The Gunfighter Who Cried Wolf

by

Damion Starr

"Red sun at morn, travellers take warn, no sun at night, travellers take fright."

Caleb laughed as he recited the somewhat corrupted maxim as he waited for the sun to set. He walked away from the entrance of the cave and sat down on the cool, stone floor. He gave a loud snuff and spat a thick wad of tobacco across the cave and used his shirt sleeve to wipe away the juice that had run down into his thick whiskers.

The sudden scurrying of a small rodent caused his arm to reach for his side; where he had once carried his gun. It had been over a year since he had thrown away his trusty Colt .45 but the speed of his draw showed no trace of any noticeable atrophy. The gun no longer interested Caleb. In fact, since he had given up the gun, his personal fortune had increased at least a tenfold. The urge to kill hadn't changed, however, rather it had transformed itself into a need that required a more personal touch. It was a touch that steel and lead could never offer.

The problem with using a gun had been that there was always someone who was just a tad bit quicker on the draw. Thanks to some kid with a quick hand and a slow eye, Caleb had spent three months bedridden in a brothel which sometimes doubled as the town hospital. It had been a shot to the stomach and while it hadn't kill him, it had denied Caleb the dual hospitality of the Sisters of Perpetual Hedonism. The kid got to spend the rest of whatever in a six by four piece of land.

He hated to admit it, but Caleb knew he was rapidly becoming addicted to killing. The craving that was once reserved for whisky had been replaced by a new personal demon; a more sanguineous one. It had taken him five years to kill seven men by means of a gun. In the last year and a half he had killed close to thirty men with his bare hands.

The cave had grown completely dark and Caleb stood up and brushed a handful of hair out of his eyes. The time had come to go forth from his lair and get on with the night's work. The cave was located halfway up the rocky crag and both the ascent and descent from were tricky ventures at best. The few handholds which protruded from the sheer base were randomly place as though the cliff itself was deterring climbers. Yet, aided by only the faint glow of the full moon, Caleb descended the two hundred foot cliff with amazing speed.

Each handhold was memorized and he found them by sense rather than by sight. Leaping from hold to hold, he paused only briefly to brush back the thick mop of hair from his eyes. Seventy feet above the boulders, a hold crumbled under his weight and Caleb clawed at the unforgiving wall then fell. He howled with fear and anger but refuse to give into either. With unbelievable agility, he guided his plummeting body to where he knew an outcropping of rock to be and grabbed hold. The sudden stop almost tore loose his grip.

The rest of the descent took less than three minutes.

Once on the ground, Caleb set off on a pace that few could match. If his sense of time was correct, he would have less than an hour to cover a distance of six miles. It was times like these that he wished he still had his horse, but the pinto, like the gun, was a luxury that was no longer a part of his life. He missed the horse more than he did the gun, but then again, he hadn't given the horse away willingly. It had died saving Caleb's life during a pursuit by an ambitious posse which made up for its pathetic marksmanship by its sheer number of shots.

The miles fell away as did the fear of the fall. Caleb's race was not with the stagecoach, which wasn't due for a couple of hours, but rather with the bandits that were more than likely be there. In at least half of the robberies, thieves had appeared and it was they who made up the bulk of his victims. These were "safe kills" as the law didn't go out of its way to find the killer of scum. In fact, the torn bodies were a deterrent to the family men who formed the posses. It was a message that most took to heart.

Caleb doubted, however, that such a message would have been effective on the posse that had pursued him. The whole robbery had been a poor practice of an old art, but Caleb had never been much of an artist; although he had been fair at drawing. He had chosen the bank on the sole prerequisite that it contained money. A little more research would have revealed that a cattle drive had just ended and the majority of the day's business had been cowboys drawing a month's salary.

The bank had been filled with unwilling victims, most of whom were determined to place their money above their lives. Caleb had obliged two before making his way out into the street. He ha been rapidly pursued by the bank's patrons who were woefully ignorant on how fearful victims were supposed to act.

The reminiscing ended as Caleb reached the road. The overhanging branches of a nearby oak offered him competent camouflage as well as the benefit of an aerial attack. With a quick leap he effortlessly reached the lowest branch twelve feet off the ground and swung onto the tree. As he climbed to a comfortable spot offered by a higher branch, Caleb looked off into the night. No one was approaching for miles along the road. He laid back against the trunk of the tree and allowed himself the luxury of remembering his first kill.

It had come at the age of sixteen. Caleb had never planned to become a farmer like his father and grandfather. He wanted to be a gunman and hours upon hours of practice went into making him fast. His career choice didn't draw much of a reaction from his old man who was anxious to get his lazy offspring away from the homestead. Caleb took to hanging around a bar a few miles from the farm. He would listen to the tales told of Billy the Kid and Jesse James and dream of the day when such stories would be told about him.

It was a July evening, many years ago, when Caleb met his first gunfighter. The notches on the handle revealed a modest career as a killer and Caleb had set out to discover more about this lifestyle. The gunfighter was in no mood for a wet-behind-the-ear farmboy and his annoying questions and had thrown the youth out of the door. Caleb had then decided it was time to see how fast he had become and the stranger seemed interested in helping with the experiment.

