An Occurrence in Crazy Bear Valley Page 2

  “You got a name?” Morgan asked.

  The girl moaned. Morgan crossed the floor, grabbed her chin, and pulled her face up. He stared into her eyes.

  “Name,” he said again. “Do you have one? Answer me, now.”

  Boot heels sounded at the door. Stephens walked into the bunkhouse, paused, and glanced around the room in confusion. He gaped at the naked captive. His gaze darted down to her exposed lower half and then back up to her face.

  “Who the hell’s this?” he asked.

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Morgan said, turning to face him, the girl’s chin still cupped in one hand. “You take care of them bodies like I told you to?”

  Stephens nodded. “Sure did, boss. I strung them up just like you said. Hung them in a little copse of pines on the edge of the clearing. I figure that way, we can shoot at whatever comes sniffing around from inside of here. No sense standing out there at night. I reckon it gets downright cold in these woods come nightfall.”

  If Morgan heard all of this, he didn’t acknowledge it. He’d already turned back to the girl.

  “I’ll ask you one more time. What is your name, girl?”

  The girl licked her swollen lips. “Are y’all here to rescue me?”

  Sighing, Morgan struck her hard with the back of his hand, simultaneously answering her question and demanding an answer to his own. The girl cried out as her head rocked to one side. She let her chin rest on her chest as she began to sob. None of the others moved. They watched, impassively. Morgan seized the girl’s chin and raised her head again.

  “You want me to hit you again?”

  “C-crystal,” she stammered. “My n-name is Crystal.”

  “Crystal.” Smiling, Morgan released her chin and softened his tone. “Now that’s more like it, Crystal. Is that your Christian name?”

  “I don’t know what that means. Please don’t hit me anymore.”

  “It means was that the name you were born with?”

  She nodded, sniffling. Tears rolled down her dirty, bruised cheeks.

  “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Crystal.” Morgan tipped his hat to her. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out a faded handkerchief, and wiped her face and eyes. His nose wrinkled as he leaned close. Her burlap garments smelled musty, and the girl obviously hadn’t bathed in a while. Crystal winced when his fingers brushed against her lips and nose. Morgan shushed her, his tone apologetic, and finished wiping the grime and her tears away.

  “My name is Morgan,” he said, and then motioned to the others. “These are my associates—Mr. Parker, Mr. Johnson, Mr. Gunderson, and Mr. Stephens. The lady is named Clara, except that her Christian name ain’t Clara, and she isn’t a lady. Unless you count lady of ill repute, that is.”

  Clara threw back her head and cackled at this. The others snickered, their eyes flicking back and forth between their boss and the captive girl.

  “Are you folks here to rescue me?” Crystal asked again, her voice hopeful.

  Morgan frowned, as if considering her request. “Well now, I reckon that depends. Mind telling us who tied you up like this, and why?”

  “O’Bannon and his boys did it. They keep me like this while they’re out working during the day.”

  “And O’Bannon would be one of the tree jockeys down yonder?”

  She nodded. “Is he…is he dead?”

  “Well, I’m not sure which one he was, but yes, they’re all dead.”

  Crystal’s body sagged on the hook. She sighed. Her expression changed from doubt and fear to one of relieved elation.

  “They only let me loose at night, and then I had to… to service them.”

  “Fuck them, you mean?”

  She nodded. “Mostly. Sometimes I’d cook or clean, but mostly it was sex.”

  “And did you mind doing that?”

  Crystal shrugged. “I didn’t mind, I guess. It kept me alive. They kidnapped me from a whorehouse I was working in down near Big River. Not much of a difference.”

  “Well,” Morgan said. “I reckon there’s no harm in letting you go, provided you do for me and my associates what you were willing to do for the lumberjacks. After all, it’s like you said—anything to stay alive. Am I right?”

  She glanced at the others, studying their reactions, and then looked back to Morgan.

  “No. I mean. yes. I don’t guess that would be too bad.”

  “Good. Gunderson, you got your knife on you?”

  “Sure do, boss.”

  “Hand it here.”

