‘The Monster of Mesa Flats’

By Phineas Redux

Contact – phineasredux003@Gmail.com

—OOO—

Summary:— Henrietta ‘Harry’ Knappe and Sally ‘Snapshot’ Nichols, Deputies and lovers in 1870’s Red Flume, Arizona Territory, USA, discover strange manifestations around and on a large mountain.

Note :— Influenced by the ‘Wolfville’ stories of Alfred Henry Lewis.

Copyright:— copyright ©2024 Phineas Redux. All characters are wholly fictitious representations, and the overall local geography may be questionable, too.

—O—

The village of Mesa Flats lay some hundred or so miles south of Red Flume but still within its judicial aura, which explained the presence on this June evening of 187- of Deputies Henrietta Knappe and Sally Nichols. The outpost taking its name from a nearby feature of the landscape, Turnpike Mesa, lying some three miles further south; the Gibson River meandering past the foot of the mesa before flowing on to just miss the village itself. The mesa, a largely steep-sided hill, stood some 325 feet high with the usual generally flat top, nothing else of such altitude anywhere nearby apart from the foothills of the Kempton Range peaking embarrassedly over the horizon some 15 miles further south still.

Mesa Flats had developed from an early way-station for passing stagecoaches, now almost reaching the glorious heights of a small village though, of course, the citizens would go about calling themselves residents of an actual township. The Deputies, on arrival, had managed to find accomodation in the only Hotel present—they taking temporary ownership of one of the eight empty rooms available; there being only the nine, one other being inhabited by the man who ran the Faro table at the Pink Garter saloon, an occupation always calling for a fast getaway when required at short notice. And it is within the hallowed confines of this room we first meet our heroes.

“Dam’ decrepit place!” Sally not letting politeness get in the way of truth.

“A trifle dusty, sure.” Henrietta taking it far more pragmatically. “Y’hardly expec’ a posse o’servants t’be hauntin’ a place like this with feather dusters, bullied on by the in-house Butler, d’ya?”

“Would help some, though.” Sally not giving up her position without a fight, as always.

“Waal, jus’ roll with the dice, OK?” Henrietta throwing the last of the contents of her capacious saddlebag on the threadbare bed coverlet. “Let’s git t’sortin’ our bits an’ pieces out, hey!”

Five minutes later the small chamber had taken on the look of a drawing-room in a private dwelling hosted by two upper-class Ladies of leisure, they always liking a touch of comfort around them when at ease.

“Looks better now, eh?”

“Some.” Sally not so easily to be dragged from her mental  Slough of Despond, like a winkle from its shell with a sharp pin.

Henrietta, well used to the gloomy outlook of her partner, heaved a short sigh and got on with Life.

“So, what’s the plan fer this evenin’?”

Here Sally snapped to attention, the appearance of action in the immediate future always bringing her to life; if, sadly, for all the wrong reasons.

“We go over t’the Pink Garter, say view halloo t’the owner, Gibbs, or Gabbs, or Gabriel, or whatever—”

“Harvey!”

“Yeah, whatever!” Sally not to be side-tracked by minor details. “Ask him t’give us the latest lowdown on the accidents, or attacks more likely, out at the Mesa, an’ go from thar.”

“Yeah, about covers it.” Henrietta reaching for her hat, glad her amour had at least this basic level of understanding of the position. “Come on, evenin’s turnin’ in’ta sharp night as we confabulates h’yar t’no purpose.”

—O—

The saloon’s rear private office was capacious with a strong heavy door, though the noise of the crowded bar still penetrated like the dull roar of mighty waves on a shingle beach. A wide desk protected the owner of the establishment in his cushioned chair while mere visitors had to make do with two rather rickety hard-backed seats of dubious age and even more dubious construction.

“Glad t’see y’both, so quick too.” He smiling broadly at his visitors. “I’d offer ceegars but—”

“Yeah, thanks, but skip it.” Henrietta pursing her lips in something resembling disgust.

“Ah, yeah, sure.” The man shuffling in his chair, acknowledging the social faux pas. “I’m Jake Harvey, by the bye; you two—?”

“Harry Knappe; this here’s my pard Sal Nichols.”

“Right-right; right fine t’meet y’both, I’m sure.” Harvey pausing, seeming somewhat reluctant to continue the conversation past this initial stepping-stone.

“So, what’s up?” Sally cutting the Gordian Knot with cold efficiency and her usual lack of concern for a person’s feelings.

“Eh, what!” Harvey taken off-guard.

“Your problem, buster.” Sally losing the little tattle of patience she was ever imbued with. “We both didn’t come h’yar from distant Ophir, meanin’ Red Flume, jes’ fer the healin’ waters. So?”

“Ah-umm-yes, quite.” Harvey still seeming to face a brick wall against which he had no hammer or other manner of attack.

“Look, mister,” Henrietta, as ever, coming to the assistance of tongue-tied witnesses. “let’s take it like this; you jus’ tell us what y’know yersel, or whatever nonsense others’ has tol’ ye, OK? Jes’ git started an’ you’ll be surprised how dam’ hard it is t’stop agin’. Go fer it!”

So ordered Harvey took the bit between his teeth and finally got down to facts, or something like.

“Waal, don’t take what I’m about t’say as dyed in the wool fact, leddies.” He hedging his bets like a good card player. “Only most hearsay an’ whatever, OK?”

“Git on.” Sally, impatient, sneering in a manner to have frightened the mighty Assyrians of Old.

So pushed to his limits Harvey grunted, took a deep breath, and let it all loose.

“Waal, it’s like this, a week since—yeah, must be al’la a week, yeah—I was moseyin’ roun’ the saloon in amongst the customers when I heerd a tall tale tol’ by one o’my reg’lars. Bein’ sich—a reg’lar, I means, I took little note at the time, his tale bein’ so up in the air an’ unsensible, y’unnerstan’.”

“So, fill us in now, jes’ the gist’ll do.” Sally meanwhile making a strange noise through gritted teeth.

“Ah, what it was, was—this h’yar tale came straight from the lips—some inebriated, I allows, of Larry Tooks, a reg’lar o’the Bar as I sez.” Harvey seemingly unable to stop repeating himself no matter what. “What he had t’offer, as some kind’a reminiscence or whatever, was thet four days previous t’him allowin’ of what happened in amongst us all thet time a week since—”

“Look, Mister Harvey,” Henrietta herself becoming less than enchanted by this rambling nonsense. “Try’n be more spee-cific if’n possible; only the bare facts, like Mister Gradgrind in thet book, OK?”

Harvey, aware as he sadly was of his own shortcomings, hardly looked encouraged, but gave it his best anyway.

“OK-OK—, whar was I, betimes?”

Sally cracked—

“Jeesus! Nowhar—no dam’ whar at all. Git a dam’ grip, buster, an’ tell yer tale afore we both h’yar dies o’old age an’ the dreaded lurgy!”

“What—what Tooks said,” Harvey facing the challenge like a hero. “Was t’the effec’ thet he’d bin riding along the trail from Pecomsah, ten mile south, back h’yar, an’ was passin’ close by the west side o’the Mesa, as y’must followin’ the trail—”

“Harvey?” Sally trying again with cold inflection.

“Yeah, ma’am?”

“Clarity—is thet too much t’ask? Clarity. Go!”

