The Delayed Promise

By littlejoefan

Chapter 1

It was a freezing October, alright, I thought, as I plodded wearily along that Halloween morning. The coldest I had ever known. It was so gelid I shivered under the winter coat I had luckily decided to wear. I could no longer feel my fingers, despite the gloves, and my feet were like two blocks of ice.

“It’s gonna be a bad one, ain’t it, Cooch?”

The horse being a horse, could not answer, but I felt I knew him well enough by now. He was not happy. I leaned forward and patted his neck, drawing my gloved hand through his mane. He turned his head as he walked; the look on his face was as if he wanted to bite me.

“Don’t worry, Cooch. Only about ten more miles.”

Cochise harrumphed. I could swear that animal understood every word I said.

We had started early. I had never heard of Fresh Springs, despite living here all my life, but strangely, neither had Pa. He knew this land better than any of us. Nor was the wretched place on any map. I knew to bear hard north, through the dry land, the mountains on my left, the tiny farms and settlements on my right. Once I had reached Lake’s Crossing, with its shantytown and frenetic building I could turn west toward the relative calm of O’Neils Crossing. Fresh Springs was apparently almost adjacent, as the high ground rose to the foothills.

“It’s peculiar,” Pa said to Lemuel Shawnassey. “I have been to O’Neils Crossing many times. I’ve been to different places all around there. I have never heard of it!”

“Oh, ’tis a tiny place,” the agent said evasively. “Not much more than a few shacks and houses, really. Mr Taylor’s place is the only property of any substance there. ‘Tis no wonder you’ve not heard of it, Mr Cartwright.”

Pa shook his head and laughed. “Well, I thought I knew every inch of the area! It’s such a shame we can’t make the sale here and now.”

“I know. I know it’s asking you to go out of your way. But Stan Taylor was most explicit. He insists on signing his contracts in person. He calls me his agent, but I’m not really. I’m his scout. I find the business, then bring it to him.” The cheeky Irishman gave a grin and jerked his head. “The old gentleman has an excuse, I suppose. He is nearly ninety.”

“Ninety!” I exclaimed. At the tender age of twenty-four, I found it almost impossible to imagine such a lifetime. “But it still doesn’t explain why he won’t let you exchange contracts on his behalf. Doesn’t he trust you or something?”

“JOSEPH!” Pa barked.

Mr Shaughnassey roared with laughter as he saw my grin. “You remind me of myself, you sassy young devil! You do have an impudent youngster, Mr Cartwright!”

“Yes, he’s impudent, alright.” Pa was shaking his head and glaring at me. Five or ten years ago such a look would have chilled my blood but he could tell I was joshing and eventually had to chuckle.

“No, Little Joe, Mr Taylor is a man of…singular habits. Since his wife died – and that was twenty years ago – I don’t think he has left his ranch. And yet his stable is second to none. He has the best horseflesh this side of the Sierra. He does trust me, Joe, and I knew as soon as I saw your animals, you were the sellers he was looking for. But as far as contracts go, he insists on doing it in person. And since he won’t leave home, we have to go to him.”

“Joseph, you really are the limit,” Pa said after our visitor had left.

“I’m sorry, Pa, I couldn’t resist. I could tell Mr Shaughnassey could take a joke.”

“Well, good thing for you he could, isn’t it? Just for that, you shall be the one to ride all the way over there. I can’t spare you tomorrow, so you will have to go on Friday.”

“Hallowe’en.”

“All Hallows’ Eve,” Pa corrected. “And it’s nearly twenty miles, and twenty miles back, so it will take you all day. And I hope it freezes your butt off.” He started to laugh and tousled my hair so hard my head almost came off.

So my pertness had led to fatigue, frozen hands and gelid feet. Hence the godlessly early start. Hence Cochise’s foul mood.

*

Chapter 2

I kept Cochise to a medium to brisk walk, only occasionally breaking into a trot or gentle canter. We had a long way to go and we had to pace ourselves. The sky was leaden gray and we rode into a wintry, icy wind that whipped the sand into our faces. I had never known it so cold in October. The squalls even seemed to carry a hint of sleet. After four hours of riding I saw the distant shadow of Lake’s Crossing to the north-east. It had grown since I had last been here.

I turned my thoughts to this strange town I was about to visit. I could not, for the life of me, understand why nobody had ever heard of it. I still did not even really know where it was, the place not gracing one of the maps we had at home. All Lemuel Shaughnassey had said was to head directly south from O’Neils Crossing for a couple of miles towards the mountains. As I passed another new homestead, I unaccountably shivered. As if a shadow had crossed the moon on a starless night.

