Alien Artifacts Read online

  Loretta stood in place for a long while, watching the man go. She smelled the lingering smoke from his cigarette and knew she was tasting hellfire. If the man from Cheyenne wasn’t the devil himself, then he’d surely be the one to kick her down into Hades with Judas and Bob Ford. Unless she managed to ruin those two homesteaders and clean her slate, and she was fairly certain of her conviction to do so.

  * * *

  Further to the north of Rawlins, past a rounded mound of granite bearing the names of westward folk like a ledger of audacious commitment, a woman by the name of Ella Watson stood upon the porch of her cabin and brought a match to her lantern. For a moment, she simply stood, watching the starshot horizon with a countenance that could have been taken for suspicion or awe. She watched for a long time.

  Finally, Ella knelt down over the front steps and pried off a slab of wood to reveal a tattered flour sack wrapped around something without consistent form. With marked delicacy, she removed the sack and its contents and strolled across her land draped in lantern light.

  After a mile she came upon her cattle. They were healthy and docile, nuzzling her thighs as she passed. She hummed one of her favorite lullabies while she swept her lantern in a steady arc, looking for the right spot. When she noticed a dry patch on the land, barren and tough as caliche, she placed the sack down atop that desiccated earth.

  The cattle gathered around while Ella waited. As the minutes ticked by she dimmed the lantern more and more until it was snuffed out.

  A light within the flour sack bloomed just then, deep and blue. Ella took a few steps back.

  The earth below the sack rumbled and heaved as if some long-buried corpse had returned to life and sought the sky. Then, quietly at first, a steady stream of water seeped up through the cracks. Then more and more. Soon it was flowing with all the ferocity of a freshly-dug well, out and about in all directions with no sign of slowing.

  Ella picked up the flour sack and pulled it tighter around its glowing contents.

  “Walk with me?” she asked.

  The blue glow leached away and coalesced nearby, taking humanly form with its head hidden beneath a cowl of stars. The specter formed lips and whispered words in a tongue Ella had never heard before until it replied in a voice eerily similar to her own.

  “You lead and I’ll follow,” said the specter.

  Ella smiled and the two strolled side-by-side for a time in silence. “Again, I have to thank you for the water. The river is adequate but not enough for the sum of our troubles.”

  “No thanks are required.”

  “That’s what you always say.”

  The specter tilted its head as if confused. “I was made for your troubles, my friend.”

  “And which of those stars overhead took pity on me?”

  “No pity was involved. My construction was effected with the intent to support a righteous cause.”

  “I’m just a small-time rancher,” Ella said. “Not sure if I’d call it a righteous cause.”

  “You equate small with meaningless. There are no small acts. Providing food for the world, shelter for those who need it, living a life steeped in compassion. Your cause is righteous and you will find support from me.”

  “You sure know how to flatter a lady.”

  “If it was not so,” said the specter, “it would not be said.”

  * * *

  Loretta Vaine sat naked on the bank of the Sweetwater River, rubbing her dusted clothes together in the shallows before she dipped into the chill herself. A scoundrel’s baptism, as the miners up in Deadwood called it; outward purification to give the illusion of spiritual immaculacy. She’d have to get close to the homesteaders to get a good shot, and folks rarely abided the approach of a soiled dove.

  She ran her hands through her black hair and they came back muddied. With a groan, she slipped beneath the river’s surface. Through the billowing grime that built up around her, she could see the glint of the Colt’s revolver on the bank. Loretta didn’t resurface until the air in her lungs started to burn.

  By midday, she came upon the homesteaders’ barbed wire fence. She walked the perimeter, running a pine branch through her tangled hair, hoping to come upon some kind of gate, but finding none.

  “Aw, fuck it.”

  Loretta tossed away her branch and attempted to slip through. She felt one of the barbs grab at her shoulder and she recoiled and bucked, tangling her completely.

  Before she could stop herself, she screamed. She screamed so loudly she had to bring her free hand up to stifle herself. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Tears ran over her fingers.