“Auurph! Waal, lem’me see, whar was Tooks? Oh, yeah, passin’ the mesa. Waal, he was doin’ jes’ thet, passin’ the mesa, I means, late in the affer’noon when what should occur, out’ta the dam’ blue, too?”

The silence accompanying this question wafted through the close air of the room as if one of the ancient Epochs, perhaps the Permian, was trying to reassert itself before Henrietta found inner strength to carry on the faltering conversation.

“Harve, we, Sal h’yar an’ I, both feel thet you’re gettin’ somewhar in this tale—somewhar far distant but still somewhar. What say ye take a hold o’your inner intellec’s, whatever amount o’sich ye may possess, an’ give it yer best, OK?”

More than a little affected by this put-down given so ruthlessly in the form of a pick-me-up Harvey glanced round his office as if searching for safety or relief from some unseen benefactor. Finding nothing of the sort available he resorted to the Old Specific in place of it. Fumbling in a drawer of his desk he produced a tall bottle of Red Grain whisky and a short glass. Filling the second of these objects with practiced  skill he took a pull which emptied it in one swallow. Looking as if this was still a trifle insufficient he glanced in embarassment at his visitors then refilled his glass to take another mighty swallow before replacing his glass on the desk with a sigh or relief originating from the very depths of his heart.

“Gods, needed thet, sure ‘nuff!”

Neither woman spoke, but Sally’s tapping a forefinger on the desktop with a menacing demeanor brought the saloon keeper back to the heart of the problem.

“So, ah, so, lem’me see—yeah, Tooks went on, sayin’ somethin’ t’the effec’ he’d bin ridin’ by the Mesa in the growin’ dusk when what should happen but a mighty rock—a dam’ boulder the size of a biscuit barrel—came whistlin’ through the air like t’have bin fired from a cannon an’ landed in a puff of dust jes’ ten feet or so from his hoss. Leavin’ it, the rock thet is, embedded in a crater thet dam’ near covered it over. Hoss shied so much he dam’ near came close t’breakin’ his own neck, so he said. What yer think o’thet, Ladies?”

Henrietta shrugged unconcernedly while Sally snorted through set lips.

“What d’we think? We, both of us h’yar, think Tooks was far gone in imbecility an’ drunkeness the likes o’which hasn’t bin seen in these h’yar parts since Happy Halloran went on thet booze fuelled rampage seven yar since, is what we thinks, Harve.”

Harvey meanwhile was taking this pause to empty his glass in the time honored manner before refilling it ready for the next round; he clearly being a  connoisseur of the fermented grain.

“Aah, no, leddies, thar’s more—”

“Oh, God!” From Sally, close to her limits.

“Havin’ listened t’this tale, an’ given it all the contempt it deserved, I put it t’the back o’my mind, like any sensible person would. But, two days later, who should mosey along but Ted Waters, from the Double Bar spread five mile off.”

Another silence, but the ladies beginning to get the tone of how to handle these.

“We’re all agog, Harve, keep it up, don’t stop now, jes’ when ye’d gotten in’ta a gallop.” Henrietta coming over all sarcastic, with good reason.

“So, er, so, Ted had a story t’add t’Tooks’s, y’see.” Harvey mumbling as if he was losing his grip on the direction of his tale. “Said t’me straight in this room, h’yar as we speaks this evenin’ it was; he said he’d bin passin’ by the Mesa his’sel’ when what should come out’ta the blue but a mighty big rock size o’his saddle, flew by his head missin’ same by inches an’ hit the groun’ some five feet by his mount. Couldn’t work out whar it came from exac’, but had the impression it was from high on the Mesa itsel’, all the same, distant as it was.”

“How distant?” Sally searching for establishable fact in this tale of fancy.

“Oh, ‘bout some two hunner’ yards, all tol’, he affirmed. Don’t know how exac’ his numbers was, o’course, but thet’s what he said.”

“Any follow-up t’this, on both parts?” Henrietta covering the valid and relevant points.

“Follow-up?” Harvey at sea on this issue.

“Did anythin’ else occur, t’either o’these tale-tellers, apart from the rock throwin’?” Sally helping out her partner, though with furrowed brow.

“Ah, not t’my knowledge, no.” Harvey shrugging, eyeing his empty glass with a clearly growing regret. “But thet ain’t the end o’it yet, neither.”

Sally, having bid her patience a fond farewell a long time since, just growled in her throat like one of the grizzlies Henrietta hunted as a pastime in her quieter hours.

“If it’s another dam’ rock—”

“Nah, nuthin’ like!” Harvey almost enthused by this palpable miss on his listener’s part. “Conrad de Winters, he as owns the Dry Goods Store hereabouts, was up atop o’the Mesa jus’ four days since, an’ foun’ the body.”

This unexpected fact coming out of the blue so suddenly at last focused the attention of the two women; a definite likely crime they could deal with finally coming to the fore.

“A body?” Sally first in with the relevant query. “Whose?”

“An’ how’d they die?” Henrietta coming in a respectable second.

Working swiftly Harvey had meanwhile managed to refill his glass so quickly the event almost passed by the two watchers without noticing. A few seconds rolled meaninglessly on while he imbibed the intoxicating liquor and he was ready to continue the odyssey.

“We don’t know—nobody knows!” Harvey nodding, at last assured of the reality of his facts. “Doc Peters put the body on show in his Surgery fer all t’come an’ gawk at an’ possible identify, but thar weren’t no takers—had t’final bury him in a what they calls, I believe, a post-house grave in the end, two days since.”

“How’d he die?” Sally speaking in a monotone which would have given anyone who knew her well goosebumps as to what might well be expected in the near future.

“Pounded t’a pulp, well within the meanin’ o’the term; saw the body, or what thar was left o’sich, mysel’—not a pretty sight; ye’ll be glad yersel’s ye’ve come too late t’set on eyes on it pes’nal, believe me!”

The tale having come to some sort of a conclusion Henrietta and Sally gave the situation some concentrated thought; Harvey simply staring at his whisky bottle clearly working up enough brazenness to take yet another slug if opportunity allowed.

“Some loafer or deadbeat crouchin’ up on the Mesa with a slingshot, takin’ out folks fer the fun o’the thing?” Henrietta making public a theory, if one hardly sustainable in the long run.

“Size o’those boulders, I think not.” Harvey confident on this score. “Anyway’s, the body was beat t’death some pes’nal, like I said. One on one contac’, no doubt o’it. Whoever it was must’a bin, is far’s we kin tell, some big an’ strong. But no slingshot, no; don’t know how he flings the boulders off’n the Mesa, but thar must be some sort’a way o’doin’ so ‘cause, obvious, he did!”

“Didn’t this Winters see anythin’ else when he was thar?” Sally covering a point of interest to one and all.

“Sez not,” Harvey shrugging unconcernedly at this question. “Didn’t stay long enuff t’take note o’his surroundings after findin’ the body; well, y’wouldn’t, would ye?”

“Who went up t’recover it?” Henrietta still on the ball, professionally.

“We ain’t got a Sheriff, nor nuthin’ like, here,” Harvey shrugging again. “So, final, it was a posse of shop-owners, me included, thet took it on our part t’bring the deceased back t’ceevilisation, thet is h’yar in Mesa Flats.”

“An’ none o’ye saw anythin out’ta the or’nary yersel’s?” Sally delving for the least detail.

“Nah, nuthin’ t’see, I bein’ a pes’nal observer of sich mysel’. Jes’ the flat top o’the Mesa, bare rock all roun’, no caves or tents or shacks; no sign o’‘umanity whatever.”