  Gunderson reached down, rolled up his pant leg and reached into his boot, withdrawing a knife from the side. He surrendered it to Morgan without a word. Morgan raised the blade. Crystal cowered, cringing as he sliced through the bailing twine around her wrists. Then, as she stood their rubbing her hands together to restore the circulation, he freed her ankles and handed the knife back to Gunderson.

  “Thank you,” Crystal murmured.

  “Don’t mention it,” Morgan said. His voice took on a sarcastic edge. “Lincoln freed the slaves. I reckon we should all live by that example.”

  “Should I… start servicing you now?”

  “Damn girl! I like your spirit.” Chuckling, Morgan shook his head and sniffed. “But no. Get cleaned up first. Enjoy your freedom. Make yourself at home. There’ll be plenty of time for thanking us later. We ain’t leaving here for a while.”

  TWO

  “You sure about the posse, boss?”

  Morgan, Parker, Johnson and Stephens were seated around the table, playing a hand of cards with the lumberjacks’ deck and eating some of the dead men’s beans and potatoes that Clara and Crystal had cooked up. Clara now lounged on one of the musty cots. Crystal sat nearby, her eyes darting back and forth between each of them. Gunderson sat by the window, a long rifle in his hands. Although he was listening to the conversation, he kept his attention focused on the group of pine trees where Stephens had hung the bait earlier.

  “Understand,” Parker continued, “I don’t mean to disagree with you or anything like that. I’m just nervous is all.”

  “Nervous?” Johnson laughed. “I’d dare say scared is more like it. Ready to shit your britches at the thought of hanging.”

  Parker’s ears turned red. “Fuck you, Johnson. I ain’t afraid of hanging.”

  “You damn well should be,” Morgan said around a mouthful of beans, “because if they ever catch us, we’ll hang for sure. After all the shit we’ve done across this country? No doubt about it, boys. We’d hang. But I don’t think they will catch us. I think the posse has given up already.”

  Stephens drew a card from the deck. “After what we did back in that last town? You really think they’d just let us go?”

  “Of course not,” Morgan replied. “You don’t pull something like that and just walk away unscathed. We were wanted men before that. Now we’re twice as wanted. I reckon the law will double—maybe triple the bounty on our heads. Then they’ll put the word out. Hell, they probably put it out already. But like I told you earlier, I don’t think any of the folks in the posse will bother riding into these parts to hunt for us. They’re too soft. We’re hard men—harder than them—and they know it. What they’ll probably do is hire their own hard men to come after us. Ex-soldiers, bounty hunters and the like. Lots of fellas like that around these days, looking for a fight. Castaways from the war. So they’ll buy themselves some hired guns to come hunting for us. But that will take a few days—a few weeks, even. I reckon we’ve got time. And it ain’t like we’ve never had those types chasing after us before.”

  “I sure hope you’re right, boss” Johnson said.

  “Tell you what,” Morgan replied. “If I ain’t, and they do show up here, you can be the first one to shout out ‘I told you so.’ Fair enough?”

  Johnson didn’t respond.

  “Whereabouts do you reckon we are, anyway?” Parker asked.

  Morgan shrugged. “I imagine we’re somewhere near the Humboldt L
ine. What they call Big Woods Country.”

  “That’s an apt name,” Gunderson said from his seat at the window.

  “It certainly is,” Morgan agreed. Then he glanced at Parker. “You ain’t cheating now, are you?”

  Parker grinned. “I know better than to cheat this bunch, boss. And besides, this ain’t my deck, remember? Mine’s scattered all over that saloon back where we come from.”

  “When has that ever stopped you before?”

  Parker’s grin grew larger. He winked at Morgan. “Well, I ain’t had time to mark these cards yet.”

  A search of the lumberjacks’ footlockers had turned up several rawhide tobacco pouches. It was stale but still smoke-able. After they had finished their meal, the men tamped tobacco into their pipes while Clara and Crystal removed the plates and utensils. Clara joked and flirted with each of them in turn, but it was clear that she favored Johnson. Crystal did her best to mimic the older woman’s behavior, clearly afraid of what would happen to her if she didn’t. Morgan watched her silently. The girl was smart. She’d obviously picked up on the dynamic between Johnson and Clara, so she paid special attention to him. When he ignored her advances, she turned her attempts to Parker, who seemed to appreciate them more.