  Like a trapped animal, she eventually quit struggling and simply hung there in acceptance. Before she could work out a plan, a young man on a horse came riding up to her.

  She couldn’t begin to figure out where he’d come from, but she reached to the small of her back and aimed the revolver in his direction. The young man pulled the horse to a stop.

  “Woah,” he said. “What’re you doin’?”

  Loretta fingered the trigger, only hesitating when she realized this man’s last worldly image would be of her tangled up in a barbed wire fence. “This your land?” she asked, her arm already tired.

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Jus’ what in the hell’re you doin’ out here?”

  “I mend the fences, ma’am.”

  “Mend the fences?”

  “Yes’m.”

  “Who do ya mend the fences fer?”

  The young man, wide-eyed, angled a thumb over his shoulder. “Fer Ella and Jimmy. They got a herd of cattle grazin’ and I can’t let none of ‘em get out. Gotta check the fences every day, they said. That’s how I earn my keep. Gosh, ma’am, are you gonna shoot me?”

  “You wanna be shot?”

  “Reckon I don’t. Had me some unclean thoughts about Miss Morris back in Rawlins and I ain’t repented that yet.”

  “If you cut me outta this jackpot, I won’t shoot you.”

  The young man exhaled. “Well, dang, I was gonna cut you out anyhow.”

  He slid down off his horse, striding unafraid towards Loretta with a pair of wire cutters as though he’d taken her completely at her word. When the task was done, she quickly scrambled to her feet and aimed the revolver again.

  “You said you weren’t gonna shoot me.”

  “I ain’t.”

  “Then why’re you pointin’ that at me?”

  Loretta felt tired, unable to think clearly. “I ain’t gonna shoot.”

  The young man pointed at her. “That wire gotcha purdy good. Yer bleedin’. You know that, right?”

  “Bleedin’.”

  “Look, Ella knows how to sew people up. I cut my leg in the corral and she stitched me shut like a torn pair of jeans.”

  “Bleedin’.” Loretta dropped the revolver to the ground and felt her shoulder with the same hand. It came back bright red. She went woozy and unsteady.

  “Bleedin’,” she said—and took one step before tipping over into the dirt.

  * * *

  They lashed the cabin to a team of horses and hollered out into the big sky to get the whole operation going. The building moved slowly at first, fighting the logs that rolled beneath its foundation like treads, but momentum was swiftly gained. Inch by inch, the cabin advanced along the prairie, with new logs being added to the front after the last ones rolled out the back.

  “And you put the work order in for the new fence?” asked the man from Cheyenne. “The paperwork’s already been approved. I don’t need nobody riding through noticing the cabin’s gone missing.”

  The foreman overseeing the cabin’s relocation spat black chaw onto the ground and nodded. “Work’s already progressin’, sir. Be surprised if they ain’t got the first two hundred yards put up by now.”

  “Good, good.”

  “We still headin’ for the parcel next to the Sweetwater?”

  “Just to the north of Ella Watson and Jim Averell’s parcel.”

  The
foreman laughed. “Got ‘em all surrounded, sir. Like an Injun war band.”

  “I’ve already sent in a third party to negotiate new terms. I’m hoping they’ll come peaceable and we won’t have to resort to more aggressive measures.”

  At that, the foreman appeared uncomfortable. “Aggressive measures? You’d have yerself a helluva case to make, sir. Averell’s justice of the peace out there.”

  “He’s justice of the peace in a town he built. He’s even postmaster for christsake. I’m telling you, they’re hiding something. Their land is green as Eden, even through the last frost. It ain’t natural. All that aside, I’ll bet they have a load of mavericks pinned up behind that fence of theirs. Maybe even a few of them cattle are rebranded.”

  “But you don’t believe that, do you? Ain’t no one round ‘ere is gonna take Watson and Averell fer maverickers.”

