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Brother's Keeper...A Short Story


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Brother’s Keeper

“Best come quick Sherriff…there’s trouble!” Johnny said as he ducked his head inside the door. He was a good deputy…tad bit young perhaps but loyal and honest and that’s what the Sherriff needed right now.

Sherriff Creed rocked his chair forward and stood slowly. He heard creaking, both from the chair and from his old legs, but he stood anyway. He checked the pistol he always wore, saw that it was still loaded and holstered it. He stepped into the doorway of his office and looked up and down the street. Something was happening sure enough…half the town was running about in a panic. Johnny had failed to tell him where the ‘trouble’ was coming from so he followed the growing throng of townspeople towards the corral. When he got there he saw that Johnny had not been mistaken.

He smelled the body before he saw it…heard the wailing too. Thomas Bekker, called Old Man Bekker by most folks, was lying on the ground half under a sheet. His wife, a good woman by most accounts, was on her knees beside the body crying a small river. Johnny was close by trying to keep the people back but not doing a very good job. Creed decided that order was the first priority and did something he was not known for…he raised his voice.

“Back the hell up…all of you!” he shouted. The crowd parted at once, all but for three. Johnny looked sheepishly on, a tad green under the gills. Mrs. Bekker, now the Widow Bekker apparently, did not move from her late husband’s side. The only other person unmoved by Creed’s command was the town preacher, a heavyset man they called Father Carson. He was kneeling beside the widow with his head bowed in prayer. He stood as Creed approached…the two of them had a bad history between them and neither was the forgiving type.

“What happened?” Creed asked simply as he knelt down and examined the body. Johnny muttered something about sending for the doctor and the undertaker but the former was not likely to be useful. Old Man Bekker lay on his back, half of his face torn away as if by some animal. Creed lifted the sheet and saw that Bekker’s chest and arms had been mauled as well. Whatever had done it, Bekker had fought back. Creed checked and saw that Bekker had been wearing a gun but the holster was empty.

Creed glanced over his shoulder and made sure that his body was blocking the view of the crowd. The Widow Bekker was standing beside the preacher and he was attempting to console her as best he could. No one could see what happened next.

Prying Sam’s one remaining eye open, Creed looked closely at it as if gazing down a well. He concentrated his thoughts and whispered as he closed his eyes and focused on Sam’s last moments.

Permissum mihi animadverto,” he said and thought at the same time. “Let me see...”

Suddenly Creed’s mind was filled with visions of Sam fighting for his life against some wild animal. He shot it, stabbed it, even struck it with his fists even as it was killing him. Whatever he may have been Sam Bekker had not died easily. Creed let out a long sigh as he stood up and returned to the real world. He realized that his deputy had stepped up during his vision and he was dying to ask questions.

“Did anyone touch the body other than his wife and the preacher?” Creed asked as he took Johnny aside.

“No sir Sherriff. The folks crowded in close-like but nobody was even interested in touching him,” Johnny replied, his face pale as a sheet. He was used to turning out drunks and breaking up fights in the street…not watching good people get torn to shreds.

Creed nodded and returned to the body. Bekker’s knife was also missing and his hands bore evidence of having punched something recently. Creed moved beside the sobbing Widow Bekker and put his hand on her shoulder.

“What happened Mabel?” he asked as gently as he could. It was not a big town and everyone knew everyone else.

“We was losing stock,” she replied as she tried to calm herself. “One or two head a month. We figured it was a coyote or a wolf come down from the mountain so Sam went out hunting it.”

As she spoke she looked up at the imposing gray mass that rose above the town. The first settlers who founded the town had called it Black Rock but the latest generation of townspeople called it Witch Mountain. Stories abounded of an old crone living up there performing all manner of evil rights and doing everything from stealing children in the night to sleeping with the Devil. Creed didn’t take much stock in all of that but here was proof before his eyes. Something wild and unnatural had killed a man under his protection and he meant to see it never happened again.

“Mabel, how did you know it was an animal stealing your herd? Why not rustlers?”

