A Penny Down the Well: A Short Story Collection of Horrifying Events (26 page)

The next sound came from
behind them, and though the word that came from their flank was
foreign, the accent behind it sounded familiar:
“Shoshoni!”

Harriet nearly leapt out
of her skin at the sound, turning swiftly to see what else had
come, expecting it was reinforcements by the word said. Instead, it
was a middle-aged man and a younger counterpart, both with cowboy
hats and horses. None of the party seemed to hear the approach of
the men and the creatures, but it was likely that their attention
was so drawn to the violence that they would be unaware of the
trivial trotting of a horse. The Greyson party, now afraid and
perplexed by the turn of events, watched the new arrivals. The
Indian raiders stopped the savage stabbing into the now
blood-soaked tent and turned to the men, saying a few words in
their native language, as threateningly so as they had sounded
while corralling the group.

The men stepped past the
captive Greyson party and returned words, in the language of the
natives. Harriet took the time to look over the men. The elder was
strapped with two revolvers, which would have had enough bullets in
them, if loaded, to kill off the entire raiding group twice over.
Furthermore, the younger fellow held a shotgun in his hand, which
could have done a fine job itself, if utilized.

There was a standoff of
silence between the raiders and the gunmen, all in full spectacle
of the confused and unsettled Greyson party. Suddenly, as if out of
nowhere, fear came into the eyes of each of the raiding tribesmen,
and they began shouting, “Dzoavits! Dzoavits!” A word strange to
the party, but the two Indian guides shifted uncomfortably, looking
between each other.

The gunmen looked between
each other as well, as if giving a nonverbal queue to do what
needed to be done. The elder of the two pulled both pistols and
began firing on the raiders. At the same time, the younger man,
with the shotgun, stepped forward to close his range, firing
powerful, bloody shots into the native group of raiders. Gore
filled the sky as pieces of the painted men colored the dark
backdrop of the night. Blood shot out of the men like a fountain,
making the assault on Hank in his tent look mild. Every bullet was
shot out of the end of each pistol with an assaulting, audible
crack through the sky and twelve shots were counted from the
pistol. When nothing was left of the raiders but a mound of body
parts, feathers and torn leathers, all behind the smoky haze of
fresh gunfire, there was a silence.

The Greyson party all
remained close to each other, watching the fresh exhibit,
mortified. When the gunmen turned back to them, the entire group
winced and leaned away.

“
We’re not here to hurt
you. These fellas here? They’re Shoshoni Indians. They don’t take
kindly to strangers, as you can see.” And the elder gunman gestured
back toward Hank’s body. “They especially don’t like it when you
shoot at them. Then, if you’re going to use your thunder-sticks,
it’s best you kill them all. If one of them got away, you’d better
be damn sure the rest of them would be showing up soon. That being
said, maybe your group should get movin’ on instead of staying out
here in the middle of nowhere as you are, with all these
provisions.” And the elder gunman looked over the boxes of goods
brought for the trip, kept outside of the damaged wagon for the
repairs that were required.

“
Sir, I
personally cannot thank you enough. Without your help, I’m sure
we’d all be
—” But he was cut off by
the younger of the two gunman.

“
You’d
be dead? You think these fellas here would kill ya?” And he started
to laugh. First, a bit of a dilapidated chortle snuck out
unnaturally, but then he broke into a full laughter. The elder man
joined him a moment later, causing the remaining Greyson party, and
the two Indian guides, to watch the men
suspiciously.

The elder gunman spoke
then. “They probably would ‘ave killed ya eventually. Wouldn’t have
buried you like we bury our folks. They don’t have those same sorts
of respects that you and I have. No, those Shoshoni, they have a
respect for something a little different, and it ain’t human.” He
warned, his smile fading.

“
Ain’t
human?” Harriet echoed, asking first.

“
Oh no.”
The elder gunman replied.

“
What is
it then? Some sort of god of theirs?” Harriet
persisted.

“
Some of
this. Some of that. They got plenty of gods, the Shoshoni, but some
of their

practices are things that
separate the civilized from savages. You know, wild sexual
practices and rituals...” And he paused for a moment, watching
Harriet.