  Once their pipes were lit and flowing, Morgan dealt them another hand of cards. Then he leaned back, blew smoke, and sighed.

  “It’ll do us good to stay here a couple of days,” he said. “We can rest up. More importantly, the horses can rest up. Damn things are nearly dead, hard as we’ve been riding them. Which reminds me. Stephens, head on out there and see to them. Rub them down, check their hooves, make sure they’ve got water and such. And tie them close to the cabin. We don’t need them wandering off in the night or getting eaten.”

  “Me?” Stephens peered out over the tops of his cards. “I hung the bodies up like you asked, Morgan. Can’t someone else take a turn?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “Did I stutter? Now go on and get.”

  “Well, that don’t rightly seem fair, boss. Why can’t someone else do it?”

  Morgan scowled at him. “Why not? I’ll tell you why not, you fat fucking toad. Because I goddamn said so. That’s why. Now if you want to skin on out of here and take your chances on your own, you be my goddamned guest. But as long as you ride with us, then you do as I say. It’s been that way since the beginning. Shouldn’t come as no big surprise to you now.”

  “You’re right.” Stephens pouted. “I just…”

  He glanced furtively at Crystal and then back to Morgan, who leaned back in his chair, propped his bare feet up on the table, and laughed.

  “Oh, I see! Look here, boys. I’ll be damned if Stephens hasn’t got himself a crush on our new girl. Hear that, Crystal? He’s sweet on you. Trying to show off. Impress you by arguing with me. Prove he’s the biggest wolf in the pack. Is that it, Stephens?”

  “No,” he insisted, standing up quickly. “It’s just that it’s getting dark outside and I’m tired and I thought someone else might like to take a fucking turn. On account of we’re all friends, like. I hear tell that friends do things like that for each other.”

  “Sounds to me like you’re afraid,” Johnson said.

  “Fuck you, Johnson.”

  “Ain’t nothing out there to be afraid of,” Parker said. “You tell him, new girl. You’ve been living here with those tree jockeys. Ain’t nothing to be afraid of, right?”

  Crystal opened her mouth to speak, but then hesitated.

  “Bears,” Stephens said. “Or Indians, maybe. Bound to be some of both in these parts. Hell, that’s why we hung up them bodies—so a bear would come around.”

  “But they ain’t gonna eat you.” Parker snorted. “Hell, Gunderson’s right there at the window with a gun. You know what a good shot he is.”

  “Well, then you do it, Parker. You’re feeling so goddamned brave, you go ahead and volunteer to take my place.”

  “I can’t, Stephens. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m busy playing cards. You know I take my cards very seriously. And besides, I recollect that the boss man told you to do it. Not me.”

  “Go on now,” Morgan warned. “No more arguing, Stephens. Just get it done. There’s a good man. Sooner you finish, the sooner you can come back inside.”

  Still sulking, Stephens pulled on his boots, farted, and then, without another word, opened the door and went outside.

  There was a lull in the conversation after that. Morgan produced a bottle of whiskey and passed it around. Each of them took a long pull, even Crystal. Then Parker, Johnson and Morgan sat playing cards. Clara stretched back out on one of the cots and closed her eyes. Crystal sat on another cot. She appeared unsure of what to do next since no one was taking a particular interest in her at the moment. She alternated between watching the men play their game and watching Clara sleep. Gunderson, meanwhile, sat motionless at the window, staring out into the gloom, his rifle within easy reach should a target present itself.

  About half an hour had passed before Stephens bustled back inside. He was squinting and his expression was twisted, as if he’d just bitten into a ripe lemon. He fanned his hand in front of his nose.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Johnson asked.

  Stephens shut the door behind him. “Something stinks out there.”

  “It’s probably your ass,” Parker said. “You been breaking wind again?”

  This earned a round of laughter from everyone in the room. Even Crystal grinned nervously.