“We wasn’t sure until three days ago when we found an old bull out in the North pasture. Instead of being missing he was all torn up. Sam found a trail of blood leading toward the mountain and figured the bull wounded whatever it was that killed it. He grabbed his guns and went off to track it and that’s the last I saw of him…until today.”

Mabel lapsed into another wave of sobs and Creed left her to her grief. He motioned Johnny away from the body again and the two of them stepped out of earshot of the crowd.

“Son, I need you to grab your guns and saddle our horses,” Creed said grimly. “Whatever did this is might still be out there and we need to stop it.”

Johnny nodded quickly and took off to get their gear. Creed was thinking of who would be best to leave in charge when the preacher strode up with color in his face.

“Creed, you have to do something about this,” he said in a commanding tone. Creed rose to his full height, nearly a head taller than the other man, and tried to control his temper.

“Preacher, I intend to do something about it. The Deputy and I are going to hunt down whatever did this and kill it.”

“Whatever…or whoever,” the preacher replied loud enough for the closest people to hear. “No animal will attack an armed man…takes a person to do that. A person with evil intent.”

Creed saw that the crowd was getting riled up and that wasn’t helping anyone. He had to put this to rest soon or he’d have the whole town after some ghostly thing that didn’t exist.

“Listen to me all of you!” Creed said as he stepped between the crowd and the body. He needed to give them something else to think about. “Now we’ve all seen how a wounded animal acts. It gets itself hurt and then gets cornered and it attacks without thinking. Now Sam was a good man but those marks were NOT made by a gun or a knife. He didn’t get shot or stabbed in the back by some rustler or thief. He faced whatever it was and fought it and it killed him…simple as that.”

Johnny appeared in the nick of time with two saddled horses packed with hunting gear and Creed paused to mount up.

“Now Johnny and I are going to hunt this thing down and kill it before it can hurt anyone else. Preacher, you take care of Mabel and see that nobody goes out to the Bekker place until we get back. More folks trampling up the trail will just make things harder. The rest of you stay indoors at night and don’t go anyplace alone even by day. This critter will be crazy-mad until we put it down. If we’re not back in a week send out as big a hunting party as you can.”

Creed turned his horse away and headed out of town at a canter, his deputy in tow. Johnny had the good sense to wait until they were away before he started asking questions.

“What happened back there Sherriff?” he asked simply as they rode.

“What did you see?” Creed asked in reply.

“One second you were looking at Sam’s eyeball and the next you were surrounded by some sort of…haze,” Johnny hesitated at the last part, unsure of exactly what he’d seen.

“Your momma ever have the Sight son?” Creed asked without looking at him.

“She ever see things that might come to pass or know things she couldn’t possibly have known?”

“She knew when I was in trouble sure enough,” Johnny replied with a half smile. His folks had died in a fire several years back and it pained him to think of them after so long. “Every time I missed school to go fishing or got into a fight she’d be right after me. Pa used to say that she was born under a lucky star…me too since she was around to keep me out of trouble.”

“You got the Sight from her then,” Creed said simply. “You notice that nobody else saw what you did?”

“Yeah…I caught that. I wasn’t sure I even saw it and when I looked around nobody else was even moving so I thought maybe it was the shock of seeing Sam dead like that.”

“Nope…you saw right. When I do…what I did back there a sort of a black cloud comes over me and those with the Sight can see it. I didn’t want to take the chance but I just had to make sure Sam had been killed by an animal and not by some person and then mauled afterwards.”

“You mean you saw what did that to Sam?”

“Sort of,” Creed replied as he looked at Johnny and then pointed at his own eyes. “You know that old saying that the eyes are the windows to the soul? Well it’s true…in a way. I looked into Sam’s eye and cast a spell to see the last thing he saw.”

“A spell…as in black magic?” Johnny said as he reined his horse to a stop. Creed didn’t want to drop all of this on the kid now but he had to know that he could trust the man to back him when the time came.

“Not all magic is black Son,” Creed tried to explain it the way his aunt had explained it to him. “It’s only called that by folks that don’t understand it. The fact that a shadow or black cloud often appears doesn’t help matters any.”

