Skeletons

Skeletons 2019

Jack sat cross-legged and warmed his hands at the small cooking fire. The leftovers of a rabbit he’d shot the previous day were warming in the skillet, along with some wild onions and flatbread. The coffee went down well, especially with some whiskey added to it.

Though he is not normally comfortable with him and Leon going their separate ways, on this occasion, he is happy for some solitude.

Their last job of the season had not gone well. Though there was enough in the kitty to see the gang comfortably through the winter, the last job going badly always left Leon snarky and sarcastic.

Jack had had about enough of it, so when Leon suggested they split up to confuse any possible pursuers, Jack was happy to comply. He knew there wasn’t anyone tracking them, but any excuse to get on his own for a bit was welcomed. He was confident that once they met back at the hideout, his partner would have worn himself out with all his internal bickering.

He tested the rabbit and decided it had warmed up enough for supper. Taking the hot skillet off the fire, he tucked into his meal, enjoying the blessed silence.

***

Jack woke up shivering in the cold, clear dawn. A light dusting of frost had turned the ground crisp and the fire cold. Gathering together the kindling left over from the previous night, he set a small fire to crackling and used a portion of his water for coffee, leaving just enough to boil up some oatmeal.

No worries; there was a creek not far ahead that would be running high this time of year, and he would replenish his canteens there.

But he was hungry, and his horse gazed at him in anticipation.

“Yeah, hang on,” he said to the animal. “I got just enough grain here for your breakfast.” He snorted a laugh. “And mine.”

But when he reached for his saddlebags, he knew something had gone terribly wrong.

Expecting the weight of coffee grounds and oats to be part of the package, a knot of fear hit his gut when the bags came up light. He dug into them, tossing out his extra shirt, socks, shaving kit, gun-cleaning kit, and the folded-over train schedule.

He turned the bags upside down and shook them, hoping that the desired items would miraculously come tumbling out.

But they didn’t. No oats, no coffee. No edible items presented themselves. Even the whiskey bottle was gone. His stomach grumbled, and a caffeine headache settled in for the day.

Midnight nickered. He lowered his head and pawed the ground with his impatience for breakfast.

“It’s gone.” Jack offered up the empty saddlebags as evidence, but the horse was not convinced. “Honest. It’s all gone. But how?” He looked around, searching for any signs of a scavenger coming into camp during the night. He saw nothing amiss. He sent the horse an accusing gaze. “Was it you? Did you sneak into the stores while I was asleep?” Midnight pricked his ears but refused to answer. “Ah, but you wouldn’t ‘a eaten the coffee or the tie bags they were stored in neither.” Jack sighed. “What happened?”

Midnight snorted and pawed the ground again, but he still refused to tell what he knew.

***

Jack had to accept the inevitable truth that there was no food. He could likely shoot a rabbit or something, but Midnight still needed to eat. In the summertime, he would simply hobble the horse so he could graze, but in late October, the sparse grass was mostly mush and not enough nutrition to keep a mouse going.

A small detour took him into the friendly town of Bear Creek where he took advantage of the forced delay. A night in a comfortable stall supplied with a warm mash and all the hay he could eat was Midnight’s reward for a day without food. Jack made sure he also treated himself accordingly. Fortunately, whoever had taken his supplies had not taken his money.

***

The next evening, they put in a good day’s travel and again settled in for a chilly night. But at least there was food in the larder.

Jack made sure the fire was well stoked, wrapped himself in his coat and bedroll, and tried to go to sleep.

Then, he heard it. A slight rustle by his saddlebags sent a shiver down his spine. The temperature dropped even further as Jack strained his ears to decide if someone or something was actually in the camp or if it was simply a stirring of his vivid imagination.

Midnight snorted and stamped a foot, which helped Jack to make up his mind.

He opened his eyes and silently shifted so he could see his bags. Sure enough, someone was there. The light from the dying fire was just enough for a silhouette to show the crouched figure rummaging through his newly stocked saddlebags.

