1885. Charles Bartowski heads West on a mission from Boston to Idaho Falls. He is traveling with a purpose, with a gun and a book. A Western.

Heaven and Hell

Book One:

Bring My Coffin Along

CHAPTER TWO:

Infernal Spirits

Later on Friday, September 4, 1885,

Between Cody, Wyoming and Idaho Falls, Idaho

Chuck again heard voices from up top on the stage coach. The driver, Bob, yelled and the man riding shotgun beside him, Steve, yelled in response.

"Bandits! Go, go!"

"I see 'em!"

The coach lurched forward, the screech of strained leather and metal underscoring the violent change of pace. Chuck heard Bob urging on the horses, words and whip, the sound stinging Chuck's ears.

John Casey's eyes were open, clear, his hand on his gun. At the same moment, Carina Miller's eyes were open too, and her hand slipped under the navy wrap.

Chuck jutted his head out of the open window and peered back. Several men on horseback, the horses plunging hard in the dusty wake of the speeding coach, were closing on them. A shot rang out, and Chuck felt himself jerked back inside, hard. He hit the back of his head as he re-entered, and turned to see Carina, her hand on his back, give him a tight smile.

"Don't get your head shot off, Boston." Chuck nodded as he rubbed the back of his head.

Casey had peeked out for a second. He looked at Chuck and Carina, as if judging them, the coach now tearing ahead at full speed. The three of them were bouncing, bone-jarred, on the two benches. Casey grunted. Another shot, this time from up top.

More shots from behind.

"Bob!" Steve cried out, up top.

Chuck heard a cry, and then the driver, Bob, upside-down, filled his window, blood covering his chest. He hand grasped at Chuck's window, his eyes huge, and Chuck lunged to grab him, but then Bob vanished. Chuck stuck his head out and saw the driver rolling on the road, then saw the men behind them churn over him with their horses.

Again, Chuck was jerked back inside. More shots rang out.

The coach began to slow, Steve was shouting: "Whoa, whoa, whoa!".

"Be calm," Casey ordered in a tone that expected obedience. "We're goin' be robbed. The point's to live through it, and to keep anythin' from happening, " he glanced at Carina, "other than mere thievery. Ain't none of us got anythin' worth dying for, or...gettin' hurt for, wihout need. Let me do the talkin', if any' talkin's required."

Carina looked ready to protest, but the coach had bounced to a stop. She took her hand out of her wrap. A strange silence replaced the cacophony of the speeding coach, and the only noise for a few seconds was the gasping of the horses.

"Don't move!" A voice from outside, cold, its volume measured.

From up top, an answer: "Ain't movin'. Nary a twitch, 'cepting to bleed." Steve laughed and moaned at the same time.

"Throw down that rifle."

Steve did as told. There was a clattering sound next to the coach, the rifle on the ground.

Dust was all around the coach, outside and inside. Chuck could feel it settling on him. A brown fog - a brown version of the London yellow fogs Chuck had read about. Sulphur made them yellow. For a moment, he smelled it.

He made himself focus. The voice was speaking, harsher.

"Get down from there! Slow!"

"Jeezus!" Steve complained, wheezing age and pain, as he clambered down. "Y'all just kilt poor Bob back there. Shot 'im, then run 'im down like a cur. Bob was a good 'un."

"You shouldn't have run," was the brief, unconcerned answer. "How many inside?"

Silence. "How many?" The voice was chill, deathly.

An answer. "Three. Two men. Well, one man and one greenhorn school teacher. One wommin."

"Huh," the voice expressed puzzlement, "is it two men and one woman, or one man and two women?" While asking the question, the voice got closer.

"I dun't rightly know. The first, I reck'in."

Casey looked at Chuck and then he looked at Carina. He reached out and pulled her wrap up closer to her neck. She frowned but nodded.

"You three, in the coach! Out! Now! Hands up where we can all see them."

Casey went first, opening the door and swinging it outward, showing his hands before he stepped down. Carina followed him, and a chorus of wolf whistles rose from behind the coach. Carina did not react.

Chuck left his hats, white and black, on the bench and followed Carina. Isolated snickers replaced the wolf whistles. "Is that the teacher, Number One?" A new voice asked, "cause she's shure ugly 'nuff to be a teacher. Kinda tall fer a gal." Laughter.