“But magic is the work of the Devil or so the Preacher says,”

“Yeah the Preacher and I go way back on this subject,” Creed replied with a wry smile. He thought a moment and slowly drew his pistol and showed it to Johnny. “This pistol isn’t any more the work of the Devil than magic is. If a bad man uses it to kill during a crime then it’s not bad…the man firing it is. But if you or I fire it protecting someone or to stop a crime then it’s not good either…we are. Magic is the same way Johnny…not good or evil…it just is. The good and evil part comes from the person who uses it.”

“So you have claimed for as long as I’ve known you Creed,” they heard from behind them. They both turned in the saddle and saw the Preacher riding his old horse slowly towards them.

“I thought I told you to stay with Widow Bekker,” Creed said angrily. “If those townspeople get themselves all stirred up we’ll be shooting each other in the dark out here.”

“Creed, we may not see eye to eye on certain things but you know I’m no fool,” the Preacher replied as he rode beside them. “I left Mabel with Miss Granger at her house. As for the rest of the town…well they may be riled up but they won’t come anywhere near the shadow of that place without us leading them.” The preacher pointed towards the foreboding figure of the mountain looming over them. Creed settled down some upon hearing that Sam’s widow was staying with the town’s new school mistress. The woman seemed to have a good head on her shoulders from all indications.

“So now what happens?” Johnny asked as they rode on.

“We visit Sam’s place and pick up the trail of whatever killed him,” Creed replied. “If it’s hurt and Sam tracked it then we should be able to find it and kill it once and for all.”

“You still don’t believe that he was killed by anything other than an animal…even given what you saw in Sam’s eyes?” the Preacher asked.

“I didn’t see any reason to,” Creed replied simply. “Sam was fighting an animal…but it was dark and I couldn’t see what.”

“A bear would’ve killed him with one swipe wouldn’t it?” Johnny asked. He’d done a bit of hunting himself but never anything dangerous.

“That’s right son, and a wolf would have chewed more than clawed him,” Creed explained. “I’m thinking some sort of big cat…cougar or leopard of some kind.”

“Sam wasn’t a small man,” the Preacher added half to himself. “Would have had to have been a pretty big cat to have brought him down and lived. Maybe he found a mating pair and they both got him?”

“That figures…the male wounds the bull and comes home hurt. Sam tracks it and the female and male both attack to defend the lair.”

“That’s a mighty fancy gun you’ve got there Son,” the Preacher said as he admired the holster on Johnny’s saddle. It had a flap on it but the brass and silver fittings were plainly visible.

“It’s the latest thing from back East,” Johnny said proudly as he drew the weapon with a flourish. “This here is the new Colt and Heckler Model 80. It fires a mixed round of buckshot and a solid slug. Take a look if you like Preacher.”

Father Carson gingerly took the inelegant-looking weapon and sighted it at a tree in the distance. It was too long for a pistol and too short for a comfortable rifle grip. He was not much of a hunter but all in all he decided he didn’t like it. The intricate workings intrigued him though and he ran his fingers over the knobs and switches with growing curiosity.

“It seems very complicated,” he confessed as he handed it back. “What are all of those controls for?”

“Breaking most likely,” Creed snorted. “Any weapon made with more moving parts than necessary will break when you least expect it.”

“It’s the future Preacher,” Johnny said after giving Creed a dismissive glance. “The gun makers figured out how to fire a round without powder. They mix a chemical with silver nitrate dust and it forms into a hard metal. Only this metal explodes when it hits another piece of the same metal hard enough.”

“Explodes? Sounds danger for the person firing it as well as the target!”

“Well all bullets explode Father,” Johnny explained, “only the shell funnels the blast into the back of the bullet. This one is sort of the same. The back end of the round is made if this new metal and the hammer is made of the same thing. When the hammer drops on the round the metal explodes and the round breaks up and flies out the front end of the gun.”

“So it’s like a fancy scattergun then?” Father Carson asked, trying to understand.

“Sort of…but the middle of the round is harder so it stays together and comes out as a single slug. The rest breaks up and flies out as a sort of buckshot. Great for close work.”

“And terrible for hunting,” Creed snorted again. “The last time he brought home a turkey to eat I was picking silver bits out of my teeth all night.”

“Isn’t shooting silver terribly expensive though?”