The stare made Harriet
uncomfortable and she stepped nearer to her husband, if she could
do such a thing. “Is that it?”

“
There is one more thing.”
The elder gunman grinned, as if finding pleasure in the dark
revelation. “They’ve been known for eating the dead.”

Harriet’s face contorted
as she was mortified by the news. “They eat other people?!” She
shouted. “That’s unbelievable!”

Floyd, Grant and the
others showed less expression to the news. Grant Vickers, in
particular, was well aware of the stories out West. It so happened
that the practice wasn’t as unusual as Harriet may have thought it
was, which verified as the younger gunman spoke up
again.

“
Well, it isn’t just the
Indians out this way eating people. You know, there’s a share of
good white people like ourselves that have been known to do the
same thing, when desperate. Not all of them show up as stocked as
your bunch and...” The young man looked back over the boxes of
provisions. “...some of them come as ready as you are, and don’t
have a couple of us to come and save them. Even if they had let
ya’ll live, ya probably would have been eatin’ each other by the
end of the trek out West.” And he smiled a wide, toothy smile to
that.

“
Oh, God no!” Harriet
exclaimed. “I’d first die with dignity than ever resort to
something as absolutely grotesque as cannibalism!” She shouted,
with authority.

Floyd placed a hand on his
wife’s shoulder to calm her. Floyd understood that such a comment
as the one made by the young man could have been considered an
insult. Floyd hadn’t heard of reports of cannibalism, but he
understood that such a thing could happen should the situation
became dire enough.

“
Listen, we’re not here to
make a big deal out of any of this. You’re safe for now, but you’re
going to have to get moving. What needs to be done to get this
thing rolling again?” The elder gunman gestured to the immobile
wagon.

Jim stepped forward,
feeling a sort of responsibility to the position held by Hank only
moments prior. With a grumbling tone, Jim said, “It needs an axle.
And the only one that knew how to repair it was that guy over
there.” And Jim cast a short, denoting finger in the direction of
the bloodied, broken tent. “Unless one of you two know a thing or
two about wagons and repairs, I don’t see us doing much here at
all.”

The two gunman looked to
each other for a moment in another silent exchange. The elder
looked back over the demoralized and terrified group. “Then maybe
you all should come back with us? We’re not a huge distance from
here, just about seven miles south. I understand that’s a bit of a
walk, but the lady can ride with me, her husband with Chance,
here.” The elder gunman said while gesturing to his
accomplice.

Grant looked to the two
Indian guides and then to Jim. He spoke up. “I’m certain we’ll be
able to find our way. The guides know this land well. What’s the
name of the place?”

Chance spoke up as he
approached his horse, then pulled himself up onto the saddle. “It’s
called Fort Bleck. Of course, it isn’t much of a Fort, but it’s
good for what it’s good for.” And he didn’t detail his ambiguous
redundancy.

Floyd thought on the
option for a moment, before asking. “And what about our things? And
Hank? He deserves, at least, a proper burial. Not this.” A frown
emerged on Floyd’s lips as he glanced toward the
massacre.

The elder gunman smirked.
“Well, let’s do this: if one of your strongmen can carry the bloody
heap back to the Fort, we’ll talk about a ‘proper burial,’
otherwise, consider him lost. I’m sure his soul will find its way,
only it won’t have six feet of dirt to dig through. Now, we better
get movin’ before these Shoshoni realize their huntin’ party ain’t
back when they’re supposed to.” And the gunman mounted his saddle
the same, extending a hand toward Harriet. “Come along, Ma’am. Just
hold tight. There isn’t a thing to be worried about. Shady here is
about the best horse in this part of the country, I
reckon.”

Harriet looked to her
husband. If they couldn’t take the body, they couldn’t take their
things. It was hard for Harriet to abandon the items from her home,
but she didn’t know what else to do. She tried to be strong,
despite the terrible turn of events. “Floyd...” She said softly.
“We should go. We’ll come back for him. I promise you. And
everything else.”