"That isn't a gal, Number Two," the original voice answered, and Chuck could now see the man, or he could at least see the bandanna covering the man's face. Number One: the man was of medium height and medium build. He had pulled his black hat low on his head, the bandanna covering all of his face except the eyes. Number One had a gun in his hand. He was dressed in a black coat and black pants of a rough fabric.

As Chuck scanned the scene, he realized all the men - five, total - were dressed the same. Dressed like that, faces erased, guns out, horses glistening with sweat in the long rays of the afternoon sun, the sun distorted by the settling dust, the men seemed demons, hell-spawn come to claim souls. Chuck squeezed his eyes shut and when he opened them, the scene was still frightening but it was again human. These were men, not infernal spirits.

The man who had asked about Chuck, Number Two, dismounted, gun in hand. He strolled to the three of them where they stood, hands still up. From a short distance, the man gave Casey a careful survey, chuckled at Chuck, and then stepped closer, right up against Carina.

"Ain't you a fine piece o' female flesh," he glanced at the other three men on horseback. "Whaddaya say, boys?" The wolf whistles rose again, piercing. The man reached out and brushed some of the dust from Carina's blue hat.

"Ain't you the pretty thin'," he leered - statement, not question, "you remind me o' one o' them purs-e-lain angels" he drew the term out, "at my gran's house. They was dusty too. Always wondered what's unner their skirts, them angels', but those skirts didn't lift."

He leaned close to Carina's face, bandanna almost against her lips. "But yours, I bet it lifts right up, like it had wings, up, up over yer head, huh? Bet it's been up there a buncha times, with some man sweatin' and sawin' away beneath it. An' you a-cooin' like you liked it. Right?"

Chuck saw a flash in Carina's eyes but she stood stock-still.

"Don't you talk to her like that, you bastard." Chuck ground the words between his teeth.

The man turned toward Chuck. The corners of his eyes, green, crinkled, and Chuck knew the man was smiling beneath the bandanna.

"Well, lookee here. The schoolmarm's goan teach me my manners. Ain't that sweet?" The man's hand moved, lightning; he pistol-whipped Chuck. Chuck straightened after the blow, feeling the blood running from his nose and tasting blood in his mouth. The man's green eyes watched the blood run down Chuck's face. "That was yer first lessin', schoolmarm. You don't want me to teach you yer last."

Chuck looked at the man, then spat blood on the ground. "A real man has respect for women. For all women. Number Two." The man tensed, and Chuck expected another blow, but Number One intervened. "Stop, Two. We're burning daylight. We need to finish and go." He looked at Two, and waved his gun up at the coach. "Get up there and grab down that strongbox. Then see if these three have anything worth taking."

Steve, who had been leaning against the coach, collapsed in the dirt just as the man finished speaking. Chuck started to move toward him but Number One stopped him. "Leave him; he doesn't matter."

Two had climbed on top of the stage. He lugged a box up from behind the driver's bench. "Here 'tis!"

Number One gestured to another man, still mounted, and he nudged his horse over. Number Two handed the box down to him. He balanced it on the pommel of his saddle and gestured to Steve. Two climbed down and went through Steve pockets. After a moment, he held up a key in triumph and gave it to the mounted man: "Here ya go, Three." Three put his hand inside and lifted a large stack of bills. The men in black made appreciative noises when they saw the money. He put the stack in a saddle bag then repeated the action several times. He nodded when he finished, and threw the box onto the ground, empty.

"All right. Check them." Number One to Number Two.

Number Two walked from the fallen shotgun rider to Casey. He looked Casey up and down, more slowly this time. Then he reached out and looped his finger through a heavy chain, silver, attached to one of Casey's vest buttons and running into one of his vest pockets. Two tugged on the chain and a large silver pocket watch slipped from the pocket and swung from side to side on the chain.

Casey's face reddened and his lips compressed to invisibility but he did nothing else. Two unhooked the chain from Casey's vest button and made a show of hooking it to one of his own, then sliding the watch into his vest pocket.