“It isn’t the high-grade silver they mint coins out of Father,” Johnny explained. “If that were the case one round would cost more than I earn in a month!”

The men rode in silence for another hour until they came to the small Bekker ranch. The rest of the livestock was still in their pens, cattle in the North pasture and sheep in the West. The carcass of the dead bull had been picked clean over the previous few days but the cloud of flies still made it easy to find. The three men covered their faces as they examined what was left and found claw marks clearly evident. The old bull’s horns were splattered with blood and hair that was too lightly colored to come from a cow. A blood trail led away from the farm for a few hundred paces, then turned and headed straight towards the mountain.

“Looks like you were right Sherriff,” Johnny said as they saddled up. Big claw marks, a blood trail, and all of it pointing to the mountain.

“We won’t get there before dark,” the Preacher said as they hurried their pace. “And poor Sam faced his killer at night and lost. We would be wise not to repeat his mistake.”

“For once we agree Preacher,” Creed replied. “We’ll camp in the foothills and pick up the trail in the morning. With luck the critter is still healing up…or dead from its wounds.”

They rode until an hour before dark then camped for the night. All three agreed that keeping a good fire going and standing watch was a good idea. Few healthy animals would even think of coming close to a fire let alone a wounded one. Despite the many cries and nocturnal sounds they heard throughout the night there seemed nothing amiss. Johnny woke Creed for the last shift and the two men spoke briefly.

“Sherriff, why are you and the Preacher so mad at each other all the time?” he asked as Creed rubbed his eyes and reached for the coffee. He poured a cup and took a sip before answering.

“The preacher and I go way back Son. When we were kids my aunt and his daddy had the Sight just like your momma did. But where women often get sorta used to the idea men sometimes don’t take to it too well. His daddy became a real fire-and-brimstone preacher in his own right…big congregation and all that. But he was hard on his sons…so hard that one of them ran off to join the War and another joined the cavalry out West guarding against Indiana and the like. But Carson there…he takes after his daddy. Grew up to be a preacher himself…only less fire-and-brimstone if you get my drift.”

“There’ll be brimstone aplenty if you two don’t let an old preacher sleep,” they heard from the figure huddled under the blanket on the other side of the fire. “I haven’t slept under the stars since before young Johnny there was born and you two yammering on isn’t making it any easier.”

The two men smiled a little at each other before Creed took up his rifle and walked a little ways out of the firelight to listen to the night. He took a small scrap of cloth from his pocket and clenched it in his fist. It was covered with the blood and hide from the dead bull’s horns and Creed was hoping it would lead him to their prey.

Peto populous,” he whispered softly. “Show me the host…”

A faint light appeared on the cloth and as he gazed into the trees he could see several more. The blood from the animal would guide them even at night. It was then that he felt something strange in the air…different. He hadn’t felt it before and it bothered him. He was not as schooled in magic as he would have liked. His aunt’s sudden death had cut short his education and he was reluctant to seek another tutor. Still, he hoped his meager skills would be enough for the task at hand.

The men rose early, broke camp and headed towards the mountain. It was rough going almost from the first and before noon they were forced to tie up their horses near a small cave and continue on on foot. All of them feared that the horses would be killed before they could return but the shelter of the cave and the size of Creed’s horse would give them some protection. It was well into the afternoon when they found fresher blood smeared on a rock farther up the mountain.

“No talking from here on,” Creed said in whispered tones. “Follow my lead and watch my back. Johnny, you keep Father Carson here out of harm’s way.”

Johnny nodded seriously and Creed and the Preacher exchanged a knowing look. They both knew who was looking after who but if it made the young man feel better then no harm done.

Creed levered a round into his rifle’s chamber and double-checked his pistol. Both were fully loaded and he stealthily made his way up the trail. He was a bit surprised to find a wild animal following an obvious path but he supposed that the cat, usually a cautious hunter, had thrown caution to the wind in an attempt to get to safety as fast as possible. He’d been moving for only a few minutes when he spied footprints on the dusty path…human footprints. He motioned for the other men to stay where they were as he continued on around a curve in the rocks. Just around the bend he spied a large cave entrance. He also spied the large black cauldron with a fire lit underneath it and the aged crone tending the fire.