The dead face had seemed to stare right through Caleb, who felt a moment of guilt before pride took over. Before he had a chance to order a victory drink when the saloon owner had called for the sheriff. The gunfighter's pinto provided a quick escape. Things went well until the day the kid had hit him with that lucky shot. Ever since then things had gone downhill; culminating in the failed bank robbery.

The cowboys, who had well rested after a two-day lay over, had planned to release their energy by their usual tried and true decadent methods. Now all that energy had been focussed towards catching Caleb. The chase had lasted over two hours without either party gaining or losing ground. The foothills favoured neither the posse or Caleb and it was not until the elevation started to steepen that Caleb had begun to pull away. Then his horse had killed and a wounded Caleb carried on his climb; rapidly losing ground to his pursuers.

He had reached the apex of the hill only to find that the other side was a sheer drop. He debated surrender then realized the posse was not looking to take any prisoners. He climbed down.

Whatever energy the cowboys had possessed, it wasn't enough for them to climb down after Caleb. They had released their frustration by firing several shots at Caleb until he had disappeared into the safety of a cave. Eventually the posse had calmed down and devised a plan. They had dislodged several boulders and rolled them down the rockface. The weight of the rock and its sheer momentum smashed away any handholds that were vital in climbing back to the top. They had then set up an around the clock vigil at the bottom of the cliff.

The sound of hooves and wheels pricked up Caleb's ears and he sat up onto the branch. He couldn't yet see the wagon so it was still several miles away. The bloodlust was strong this night and Caleb hoped that the carriage would be carrying passengers for a change. Two drivers were not likely to slate this a craving this intense. There had only been passengers once before but the craving had not been this strong. The stage's manifest had been two drivers, two parents, and their three children. The children had survived to go live in an orphanage. Killing children was a sign of weakness.

Weakness, Caleb remembered that his had been a lack of food and water. The posse had known this and figured that it would take only a day or two before Caleb attempted to climb down. Once on the rock face he would be a sitting target. Caleb had known this too and planned on climbing to safety under the cover of night. It would be risky but it was the only hope that Caleb had. His luck had remained true to form, however, as a cloudless sky and a full moon illuminated his path of escape. He could see two men sitting around a fire. Then he had heard the roar.

Caleb had heard the howl of wolves before but never echoing off the walls of a small cave. It seemed louder and more vicious than anything he had ever heard. He reached for his gun and backed towards the entrance and smiled. The only way a wolf could have ended up inside the cave was by another entrance. All Caleb had to do was kill the wolf and then he could crawl out of the hidden passage and surprise the two boys below.

Armed with only two shots, Caleb had ventured further into the cave. The growling and roaring became louder and then there had been the eyes. There were like no eyes that Caleb had ever seen before and he had backed away from them immediately. The eyes had followed him, never blinking or looking away. Caleb had fired his gun. The first shot snapped the head back but the eyes had not close. Instead they had risen into the air and continued to close in upon Caleb. He had fired the second shot and the gun was knocked away as the beast descended upon him. Claws raked, teeth bit and Caleb screamed from the bottom of his soul and all the while those eyes had burned. In a last attempt to free himself, Caleb had rammed his fingers into the eyes and had fallen free to the floor. The creature had not been stopped or even slowed down. Instead it had taken two strides and wrapped its powerful hands around Caleb's neck.

As Caleb sat in the tree he traced his neck with a long nail. He couldn't remember if he had kicked the beast or if it had stumbled. Whatever the case, it had let Caleb go just before it plunged to its death. The two men had rushed over to see what had fallen and to Caleb's surprise the cowboys found not a beast, but a man. They had assumed that the body was Caleb's and that he had fallen to his death trying to escape. They had returned to town and Caleb had been given back his life; however short.

But Caleb had healed and faster than he had believed possible and his senses grew as well. Inside of a week Caleb was in good enough shape to leave but found that he had no urge to depart. While sun was absent, he was more contented than at anytime in his life. With the new lifestyle had come new intelligence and senses. Sights and sounds that he had never noticed before were now abundantly clear. An inner voice also told him that if were to kill again, he must do so by breaking the neck; otherwise there would be others like himself.

Others! Yes he now heard others. Caleb gave a low howl of delight. He would first confront the bandits before going after the stage.

Caleb sniffed at the air in curiosity as his ears told him the riders had stopped. Perhaps they weren't after the stage at all. Well, that wouldn't stop him from hunting them down. He peered out into the darkness, which gave way to his keen sight. He saw the two men proceed towards him; one appeared to be an Apache brave and the other was a masked man on a large white horse. Caleb swore under his breath. Robbers who hid behind masks were cowards who couldn't commit totally to their profession. Back in Sunday school, Caleb had heard that Death was a cowboy who rode a white horse. He smiled at the irony.

As the two riders passed under the tree, Caleb let out a loud roar and jumped to the ground behind them. The two sat back in silence but lacked the fear that Caleb longed for; that he needed. He felt that something was wrong here. Both men had their guns drawn but seemed hesitant to fire. Well, brave men would die just as easy as scared men. He growled and jumped for the pair. They both fired.

The brave dismounted and stood in a shocked silence as he stared at the lifeless wolf-like shape as it transformed back to its human form. He then turned to look at his sombre partner.

"What was it Kemo Sabe?"