Arizona
by Christopher Leeson and Ellie Dauber
This new story of Eerie, Arizona concerns one of its untold tales. It
carries us back to December, 1871, to a month that has been already
visited in the second novel, "Eerie Saloon: Seasons of Change -
Autumn" and in the short story "Eerie Saloon -- Toy Soldier." Let's
assume that, behind the scenes, something else was happening that we
did not at that time choose to reveal, something that will now be the
subject of this novella.
Here begins our adventure, featuring some old characters, some new
characters, and some bits of rip-roaring action. It's about outlaws,
and robbery, and lost treasure. It's a new pretty girl, and...oh,
that would be telling. Read on and see!
*****
Prologue
December 13, 1871
A bullet ricocheted off the canyon wall as the stage was slowing down.
The company guard grabbed for his rifle, but fumbled it and it fell
down across his feet. The driver beside him cringed, fearing the
worst.
Before the echoing had fully died away, someone shouted, "Throw down
that smoke pole, codger, or you won't like what happens next."
The flustered guard bent to recover his dropped weapon. "Throw it
down," the highwayman repeated. "I won't be asking three times." The
rifleman, fit to be tied, took the barrel of the Henry rifle carefully
between two fingers and tossed it away. He deliberately aimed for a
roadside bush, to keep it from breaking on the rocky grade.
"That's better," the bandit said, stepping into the open. Three
additional men emerged from different hiding places. They were masked
with colored bandanas, but had the build of young men. "Driver, toss
away your hog leg, too," the first robber said, "and if any of you
passengers are toting, dump what y'got out the windows."
"Don't try anything fancy, folks," another of the desperadoes
grumbled. His bandanna was read and his voice sounded even younger
than the other outlaw's. That voice, though it wasn't loud, packed an
implicit threat. "Hand over the strongbox and the key."
"The key!" scoffed the guard. "Sonny, that key'll be waiting fer this
shipment at the bank in Phoenix. Company policy."
The red-masked holdup man pointed a Remington at him. "Don't call me
Sonny!" he warned. Just then, the wind swept his hat back, so that
it hung over his back by its stampede strap. His hair was fair and
looked like it needed a good washing.
"All right, _old man_," the guard answered back. "Don't get yourself
in a lather. We've been authorized to hand over any payload, if a
highwayman asks fer it politely. The box is in the boot. Don't shoot
me if I go back and get it out fer ye."
"You do that," the bandit with the grumbling tone responded.
"Wait a minute," said a woman through the coach window. "You sound
just like Thorn Caldwell. You even got his hair. That's your farm a
couple miles down the hill, boy. What would your aunt think?"
The stickup man glared at her old face, his pistol raised, but not
aimed. "Damn you!"
"Settle down, gentlemen," the guard interjected. "No reason to be
mad. Ye'r about to get rich. He climbed down to the natural pavement
and went to the rear-end boot. It looked to be strongly reinforced
for carrying heavy gold shipments. The company man inserted the key
and turned it, unlatching the boot's protective plates. Once they
were pushed aside, all could see the coveted strongbox.
"Now step away," the lead badman ordered. When the guard gave back,
two of the robbers, the pair who had so far not said a word, went to
take the loot. The bigger one tried to lift the chest and exclaimed,
"Shoot! The damned thing must weigh a lot more than a hundred
pounds!"
There was silence for a moment, then the lead badman yelled, "Anybody
bring a crowbar?"
There was a breath of silence. The smaller of the two quiet bandit
said, "Hell, no." The remaining outlaws just stood where they were,
looking out of sorts.
"We can't carry an unsecured box that's so heavy on a horse's back,"
said the apparent leader.
"Let me have a crack at it," said Myron Thornton -- "Thorn" Caldwell.
The other highwaymen backed aside, allowing Thorn to square off with
the box. He cocked his shooting iron.
"Easy there, lads," the guard said. "It ain't a cinch to blow off a
strongbox lock. That case is solid iron. Bullets bounce."
"Don't call us lads, either!" snarled the irritated gang leader.
Caldwell aimed his barrel about a foot from the padlock. Before
anyone could yell, "No!" he pulled the trigger. The blast rocked the
canyon and made pebbles fall.
"Hey!" yelled the biggest bandit as the shell whistled past his ear.
"You're an idiot!" growled the leader, pacing forward. "Stand back
and let me try."
The young shooter bridled, but grudgingly gave back a step.
The bandit chief took a careful bead and pulled his trigger. The
cliffs for a third time echoed.
"Yahhh!" Thorn Caldwell howled.
For a few seconds, everyone stared. The boy was curled up on the
ground, groaning.
"Keeee-rist!" an outlaw exclaimed. "You done hit him!"