“What in the hell…?” Creed started to say before he was interrupted.

“Might as well come on up,” the crone said without moving. She was alternating between feeding the fire and stirring the cauldron which could hold half a man easily. “Your friends too. I heard ya comin up near an hour ago so no point standing on ceremony.”

Creed stood up and motioned for the other to follow as he walked towards the cave. He kept enough distance between himself and the cave that anyone rushing out would have to travel a good ways to reach him. His pistol was loose in the holster and his rifle close at hand if that happened.

“My but you’re a tall one,” the wrinkled woman said. She was just like every witch he’d ever heard of…black dress pointy hat and all. Creed was sure he was dreaming until Johnny and the Preacher moved up beside him. “Well now that I can see ya we can talk proper-like. ‘Course my eyes are bad so seeing is not exactly the right word but you get the idea.”

“Who are you?” Creed asked the obvious question first.

“Name’s Hillary…most folks call me The Witch and other less polite things,” she smiled. Many of her teeth were gone and she cackled just as Creed imagined she would. “And before you ask what I’m doing here the answer is caring for my brother. He’s bandaged up in the back of the cave yonder.” She gestured with the knife she was using to cut wild radishes with.

“He wouldn’t happen to know anything about the death of a man named Sam Bekket would he?” Creed asked pointedly.

“Yeah that was Michael all right,” the old woman replied without looking up from her work. Despite himself Creed had to admit that the fumes from the cauldron smelled good. “He got hisself all cut up the other night and I’ve been nursing him ever since. Didn’t think he’s pull through for a while but he’ll be all right now.”

“You’re telling me that your brother attacked that old bull at the Bekket’s place?” Creed asked incredulously. “It looked like the work of some big cat.”

“Yeah that would be him. Michael always liked cats even as a boy,” she explained. She slipped with the knife and cut herself and immediately started sucking on the wound. “Our folks were both good with magic and so Michael grew up with it. Learned how to turn himself into all manner of critters. He liked cats the most though so when we gets hungry up here he goes out hunting. When he got back a few nights ago he was all slashed up…told me the bull was bigger than he’d thought. Then he passed out and he’s been asleep ever since.”

Creed saw the Preacher motioning to him so he took a few steps back. The three men gathered together for a quiet meeting but all were a bit confused.

“You really think she’s telling the truth Creed?” Johnny sounded disinclined to believe the crone’s story. “You think her brother turned into a cat and killed old man Bekker?”

“I think she’s been smoking too many roots is what I think,” Creed responded with a snort. “I’ve seen all manner of strange things but I ain’t never even heard of a man changing into a cat.”

“How about a wolf?” the Preacher asked. “Creed you remember that old Indian story about how the village shaman could change into a wolf to hunt for food or protect the tribe? Maybe they weren’t just stories...”

“All I know is she says her brother knows what happened so we have to talk to him,” Creed said finally. He was tired of all of this nonsense. He stepped towards the woman, who was admiring the cut on her thumb closely, and spoke firmly.

“Ma’am, if your brother had anything to do with Sam Bekket’s death then we need to speak to him.”

“Don’t think that would be a good idea sonny,” she replied through one squinted eye. “Michael don’t have no say over what he does when he’s changed…acts like whatever he turns into. Now I know you all don’t want to walk into a cave with a wounded cat do you?”

“No we don’t…but those last few tracks I saw back there were human…and way too big to be yours,” Creed said as he laid his hand on his pistol. The woman snarled and leaped to her feet, upsetting the cauldron as she stood. Creed gaped as he saw hair begin to grow from her face and the backs of her hands. Her nails lengthened into claws and in a moment she grew from less than five feet tall to tower head and shoulders over Creed. She leaped at him with a feral cry and only his quick reflexes saved his life. Even as she was leaping at him he dove aside and landed hard against the rocky hillside. A tear in his shirt told of how close she’d come to ripping him open like a paper sack.

“Holy Hell!” Creed exclaimed as he drew his pistol and fired. The shot went wide but Johnny had his gun up as well and the towering thing hesitated for an instant, trying to decide which man to slay first. That gave Father Carson enough time to raise his hand and speak.

