Be careful, God isn't alone out there.
-John the Baptist, “The Last Temptation of Christ”
Thursday, April 29, 1875 - 7:00 am
The people of Dusthaven woke to find the temperatures had plummeted overnight and large, fat snowflakes were coming down. The town was not prepared to handle this type of weather as it hardly ever got this cold. The hotel where Cole stayed was not well insulated and firewood suddenly seemed to be in short supply. Luckily, Cole had packed some warm clothes with him.
Walking out of the hotel in the morning, Cole found a wagon stuck in the middle of the street thanks to the snow, and several locals were trying unsuccessfully to move it. With his help, they were barely able to budge it out of the road. Oddly, none of the locals commented much about the weather, though they were obviously inconvenienced.
Cole headed toward the sheriff's office with a shrug. When he got there, he was disappointed to find that the posse hadn't convened as he'd thought it would. Sheriff Hank told him that "White Feather" was very concerned about the blizzard, and although the Indian wasn't generally known for being superstitious, he seemed to believe that it was a very bad omen and refused to lead the posse out into the storm. Not surprisingly, the other townsfolk agreed with him.
“Has this ever happened before,” Cole asked. Hank frowned.
“I’ve seen this kind of weather in Dusthaven, but not often. Never this late in the year. You’ll hear all sorts of rumors about what caused this. Some say it’s the Indians, others that Doc Hollister is doing some kind of experiments out there in the badlands that cause this weather. Personally, I think it’s just an act of God, but I’m not so sure that’s much better. Whatever the cause, I'm definitely not staying outside for any longer than I have to. I advise you to do the same. Go back to your hotel, or wherever you're staying, and wait this out. It's not worth risking your neck in this weather. It's bad enough that it's like this. We don't need anyone getting injured or killed on top of that.”
In the afternoon, it stopped snowing, and most of the snow melted off. Cole went outside and checked things out. But the posse still did not ride that day. Cole joined the other residents of the hotel in hunkering down and waiting for the biting cold to lift.
Friday April 30 1875, 7 am
The next morning, the weather had improved drastically. Cole left the hotel, determined to join the posse and bring Geneviève home. As he left the hotel, he noticed that the skulking bandit Mad Dog McGraw had run afoul of the bounty hunter Westin Kane, and was being led by him to the jail.
Feeling rather happy that he didn’t have to look over his shoulder for that ruffian any longer, Cole headed for to the livery stable, but on the way he was waylaid by Orin Owley. Owley looked like he hadn’t slept much the night before. “Worthington needs to see you right away,” said Owley. “I’m sure Hank, Kane, and White Feather can handle the doctor without you.”
“I would, but I really want to be there when they find Geneviève, ” Cole began.
“Yes,” Owley rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “She’d surely be happier seeing me than that bounty hunter.”
“That’s not what I meant,” said Cole. It was what he meant, but he’d been thinking of himself, not Owley, being the white knight in the scene. When they reached the livery stable, they saw that Weston Kane and Tawakoni were already there. Sheriff Hank couldn’t help but chuckle when the two of them volunteered.
“I figured you two would be showing up,” he said. “Against my better judgment, but considering I need bodies, you two are deputized, for today at least.” After some short preparation, the five men rode into the badlands in search of the Viper’s Fang Gang’s hideout.
As they rode, Cole asked Owley, “What does Mr. Worthington want to see me about?”
“When we got back to town after we found that those scapegraces had driven off the Apache, I went to Mr. Worthington and told him. He was happy to hear that, but he also told me he’d discovered something about you. You’re a royal back in jolly old England. Your family’s heavily invested in our railroad, and according to him, none too happy with you. He’s thinking of ending your retainer to please them.”
“Damn,” said Cole. “Why does Father always have to ruin things?
“All isn’t lost yet,” said Owley. “I may be able to smooth things over for you, get you some kind of a payday at least. Of course, then you’d owe me.” He gave Cole an oily smile.
“And what would you want in return?” Cole asked.
“All you need to do is stop your pursuit of Geneviève,” He whispered, apparently hoping that Kane didn’t hear. “She’s not interested in you anyway. Now, I’ll give you until we get back to town to think it over.” Owley spurred his horse ahead, and went forward to talk with Tawakoni.