  “No,” Stephens said as his cheeks flushed. “I ain’t joshing around. Something really reeks out there. Stinks to high Heaven, I’m telling you. Bad enough that it’s filling the whole valley.”

  “Well, what does it smell like?” Morgan asked.

  Stephens shrugged. “It just smells…wrong, boss. I don’t rightly know how to describe it.”

  “Try. Because you’re starting to piss me off.”

  Nodding, Stephens took a deep breath. “Well, it was pretty foul. Smelled sort of like a dead animal that’s been laying out in the sun for a few days, except stronger than that. A lot stronger. It had a sour tang to it. When I smelled it, I started breathing through my mouth, and I’m hear to tell you, boys, I could taste it on my tongue. Almost made me lose my dinner.”

  Johnson leaned back in his chair. “You say it smelled like a dead animal?”

  “Yeah. A ripe one.”

  “Well, hell, it’s probably them lumberjacks’ corpses.”

  Stephens shook his head. “No, it wasn’t them. I thought of that at first, too. But this smell was a lot stronger than what they’d be by now. And like I said, it fills the entire goddamn valley.”

  “Maybe it was some other dead critter,” Gunderson suggested. “A deer or a raccoon or something, lying dead out there in the woods.”

  “No,” Stephens insisted. “I’m telling you, it wasn’t a dead animal.”

  “You just said it was,” Clara said. “Make up your damn mind, Stephens.”

  “I said it smelled sort of like a dead animal. Sort of. But it wasn’t. Whatever I smelled was alive.”

  Morgan frowned. “That doesn’t make much sense, Stephens.”

  “I allow that it might not,” the fat man admitted, shrugging. “But I don’t know how to explain it any better than that, boss. This was like a musk. A scent. And whatever it was, it spooked me good. I ain’t fucking going out there no more tonight. Send Gunderson outside. He’s the mountaineer. Maybe he’ll know what it is.”

  Crystal spoke up then, her voice so soft that they had to strain to hear her.

  “It was one of the crazy bears.”

  One by one, they slowly turned to her, their expressions mirroring their surprise.

  “What’d you say?” Clara asked.

  “The crazy bears. They smell just like what he’s describing.”

  The group glanced at each other, and then at Morgan, waiting to see how he’d respond. He leaned forward in h
is chair, rested his elbows on his knees, folded his hands together in a steeple, and stared at her thoughtfully. One of his eyebrows was arched slightly. His mouth was a thin, tight line. He did not blink or speak. In the silence, it was hard to tell if he was even breathing.

  “I-I’m sorry,” Crystal apologized. “I j-just thought…”

  “It’s okay,” Morgan interrupted. His tone was soft and conciliatory. “Tell us more about this… what did you call it? Crazy Bear? Is he an Indian?”

  “Not crazy bear,” Crystal explained. “Crazy bears. There’s more than one. And no, they’re not Indians. But that’s what the Indians call them.”

  Stephens sat down at the table. The chair creaked under his weight. The others barely noticed him. Their attention was focused on Crystal, who now sat up straight in the bed, looking nervous.

  “Go on,” Morgan said. “Tell us about them.”

  “Well, I only know what O’Bannon and the others told me. They talked about them sometimes. I never saw the crazy bears for myself. I heard them a few times, late at night. And I thought I smelled one once. But that’s all.”

  “What are they?” Parker interrupted. “Bears with rabies or something?”

  “No,” Crystal said. “They weren’t animals. According to O’Bannon, they were these sort of… wild men, living together further up the river.”

  Morgan frowned. “Wild men? So hey were Indians after all?”

  “Not according to O’Bannon. He said they’d been here longer than the Indians.”

  “How did he know that?” Morgan asked.

  “Before the Indians left this area, O’Bannon and the others used to spend a lot of time in their village, trading and drinking and gambling and such. The Indians told them all about the crazy bears. The tribe used to take these large clay platters heaped with vegetables and raw deer meat to a cave several miles up river where the crazy bears lived. I guess it was like an offering or such. O’Bannon followed some of the Indians to the cave one night, and he saw the crazy bears for himself. He said they weren’t human.”