Floyd sighed and nodded,
though he knew as well as Harriet did that when they left, the
provisions were as good as gone, but for what the walking group
would be able to bring back. Jim stepped forward then.

“
We can bring the body,
Floyd. We’ll bring him, but it means we’re going to have to leave
something. We’ll bring the remaining cattle and the oxen. Load what
he can on the yolk, to include Hank, and we’ll bring the most
important things. The horses, too. I’m afraid it ain’t going to be
many material things, Floyd. We’ll probably need the food, you
know.” Jim was trying to be practical and honorable at the same
time. In the situation given to them, it was difficult to be
both.

“
Bring Hank, Jim. I can’t
think of leaving him out here. Those savages will probably return,
and I’d hate to think that they’d make a ritual out of Hank.” And
the thought made it hard for Floyd to swallow. He nodded, pleased
with the idea. Floyd stepped toward Grant then. “Grant, you sure
you’re alright with the walk? It isn’t an enormous distance, but
it’ll be dangerous.”

Grant nodded, gesturing to
the guides. “We’ll definitely make it there. These two know the
language. I’m not expecting we’ll be able to reason with them, but
by the time we’re gone, we won’t have a whole lot left to plunder.
I’ve been in plenty of bad situations in my time, Floyd. Don’t you
worry about me. Get off to the Fort with your wife and we’ll meet
you there as soon as we can make it. Shouldn’t take long, once we
get everything together that we need to. And trust me, we’ll be
working quick.”

Floyd sighed. “Alright,
Grant. I’ll see you at Fort Bleck, to the South.”

“
See you at Fort Bleck.”
Grant replied.

***

July 20, 1847

It has been many months
now and Ive writen about many boring things. Comes to find out that
travelin west isnt reel fun nor does it offur much to write about.
Last nite I lerned that things can get more interestin then I
woulda ever wanted. Hank was killed for shootin some indians that
were attaking our camp. Floyd and I ended up leavin camp with the
two men that saved us, one who is naimed Jasper and another named
Chance. They seem like nice men for saving us but I cant stop
thinkin about what they did to those indians. It says something I
think when men shoot other men more times then is needed. I think
that gose for anything. I guess it dont matter how nice they are
then. Floyd and I got a room at Fort Bleck, wich is a shourt
distance off our regular path and it aint much of a Fort. The walls
are made of pointey logs and thers some cabins. There isnt many
people here at the Fort but for Jasper and Chance and a couple of
others that are looking sick who Floyd sed to stay way from. I
think mister Vickers will be here soon and I hope and prey to God
that they are all alright.

Sincerely,

Hattie

***

Harriet was roused by the
sound of banjo playing outside of the cabin room Floyd and herself
were afforded at Fort Bleck. Floyd was already up, sitting at a
crude wooden desk near the door, where he watched Harriet from his
vantage. Harriet cocked her head, allowing for a few of her messy
curls to shift down the side of her face, and she asked with a
smile. “Can I help you, sir?” She said almost playfully. It felt
like a normal morning before the stoic look on Floyd’s face
remained despite Harriet’s efforts and she noticed that he was
unsettled. “Floyd, what is it?”

“
They should be here by
now, Hattie. It wasn’t a great distance for them to travel and it’s
been all night and nothing.” When Floyd fell silent and said
nothing more of his concerns, the plucking banjo was all that was
left to play its quick, successive notes behind their burdened
thoughts of Jim, Grant and the guides. It was ill-suiting of the
mood, but it was better than the deafening ring of silence that
would have been in company otherwise.

“
I bet they’re alright,
Floyd. I’m sure they are! God will protect them all, you know that!
And he’ll deliver them here, with everything that they could
bring.” Harriet rose from the bed and made her way clumsily toward
her husband. She sat on his lap after turning him and his chair,
with his assistance, her way. She wrapped her thin arms around his
neck and brought herself close to him, to settle with her nose
nuzzled into his neck. There, she whispered softly. “And we’ll get
ourselves together and be on our way to Oregon in no time, to live
out West, just like we planned, hmm?”