Jack was out of his bedroll in a flash and had his hand around the thieving wrist before the trespasser could dash away. But once having grabbed him, the sensation of cold, fleshless bones made his skin crawl. He almost let go, but determination to catch the thief prevailed, and he yanked the interloper into the fading firelight.

Inflamed coals danced in the eyes that stared back at him from a face so emaciated that the skin appeared translucent, and the boney fingers clutched and grabbed at Jack’s sleeve in their desperation. The tattered clothes draped off the skeletal frame like a coat on a hanger, and Jack had a flash of wondering how “this thing” could still be alive.

“Help me. Please.”

“What?” Jack snapped out of his imaginings. Suddenly the apparition before him took on solid form and became a flesh and blood man. “Jeez, what are ya doin’ out here, Old-timer?”

“I’m lost. And so hungry. Can you spare some food?”

“Yeah, sure.” Jack frowned as he gazed at the geezer. “C’mon over by the fire. I’ll get it goin’ again so you can warm up. Dammit, your skin feels cold as ice.”

“Thank you, kindly.”

Jack held the boney hand and jutting elbow as he assisted the man to sit by the fire. He worked the flames back up into a small blaze and set water on to boil for coffee.

“Was it you who took my supplies the other night?”

“I don’t know. Could be.”

“You could’a just come inta camp. I would’a fed ya. I would’a got ya back ta civilization too. Mister, you don’t look so good.”

The fire-lit eyes simply stared back at him.

Jack felt the shiver trickle down his spine, and he looked away.

Midnight snorted, and Jack noted the horse’s tense stance and white-eyed gaze coming at him. Even with the fire blazing, the campsite still held onto its chill.

***

Twenty minutes later, the guest was tucking into beans and bacon and wasn’t saying no to more laced coffee either.

Jack sat, drinking coffee, and watched the old man with growing concern.

“What happened to ya?” he asked again. “What are ya doin’ out here?”

The man stopped chewing just long enough to gaze at his host and scratch a stubbly chin with a skeletal finger.

“My partner left me out here fer dead. Took my horse and my weapons and just rode away. I don’t know how I survived the winter.” His eyes glazed over as he reminisced. “What year is this?”

Jack frowned. “It’s 1879.”

A ghostly light shone through the coal eyes. “1879? Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s odd. Well,” the man put his empty plate down and swallowed the last of his coffee. “I do thank ye for yur hospitality. I best be goin’ now.”

“What?” Jack put a hand on the fleshless arm and stopped him from rising. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere. You can’t stay out here. Another winter is just around the corner, and I can’t figure out how you even survived this long. The least I can do is take ya home so’s you can rest and fatten up. I’d be no kind ‘a man at all, leavin’ ya out here. Damn, and I thought my partner was skinny. Maybe after a week of recuperatin’, you’ll remember who ya are and where you’re from.”

The skull of stretched skin nodded. “That’s right neighborly of ya. Yessir, I think I will.”

“Good.”

***

Jack woke up shivering. He briefly wondered why he was leaning up against a tree and only had his coat wrapped around him, then he remembered the strange encounter during the wee hours. He sat up, ignoring the complaints from his aching back, and looked at his bedroll.

It was empty.

He straightened and looked around the camp.

“Hey, mister? Where are ya?”

The only response he got was from Midnight. Now that his human was awake, he went into his usual campaign for breakfast.

Jack stood up and, hugging himself against the cold, shouted out his inquiry. “Hello! You out there?”

Nothing.

Jack shrugged. “Oh well. If’n he’d rather freeze ta death, I suppose that’s up ta him. At least it seems to have warmed up a bit.”

Then, a really scary thought hit him, and he made a dash for his saddlebags. A quick inspection revealed that nothing had been taken, and all was as it should be in the camp.

He got the fire going again, put water on for coffee, and fed the horse. A quick breakfast of left-over beans and bacon, and they’d be on their way home.

