Escape From Vultures' Moon: A third ride for Jed and Horse

By William Stafford

The frontier world of Vultures' Moon faces destruction unless Jed and his remarkable Horse can put a stop to a marauding bunch of killers, a mysterious device and the resurgence of an old enemy. This third visit to the wild west planet could well be the last!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AG Books
• Release date: Nov 24, 2015
• ISBN: 9781785383342

Book preview

coincidental.

Ghosts!

Jed and his Horse watched the fireworks soar high above the rooftops of Tarnation. Bursts of colourful sparks painted the early evening sky with fleeting, fiery flowers. From this distance, you couldn’t hear them but the gunslinger was sure the townsfolk were all a-whooping and a-hollering at each and every whizz-bang and folderol.

Pioneers’ Day. A public holiday that was a welcome respite from the toil and hard labour of eking out a life for yourself on the frontier world of Vultures’ Moon. Jed didn’t begrudge anybody a day off but, inevitably, once night fell and the fireworks were done, the menfolk would adjourn to the saloons and instead of rockets, fists would fly and Jed would be hard pressed to keep the peace. Yup, come morning, Sheriff Dawson would have standing room only in the Tarnation jail.

That reminds me, said Horse, tracking the explosion of a rocket, That shooting star we saw the other night.

Jed scratched the stubble on his chin. I remember, he said, although he did not need to utter a word; Horse seemed always to know what Jed was thinking. It was green.

And I said it wasn’t a shooting star, his steed continued, and you said it most likely was, and I pointed out it couldn’t be, and you tried to account for the green hue-

I remember! Jed interrupted Horse’s monologue before it could develop into a one-act play. I said it was on account of atmospherics or some such.

You’re a scientific genius, said Horse. I say we should go and check it out.

Jed grunted. His old friend Doc Brandy would have known exactly what had fallen from the sky - but the doc was dead and buried and no longer in a position to divulge any information.

Horse’s eyes flashed as he conducted computations. Judging by the parabola... I should say it landed due west of here. Twenty miles, give or take.

Landed?

Yes. It wasn’t a shooting star. I thought we had established that.

Jed couldn’t be bothered to argue. He tugged on the reins - something he rarely ever did or had to do.

Ow! Horse complained - but it was a complaint born of annoyance rather than physical discomfort.

Let’s get to town, Jed said flatly. See if we cain’t head off a good deal of the trouble afore it kicks off.

Horse rose into the air and swooped down into the valley, a little too sharply for his rider’s liking. The gunslinger had to hold onto his white hat as they made the descent but his face remained impassive and his square jaw remained set. There was no way Jed was going to betray his own annoyance.

We could go tomorrow, Horse suggested. Your diary is clear.

Go?

To find our shooting star.

I thought you said it wasn’t no- Jed stopped himself. He didn’t want to give Horse the satisfaction of knowing he was irritated. Maybe, he said in such a way to indicate it was his final word on the matter.

For now, thought Horse.

He trotted toward the town, coming to a halt at the end of Tarnation’s Main (and only) Street.

What the - ? Jed dismounted.

The bangs and flashes were still going on but they were no longer decorating the sky.

These ain’t no fireworks... the gunslinger drew a pistol. Scan ahead.

Horse obliged.

Well? said Jed. People were running in all directions. Running and screaming.

Let me run it again, said Horse. Some kind of gunfire - I’ve never encountered this type before.

Analysis can wait, Jed urged as a man in a plaid shirt fell face down in front of him. Who’s doing the shooting and how many?

Well, that’s just it, Jed, said Horse. Apart from the fleeing and the dead, I can’t detect anyone at all.

***

Jed and Horse made tentative progress along Main Street. As he scanned, Horse emitted a low hum.

Quit humming, said Jed. Focus.

Horse stopped humming. The disturbance is centred at the far end, he reported. The saloon.

Figures, said Jed. Lots of folk there. Easy pickings.

They passed the general mercantile store and the undertaker’s. Old Nathaniel Grady would be busy come the morning, Jed observed grimly.

Two dead men lay face down in the middle of the street, shot in the back while they tried to flee the carnage.

Not shot exactly, Horse looked them over. I’m picking up sub-photonic activity.

Meaning?

I’ve never seen weaponry like this, Jed. These men were killed with light.

I don’t get it.

It’s like someone shone photons - particles of light - directly into their cells, obliterating them from the nucleus out.

Jed shook his head. Dead is dead.

Succinct as ever, said Horse. I’ve adjusted my scanners for sub-photon disruption. There!

Where?

Right there. Get back in the saddle, cowboy and see with my eyes.

Jed pulled himself onto Horse’s back. They moved as one, a centaur in a cowboy hat. Jed cleared his mind, connecting with Horse’s vision. Before him, the thoroughfare changed, became pixelated and reduced to primary colours. Commotion from the Last Gasp assaulted his ears.

Do you see that? Horse whispered.

I sure do, said Jed. He cocked his pistol.

Standing facing the batwing doors of the saloon was a man - or rather, the shape of a man, fashioned from light. The figure glowed blue and white. As people poured from the saloon, he picked them off. Jed saw the light man point a gun. There was no retort but the target fell, clutching a gaping hole framed in the same blue and white.

Jed took aim. He fired at the light man’s head. A direct hit. The figure flickered and winked out.

Well, said Horse. I didn’t think that would work.

It didn’t, said Jed. Look.

The air shimmered and the light man flickered back into existence, looking around for his attacker.

I believe we have his attention, said Horse.

At least he ain’t shooting folk no more.

The light man was striding toward them, a glowing silhouette, his gun raised.

I don’t know about you but I can deflect sub-light particles. I suspect you, being flesh and bone, cannot.