“I dunno, Cooch,” I conversed. “Something seems odd. I’ll be glad when today’s over.”

At midday I had turned direction and was now heading west towards the new state line. With the familiar O’Neils Crossing behind me, I felt I was heading into the unknown. I urged Cochise toward the nearest ridge, over which I could see the sharply rising hills. As we paused at the top, I sighed in relief.

“There it is, Cochise,” I muttered, patting his neck. “Thank the Good Lord. The sooner I can see the old gent, the sooner we can head back home!”

The land flattened out in a small valley floor between where we stood and the town of Fresh Springs which was fast up against the mountainside. A couple of miles distant, I could see the outline of buildings, fences…civilization. Fields had been partitioned off around a decrepit house, which I took to be the Taylor ranch and I could see large numbers of horses grazing. They would have to be stabled for the winter soon if this unusual weather persisted. Just to the south lay a tiny, battered settlement, with nondescript streets and houses. I inched Cochise down the incline, failing to notice the large rabbit hole. It was as if the earth gave way underneath me. A fall, an agonizing knock to the head, a ton of weight falling across me and I knew no more.

*

Chapter 3

I was scrabbling upwards through the dark, but it was the cold I felt first. And then the pain. I groaned as my skull felt as if it were about to split. I tried to move and cried out as the agony hit the bottom of my right leg. I realized it had taken the brunt of Cochise’s weight, but as I righted myself it was obvious I was not badly injured. I limped forward. Still the ranch in the distance, with the town just beyond. But no Cochise. Where in blazes was that animal?

“Cochise!” I called, knowing how useless it was. Cooch was an intelligent beast, but he was not a dog. “Cooch!…Oh, darn it all to hell…” I growled, realizing I was going to have to walk. Fortunately I had been carrying the bag containing my paperwork across my shoulders.

I could tell by the light it was much later and I did not know how long I had been out. The sky had grayed over completely and the temperature had lowered even more. Gritting my teeth and putting one foot in front of another, I began my painful limp towards Mr Taylor’s home. I could feel my right shin and ankle swelling and tightening in my boot.

It had not looked far! But I was making such slow work of it, it was dark by the time I reached the outer fields of the farmstead. I could have screamed with frustration. No horse. No chance of getting home tonight. Cold. Hungry. I hoped Cochise would have used his common sense and arrived before me. Added to all that, Pa would have a head sorer than a wounded bear tomorrow. I could just hear his lecture…

To my relief I saw a buckboard driving along the track coming from the town. It stopped for a moment when the occupants saw me and then broke into a canter. I cried out and waved my hands.

“Mr Cartwright!” I felt the heavens clear when I recognized Lemuel Shaughnassey’s unmistakable brogue. “Little Joe! Thank God!”

He was surprisingly strong for his size. He gathered me up and pulled me into the wagon in one movement.

“What happened? We’ve been waiting all day! When your horse came in – ”

“You’ve got Cooch?”

“That his name? The paint, ain’t it?”

“That’s right.”

“He trotted in a couple of hours ago.”

“Is he OK?”

“He’s fine. But what happened? He throw you?”

“Not exactly. He lost his footing. I was knocked out. I feel as if I’ve been walking for hours.”

“We’ve been looking, believe me. And your leg…?”

“Cochise landed on it. I think it’s just sprained.”

“Ach, you poor man! Let’s get you inside…My God, you’re like ice!”

“I don’t think I’ll ever warm up again,” I grumbled childishly. I had just about had enough for one day.

“Oh, you will. Mr Taylor keeps that house like a furnace all year round!”

“Bit like my Pa, then,” I said, trying to be cheerful. Despite the pain and the dizziness, it could have been worse. At least my weight was off my ankle and I would soon be warm…

*

Mr Taylor did not look ninety, more like a dapper sixty-five-year-old. He was trim and athletic, with a full head of salt and pepper hair. After tending to my injuries he insisted on dinner. I was starting to feel half-way like a human being again. We sat by the fire, drank a glass of port and formally exchanged contracts for a hundred of our finest steeds.

As time grew on, he was growing nervous, continually glancing at the time.

“Are you expecting someone, Mr Taylor?” I teased.

“No.” He had been staring at the clock on the wall but no sooner had he finished he fished out the fob watch from his breast pocket. He sighed. “It is the twenty-first anniversary of my wife’s death, Joseph.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry, sir!”