“Was it actually on top of the Mesa?” Henrietta covering a further point of order. “I mean, not lyin’ on some lower slope or ledge or whatever?”

“Only one way up, if’n yer not a rock-climber kin slide up vertical walls with hammers an’ metal pins an’ ropes n’sichlike. A long scree slope, only way thar is o’reachin’ the top, vertical cliffs otherwise protectin’ it all roun’, ‘part from the slope.”

“Were thar any traces at all?” Sally determined to find something along required lines if she choked trying. “I’m thinkin’ about spoor someone like a skilled tracker could follow? We kin find someone appropriate at the drop of a hat back in Red Flume, if necessary.”

Harvey had the grace to give this question some prolonged thought, before shrugging absently in reply.

“Meb’be; but none o’us present were expert enuff t’see anythin’ along those lines, nah. You could easy, I allows, send a tracker up t’give the area the once-over, but the likelihood o’findin’ any trace at this time o’day, days later, is unlikely t’say the least; but don’t let me stop ye none.”

“Thar been any more incidents since?” Henrietta asking the inevitable. “Or has anyone else gone on up the Mesa t’investigate on their own part, out’ta interest or whatever?”

“Nah, nobody h’yar stupid enuff fer thet grift, ma’am.” Harvey assured on this score if nothing else. “Thet’s why we sent t’Red Flume fer the Professionals; the which bein’ yersel’s. Hopes ye kin come t’some conclusion some quick. Not a thing thet imbues confidence in the populace at large, y’knows,—havin’ a murderous madman on the loose. Hopes yer both successful in yer hunt fer same, an’ wishes ye both well in doin’ so, I’m sure.”

“This de Winters, where does he hang his tile when at home or play?” Henrietta following the trail of the only other witness of note.

“Winters?” Harvey shrugging at the same time as giving-in to over-powering need and refilling his glass yet again. “Find him, this time o’day, at his store; Dry Goods on Parnell Street, jes’ by the corner o’Tomahawk Avenue; t’the right as ye goes out’ta here, leddies.”

—O—

The store, selling those items generally coming under the generic title of ‘Dry’, proved to be of its kind right down to the loose biscuit barrels on the wooden floor and the strong aroma of vegetables and spices from other open cartons lying on various tables and counters. At the far end of the long room a further counter protected the presence of the owner himself. Standing some five feet five inches tall, if that is the correct term, and of a portly girth, the wide spread of his waist counteracting the barren nature of his skull, Conrad had, at least, an all-encompassing smile of welcome specifically engineered to make the unsuspecting customer feel it to be a failure of simple politeness on their part not to open their purses and fling dollars around like confetti at a wedding. Henrietta, and especially Sally, however were long hardened cases, not feeling this vibe of the store at all as they strode through the dark interior to face its owner with stern mien, both.

“You Winters?” Henrietta, having had quite enough of the easy come easy go manner, starting the interrogation the way she wanted it to continue.

“Conrad de Winters, yeah.” Conrad acknowledging he knew who he was when required. “What kin I git ye t’day, leddies? Vegetables? Got new potatoes jes’ in; or carrots, similar, mighty fine quality; or kail, fresh out’ta Miss’s Carter’s garden. Or cloth fer a’makin’ whatever? Best quality cotton this side the Pecos, leddies, not a word o’ a lie. Or whatever else may be takin’ yer fancies this afternoon—jes’ say, an’ if I ain’t got it t’hand I kin straight git it within the week, thet bein’ my promise double-dyed an’ stamped before witnesses an’ the local Judge, thet time he was sober, thet is.”

“Y’see our Stars?” Sally jumping into the fray without fear or favor. “We be Depities out’ta Red Flume, come h’yar t’investigate the late happenin’s aroun’ Turnpike Mesa—the boulders, an’ dead bodies associated so with it. Hear tell ye yersel were up thar an’ foun’ someone in a state o’bein’ very much not alive no more, whoever the hell he turns out t’be. What’s the story a’hind thet, if’n I may ask—an’ I does some singular an’ definite right now, so git along with it.”

“Yeah, an’ t’start things off on the right hoof,” Henrietta re-establishing her primary dominance. “jes’ what took ye up thar in the first place? Ye must’a heerd some folks had bin attacked, more’n less, by flyin’ boulders tharaways. So what took ye thar; got a death wish, or whatever?”

“Flora, an’ rocks in gen’ral, ma’am—thet is, ma’am’s!” Conrad looking somewhat peeved. “Cain’t a fel’la have a hobby no more? I like flowers, an’ rocks—geology, y’knows. It, they, bein’ my hobby, hobbies; the which takes up my time when’s I ain’t a’hind this dam’ counter, OK?”

Sally sighed, realising it was going to be another of those kind of conversations.

“You like flowers? And rocks? What the Hell’s thar t’like about dam’ rocks? Y’bin out in the sun too long, over the course o’late yar’s, may I ask?”

Conrad, stung on that part of him most susceptible to criticism, came out fighting.

“Geology, ma’am; sich bein’ a major consarn o’mighty big Bigwigs, with Letters after thar names, back in Washington, not t’say other yet seats o’larnin’. All sorts’a rocks o’rare quality t’be foun’ round these h’yar parts; fer the lookin’ of ‘em, anyway. Same with the local flora; ye wouldn’t believe the rar’ kinds’a flowers ye kin stumble across without hardly realising; jes’ takes a piece o’book readin’ an’ keepin’ yer eyes peeled, an’ Bob’s yer Uncle!”

Henrietta dragged her eyes from a prolonged investigation of the dusty rafters in the store to pin the owner with her cold brown orbs once more; they embedding within their shadowy depths a light and expression which would have impressed the Ancient Medusa if She had been passing by.

“What about the fallin’ boulders, near decapitatin’ various folks dumb enuff t’have ridden by the Mesa over the last few days, or weeks?”

“Took it as exaggeratin’, didn’t I?” Conrad standing his ground like a Hero. “Probable lan’slips or thet kind’a thing. A slide from off’n the Mesa, sure, but all nat’ral as molasses, all the same; the trail skirtin’ roun’ so close an’ all. So, thet weekend, I went on up after both a rar flower I had in my sights, an’ a rock, or gem, at least, thet I knew had a fair chance o’hidin’ in some crack up thar. So’s up I went.”

Both women exchanged glances; Sally grasping her trouser belt, heaving her pants up round her waist as if readying for a fight; Henrietta twisting her shoulders beneath her heavy jacket while adjusting her facial expression to something more in keeping with a social occasion rather than that of an enraged Visigoth ready to go about his, or her, business of rampage, rape, and riot unchecked.

“What about yer hoss?” Henrietta coming down to humble details. “Y’didn’t take it up t’the peak o’the Mesa, I figur’?”

“—‘course not,” Conrad grinning widely at what he perceived as this stab of mirth on his visitor’s part. “left it, reins roun’ a scrub bush near the trail; scrambled up the long scree on the nor-west side—the only way up, ye not havin’ feathers an’ wings yersel, y’see.”

“An’ when ye final got thar?” Sally hoping to push things along a trifle faster to some sort of conclusion.