"Promise, I'll be thikin' o' you every time I look at it." He laughed then stepped to Carina, took a gold bracelet from her wrist and a delicate chain from around her throat. His fingers lingered on her skin as he unclasped the chain. A small, gold locket hung from the chain. The man looked at Carina for a moment, his eyes lustful, but then he glanced nervously at Number One, and moved to Chuck. He evidently saw nothing on Chuck worth taking. After a moment, chuckling in contempt, Two stepped to the coach and grabbed the pillowcase Chuck was using as luggage.

He looked inside. Another of the mounted men spoke. "What's in there?"

Two had his head in the end of the pillowcase, looking inside, rotating it to move the contents. "A pen, some paper, an apple, some fancy city duds an' a book. Maybe it's a bible."

Chuck spat blood again. "It's not the Bible. It's Swedenborg."

Two lifted his head from the opening of the pillowcase. "Sweden-burg? Well, ain't we all ed-du-caded?" Two shoved his arm in the pillowcase and extracted Chuck's apple. He rubbed it on his coat sleeve, then lifted the bottom of his bandanna. After brandishing the apple at Chuck, Two took a huge bite of it, juice running down his bared chin. Chewing, he walked to Chuck, and dropped the pillowcase in the bloody dirt at Chuck's feet.

His eyes glinted and turned to Carina, holding the apple out to her. "I wanna see you take a bite. Seein' that's all I have time fer." He sent a smirk at Casey and then shoved the apple against Carina's lips, grinding it against them. She opened her mouth and took a bite, the juice running down her chin, too. Two watched her as she chewed the bite, then he leaned forward and licked the juice off her chin, his tongue moving slow.

Finished, he looked at Chuck as he savored the juice. "That's apple's a good 'un." He walked over and got on his horse.

Number One looked at the three of them and at Steve on the ground. He glanced back down the road. The trampled body of Bob was visible.

"Okay, we're finished here." He got on his horse and the men backed their horses away, then turned them, and, lashing and yelling, rode away.

Chuck looked to Casey, expecting him to pull his gun, but Casey instead ran to Steve. Chuck, after glancing at Carina, ran down the road to check on the driver.

Bob was prone, dead, his body broken and bloody, his legs at unnatural angles, fingers missing from his hands. Chuck forced himself to turn Bob over, just to be sure. Lord, have mercy! He would never forget Bob's scrambled face.

Chuck closed his eyes and took a deep breath, fighting down nausea that gripped him, threatening to rise. When he opened them, he glanced up the hillside and thought he saw a rider, far away, in the deep, long shadow of a great, green pine. A flash of gold in the dark: the rider evaporated. Chuck blinked, looked again, but saw the rider no more. He was not sure he had seen a rider at all. Maybe it was another infernal spirit.

Chuck stumbled heavily back to the coach, carrying Bob's corpse in his arms. He put it carefully inside the coach. Casey had Steve sitting up. Steve was not dead, although he was bleeding from his shoulder and from a leg. Casey had bandaged the leg and was holding a bandanna against the man's shoulder. Carina was talking to the two of them in a quiet voice. She watched Chuck put the driver's body in the coach and then she crossed to him.

"Listen, Boston. I appreciate what you did and all, but never, ever do it again. I can take care of myself, and I'll be damned if you'll get yourself killed defending my honor." She glared at him for a moment, then her face softened. She leaned forward and kissed his lips. "And I do thank you - but only this once." Chuck nodded and picked up his pillowcase.

They put Steve in the coach. He was good to travel. Carina was going tend to him. Chuck joined Casey up top and they started again for Idaho Falls.

Casey growled, "We should make it before pitch dark."

A/N: Still getting started. Chapters will get much longer soon, longer than is usual for me. Expect the next chapter on Thursday.

I will not be providing much in A/Ns during this story. I'll let it speak for itself.

I will say a quick word or two here at the beginning. First, I am playing fast and loose with history. Although the actual history of Idaho Falls will figure in the story, it will not be presented historically. For example, in 1885, Idaho Falls was still known as Eagle Rock - but I am going ahead and calling it 'Idaho Falls' because that is the name I want. Second, I will also generally respect the geographical reality of the area as it was, but I will change it here and there as needed. Third, despite appearances, I'm not all that interested in period dialogue or period talk. I'm using it some, but mainly for color and as a way of further individuating certain characters.

Let me know if you are interested in this story: post a review or send a PM. Not yet sure how much interest there is in a Western. I very much appreciate those who have responded.