“Death is a part of life, son. You will discover that when you’re older. You’re still young. Sorrow has not yet carved its furrows into your brow.”

Yours, neither, I thought irreverently. He looked so young for his age. I lowered my eyes respectfully. “I am sorry, sir. It must be very difficult for you…Did you and Mrs Taylor have children?”

“No. We were not blessed.”

I did not know what to say.

“My wife was much younger than me, Joe. I sometimes wondered if people thought, ‘What should such an old fool do with such a beautiful wife?’ ”

“Oh, I’m sure not, sir!”

“Barely half my age. Much closer to your age than mine.” He was musing. I was growing curious, despite myself, but I stayed my tongue, not wanting to seem impertinent. “October 31^st, 1845. The last time I saw her – alive.”

The silence was long this time. The port had gone to my already battered head and my ankle was paining me. The clock ticked on with hypnotic regularity.

“Have you ever heard of a daguerreotype, Joseph?”

“It’s…it’s a kind of picture, isn’t it? Taken with a special machine?”

Mr Taylor went to the dresser and took something down. “This is the very first taken in this area. At least that’s what the man told me. Said, ‘The first taken this side of the Rockies’. Of course, that may have been baloney!”

She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. A slender, delicate girl of about thirty, dark hair cascading down in the stylized ringlets of twenty years ago. There was a merry glimmer in her eyes which I found very attractive. Mr Taylor was staring at me.

“She’s…beautiful.”

“Yes,” he said sharply, grabbing the picture. “She was. And didn’t she know it!”

I reddened, wondering if I had misspoken.

“They all found her beautiful. Every man she ever met. She was not averse to their gaze, shall we say. She simpered and petted for her audience. I bore it for years. But I loved her, you see.”

By now, I was so embarrassed I wished the floor would swallow me whole, but his peevishness soon passed. “I’m sorry, boy.”

“That’s alright.”

“I expect you’re tired.”

“I am, sir.”

“Are you still in pain?”

“Yes, sir…but I’m OK.”

“Well, your father will be worried about you, but if you leave early tomorrow, you’ll probably be home by noon.”

“Yes, ready with a long lecture about how careless and thoughtless I am!”

“That’s only because he cares, son. All he’ll care about is that you’re alright.” He rubbed my shoulder. “Off you go. There’s a spare room down the corridor which I’ve had set up for you so you’ll not have to climb the stairs. Second door on the right.”

“Thank you, sir. You’ve been very kind.”

“Good night, Joe.”

“Good night, sir.”

When I left him, he was still staring at the picture of his dead wife.

*

Chapter 4

I awoke several times, swearing I could hear voices and groans. Once I swore there were footsteps. There was something about the house that unnerved me. Its age, its size, its strangeness? I was annoyed with myself. I was reacting like a child. I kept remembering the hard, almost savage look in my host’s eyes when he snatched the photograph from me. Not like a loving husband at all. More like a…I don’t know…a hater? A man betrayed?

As I tried to sleep again, I heard something sweeping along the floor outside my room. I scowled and crawled out of bed. After rest and immobility my ankle was now so painful I could barely put my weight on it. Crying out with pain, I stumbled across the room to the door. The ambient noise increased and I heard voices from the main hall. Mr Taylor had left me a cane to help me walk and I gratefully took it up. There was a light in the great room which grew brighter as I shuffled closer.

“You were told!” a deep voice boomed.

“I know – I know!” said a second, which I recognized as Mr Taylor’s.

“Do you welsh on your deals?”

“No, of course not!”

“Twenty-one years. No more. You called on me, remember? I did your bidding. Now you must do mine!”

There was something terrifying in that tone. An unnatural, unholy cacophony of hisses, growls, clicks in place of a voice. From where I was standing, twenty feet away, unseen by either party, my blood froze in my veins. The last injunction was howled as if on the western wind.

“But…but…”

“But?!…But??…BUT????”

I was sweating. The voice was not human. I started to tremble and burn, despite the chill. Gripping the head of the cane in my sticky palm, I inched closer and timidly peeped around into the old room. I almost cried out in terror. Three figures stood by the fire, that of my host, his agent and a third, who had his back to me. The faceless figure strode towards Taylor and gripped him by the throat.

“You think you can bargain with me?! You think you can delay? You made a vow that day. Your Madeleine, your love, was playing you for a fool with that boy! I told you could have anything, anything you wanted, and all I wanted in return was a promise. You made it readily enough. I kept my bargain.”

“I didn’t mean to kill her.”