“Waal, it were jes’ after noon, say about one-thirty. The top o’the Mesa’s rather uneven, not’s as flat as ye’d suppose.” Conrad warming to his theme. “Some inclinations an’ warp’s in the flat surface, ye see; some dee-pressions h’yar an’ thar, some filled with pools o’water. Some wide cracks runnin’ all over the groun’, with dust an’ earth inside, so lettin’ various flowers an’ grasses grow thar. Thet bein’ jes’ what I was after, y’see.”

“An’ the body?” Henrietta coming to the crux with bated breath. “Must’a bin obvious right off’n the mark, surely; no matter the spread o’the summit all roun’? How long’d it take ye t’set eyes on it, then?”

Conrad shrugged, clearly taking into account the lax and innocent attitude of those who had no idea of such things.

“Like I jes’ tol’ ye—the summit, as sich, ain’t a flat Faro table or whatever. It rises an’ drops in waves an’ dee-pressions so’s ye cain’t git a right clar view o’the whole terrain in one go; y’got’ta traverse the whole area o’the place t’see everythin’ thar might be t’see, y’see?”

“How wide’s it, then?” Sally seeking exact details as was her nature.

“Size?” Conrad pausing to consider this difficult question. “Waal, les’see-yeah, I’d say al’la meb’be eight hunner’ yards long, an’ near on four hunner’ yards wide; give or take fifty yards h’yar or thar.”

“Oh, God!”

“An’ thar’s no other way up nor down but this scree everyone an’ their Gran’mothers’ talks of?” Henrietta butting in on her own part.

“Yip, jes’ so. All other sides jes’ vertical cliffs; solid rock. Mostly granite t’begin, then layers o’shale o’differing textures, with a top layer o’sandstone; the whole twenty foot o’the top bed bein’ a layer o’Old Red Sandstone includin’ the summit. Mighty interestin’ in the way it’s, the Mesa, made up, y’know; fer instance the lower deposits—”

“So, the body?” Sally cutting to the quick with almost sadistic clarity.

“Oh-Ah!” Conrad caught short just as he was getting into his stride. “The body, yeah! So, what it was, was, er, first I’d a’ready bin on the summit ‘bout two hours an’ it was comin’ on fer mid-afternoon so’s I made my way over t’a nearby pool o’water, meanin’ ter open my knapsack fer a san’wich an’ take a revivifyin’ drink—jes’ the water ye know! Anyway, I was halfway t’the pool when I came t’one o’those dee-pressions I tol’ ye of earlier. An’ thar, plain as daylight, an’ thar was plenty o’thet t’hand I allows, the body lay. All spread out on the bare rock, centre o’ a widespread pool o’blood—it havin’ bin, if ye allows the expression, squished almost flat—bones protrudin’ whar they gen’ral shouldn’t, y’know. Head fairly untouched, I allows, but the body! Dear-Dear!”

Sally sighed once more.

“Heerd Doc Peters managed t’put him, it, him, on show in his Surgery, nonetheless?”

“Yeah.” Conrad grinning at the thought. “Wouldn’t have given two bits thet sich was possible mysel’, knowin’ first-hand the state o’the remains, but he did. Wrapped it mostly in white sheets, leavin’ only the head on view, fer identifyin’ purposes, y’know—but nobody did.”

“Yeah, so we hear.” Henrietta bringing the interview to a conclusion. “Well, thanks.”

“No trouble, at all. Sure ye ain’t in need o’a bucket o’peas or beans afore ye goes? Or a length o’calico or whatever? No? Oh, well!”

—O—

Close up Turnpike Mesa didn’t look much different from any other flat-topped mesa in the Territory; both Henrietta and Sally sitting their saddles the next day staring at the high cliffs before them with little enthusiasm.

“What was it Winters tol’ us about the way this thing’s made up, agin?”

Henrietta, from her saddle’s viewpoint, frowned over this question, bringing the details back to mind.

“Said it was made of a bottom layer of granite, lightish grey in colour—y’kin see right clar it is, too. Then thar’s a layer o’several different kinds of what he called shale, gritty hard-packed gravel sort’a thing, final topped off by a thick layer of Old Red Sandstone, makin’ up the whole summit area. See how thar’r various bands? Light grey, various darker greys’, near blacks’, then the red at the top?”

“Yeah, sure; but look at the dam’ cliffs? Straight an’ vertical all the way, not even a dam’ fly could climb those. Whar’s this scree folks depend on?”

“Over t’the left some, figur’.” Henrietta peering in that direction, hand held to her brow as shade. “Need t’ride roun’ this side more t’the north a way yet, I think.”

“B-gg-r!” Sally not happy at all, adjusting her wide-brimmed hat with a jerk of a gloved hand. “All I sez is, if’n we’re really gon’na climb t’the dam’ top o’this dam’ mountain thar better dam’ be somethin’ worth seein’ when we gits thar’s all, dam’mit!”

“Thet’s the spirit, gal; come on!”

Ten minutes later they had found the singular route to the Mesa’s pinnacle; a long gravelly scree stretching from the very height of the hill to the ground in a long slope of loose pebbles intermingled with a few larger stones. This having cut a sort of deep depression in the overall vertical face where a landslide had long ago taken out part of the summit itself.

“Think ye kin scramble up thar, all the way t’the top?”

Sally snorted at this asinine question.

“If’n dam’ Winters kin, I dam’ kin too! Let’s go!”

Leaving the horses with reins tied to scrub bushes the intrepid explorers set out on the long climb; and a long climb it proved to be, the loose pebbles of the inclined scree being very loose indeed as they both soon found out. After half an hour, when they had apparently achieved a scramble of some fifty feet only, Sally paused for a breather.

“God-dam’mit! I’ve slipped back more’n I’ve scrambled up! If’n I’d only bin able t’hold my footin’ we’d be at the dam’ top by now!”

“Thar’s probable some easy trick t’it.” Henrietta trying to be more encouraging than she actually felt herself. “We’ll soon git in’ta the way o’it, sure. Come on, gal!”

In fact it took just over another hour before the women, gasping for breath after their great exertions, finally stepped out on the more or less flat surface of the summit.

“Gawd-A’Mighty! H’yar at dam’ last!” Sally hardly able to enunciate even this heartfelt prayer. “Hold hard! Gim’me ten minutes t’git my breath, if’n I ever kin agin.”

A much needed break for physical recuperation was indeed the only viable course at the moment, both women slumping to the ground and making great play with their water-bottles. Finally, a few minutes later, they felt refreshed enough to stand again and take note of their surroundings, Sally stepping over to the sheer edge of the summit for a look at the view.

“Stand clar o’the edge, gal,” Henrietta ready to grab her partner’s shoulder at a moment’s notice. “Don’t want ya fallin’ off at this early juncture; probable give yersel’ a mite o’nasty scratches when ye final hits the groun’, what, four hunner feet down thar.”

“Id’yeet!”

They turned their steps inward, taking note of the lie of the land round them, finding that Winters had told no lie or overstated his case. Although the surface of the summit was relatively flat it was indeed only relatively so. They could only see around twenty yards in any direction before a rising in the floor of the summit cut off further view, the intervening area being a mish-mash of waves and curves with deep wide cracks cutting across the terrain from side to side.

“Must be something strange t’do with the—what’d he call it?—the geology o’the site?” Henrietta musing on the landscape.

“Yeah, sumthin’ like.” Sally meanwhile questing round like a mountain lion on a mission. “Winters never told us spee-cific whar the body lay, did he?”

