Grimshaw, Radburn, Hooley, and the others had all been involved in range wars in the past. A timber war was really no different. Rutherford Chamberlain had the trees, and Emmett Bosworth wanted them. Simple as that. Grimshaw had assumed at first that he and his fellow gunmen would be carrying out the same sort of campaign they had waged on behalf of various cattle barons—ambushing Chamberlain’s men, sabotaging his equipment, generally making life hell for anybody who worked for Chamberlain.
Bosworth had come up with another idea, though. He wanted to take advantage of the fear that was spreading through the forest. The so-called Terror already had men plenty spooked. If the Terror seemed to be going on an even worse killing spree, Chamberlain’s men might finally start refusing to venture into the woods and do their work.
A man couldn’t cut logs without loggers. That was Bosworth’s idea, and it was a good one, as far as Grimshaw was concerned. When Chamberlain had to give up his lease on this prime area of timber, Bosworth would move in, and then Grimshaw and the other men would have a new job.
They would go into the woods, hunt down the Terror, whatever it was, and kill it.
“Son of a bitch.”
The disgusted words came from one of the men toward the rear of the group. Grimshaw reined in, hipped around in his saddle, and asked, “What is it, Nichols?”
The man’s horse had slowed almost to a stop, taking each step gingerly.
“Damn horse has gone lame. I’m gonna have to get off and walk for a spell, see if he can shake it off.” Nichols looked around. “Unless I can ride double with one of you fellas.”
“I don’t think so,” Grimshaw said.
Nichols’s lean, beard-stubbled face got a worried frown on it. “You’re gonna get ahead of me, though.”
“Afraid of the Terror, Nichols?” Hooley asked.
Nichols flushed. “Well, wouldn’t you be?”
Hooley hunched over in his saddle as a fresh fit of coughing struck him. When it was over, he straightened and shook his head.
“I ain’t afraid of anything. No reason to be.”
The rest of them knew what he meant. Hooley coughed up blood a dozen times a day. He wouldn’t last another six months, no matter what. Probably not another three. When a man spent all his waking hours staring down that particular barrel, he really didn’t have any reason to be scared of anything else.
“Well, then, why don’t you stay with me, so I won’t have to ride on in to Eureka by myself?” Nichols suggested.
“You think I won’t?”
“I’m hopin’ you will.” Nichols looked around. “I don’t much cotton to the idea of bein’ out here in the woods by myself.”
Hooley thought it over for a second, then shrugged. “Sure. Why the hell not? The rest of you fellas go on. Me and Nichols will be there later.” He frowned at Grimshaw. “You better not spend our part of the money on hooch and whores before we get there, though.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll get your dinero,” Grimshaw assured the lunger. “Come on, boys.”
Nichols dismounted as the others rode on, with the exception of Hooley, who sat there with his hands crossed and resting on the saddle horn. While Hooley waited, Nichols examined the horse’s front legs and hooves.
“I was hopin’ maybe he’d just picked up a rock or somethin’ in his shoe,” Nichols said. “Looks like he’s gone lame, though.” He sighed. “It’s gonna be a long walk back to town.”
“We might as well get started.” The other gunmen had already gone out of sight. Hooley licked his lips. “I’d just as soon not stay out here any longer than we have to.”
Nichols picked up his horse’s reins and started leading the animal as Hooley turned his mount to follow the others. Grinning, Nichols said, “Thought you wasn’t scared.”
“I ain’t. I just don’t care much for the woods, that’s all. I’d rather be in town where I can get a drink and rest my eyes on a nice-lookin’ woman if I want to.”
The two men made their way through the towering trees, moving slowly because of Nichols’s horse. They had gone maybe half a mile when both animals began to act a little strange. Hooley’s horse lifted its head and pricked up its ears, then gave a violent shake of its head. Nichols’s mount started pulling back on the reins, as if it didn’t want to go forward anymore.
“What’s got into these damn jugheads?” Nichols asked.
“They act like they smell somethin’ they don’t like.” Hooley sniffed the air. “Can’t say as I smell anything, though.”
“A horse’s nose is more sensitive than yours.” Nichols dropped his hand to the butt of his gun. “I don’t like this, Hooley.”
“Don’t go scarin’ yourself. You know how horses can get all spooky for no good reason. One of ’em starts to act up, and then the other one has to do the same thing. There’s nothin’ to worry about.”
“You don’t know that,” Nichols insisted. “There’s so many damn trees, you can’t see fifty yards. You don’t know what’s out there.”
“Neither do you.”
Nichols tugged on the reins. “Come on, damn it,” he snapped at his horse. “You want the Terror to get you?”
“We don’t know there’s any such thing as a Terror,” Hooley pointed out.
“Oh, yeah? Well, somethin’ killed all those other men. We didn’t take cards in the game until today, remember?”
“Probably a bear, or maybe a mountain lion.”
“I don’t think they have mountain lions around here, or bears big enough to—”
Nichols’s horse suddenly reared up on its hind legs, jerking the reins out of his hands. The horse whinnied in fear as it pawed at the air with its forehooves.
From the corner of his eye, Hooley caught sight of something moving in the trees to his left…something big, and fast. He exclaimed, “Son of a bitch!” and jerked his horse around. His gun seemed to leap into his hand. He might be sick, but his illness hadn’t affected his speed with a Colt. His head snapped from side to side as he looked for the thing, whatever it was. He wanted something to shoot at. Hooley had never run into anything he couldn’t kill, except for the thing that was eating him up from the inside out.
Nichols was yelling curses at his horse as he tried to grab the reins and bring the animal back under control. Despite being lame, fear gave the horse some unexpected agility. It twisted away from Nichols and bolted, running around one of the giant redwoods that was close to twenty feet in diameter.
The horse didn’t come out from the other side. Instead, it screamed in pain.
“It got my horse!” Nichols babbled. “Son of a bitch, son of a bitch! My rifle’s still on my saddle!” He turned and lunged toward Hooley. “Pull me up behind you! Let’s get the hell out of here!”
Hooley was having trouble keeping his own mount under some semblance of control. The horse danced back and forth skittishly as the screams continued to come from behind the big tree. Nichols clawed at Hooley’s leg and tried to climb up behind him.
“Get off!” Hooley cried. He slashed at Nichols with the six-gun, raking the barrel across the other man’s face. Nichols fell back with a cry of pain as blood flew from the gash on his forehead opened up by the gunsight.
“Hooley!” he yelled. “Hooley, you gotta help me!”
“I’m not ridin’ double,” Hooley said. “That damn thing’s too fast.” He hauled his horse’s head around and jammed his boot heels into the animal’s flanks. The horse broke into a frantic run.
“Hooley!” Nichols shrieked behind him. “Hooley, don’t leave me out here! Don’t let it—”
The desperate plea was cut off abruptly by a gurgling cry. Hooley leaned forward in the saddle and didn’t look back as he sent his horse racing around and between the giant tree trunks. He didn’t want to see what was happening back there. All he wanted was to get out of here before whatever that thing was caught him, too.