  “I don’t believe in falsities,” said the man from Cheyenne. “I believe in the tangible. I believe in what can be made true. Look at this.” He motioned to the cabin on the move. “Look at this! Law says I need a cabin on a parcel ‘fore it’s mine. I believe I will have a cabin on that new Sweetwater parcel tomorrow, and I believe I will own that land the day after.”

  He brought a hand down on the foreman’s shoulder. “My faith does not extend into the unwritten. If it is yet unwritten when I arrive, I will write it. Watson and Averell will relinquish their parcel to me, and all within that allows their second-rate cattle to thrive. And if it is not so when I arrive at their doorstep, I will make it so.”

  * * *

  “Now what kinda girl brandishing a revolver faints at the sight of blood?”

  “Ralph says she was askin’ about you. You and Jimmy.”

  “That what Ralph said?”

  “Said that’s just about the first thing she asked. She wanted to know who owns this land. That’s what Ralph said, anyhow.”

  Loretta’s eyes fluttered, allowing light back into the sickly fog of her mind. She saw a bloodied thread and needle being pulled away from her shoulder, tugged lightly. Rough fingers sent it back into her skin.

  “Who d’ya think sent her up this way, Ella? Doubt she come of her own volition.”

  “Who do you think sent her? ‘Cause I think I know for damn certain.”

  “You think they’d do that? You think they’re stoopin’ to that level already?”

  “Buchanan, they been stooped for a long time. The second Bothwell realized he couldn’t free graze in this area no more, those gears, boy, they have been a-turnin’. Seeing my cattle are actually thriving must’ve been the final insult. Jimmy’s had a few run-ins with him since, and the bastard called me a whore every which way but direct when he took out that article in the Casper Weekly.”

  “Might be he sent this girl out here to test the waters,” said Buchanan. “Probably you should consider the threat in earnest, just sell over to the man.”

  “Ain’t nothing in the law says I’ve done something wrong,” said Ella.

  “They own the goddamn law. They own the papers. All that time you and Jimmy spent tryin’ to get a damn cattle brand approved, the only reason you need a brand in the first place, that’s them. The unseen hand of the cattlemen.”

  “I know that very well, Buchanan.”

  “Then you know what’s comin’. A storm you can’t weather. You should take Jimmy, the boys, and that damned heaven-sent apparatus out of the territory. Out to Californee.”

  “Following the Donners. I’m sure that’ll turn out right as all—hey!”

  Ella’s hand clamped down on Loretta’s wrist. Loretta had grabbed hold of a bottle of whiskey with the intent of hitting the person closest to her. Ella took the bottle away and gripped Loretta hard by the cheeks.

  “Just what in the hell were you thinking?” Ella asked. “Against my better judgment I stopped your bleeding and stitched you up proper, even though Buchanan here tells me you were asking after me and my husband with pistol in hand.”

  Loretta said nothing.

  “That’s fine. You don’t gotta say a damned thing ‘cause I already know what there is to tell. Did Bothwell send you?”

  Loretta looked around. She was splayed out on a dinner table in a dimly-lit cabin with little beyond a few shelves, a small range, and a water basin. Her eyes flicked to Buchanan, who stood with his hands crossed around her Colt’s revolver. He shook his head as if to dissuade her from making the attempt.

  Ella turned Loretta’s head back to face her. “Did Bothwell send you?”

  “I dunno,” said Loretta. “I knowed it was a man who woulda had no problem killin’ me right there in the street. That’s all I needed to know.”

  “Was he from Cheyenne? Ornery bastard with nice clothes and a pointed beard?”

  “Yeah.”

  Ella looked to Buchanan. “I think that’s our man, don’t you?”

  Buchanan shrugged.

  She turned back to Loretta. “He sent you here to kill me and Jimmy, right?”

  “To kill you both ‘er have you sign over yer land. He didn’t rightly care which.”

  “That goddamn—and how did he get you involved in all this? You ain’t his usual muscle.”

  Loretta didn’t answer immediately, feeling something resembling embarrassment. “I was tryin’ to get some money to make it back east. Tried to sell a cow ain’t been branded yet in Rawlins. The man found me ‘fore I could find a buyer. He held out that there revolver and said I had to kill or be killed, and there weren’t no way ‘round it.”