“Nah, ‘fraid not.” Henrietta nodding agreement. “Said thar was a lake o’blood, though; so meb’be thar’ll be some o’thet left. All we kin do is take a look. God, the place’s huge, far bigger than I thought it’d be.”

Sally nodded in her turn.

“Yeah, got a feelin’ lookin’ fer the body’s last restin’ place’s gon’na be a lost cause, jes’ sayin’. But, let’s give the dam’ thing a go, s’pose.”

Thankfully it was just over half an hour later that they struck lucky, against the odds. They had worked their way back from the edge of the summit towards what they figured must be almost the centreline of the wide plateau, stumbling over a particularly high crest of the underlying red rock to stand atop looking down at the small vale bottom ten feet below and twenty feet further down a gentle slope.

“What’s thet?” Sally gesturing. “A pretty big boulder, but looks, what, kind’a unnat’ral, too rounded t’be normal. Almost like a cannonball. An’ the ground’s stained dark all round it, too. Come on!”

Slipping and sliding on the smooth sandstone they made it safely to the bottom of the slight depression; standing close, but not too much so, to the patch of dark stone and the formidable if strange boulder.

Sally bent cautiously, dragging the glove from her left hand to gently touch with a fingertip the dark stain.

“Blood! Fer sure; mighty old and dry, but blood all the same. This’s the place.”

“An’ thet thar stone ain’t nat’ral in any form or manner, neither.” Henrietta having stepped round the dark patch to stand by the object in question. “Look at its sides, rounded perfectly; must’a bin done artificial, no other explanation.”

By this time Sally had joined her partner to stare down at the curious object.

“See thet crack thar, on it’s side. A sliver, a flat shard, clipped off showin’ the clean stone interior. Looks like it landed on thet side, splinterin’ some a’fore rollin’ t’whar it lies now.”

“Dark stain on the lower edge, what kin be seen o’it, anyway.” Henrietta making an asumption on the spot. “Wouldn’t be surprised if’n this ain’t the objec’ thet sent the man, the body, on his last journey t’pastures new an’ unexplored by mortal man.”

Sally considered this arcane judgement for a few seconds before getting the gist.

“Our anonymous, an’ completely deceased, corpse? Yeah, well, could be; but a rock thet big? I couldn’t throw it any distance, nor you. Don’t think a dam’ posse, workin’ t’gether, could lift it; must weigh at least four hunner pound, meb’be much more. If it did what ye sez, whar’d it come from? Jes’ out’ta the sky? Don’t think so, jes’ clouds up thar. From some other place on this barren summit? Whar-be thet, then? An’ still, who the dam’ threw it?”

Henrietta shrugged, as much at sea as her companion.

“Y’called it like t’a cannonball earlier; what ya think o’same?”

Sally shook her head immediately.

“Nah, no-go thar, sweetheart. Bore’s far too large fer even the largest cannon I’ve ever seen, or read about. Anyway, a cannon up h’yar? We’d find sich easy, surely; and how’d sich a dam heavy thing ever git up h’yar at all, I asks ye?”

Henrietta had been thinking meantime and had reached a conclusion, though not a happy one by a long way.

“Only other option left on the table, havin’ disposed of any other more logical explanation, is the Supernat’ral, don’t y’agree?”

Sally raised her eyebrows at this comment, turning to give her lover a straight intent look.

“What? Ghoulies’ an’ Ghosties’? The heat gittin’ t’ye at all, dearest? Want a sip o’my water-bottle?”

“Folks ridin’ by on the trail down thar below us gits near squashed by flyin’ boulders much like the specimen a’fore us right now.” Henrietta going over the few known facts for the umpteenth time. “Thet found corpse is reported as bein’ the result o’jes’ sich a squishin’. This’s the place it happened fer sure; an’ thar lies what surely must be the objec’ thet did the business. What more’s thar t’be said on the subjec’?”

Sally eased her shoulders beneath her loose jacket, giving the whole thing serious thought.

“Yeah-yeah, far’s it goes, mind. But we still ain’t any closer t’discoverin’ the, what’s it called in learned papers?—the modus operandi! Ye sez Ghosts, but we ain’t yet covered the whole o’this God-forsaken summit in search of some other, nat’ral, reason fer it happenin’. Thar may be some nat’ral reason, or some kind’a cannon after all, or something. Let’s leave the ghosties t’the far distant last, shall we? Probably turn out t’be some perfectly reasonable explanation after all thet’ll make us laugh with its dam’ normality in the end, once we’ve figured it out.”

“Uumph!” Henrietta not yet wholly disabused of her more exotic interpretation.

—O—

Another hour had passed along on its road to Infinity before the women had completed as much of an overall search of the summit of the wide Mesa as they felt capable of, finally returning to the spot where the strange stone and discoloured rock lay.

“Coming on fer four o’clock, lover; an’ ain’t found anythin’ new or interestin’.” Sally consulting her pocket-watch. “We gon’na make camp up h’yar this evenin’?”

“Hell, no!” Henrietta firm on this point if nothing else. “Place gives me the shiverin’ creepy-crawlies, even in broad daylight; ain’t gon’na spend as much as a single minute up h’yar in the dam’ dark. Thar’s still most’a the dam’ summit we ain’t covered yet, but it all kin wait till t’morrow sure. We’ll head on back down t’civil-eezation right now, OK?”

“Sure-sure, whatever y’say, dear!”

Three-quarter of an hour later they stepped out on the broad flat trail once again, their horses still tethered to the nearby bushes seeming perfectly happy with their situation.

“If’n thar was anythin’ in the line o’the Supernat’ral anywhar within a round mile I’m sure the hosses’d let rip an’ tell us so, lover!” Sally having one last dig at her lover’s suggestion.

“Har, bloody har, dear. Jes’ fer thet ye kin fry the bacon, OK?”

“Oh, bollocks!”

“Y’re own fault altogether; git on with it, fryin’-pan’s in my left saddlebag, an’ make it snappy, I starvin’.”

“Dem’nation!”

Frying-up, emptying biscuits from a cotton bag, opening a can of beans with a Bowie knife, making sure everything was cooked just right, then coating the biscuits with honey from a clay pot of same and enjoying the result to the last crumb; all this took a fair amount of the evening—so much so that by the time they had finished and set everything back to rights, washing-up in the happily nearby shallow Gibson River, night had insidiously arrived without notification to spread darkness overall. Sally bent to place some more fragmentary brushwood on the campfire, waiting till it crackled back to life, giving a modicum of light, if only in close proximity round the camp.

“Dam! Ever thought a campfire only makes the surroundin’ darkness all the more obvious?”

Henrietta made a noise in her throat that could be taken as fair acknowledgement of the point.

“Yeah, bin noted a’fore, by folks h’yar an’ thar, I figures.”

The only topic of discussion round a campfire out in the barren desert, when there is nothing of note to discuss of a social nature, is of course the sky and accompanying stars. After a belated pause, given over to the need for digestion and that feeling of tranquility and repose such gives a replete person after a good meal, Sally broke the silence with a question aimed squarely at the only topic of note to hand.

“What’s thet bright star up thar—seems mighty like it’s takin’ over the whole sky all t’itsel’, none else need apply?”

“Venus.”

“Y’sure?” This after another pause while Sally considered the likelihood of her partner being right on the subject.

“Yip.”

“Venus?”

“Not a doubt, baby. Why?”