***

“What took you so long?” Leon complained as Jack dismounted by the barn. “You should’a been back a week ago. We were worried. Wheat almost saddled up to go look for you.”

Jack frowned at him. “A week ago? I was only delayed by one day. What are ya talkin’ about?”

“Jack, you’re a week overdue.”

Jack shook his head as he led Midnight into the barn. “That can’t be right. You and I only split up four days ago.”

Leon and the old Sheshoni, Mukua, exchanged looks.

“C’mon, Jack,” Mukua took Midnight’s reins. “Let me tend ta your horse. You need ta thaw out your brain.”

“What? What’s goin’ on?”

“Good question.” Leon gave his partner a pat on the shoulder. “Come on. There’s elk stew simmering, and you could probably use a shot of whiskey.”

Jack grinned. “Yeah, sure could.”

***

Mukua, Leon, and Jack sat around the table in the leader’s cabin while Jack finished his third helping of stew along with telling of his experience.

“It was the strangest thing. I swear, Leon, all he was, was a skeleton held together by skin. He said he’d survived last winter, but he sure didn’t recover much through the spring and summer. And how come we ain’t never seen ‘im before? We’ve taken that trail often enough.”

“Which trail was it?” Mukua asked.

“Ghost Loop.”

Mukua’s eyes lit up, and he grabbed the bottle of whiskey and took a long swig right out of it.

Leon and Jack exchanged a look, and then both shrugged.

“What’s the matter?” Leon asked.

“You took Ghost Loop?” Mukua asked in a hoarse whisper.

“Well, yeah.” Jack frowned. “So what? Like I said, we’ve taken that route before when we’re confusin’ a posse.”

“Yeah,” Mukua nodded and took another swig, “but not at this time ‘a year. Even my people don’t go near that area in the fall.” He was met with two blank stares. “Ain’t you boys never heard of the Legend of Casey Whitaker?”

Leon chuckled. “Sure we have. But like you said, it’s just a legend: a scary story to tell the kids.”

“No, it ain’t.” Mukua took the time to pour himself a drink this time. “Ten years ago, almost to the day, Casey Whitaker and Ben Hopkins robbed the bank in the town of Elk Mountain. Got away with a good haul, too. A month later, Hopkins showed up at the Dust Bowl hideout with all the loot and no Whitaker. He said his partner fell off his horse and broke his neck, but there’s plenty who doubted ‘im.

“The following spring, some of them Dust Bowl fellas were out huntin’, and they came across the remains of Ole’ Whitaker. Both his legs were broke, and it looked like he’d up and starved ta death. Hopkins was long gone by then, so there weren’t nothin’ to be done about it.

“But every fall, when the leaves turn ta frost, some folk claim they see Casey Whitaker walkin’ around out in them there woods, and the injuns sure do believe that area is haunted. Them that dare ta travel that road in the fall claim that the ghost is always hungry and will come into a camp at night ta steal food.

“If he’s caught stealin’ and treated badly, well, them that are lucky enough ta come outta there don’t talk about what happened, and they sure don’t go back, not even in the summer. But them that catches ‘im and treats ‘im with kindness is given leave ta come and go. And he won’t steal food from ya no more.”

“You’re tellin’ me that I shared my vittles with a ghost?” Jack was incredulous.

“Sure sounds like it ta me.” Mukua grinned and patted his arm. “Good thing ya did, too, or you likely wouldn’t ever ‘a come outta there at all.”

“Ah, c’mon.” Jack snorted. “You expect me ta believe that? It was just some crazy old coot who didn’t have enough sense left ta come in outta the cold.”

“Yeah, but Jack,” Leon bit his lower lip, his eyes dark with concern. “You are a week overdue. Where were you for those seven days?”

“Well, I was just . . . I was . . .”

Leon and Mukua exchanged a look.

“Damn.” Jack snatched up the whiskey bottle. “I need a drink.”