The involuntary gasp escaping from my lips was fortunately drowned out by a loud snort from the figure who had not yet shown himself to me. I ducked around the door, my back against the wall, my chest heaving.

I could not believe it. That beautiful delicate young girl had been murdered by her own husband, twenty-one years ago to this day. Who knows? Perhaps this very hour. I could swear my heart was beating so loudly they would be able to hear it.

Shaughnassey was talking. His voice was tinny, as if speaking through thin air.

“We know, Baal, you kept your promise.”

Baal? Where had I heard that name before? It seemed to ring a bell.

“Your master would have choked to death on the gallows if it had not been for me. Do not think, Taylor, your age would have saved you. I covered up your foul crime. I wiped out any evidence by fire, driving out men, women and children, causing them to forget. Many did not survive, Shaughnassey.”

“I know.”

“I said you would prosper and gain wealth. That you would not visibly age a day until we met again. Once a year the town would reappear as testament to your crime. But after one and twenty years you would have to pay. You called on me. I appeared. I always appear, unlike my opponent, who turns a deaf ear to those who pray to him.”

It was true, then. But it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be, it was impossible. My faith was a lazy faith of childhood Sundays spent in church. I did not give it much thought. I believed in the deity but this image of a dark stranger, the angel of death, belonged to another age. We lived in an era of reason. I suddenly thought I must be dreaming and I pinched myself as hard as I could. Sharp pain burned the back of my hand and I saw the white nail marks slowly redden and then disappear on my skin. I now remembered where I had heard that name.

I stared into the mirror on the opposite wall which showed me the inside of the room. Still my two companions of earlier in the day and still the massive figure, cloaked, turned away from me. Suddenly I had to know. I had to see his face.

“For all my bounty I asked only one thing of you. You laughed me to scorn, said you did not believe. Now you turn coward.”

“Give me one more year – ”

“Not one more hour, Taylor. Not one more minute!”

“Please!”

The laughter rolled like thunder as the clock began to strike. I would not have to count to twelve – I knew the time. I froze with terror, my eyes fixed on the mirror.

“You believe? At last you believe!”

The temperature dropped to such a degree I shook with cold. The figure spread his arms and seemed to grow. The giant now dwarfed the two men, growing too big for the room. A green miasma swirled upwards from his feet, coiling towards the ceiling, which such a foul stench of putrification I was almost sick. The noise I was making was masked by the men’s screams; I now knew whatever fate was appointed Taylor also awaited his henchman. I had fallen to the floor as the building shook to the foundations.

Forcing myself to watch, nausea curdling in my stomach, I saw the room had disappeared. From darkest red corners emaciated, tormented souls reached out their arms, whether in supplication or malice, I did not know, but their eyes were dead, their features carved with sorrow and agony.

“This can’t be happening!” I cried. “It can’t, it can’t!”

If it did not end soon I would lose my mind.

Baal showed himself in a hail of fire, his face full of triumph and exaltation. He had gained two more souls for the pit. His face was a skull, indented by deep craters, where his lips may have once been, and running from the black pits of his eyes towards the top of the head. His pupils were white-red lights of evil and three rows of the whitest teeth showed against the metallic gray of his skull. I collapsed and merciful blackness engulfed me.

*

Chapter 5

Fresh grass assailed my nostrils and a fresh October sun beat down upon me as I lay. My mind was a broken kaleidoscope forming and reforming in front of my eyes. The terror struck me and I came to violently, screaming. The first thing I saw was Cooch munching as if he had not eaten for a week.

“Cooch, Cooch!” I yelled, like a child.

The animal jumped and glared at me as I struggled to my feet.

The first thing I noticed was the complete absence of pain. No headache, no wrenched ankle. If I had not come to with my face in the sandy grass I could have believed I had not been thrown at all.

The second thing was I was in the middle of nowhere. There was no ranch on the horizon, no fields, no horses, no ramshackle town, just the mountains rising straight and true towards the south. For a moment I thought I was going insane.

The ridge we had fallen down was still there. I hugged Cochise out of pure relief and walked tentatively back up the slope with him. And there was O’Neils Crossing, just a mile or so away, glinting in the harsh fall light.

“What’s going on, Cooch?” I whispered. “Just what in the hell is going on?”

I mounted warily and havered, not knowing what direction to take. I did not even know what day it was. It was only then it occurred to me that I should check my bag, still slung over my shoulders.