“Oh, jes’ curious’s all.” Sally affecting unconcern with blatant innocence. “So, ain’t thet a woman, or sumthin? Venus, I mean. Heerd her name bandied around about some subjec’ or other, I’m sure.”

Henrietta sighed, educating the masses always being so difficult from a standing, or empty, start.

“Roman Goddess; of Love, Beauty, an’ Prosperity, I believes, among other interestin’ things. Read up on Her some way back, bein’ jes’ curious, y’know. Should try same some time, baby; edication bein’ some important all round, y’know.”

“Mrrph!” Sally having other ideas about what was important or not. “Oh, look! Now I’m gittin’ acclimatized t’the dark thar’s a whole swatch o’other stars visible. What’s thet one over thar?”

Henrietta finally rebelled, with good reason.

“I ain’t whatever the experts in sich is called; why ask me, jes’ enjoy it’s all. Moon-watchers? Nah, thet ain’t right. Star-gazers? I s’pose, but it still don’t sound right. Astrologers! Thet’s thar moniker, sure as salt water taffy!”

Sally reflected on this explanation for a minute before coming out against it, showing she was rather more compos mentis in general affairs than she liked to allow.

“Thinks some strong yer wrong on thet, lover. Ain’t Astrologers those kind’a grifters who pretend t’tell yer fortune or future from cards or sichlike, then mulct ye of every last cent ye owns fer the doin’ so? Bunch o’bums! Nah, lem’me see! Got it, Astronomers; thet’s the title y’were hankerin’ after, but missed by a short mile, sis!”

Realising the truth of her partner’s remark, but shirking the act of open defeat by accepting such, Henrietta chose to remain silent, like a shy snail retreating back into its shell.

Another hour found the campsite a zone of peace and serenity, both occupants being fast asleep, heads resting on blankets supported by their saddles in the classic manner. Just around midnight, however, the horses over at the camp’s edge tied to low bushes began to become restless finally making so much noise in their increasing stamping and snorting both women woke at the same time.

“Waah-Was’sat?” From a sleepy Sally, hardly yet knowing what universe she was in never mind Territory.

“Wha?-Wha-?” Henrietta no less not quite instantly aware of what was going on.

“The hosses’ is rampagin’ some.” Sally finally hitting the mark first. “Sumthin’s up. Come on, babe, git out’ta yer pit pronto.”

Crossing the campsite to hold their mounts’ reins, without much success at quieting them, the women were suddenly even more surprised by a strange  whoosing sound in the air overhead. An instant later, without any other warning, something missile-like hit the edge of their campfire before ricocheting away into the darkness again, throwing up a cloud of thick dust, earth, and gravel; the resulting choking haze encompassig the entire campsite for a few seconds before the light night breeze wafted it away again. Whatever the missile had been it had made an appreciable thud as it landed for the last time somewhere in the darkness outside the campfire’s range; but the women were more engaged in quieting their horses who had not taken this incident with any sense of placidity or calm.

A couple of further minutes found the mounts to some degree calmer than they had been, but still excited and restless more than somewhat.

“Reckon they’ll be OK now; settlin’ down some at last.” Sally soothingly patting the nose of her own mount. “Let’s leave ‘em be; come on, we need’ta look at the camp, whar thet thing, whatever, landed.”

Leaving the calmer horses they made their cautious way back to the fire, taking note of the devastation done by the incoming object, whatever it had been.

“Left a deep furrow in the ground.” Sally nodding as she crouched to inspect the damage. “See whar it side-clipped yer saddle? If’n ye’d bin still asleep ye’d have lost yer head fer sure!”

“F-ck!”

“Quite!”

Henrietta, less than enthused by this close escape from Eternity, glanced around with frowning brow.

“Whar is it, now?”

“Somewhar out thar, in the dark, baby. Wan’na go look?”

“Reckon so; better, I s’pose; meb’be git some idee of what the hell’s goin’ on, anyway.”

Two minutes of easy searching quickly enlightened the women as to the nature of their narrow escape; the explanation being just what both had expected but not yet dared to suggest in actual words.

“A dam’ smooth round boulder, like t’a dam’ huge cannonball!” Henrietta’s voice seething with uncontrolled anger and rage. “G-d-d-m’mit!”

“Jes’ so-Jes’ so.” Sally more composed, as was her nature when faced with close danger and the need to act with decision and clarity. “Waal, hardly need’ta think about it’s origin, d’we, baby?”

“Jee-sus f-ckin’ Chr-st!”

“Waal, yeah-but thet don’t git us much further.” Sally taking the pragmatic course. “We gon’na hav’ta climb back up the Mesa t’night, ye think?”

“F-ck, no!” Henrietta clear on this point if nothing else. “In the dark o’night? We’d only be givin’ whatever moron heaved this thing at us the chance t’finish his little game at his ease. Dam’ thet fer a challenge!”

Sally shrugged in acquiescence.

“Tomorrow, in the mornin’?”

“Yeah, some; with guns an’ rifles loaded fer dam’ bear, dam’mit!”

“Uumph!”

—O—

The following morning shone bright and clear from a blue sky, the Sun climbing out of the east in its well-trodden path of old. The time was just after 10.00am and the women were standing, with infinite caution, back on the summit plateau gazing around at what fraction of the undulating surface of the flat top they could actually observe.

“Cain’t see any dam’ thing out’ta the ord’nary.”

“Yeah, figur’s.” Henrietta nodding agreement. “This character, whoever he be, likes t’work in the late evenin’ an’ dark night; Sun affects his composure some, apparent. Come on, we got’ta try’n cover the whole o’this infested terrain. Keep yer eyes peeled fer, oh, whatever.”

Each had their pistols fully loaded as well as a rifle each, Henrietta’s faithful Henry and Sally’s practical Spencer, either ready and willing to use whichever came to hand at a moment’s notice if pushed.

“What’re we gon’na do?”

“Search the whole top o’this demented place.” Henrietta sure of her plan. “Every sqar inch an’ then some. We got’ta find whar this dam’ sity’ation has its base. Throwin’ things thet size, must be a machine som’mers doin’ it, stands t’reason.”

Sally had her doubts still but kept them to herself for the nonce as they spread out twenty yards apart or so and began slowly traversing the plateau, eyes covering every inch and atom around them as they went.

A solid hour of this intensive activity and the duo were more than ready for a break.

“Hey, about time we stopped an’ wet our whistles, ain’t it?”

So harangued by the subordinate workers Henrietta sighed and gave in against her better nature.

“Oh, OK, if’n yer actil fallin’ down with thirst, or whatever—over h’yar, then.”

A temporary camp, with nothing present of the usual facilities leaves a lot to be desired, but in difficult circumstances one makes do with what one has to hand. They had brought a gunny sack containing a couple of water-bottles and various items of food, including jerky and biscuits. Within five minutes they were crouched together enjoying this basic fare as if present at a State banquet.

“Never knew water could taste so like vintage wine.” Sally really making the best of it. “So, how far’ve we got so far, y’think?”

“Nowhar near far enuff.” Henrietta making use of her cold schoolmarm’s tone. “This place’s far larger than I gave it credit fer a’fore; must be the size o’ at least six football fields, meb’be a couple more’n thet, too. Probable take us all day t’cover the whole lot.”

Sally shook her head disconsolately at this.

“Thet ain’t any way encouragin’, sis, jus’ so’s ye knows same.”