Blood was flowing between Caldwell's fingers where he clutched the
wound. Everyone -- outlaws, company men, and passengers -- looked on
mutely. Most knew that belly wounds soon turn poisonous. It was said
that gut-shot soldiers in wartime had commonly been left to die behind
the surgeons' tent while the doctors worked to save men with less
fatal wounds.
"Ike!" one of the gang shouted. "We have to..."
"Shad-up!" Ike snapped. He pointed at the ground with his gunbarrel.
"Pick up those pistols." Turning, he bared his teeth at the people
who'd come with the coach. "You men, get out and clear away the
barricade. When the road is open, you can all get on your way. Move
it! We don't have all day."
Everyone, except the lady, exited the stage. Watched by three
outlaws, the company men and passengers took apart the pile of wood
and stone that was blocking the narrow road. The work took only about
fifteen minutes to complete. Then one bandit held a gun on the group
while the other two fit robbers dragged the box out of the boot and
set it down on the stony grade.
"Now jump back into your seats and get the hell out of here!" Ike
ordered.
"Maybe we should send Thorn away with them," put in the scrawniest of
the outlaws. "They can take him to a doc."
"Just let me do the thinking!" Ike told him bluntly.
Five minutes later, the stagecoach was bouncing down on the roadbed,
in a hurry to reach the safety of the plain.
The bandit Ike stood in place thoughtfully, pondering what to do. He
looked over his shoulder, at a small canyon that branched off the
defile. Holstering his revolver, he told the unwounded men, "Carry the
box up into that gorge. We'll hide it and come back later, when the
excitement's died down. Next time, we'll bring proper tools."
"What about Thorn?" the scrawny bandit asked.
Ike scowled. "Leave him to me."
The big robber and the skinny one took up the daunting load together,
one at each handle, and carried toward the offshoot canyon. Ike
brought the gang's four horses out of hiding and tied them to a sickly
mesquite tree that was growing out of a crack in the rock wall. Then
he regarded the wounded boy, thinking hard.
"Damn you, Thorn, you've turned yourself into a problem that we didn't
need. We can't take you and move out with any kind of speed. If a
posse takes you, you'll get talkative. You owe it to your friends to
die quick-like and be done with it."
"Go to blazes," the wounded robber groaned.
Ike rested his hand on his gun-grip, frowning. "That's a selfish
attitude. If you're still alive by the time we've hidden that gold,
you'll be a problem that'll need fixing."
That said, he followed after the other two.
Thorn cringed, toughing out the tortures of Hell. By the time he
could no longer hear the scuffling of the robber's boots, he had
grasped the situation. As soon as Ike came back, he was going to put
him down, like a nag with a broken leg. Seething mad, the young
outlaw struggled, despite the searing pain, to get up.
Somewhat to his own surprise, Thorn could walk some. He shuffled
toward his tethered horse and managed to clamber up into its saddle.
The youth was under no illusion that his new "friends" gave a hot damn
whether he lived or died, and they were money ahead if it were the
latter. Thorn couldn't let his plans and dreams end like this, all
because of some stupid mistake that wasn't even his own. If this were
any place else other than the familiar canyon that was only a couple
miles from his own home, he wouldn't have stood a chance. If he could
reach the farm, he could get some help. Luckily, the youth didn't
feel half so close to dying as Ike seemed to be hoping.
Riding down out of the hills, each bump inflicted shots of pain; he
felt like this was some awful dream. If he hadn't been only half-
unconscious, the agony would have been unbearable.
The first darkness was closing in on Riley Canyon Road by the time he
reached level ground. He kept on following the trace, barely lucid.
Somehow, his bay was carrying him in the direction that he wanted to
go. He didn't try urging it to speed, afraid that he couldn't hold on
if the ride got any rougher.
At last, he spied the uneven shingles of his family's farmhouse.
Thorn suddenly felt younger than his years. He didn't want to face
his aunt in such a sorry condition, and he wanted even less to have a
one-on-one with the town sheriff. Dan Talbot would remember the horse
that he'd stolen from his neighbor, Tally Singer. That was a hanging
offense under the law, even if stage robbery was not.
By this point, though, the young bandit would have gladly accepted a
jail-house bunk if it meant getting off his horse's back. The mid-
December wind was chilling him to the bone. His teeth chattered; his
breathing came in shivery snatches. By the time the rider heard a
shout from the farmhouse, he didn't have breath enough for an
answering hail. Pain was draining away his strength like water from a
leaky canteen. Was someone running his way? He couldn't focus.
The hard ground slammed into his shoulder. The wounded youth never
felt it.
***
TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 1
Kaidence
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Eerie Saloon Treasure of Eerie Chapter 2
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Eerie Saloon Treasure of Eerie Chapter 4
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