Coyote Gulch - 9 am
Cole rode on in silence, trying to think of a way out of the deal that Owley had proposed. It wasn’t like he needed the money, but he had wanted to make his way in the West, unencumbered by his family ties. There wasn’t much that seemed out of the ordinary in the badlands, but Tawakoni pointed out several recent campsites in the area.
Nearby, they came to the rugged mouth of a dry gulch, flanked by high cliffs of granite, shot through with what looked like black glass. The mouth of the canyon was dotted by sagebrush, and they all noticed several mangy, half starved looking coyotes slinking around, their yellow eyes baleful and cold.
Tawakoni picked up a piece of rock from the desert floor. It was small, black, polished to a gleam by the desert winds, and nearly ovoid. “Apache Tears,” he said. There were a lot of them in the area. The high walls were marked with more of the strange glyphs like the ones they had seen last time.
“Can you read them?” Owley asked. The Indian shook his head.
“These aren’t Comanche,” he answered. “I’ve never seen anything like them before.”
Suddenly, Owley’s head snapped up. “There,” he shouted. “Someone’s up there.” A scrabbling sound came, followed by hoofbeats and a high whistle as Cole saw a rider in a cowboy style hat and duster heading into the dark of the canyon. Hank and Kane prepared to give chase, when Tawakoni shouted a warning and pointed back the way they had come.
Stalking toward them was a large coyote. It didn’t look quite right - its gait was strange, its head appeared distended somehow, and it was foaming at the mouth as though rabid. Before anyone could react, the coyote charged toward Tawakoni’s horse, going for its legs. The Indian pony danced nimbly aside as Tawakoni took the opportunity to fire his carbine and missed. Owley’s carbine, however, did not and hit the beast directly in the chest almost point blank.
Cole noticed something odd about the coyote, and got off his horse to examine it closer. The coyote, a rather large specimen, bore strange, almost surgical-looking scars on its head, and its brain and skull appeared to have swollen considerably larger than they should be. Cole was mystified as to what this could mean.
Walking up behind him, Tawakoni took one look at the coyote and crossed himself. “That,” he said, “ain’t natural.” He poked the dead animal with his boot, but appeared to be able to tell no more about it than Cole could.
“If you two are done poking that dead dog, we need to get a move on,” said Hank. “That sentry will have warned the outlaws by now.”
When the posse made it to the bottom of the canyon, they found a large, dark object covered with a tarp. Kane and Tawakoni quickly yanked it off to discover a fancy stagecoach decorated with Dr. Ezekiel’s Elixir Emporium logo. It looked like Dr. Ezekiel liked to travel in style. Cole touched the side of the coach and found it smooth as baby skin. As he ran his hand across the wood, he discovered a depression with some sort of switch in it.
Pulling the switch, he was surprised when the bottom of the coach opened up, revealing an area big enough to put a person into - complete with a set of chains and what appeared to be some sort of leather gag. An empty needle, with the remnants of some brownish fluid inside, fell out of the compartment, and Cole did not want to touch it to put it back in.
“I wonder,” said Hank sarcastically, “what they do with this.” There were no other signs of habitation immediately present, so he signaled the others to move on. Cole found himself fighting the urge to burn the wagon, but that might draw more attention to where they were.
The horses grew more nervous as they rode down the canyon trail. The shadows grew long in the gulch as noon approached and there were more of the strange pictograms that even Tawakoni couldn’t decipher. Cole didn’t know if he could keep Nevah from bolting if something startled her. Despite finding the wagon before, Cole began to wonder if they were in the right place.
Coyote Gulch - Noon
It was noon or a little after when something else loomed out of the dust of the canyon floor. Cole was surprised when they came upon a rusty, creaky iron gate barely hanging from its hinges. On the gate was a weathered wooden sign, barely legible, that read “Hope’s End Mining Company.” Cole didn’t see any signs of life, but that didn’t mean the place was uninhabited. Dust and grime completely enveloped the mining settlement, and it was tough to tell if it was old, or if someone just didn’t take care of it.
The gate was unlocked, though it opened with a rusty screech that made Cole’s companions flinch. The air was thick with an unnatural silence—even the occasional noises of wildlife from the canyon fell silent, and the horses devoutly refused to pass the gate, whickering nervously. Something about the silence seemed to be both pressing and isolating, and Cole was starting to look back longingly at the relative safety and comfort of the canyon, even though he was sure something was hiding there too.
“Could the outlaws be kidnapping people to make them work these mines again,” asked Owley.