“Waal, what kin I do about it?” Henrietta taking umbrage with good reason. “Place’s what it is, we need’ta do what we needs t’do—end games the same, take us all dam’ day an’ not a minute less.”

“B-gg-r!”

“Well said, young ‘un.”

Pleasant pauses in idyllic situations always feel as if they might happily be prolonged for ever; but as the present situation provided neither anything pleasant nor idyllic the women finished their repast with more alacrity than usual, soon standing-up to re-engage with the local landscape come what may.

“G-d’d-m! It’s hotter’n Hell!”

“Nearin’ midday, atop this bare stone plateau with the Sun beatin’ down like the Mate of a slave-ship on his passengers.” Henrietta coming it rather more erudite than the matter probably required. “Wha’d’ya expec’? Come on, you go over thar a ways, an’ don’t miss nuthin, either. If’n thar’s so much as a single droppin’ of a mouse in a crack in the ground I wants t’be told of it pronto, OK?”

“Yeah-Yeah, gim’me a dam’ break, woman.”

Another hour passed by on its interminible way, Sally feeling every passing second bearing down on her aching shoulders, but still nothing of note to be discovered.

“How far’ve we gotten now?” Sally breaking under the strain.

“Oh, meb’be near enuff aroun’ a sixth o’the whole, meb’be, with luck.”

“G-d’d-m!”

“Waal, thar it be.” Henrietta having long since descended into a state of Stoicism that would have warmed the cockles of the heart of one of the original Ancient founders of said philosophical system. “Jes’ git on along, an’ keep yer eyes peeled.”

But Sally wasn’t having this any way to Christmas.

“But what for? Here we is traipsin’ over this stone pavement lookin’ fer what, in minute quantities? What the hell’d ye think we’re ever gon’na find this way? Bloody huge boulders, weighin’ hunners o’tons comes flyin’ out’ta the air roun’ here like hailstones in a storm, an’ you want me t’search fer fruit flies under pebbles in cracks in the ground! Somebody’s goin’ mad roun’ these h’yar parts, an’ I’ve a good idee it’s dam’ well me!”

Sighing resignedly from the innermost depths of her heart Henrietta finally gave in to encroaching reality.

“OK-OK! It’s comin’ on fer early afternoon an’ we’ve hardly covered so much as a dribble, never mind a drabble, o’this beknighted landscape, I agrees. Don’t look like this idee o’searchin’ the place was as great as I first thought—”

“Not wrong thar!”

“What was thet, babe?”

“Nuthin’, continue, please.”

“So, ah, so, s’pose we’d better give it the dam’ bum’s rush an’ call it a dam’ day, OK?”

“Yippee!” Sally overjoyed beyond sanity itself. “Race y’back t’the scree; bet I’ve still got jes’ enuff energy t’dance down it t’the groun’ in five seconds flat!”

Henrietta wasn’t impressed by this outburst of girlish glee.

“Huh! If’n so y’ll bring half the mountain down along’a you, bury ye fer sure at the bottom—save me the trouble, hah!”

“Id’yeet! Call yersel a lovin’ pard?” Sally annoyed beyond forebearance. “Don’t ferget it was your idee in the first place t’come up h’yar an’ search fer invisible chimeras all day long. Look at all the sweat I’ve lost in the dam’ process? This h’yar shirt started the day light blue, now it’s almos’ black with sweat.”

“Ee-yah, stan’ t’win’ward o’me then, lady, if’n ye don’t mind.”

“Oh, very funny. Guess who’s takin’ first guard duty this evenin’, babe?”

“Guard duty?” Henrietta appalled by the very suggestion. “Who said anythin’ about sich? Guard duty? Over my dead body, lady! We both sleeps the sleep o’the tried an’ tested t’night, or I’ll know the dam’ reason why!”

Sally however had the obvious answer to this complaint.

“We do thet, one at least o’us gits squished when the next boulder comes flyin’ out’ta the vasty void t’land fairly on yer unconscious head, jes’ sayin’.”

“Oh-Ah!” Henrietta realising at the last minute there was a legitimate basis to her partner’s remarks. “Waal, yeah, Waal!”

—O—

The second night at the camp by the trail close by the Mesa started off in much similar manner to the preceeding example of its kind; supper was taken hugger-mugger, as whatever edible coming to hand was ruthlessly fried to within an inch of its life, a certain growing tenseness acting against light-hearted conversation, then around midnight the topic of the stars once more reared its head—the women by this time lying wrapped in blankets some distance from the actual campfire, just to make safety doubly sure, they hoped.

“Bloody freezin’ out h’yar.”

“Waal, it were your idee, sis; quit complainin’.”

“Huumph! Always with the witty answer!”

“What was thet, babe?”

“Did I say sumthin’; thinks not, lover. Say, thar’r those dam’ stars agin, look?”

Henrietta growled something under her breath into her blanket, but then consented to take note of her lover’s query.

“Don’t ask me t’name everything up thar t’night, ‘cause I ain’t gon’na. Jes’ call it quits with what I tol’ ya yestern evenin’, OK?”

“So much fer ediccatin’ the innocent an’ unschooled, eh?” Sally getting this barb in with underlying glee. “What I really wanted—Oh-Oh! Lookee up thar? Quick!”

Henrietta twisted under her blanket to see what was going on with her companion, finally noting her lying with an arm pointing to somewhere indeterminate up in the cloudless sky.

“What? Whar? Why?”

“Silly rabbit! Up thar, jes’ south o’what I takes t’be Jupiter, see?”

“Nah, whar?”

“Thar! Raise yer arm an’ pint t’Jupiter. Y’kin see the dam’ planet, cain’t ye?”

“Dam surprised ye can, tell the truth.”

“Fool! OK, now slide some along some t’the south; see thet dark shadow, mighty widespread, coverin’ the stars as it goes along? Must be movin’ of its own accord, way its obscurin’ the backgroun’ stars as it goes—see?”

Having finally focused on the area in question Henrietta, to her own surprise, did indeed see what had caught her lover’s attention.

“God! Thar’s sumthin’ up thar fer sure. What in Hell!”

“P’raps a hot air balloon?”

“Got’ta be. Got’ta be a hot air balloon.” Henrietta grasping this explanation with both hands. “Cain’t logically be anythin’ else; movin’ far too slow fer a shootin’ star or sich. Mean, what else kin fly? Nuthin’, t’my knowledge, ‘part from bloody birds, o’course.”

“It ain’t, though; a bird or fallin’ star, I means.” Sally reflecting reality, much to her own surprise. “Far too big; bloody enormous an’ some circular in form, I fancy. If’n it’s flyin’ at the height I takes it t’be, anyhow. If’n it’s higher, then it must be all the bigger, even, in circumference. Look! Small red lights all roun’ the outer edge!”

By this time Henrietta herself was fully engrossed in the curious nature of their flying visitor.

“Wish I’d brought my dam’ spyglass, but I didn’t, dam’mit!”

“Wouldn’t help none, anyway.” Sally pouring water on this thought. “Too dark, all it is, is a black form—silhouette—without substance. ‘part from the lights. What’s it’s meanin’, y’think?”

Henrietta, not for the first time that day, sighed heavily.

“How the dam’ should I know? Am I suddenly the Fountain of all Knowledge? Wait a mo, though. Believe it’s gon’na hover over the dam’ Mesa. Yeah, it is.”