You got that right, said Jed. A silent blast sent his white hat flying. The light man’s head went back as though he was laughing.

Jed shot him where his face would be. He winked out like a candle flame pinched between finger and thumb.

He’ll be back, Horse warned. Hold tight.

He rose in the air. Below them, the light man reappeared, his head darting in all directions, looking for the cowboy and his steed.

I’ve had enough of him, said Horse.

Me too, said Jed.

If I may?

Go right ahead.

Horse lifted his tail. Pellets of dark matter rained on the light man, who looked up too late to take evasive action. He flickered and fluttered before expanding into a ball of light and then shrinking to a pinprick and vanishing forever.

Better out than in, said Horse, lowering himself to the ground.

Jed dismounted. He patted Horse’s neck. What have you been eating?

Never you mind, Horse showed his teeth, amused. But he won’t be coming out of that little black hole again. Jed retrieved his hat and dusted it off. Hadn’t we better be doing something about the other one?

Other one?

Horse rolled his eyes. The one in the saloon, driving the people out to get shot in the street.

Oh, him, said Jed. What do you suggest?

Well, I’ve nothing left in the tank, so to speak. But if you can get yon fellow out into the open, I shall kick him into the middle of the next dimension.

And that’ll work?

Horse batted his eyelashes. We can but try. Go get him, Jed.

Jed’s eyes narrowed. Horse was getting a mite too bossy for Jed’s liking but right now there was another fish to fry. He sidled up to a window, backing away just as someone came headfirst through it. It was the bartender, Lem.

Jed helped him to his feet but Lem was in no mood for a chinwag. He hurried away, calling over his shoulder, Ole place is haunted, Jed. Gun-toting ghost done ruin my business.

Jed climbed in through the window, pistol first. The saloon was in total disarray. Tables and chairs were overturned. Even the pianola was on its back. Fire from a smashed lantern licked at the velour curtains around the stage. Bodies and bottles littered the floor.

Of Lem’s gun-toting ghost there was no sign.

From this distance, Jed was unable to tap into Horse’s vision. He was on his own. Crouching, he moved among the debris. Something stirred in a corner. Jed froze. His eyes darted in all directions. Sweat trickled down his neck.

Jed...

The voice was faint and female. Jed didn’t respond, did not move a muscle.

Jed! Help me...

Jed recognised the voice. Miss Kitty! The saloon’s resident artiste - yup, that was a good word for her.

Jed could see the singer’s ostrich feather headdress peeking out from behind the wreckage of the pianola. Stay where you are! Jed called, betraying his own presence in a bid to save her life. His hat flew off as an invisible blast struck it.

Jed tried to imitate Horse’s calculations. Judging by the parabola... He fired his gun in the direction he guessed the shot had originated. There! A flicker in the shadows. He fired again. Another blast exploded a chair to Jed’s left. A third punched a hole in the floorboard ahead of Jed’s toes. Jed fired and fired, and with each shot the figure was revealed in the darkness, the way a lightning storm reveals the landscape.

Jed picked up a lamp and hurled it. It smashed on the shooter’s head, drenching him in lamp oil that burst into flame with a whoosh. The figure flailed around, staggering and stumbling. It afforded Jed a few precious seconds to rescue Miss Kitty and bundle her to an exit.

Why, Jed! she breathed. I guess I owe you another! What is it, Jed?

Talking’s for later, said Jed, shoving her outside. Now, git!

Fire was spreading from the flapping figure - soon, the whole place would be aflame. Lem can rebuild, thought Jed. The widows and orphans made this night will have a tougher time of it.

Jed kept shooting, driving the killer to the front door. Out in the open, the flames surged, gorging on oxygen.

Horse was ready, his back legs poised to kick the varmint skyward.

But then, the flames went out. A blue line traced the shape of the man in the air. For a brief moment, a face was delineated. A laughing, mocking sneer.

And then, he was gone. The afterglow of that sneer hung in front of them, like the smile of the Cheshire Cat.

He got away, Horse was disappointed. His hooves kicked at the dirt.

Looks that way, said Jed. Come on; let’s rally folk to put out this fire. The dead can wait till sunup.

It was then Jed made a grim discovery. Slumped against the wall was the one man Jed counted as a friend: Sheriff Dawson with his gun in one hand, and an empty space where his other arm should be.

A Close Shave!

Dawson would live. Jed had carried him, not to Grady’s funeral parlour, but to Doc Willoughby’s office. The lawman was conscious now, sitting on a bed, while Willoughby cleaned the wound, the stump that jutted from Dawson’s shoulder like a broken signpost.

I cain’t feel a thing, said Dawson, marvelling at this alteration to his anatomy.

Willoughby sent Jed a look. Dawson was in shock, they both knew. The horror and the agony of his situation had yet to hit home.

You’re lucky, Willoughby marvelled. Wound’s neat. Whatever weapon did this, cauterised it at the same time.

Other folks ain’t so lucky.

The gunslinger and the doctor wheeled around to the door. A woman, tear-stained and bedraggled was standing there.

My husband, she said. The sheriff enlisted him to tackle what he called the disturbance at the saloon. She laughed bitterly. Some disturbance! My Wade lies dead in Grady’s mortuary and me and my daughters ain’t going to be able to work our land without him.

I’m sorry, said Dawson.

No, Sheriff, you mistake me, Wade’s widow stepped into the office. "You used my husband once. Use him again! He’s a-lying there waiting for his wooden box and you’re in need of an arm. He had good strong arms, my Wade did. He was a hard worker. Strongest man I ever did see. But he could be gentle too and he never raised a hand against me or my girls. Take his arm, Sheriff. The doc