“It doesn’t look like this area has seen much action in a while,” said Tawakoni. “An operation like that would leave more obvious sign.”
Passing the gate, they entered the main area of the mining camp. Its most prominent features were several collapsed tunnels filled with debris, hinting at the dangerous conditions in the mines below. It looked like they could enter at least one of the tunnels, although that seemed like a bad idea. Rusty, abandoned mine equipment lay scattered about, clearly ravaged by time in the desert environment.
Several rotting wooden structures – a foreman’s office and supply sheds – were baking in the desert sun. Their walls were warped, and their roofs had caved in. They seemed, unlike everything else in the badlands, to be overgrown with some kind of vegetation. Tawakoni pulled a leaf from one of the plants and examined it curiously.
“I’ve never seen this plant before in my life,” he said. Cole recognized it.
“That’s English ivy,” he said. “But it shouldn’t grow here with no one to take care of it.” Tawakoni backed up further away from the old buildings.
“I don’t like this place,” he said. And Cole could not blame him. There was something here that raised the hairs on the back of his neck.
Nearby, they found the remains of an old fire pit, encircled by stones, with charred logs and old ashes still present. Around the fire pit were several tattered tents, still standing, though only barely. The remains of a number of miners’ measly belongings, now exposed to the elements, remaind oddly in place despite the number of coyotes they had seen before.
As Tawakoni poked at the fire pit with his boot, Cole could almost swear that he heard music and singing.
“Get out the way! Old Dan Tucker,
You're too late to get your supper.
Get out the way! Old Dan Tucker,
You're too late to get your supper.”
The others looked around nervously as well.
“Do you hear it too?” asked Owely.
“Where’s that coming from,” Kane pulled his revolver and pointed it about, but there appeared to be nothing to shoot.
“What is the deal with this place,” Tawakoni wondered aloud.
They followed the music, wondering where it was coming from and who could be playing in that godforsaken place. After a few minutes, they found the source, what looked to Cole like the main shaft of the mine, a gigantic hole in the ground with a rickety, abandoned lift at the top. Its ropes were frayed and its gears rusty, but the lift looked like it might take someone down into the depths of the earth.
The pit was lined with rotting timbers and partially filled with debris. Cole, unnerved by the air around the shaft, decided there was no way that he was going in. He noted that Hank, Kane, and Tawakoni prudently stayed back as well. Only Owley did not appear unnerved by the weird atmosphere - instead, he curiously approached the hole and looked down.
The music stopped abruptly, and Cole shuddered as Owley peered into the black abyss of the mine shaft. Then it started; the most godawful wailing that Cole had ever heard, seemed to shake the entire shaft. “Get out! Get out! GET OUUUUUT!”
He felt terror tighten its icy grip on his mind as several head-sized balls of white light floated up out of the shaft. They resolved themselves into the ethereal forms of long-dead miners, all of them pale and skeletal and wearing ragged clothes. Each one clutched a pick, shovel, or lantern.
“Run!” shouted Hank. He didn’t have to ask twice. The moment the words left his mouth, Cole was off, with Owley, Kane, and Tawakoni right behind him. As for the spectral entities, they didn’t pursue them beyond the area of the shaft. But then, they didn’t need to. Cole intended to leave that shaft as far behind him as he could and he was pretty sure that the others felt the same. This was no place for sane people to hang around.
The companions didn’t pay attention to where they were running at first, until they stumbled into some sort of factory, or perhaps an old smelting plant, which looked just as decrepit and dangerous as the rest of the mining camp. The factory's foundations and walls were crumbling, and it was littered with piles of rubble. It was unclear how long the building had been abandoned. Cole pulled up short at the base of the factory, horrified by where they had ended up.
Seeing that Hank was next to him, Cole asked the Sheriff, “Did you know all this was here?”
A cagy look came on Hank’s face. “I’d heard of it. This mine closed down when the gold vein ran out. Everybody moved on to the next strike - that’s how Dusthaven got started.”
Cole remembered Clara, who had come to the train station looking for her fiancé Samuel. Mr. Clancy had told him Samuel was a miner who might have gotten a better opportunity. “Do you think that Hollister lured the missing miners from Dusthaven out here by promising to reopen this mine? Could those…” he shuddered, “be them?”
“I don’t know,” said Hank. “With what I’ve seen today, I think anything’s possible.”