Ego iacio vos sicco!” he chanted as he clutched his cross in his fist and shook it at the beast. “I cast you out!” The creature recoiled as if struck and Creed sat up to get a better shot. Suddenly from his right he heard another snarl and from out of the cave came charging an enormous tan-colored cat. He barely had time to aim and shoot but he saw the slug bury itself in the cat’s shoulder even as it collided with him. He dropped his pistol in the struggle and was reaching for his knife when a tremendous shot rang out. The cat was thrown back against the hillside where it slid to the ground and lay still.

In nomen of Deus Ego to order vos praecessi!” Father Carson shouted as he closed with the wolf-like thing. “In the name of God I command you begone!” The creature recoiled again but this time instead of backing farther away it advanced. Creed watched in horror as the thing raised one mighty clawed hand and struck Father Carson down like a child.

“God damn you!” he shouted as he stood and fired at the thing. The first bullet struck it squarely in the chest and it snapped around for another attack. Creed dropped the pistol and raised his rifle and sighted down the barrel in one smooth motion. The creature hesitated but a moment and then charged. Creed fired and the oncoming beast was stopped short by the impact. Creed was preparing to fire again when the she-wolf collapsed to the ground and began to revert back to her normal form.

She lay on the ground, alive but obviously mortally wounded, as Creed stepped closer to her. She managed to roll onto her side and coughed up a mouthful of blood so she could speak.

“Nice shooting sonny…didn’t think you’d get us both.”

“So your brother fed you and you tried to protect him…is that it?” Creed asked as he knelt down beside her.

“Yeah…our folks begged me not to let anything happen to him,” she nodded. “They saw that he was going to be trouble when he was young…never could control his changes like I could. So they came up here to live in the hills and try to keep him away from decent folks. We lived up here all alone until the town started to spread out. You folks chased out all the game and Michael got to hunting from the ranchers in the valley. We just wanted to eat…to live. That’s not wrong is it?”

“No…you just lived different than us is all,” Creed replied sadly. She let out a long sigh and then rolled face-down in the dust and died.

“Sherriff!” Johnny called and Creed moved to his side. He was holding Father Carson in his lap, cradling him like a child. Creed saw the terrible wound and laid his hand on it. He began to concentrate but the Preacher stopped him.

“No Creed…don’t try it. I’m too far gone and the strain will kill you too.”

“You always were better at magic than I was Carson,” Creed said as he took the Preacher’s hand.

“And you always did like carrying silver bullets in your rifle…big brother.” Carson replied with a faint smile. “Looks like this young one saved you…remember that when it comes time to promote a new sheriff.”

“I always keep my promises,” Creed said tightly.

“Yes, you always do…” Carson said faintly. Then his grip loosened and he was gone. Johnny laid him down as gently as he could before standing upright. He held the tears back a moment before he broke, ashamed to be crying in front of the stony Creed.

“Let it come son…no shame in it to cry when a good man dies,” Creed said as he patted Johnny’s shoulder. “He and I cried when our folks died so nobody can fault you for it now.”

“You two were brothers?” Johnny asked between sobs.

“Yeah, we were brothers. Our pa was that fire-and-brimstone preacher I told you about. He was a hard man…so hard that our youngest brother ran away and joined the Army. His name was John too…and he fought like a tiger right up until the day he died. I was so mad at pa for driving John away I went to live with my aunt. Carson stayed with ma and pa and picked up some of what pa knew. When he became a preacher he used his magic to try and ward off the Devil. He was gone to some mission or another when ma and pa died. I blamed him for them dying and ran off and joined the Cavalry. We met again years later when he came to town to build the church.”

“So you two stayed mad all those years?”

“Not really…but when you stay apart for so long some of the family feeling tarnishes,” Creed said as he looked over the carnage. He covered his brother’s face with his own jacket and then started slowly back down the mountain. They’d need shovels to bury the bodies anyway. “We didn’t agree on much but we were still brothers. Now tell me about this gun of yours. I’m interested in how it works.”

“Be glad to Sheriff,” Johnny said with a slight grin, “be glad to.”

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