And there it was. In Mr Taylor’s flowing, elegant script, a draft for two thousand dollars. My brain rattled in my skull. Had it happened? If so, when? Would the banker’s draft be good? If so, where were we supposed to deliver the horses to? Still on the summit of the rise, I turned back one final time. Nothing there.

I closed my eyes. Here, in the harsh light of day, it was easy to believe that it had been a dream. But I did not write this draft myself. I was uninjured and I finally decided on a course of action. I rode at a gentle canter towards O’Neils Crossing.

I had known Jess Boulton for a couple of years before he had left Virginia City to set up a general store in the town. He had hoped to capitalize on the growing trade passing through the Henness Pass Turnpike on its long trek from San Francisco. The place was heaving and the little store had been extended even in the few short months he had been here. I was so glad of the normality I could have cheered.

“Well, look-ee here! Little Joe Cartwright!” he exclaimed, embracing me warmly. He was wearing a grocer’s apron and smelt of coffee and camphor.

“Good to see you, Jess.”

“What an earth are you doing all the way out here? Bit out of your way, isn’t it? Business?”

“Kinda.” I had no intention of telling him my peculiar tale because I did not want to be committed to the nearest mental institution.

“And how’s your Pa? Your brothers?”

“They’re well, thanks. Listen, Jess, I have to make my way back this afternoon, but…well, I wonder if I could have a drink with you before I go?”

“Sure! I’ve not had a break today yet. Nick…oh, Nick’s my assistant, you know. You know I have an assistant now?” he teased, with a grin.

I was pleased my pal was doing so well. We had a beer at the tavern across the dusty street and engaged in small talk for a few minutes.

“Jess, I’ve got to ask you a favor.”

“What’s that?”

“Well…I’ve had a bit of a strange day. Could I ask you a few questions?”

“Sure. Shoot.”

“What day is it?”

Jess stared at me, a grin on his lips, unsure whether I was joking. “You don’t know the day?”

“Indulge me.”

“Hallowe’en, of course. Remember those trips your Pa used to take us on as boys? We – ”

“Yeah, yeah, sure, they were great. You’re sure…it’s not November 1^st?”

“Joe, have you been out too long in the sun? I do know what day it is! I’d have thought you would, too!”

“I’m beginning to wonder,” I sighed. “And the time?”

Jess fumbled at the watch on his apron. “Twenty after twelve.”

“Twenty after twelve,” I frowned. “On Hallowe’en.” I had lost twelve hours. But perhaps not in this universe.

Jess held his hand a few inches from my forehead. “Sure you’re not sickening?”

“No, you’re probably right. Too much sun. Just another coupla questions.”

“Go on, then.”

“Fresh Springs.”

“What’s that?”

“Where’s that? It’s a town just near here.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Over that ridge, towards the foothills.”

“There’s nothing between here and the foothills, Joe.”

“Perhaps it used to be there? Say, twenty years ago?”

“Nah. There’s never been anything there. I should know. I’ve talked to everyone here, old and young.”

“And there’s a ranch in the same area. A Mr Stan Taylor. Old fella of ninety.”

Jess started to laugh. “You been at the locoweed?”

For a moment I felt like showing him the banker’s draft. It was unpleasant when friends doubted your sanity, especially when you doubted it yourself. I thought I would try one last time.

“He has a large ranch. Hundreds of horses. Been here about twenty years since his wife died.”

“Joseph, I would know if such a person existed. And so would everyone else. This place ain’t that big. Everyone knows everyone.”

I rode back. I was no longer rushed; I was not tired or in pain. Cochise seemed happy enough. I might even be back for a late supper. An old friend probably doubted my reason and I grinned, trying to make a joke of it. Probably not the first time.

I decided to put the horrendous experience into a box and store it at the back of my mind. I would lock it, never open it again and would in fact try to lose the key. I knew that if I thought too much about it I would lose my mind. My whole being rebelled against the rightness of a world that can have such a monster in it. Although how I would explain a two thousand dollar draft and no address to which to deliver a hundred head of horses would take a long time to work out.

It must have been approaching four in the afternoon when I spotted the glimmer of the Washoe Lake to the East and the hills beyond. Virginia City lay on the other side and I was now on Ponderosa land. Almost home. I still had not worked out what I was going to say. Not the truth, that was for sure. That way madness lay.

There were so many unanswered questions, but my head was aching with the horror and atrocity of it. One unresolved matter still plagued me. Why had Taylor and Shaughnassey sought us out? Did they really think they could carry on living and doing business as they always had? Did they think they could cheat the Devil on this Hallowe’en of 1866 out of the promise they had made all those years ago?

*-*-*