  Ella released her, appearing shocked at the girl’s tale. “And you decided killing two folks was worth getting you outta trouble?”

  “Worth keepin’ me from gettin’ strung up.”

  “You wouldn’t feel bad about that? You wouldn’t lose any sleep after we were dead and gone?”

  “I’d be able to sleep in the first place, wouldn’t I? Can’t have regrets er lose no sleep if yer already dead.”

  “Yer just a little ball of sunshine, ain’t ya?”

  “Momma didn’t raise no lady ‘fore she died. And Swearengen kept a book of etiquette in the Gem Saloon fer laughs, but he had it hollowed out and kept a snubnose in there.”

  Ella took the Colt’s revolver from Buchanan and held it in front of Loretta. “You might be thinking to yourself that you still might be able to kill me. Wait for Jimmy to come by, kill him, too. But let me tell you something about the men by whom you presently find yourself employed:

  “They are not men, first and foremost. They do not play by rules commonly held by other civilized beings. They are monsters and they own everything resembling structure in this territory. Even if you succeeded in your little mission, they’ll kill you anyhow. Not just because you’re a loose end, ‘cause you are, but simply because they can. And they will. And no one will be there to look over your corpse and say an injustice was done, ‘cause there ain’t no one watching between you and the Almighty who ain’t already paid off.”

  Ella unlatched the cylinder, checked the number of cartridges that had been loaded. She took notice of the seventh cartridge they had found in Loretta’s pack and laughed to herself.

  “I noticed that too,” said Buchanan.

  “Seven cartridges.” Ella placed the seventh in Loretta’s palm, closed up the girl’s fingers around it. “I think that one belongs to you.”

  Loretta rolled the cartridge around in her hand, taking in every little imperfection as if assessing whether or not it was a good fit for her skull. “So let’s say I don’t kill you and yer husband. Let’s say I spit in this Bothwell’s face and bring down his wrath. What do you expect me to do?”

  Ella removed a bonnet from a hat rack by the door, tied it around her head with precision. “You said you need money to make it back east?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well I got things need to be done around the ranch. You work, you get paid. Do neither, you had best start running for the hills. Maybe all the way back to the Black Hills, ‘caus
e I’m not so sure I could draw a line on the map the cattlemen won’t cross.”

  Loretta pondered her way through the proposition. Killing Ella and her husband, Jimmy, was still her favorite of the options available but she couldn’t make that happen without her revolver. Running away came in at a close second, but without money she wasn’t going to get very far down the road. She already knew that from experience: fleeing Deadwood with twenty-three dollars in her pocket, thinking it would be more than enough.

  It wasn’t.

  Ella had money and Loretta’s weapon, and with most of the territory off-limits thanks to this Bothwell character, remaining here was the best option in an undesirable situation.

  Loretta swung her legs off the table and rolled her shoulder around to ease the pain and stiffness. “This job of yers,” she asked. “How much does it pay?”

  * * *

  The man from Cheyenne sat in the darkness, rocking in a chair with a steady wisp of smoke paying out of his lips. In the depths of his thoughts, he’d not noticed the sun had set.

  Behind him was the whole of the settlement that carried his namesake. Bothwell was a town in name only, a name that led back to a single office and acres of unrealized potential. Even the office itself contained little beyond a few desks and a printing press from which the Sweetwater Chief was published and sent out into Carbon County to be read by few, often out of obligation.

  Rage swelled within him, as it did most nights he was left alone with his thoughts. He wanted what Watson and Averell had behind their fences, whatever it was that kept their land green and lush during the harsh winters and downright suffocating summers. No matter the climate, their land was practically the Fertile Crescent at all times of the year.

  He’d heard the rumors, of Watson carrying something out into her fields that brought water to the surface as if she was both a diviner and the well-digger. Of the unnatural light that hovered around those spots as though an aurora had been reeled down to earth.