They were disturbed by the sudden sound of movement, and Cole noticed a figure lurching toward them out of the smelting plant. Hank, Tawakoni, and Kane trained their rifles on the person coming toward them, and Hank shouted “Stop or we’ll shoot!” The only response was a ragged croak as the dark figure stepped into the afternoon sun.
Once, it has obviously been a woman. Now it was barely recognizable as a human being. Or rather, the parts of several of them, black, white, Chinese, and Indian, stitched crudely together - it reminded Cole of nothing so much as a novel that he had read a few years before, so disturbing it stuck with him. A little Gothic tale called Frankenstein.
What was even worse was that Cole recognized the dress that this amalgamation was wearing - the very same saloon dancer dress in which he’s last seen Geneviève Starr. He could hardly believe that she could be in that thing somewhere, but the rheumy and glazed blue eyes of the creature reminded him of her. It held a hand plaintively toward them and tried to speak - but apparently it didn’t have a tongue.
“My God!" shouted Kane. "Geneviève?"
Despite her hideous appearance, Cole stood his ground, even as everyone else backed off. “Keep it away!” shouted Tawakoni. Behind him, Cole heard Owley retching, and his own stomach heaved. Kane and Hank just looked stunned.
“We’re being watched!” Tawakoni shouted. “The ones who did that - they’re still here. I can ”
"What happened to her?" Kane looked as though he were about to cry. Fascinated and horrified, Cole moved toward her and reached out. Again she tried to speak but only an inarticulate groan emerged. Her fingers laced in hers - her flesh felt as cold as the grave. As she laced her fingers in his, he thought he noticed a flash of… almost scheming… cross her patchwork face.
"Find a blanket," he cried to the others. "She's freezing, even here."
More sounds of movement came from within the old smelting plant, followed by jeering and hooting as several massive humanlike creatures with huge muscles and apelike faces barreled out of the same door by which Genevieve had exited. Most were clad in the tattered remains of common clothing apparently too small for them.
One of the ogres struck at Cole with his massive fist. Cole dodged that attack and pulled his derringer but a second brute punched him square in the kidneys and sent him flying back to land in a tangle of broken equipment. A third one lowered his head and charged at Tawakoni. The Indian saw him coming and dodged out of the way, leaving the brutish creature to trundle past him like a locomotive.
Two more of the brutes attacked Owley. One missed him completely, but the other aimed a savage kick directly into Owley’s unmentionables. He howled nearly as loudly as the creatures, and promptly collapsed, hands cupping his crotch.
More of the creatures hooted and jeered from inside the smelting plant, as if to cheer on their fellows.
The creature that had pounded Cole stomped over to the pile of junk he’d landed in, and was met by a bullet from Cole’s derringer - which might as well have been a mosquito for all the hurt it did to the brute. Tawakoni fired his carbine at the brute who attacked him - the creature looked like he felt that shot, but was still standing.
Kane fired at one of the creatures, but his hand was shaking so that he missed the shot. Hank shot one straight in the chest, but it looked like it only stung him a little. Geneviève charged toward the nearest one, but even the onslaught of this abomination didn’t bother it and it swatted her away.
Suddenly, a terrible wail shook the very walls of the old smelter. The ghostly figures from the mine had found them again, and even now were floating through the walls wailing “Get out!” The brutish creatures seemed as terrified of the ghosts as the men were, and they immediately fled the area.
Kane and Tawakoni seemed to think that the ghosts had good advice, and grabbing the moaning form of Owley, they pushed Cole back toward the exit of the canyon as Hank covered them. The thing that used to be Geneviève followed them, but they didn’t pay it a lot of attention, considering the situation they had just escaped. They hurried back to their horses and prepared to make for the mouth of the canyon,
Geneviève reached out to Cole, her eyes plaintive. “Leave it here,” shouted Tawakoni, but Cole lifted her into his saddle anyway. “Stupid is as stupid does,” the Indian muttered. They made for the mouth of the canyon with all haste, any pretense at stealth long gone. But as they neared the final cleft of the rocks, they found themselves in a hail of some kind of small darts. One struck Tawakoni in the arm, and his eyes rolled back as he slipped from the saddle.
“I am not leaving him to become a thing like that,” Hank motioned toward Geneviève. He scooped up the Indian and threw him across his own saddle, spurring his horse even faster as they emerged from the canyon to the open desert and did not slow down until Dusthaven was in sight.
