Dusthaven
April 28, 1875, 6 pm
When they hit town, Cole, Owley, and Tawakoni headed straight for the sheriff’s office. It was pretty easy to find. Built out of weathered wood, the building had a simple, sturdy design that was built to withstand the harsh desert climate. A wooden sign with "Sheriff" and a star emblem hung above the entrance. There was a small porch with a couple of chairs for deputies or townsfolk to sit and watch the dirt main Street.
Inside was the sheriff’s office, a one-room space with an iron jail cell in the corner. The sheriff’s desk sat in the middle of the room. There were also a few chairs for visitors. A gun rack with several rifles and shotguns hung on the wall. The room smelled of leather, dust, and a faint scent of gunpowder. At his desk, the grizzled, middle-aged Sheriff Hank worked on an intricate handcrafted jigsaw puzzle depicting the developing United States. The room was illuminated by several oil lamps.
Sheriff Hank seemed to be really enjoying his puzzle, but he still didn’t seem particularly happy to see them. His facial expression grew slightly nicer when Cole gave him a compliment about the puzzle.
“What can I do for you gentlemen this evening?” Sheriff Hank asked Cole, Owley, and Tawakoni, looking as though he hoped it would not take too much of his time.
“We’ve found some information regarding the disappearances going on around here,” said Owley. “Someone’s marching people off into the desert.”
“I’ve heard a lot of theories about what’s happening to people,” Hank said guardedly. “None that convinced me, but I’ve heard ‘em all.”
“Our friend was studying the wanted poster for some ruffian named Viper Callahan before she was abducted,” Cole added. “I don’t know if he’s doing it but if I was a betting man, that’s where I’d put my money.”
“Viper Callahan?” the Sheriff’s eyes narrowed in recognition of the name. “You really think he’s involved with this? ”
“It would be a good place to start,” said Owley. “I think the railroad would like it if he and his friends were to… go away.”
“I think we could round up a posse and go after them. After the stage incident, I think the railroad aren’t the only ones who would like to see them gone.”
“We need to be careful,” said Cole. “They hit a military wagon not five miles from here. I’m not sure what they stole, but it looked like it was big.”
“Be here tomorrow,” said Hank. “We ride at dawn. White Feather, we could use your skills for sure. And anyone else who has a shooting iron. Mr. Owley, we need to discuss what aid the railroad can provide.”
“I need to see someone else, too.” said Cole. He and Tawakoni left the sheriff’s office, and headed for the town church.
The church was a modest wooden building, with a small steeple. The wood was weathered and rough, reflecting the conditions of a mining town. The pitched roof was covered with simple tin sheets, showing signs of wear and tear. Cole noted that it had stained glass windows, but there was no pattern to them and they probably didn’t depict anything. The light of an oil lamp spilled out of the door as Wednesday night prayer meeting was just letting out. Cole and Tawakoni passed many townsfolk and miners on their way out. Only Reverend Elias remained in the building.
Inside, the one-room church held a pulpit, an altar table with a large leather bound Bible and some tin collection plates on it and few pews. The only real decoration was a tapestry behind the pulpit. It read in large letters: “Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour” Cole noticed, however, that the Reverend was not particularly sober this evening, as he took a bottle of rotgut out of the pulpit and took a mighty swig.
“Reverend,” said Cole. “Do you have time to talk to us?”
“Didn’t see you boys at service,” said the Reverend.
“We just got back from the desert,” said Cole. “We’re sorry that we missed it.” He noticed that Tawakoni didn’t look particularly sorry but didn’t let that stop him. “I’m sure your sermon helped inspire everyone to their work tomorrow.”
“We’ll see,” muttered the Reverend. “What did you want to talk about?”
“You tried to warn me about something after the medicine show,” said Cole. “But I just didn’t understand. You said the devil was out there in the desert.”
“You saw it, didn’t you?” A light of either truth or madness came into the clergyman’s eye.
“We saw something,” Cole answered. “Can you tell us what you know? Help us understand?”
“It all started with the town’s former doctor, Doc Hollister.” Cole noted that Tawakoni looked rather surprised and perhaps fearful to hear that name. “He called himself a scientist as well as a physician. Called himself, I say, because his experiments were anything but natural. With the things he got up to, folks around here thought he was possessed by Beelzebub himself.” The Reverend paused and took another pull from his whiskey.
“When they found out what he was doing, the folks around here formed up a lynch mob and went after him. Burnt down his house, burnt up his experiments - but they didn’t get him. Hollister took what he could and fled into Coyote Gulch. I hear tell he may have hooked up with the Viper’s Fang bunch. They started having a lot more success after that.”
“That was also when folks started going missing. At first only one or two - but then more and more every month. And the outlaws have started getting more brazen. I heard about your little scuffle with Mad Dog McGraw.” Cole suddenly remembered that McGraw wasn’t in the cell at the sheriff’s office, and that the lawman had not mentioned him. A dark suspicion grew in his mind, but he didn’t mention it to the Reverend or Tawakoni. “I fear that whatever fiendish abomination he’s up to out there may be nearing fruition.”
The Reverend continued. “The worst part, the reason I was drinking so much that day, is because I saw him. He was in disguise, but I’m sure it was him hawking that patent medicine in the square. Doctor Ezekiel Grifft, he may call himself, but I know Hollister when I see him. I thank the Lord people listened to me and refused his water snake oil or whatever it really was.”
“We have to tell the Sheriff about this,” said Tawakoni.
“Yes,” Cole mused. “We do.” He wasn’t sure exactly how much they could trust the sheriff to have the town’s best interest truly at heart, though. And now he worried about where McGraw might be, and what he might be doing. “Thank you for the information, Reverend. Please pray for us tomorrow.” Cole and Tawakoni hurried back to the sheriff’s office.
The grizzled lawman seemed to enthusiastically believe the Reverend’s tale. “I remember that business,” he said. “I can’t imagine anyone wanting to help Hollister. The man’s crazy as a shithouse rat. He’s got a silver tongue, though.”
“Did they find any of his notes or papers?” Cole asked. He wasn’t much of a scientist, but it might tell them something about the doctor’s obsessions. The sheriff shook his had. “Anything of his they found, they burned. And good riddance to it.”
“We will be here tomorrow for the… posse?” Cole told him, and then he left for his hotel, looking over his shoulder but seeing nothing.