“G-d’d-m!” Sally nearly aglow with excitement. “It’s gon’na land on the top o’the Mesa fer sure. Look, it’s near enuff almos’ hidden by the edge of the Mesa now. Yeah, it’s gone, it’s landed! We got’ta git back up thar an’ see what the hell’s goin’ forrard, come on!”

Sally had risen with swift efficiency in a crisis, as was her way, but Henrietta was just as quick in grasping her arm to bring her to a halt before she had gone a yard further.

“Hold hard, gal. We ain’t goin’ anywhar near thet dam’ thing, not knowin’ scratch what it dam’ is, or what its powers may well be. In this case safety lies in distance, the more o’same the better. Let’s jes’ lie quiet out h’yar, an’ observe from a distance. Probable be fer the best, in the long run.”

Accepting the truth of her companion’s words Sally was nonetheless all a-twitter, dancing from one booted foot to the other waiting for something further to occur.

“What ya s’pose its doin’ up thar? What the hell does it want on top of a bare Mesa? Cain’t think o’anythin’, mysel’. An’ who’s drivin’, or pilotin’, the thing, whatever it be?”

“If I knew same I’d know everythin’, wouldn’t I?” Henrietta resorting to sarcasm as a last resort. “It dam’ well ain’t a hot air balloon, but it flies all the same. Someone, somwhar, must’a invented a new way o’flyin’; don’t know exact what, but thar’s the proof up thar right now. But thar also seems t’be somethin’ wary, somethin’ dubious about its comin’s an’ goin’s. Something meb’be partly, if not wholly, illegal; or some secretive, at least. Cain’t jes’ say fer sure as things stands. All we kin do, I fancy, is wait fer morn, see if it’s still thar or not, an’ if the latter then go an’ take a fair look at whatever it may have left behind.”

Sally, mutinying across the board, snorted in direct disagreement.

“Don’t call thet any kind’a plan whatever, jes’ my opinion.”

“Huh! Waal, let it be so, but thar it stands till I sez different,-OK, gal?”

“Oh, alright, OK. But I reserves my judgement, all the same, babe.”

“Y’re welcome, honey.”

This somewhat ill-natured discussion was brought to an effective end by the appearance, over the crest of the Mesa, of a swathe of coloured lights washing the sky above the Mesa with bands of green, blue, and pinkish red, shimmering as if the light itself was alive.

“What’n Hell now?”

“Cain’t say, but it dam’ well ain’t nat’ral, thet’s fer sure.”

Suddenly there came the same whooshing noise which had earlier accompanied the arrival of the previous airborne missile, both women instinctively crouching and covering their heads with crossed arms; though what good this act of defence might achieve neither probably knew.

Within seconds the earlier incident was replayed again, a huge rounded boulder whizzing down in an almost vertical flightpath to punch a hole in the ground twenty yards to the left of the campfire. The blast sending a sheet of dust and dirt flying in a thick cloud in every direction just like a bomb explosion; the women crouching down even further as dust and loose debris rained down on them. Then the air cleared again to reveal only the deep furrow where the object had first hit the ground.

“Bounced out in’ta the darkness a’ways off agin.” Henrietta confidently declaring the route of the anonymous missile. “Look, those dam’ lights up on the Mesa’re changin’ agin.”

From a rainbow aura, flickering like a soundless series of musical chords, the lights had now taken on a predominantly green tone though still shimmering powerfully.

“It ain’t the Northern Lights, by any chance, y’think?” Sally suddenly picking a natural possibility out of the surrounding darkness for no discernible reason.

Henrietta shook her head, placing a comforting arm on her paramour’s shoulder.

“Losin’ yer mind at last, baby? Don’t worry, I’ll take care o’ye in yer hours o’need.”

“Fool!” Sally shaking off this attempt at comfort. “Look, it’s back in the dam’ air agin!”

The object, whatever it might be, had indeed risen from its hidden position atop the Mesa to raise itself slowly but certainly back into the air high above, though still only visible as a dark outline against the background of stars.

“Dam’! Wish we could see the thing better.” Sally wholly miffed at this lack of control over her environment. “Cain’t really tell what size the dam’ thing is, even what shape or what’s drivin’ it. What’n hell’s keepin’ it up thar in the air? D’ye hear anythin’?”

“Meb’be a low sort’a whine, rushing noise.” Henrietta shrugged, this not being her main point of interest in the strange visitor.  “Some sort’a steam engine, meb’be? Anyway’s, it’s up thar, fer all t’see. Figur’ it’s motivation, what drives it, is responsible fer the flyin’ boulders too, p’haps. Meb’be it has some power over the immediate ground, the environment, near around it when it lands or takes off. Wha’ya think?”

Sally shook her head, she being way past logical thought.

“Look, it’s gainin’ height, gettin’ smaller by the second. Hey, has it? Yeah, it’s dam’ well disappeared! It’s dam’ gone agin. What the hell?”

Henrietta stared at the firmament above for an appreciable time before coming to a conclusion.

“Looks like the show may be over fer the night, babe. It’s come, done whatever it wanted or needed t’do, and dam’ well b-gg-red-off agin, without so much as a fond farewell.”

“Apart from thet dam’ boulder thet near took us out o’the game agin, don’t ferget thet.”

“Yeah, thet, sure. Dam’, what’s goin’ on?”

—O—

The next morning dawned bright and sunny again, as was only to be expected in the Territory of Arizona at this season in the beautiful year of 187-. Once more atop the by now all too familiar plateau of the Mesa the women were looking around for any clue as to what had brought the strange machine there earlier, without any immediate succes.

“Nuthin’ t’be seen, far’s I kin see.” Sally taking the van of the conversation. “No burn marks, or breaks in the ground. Nuthin’, round h’yar anyhow’s. Did it land h’yar at all, in fac’? Meb’be hovered in the air whar we couldn’t see?”

Henrietta had no greater idea as to what had happened, shrugging listlessly.

“If’n we really wan’na search fer evidence, we’ll hav’ta criss-cross the whole o’the top o’this plateau, doin’ it fer real this time in minute detail. Probable take days. Wan’na try?”

“F-ck, no!”

“My feelings exactly.” Henrietta sighing in relief. “What we might do, in fact, is go back t’Mesa Flats, tell everyone thar t’miss out on the trail t’Pecomsah late in the afternoon an’ definite at night fer the foreseeable future, an’ hope fer the best.”

Sally shook her head gravely.

“Thet is a very poor plan indeed, baby; ain’t ye some embarrassed at suggestin’ sich?”

Henrietta, at the end of her tether, sniffed contemptuously, simply turning back to the scree leading to the ground far below.

“Let’s git the dam’ out’ta h’yar. Nuthin up h’yar fer us, thet’s fer sure. You go first, I feelin’ some safer thet way.”

Down by the campsite again half an hour later the women were gazing at the two examples of boulders flung thereabouts by, probably, the activities of the unknown flying object.

“Why’re they so unnat’raly rounded?” Sally bringing up the most important point. “They is rounded, cain’t deny same. Nuthin nat’ral did so, must’a bin the flyin’ thing, but why?”

Henrietta gave this an intense level of thought, twisting her shoulders beneath her jacket in the agony of so doing.

“We don’t know what the flyin’ thing is. We don’t know who’s operatin’ it. We don’t know what the purpose o’the thing may be in the long run. We certin don’t know how it’s operated, what drives it. An’, final, we don’t know why it affects dam’ big boulders in its immediate vicinity, flingin’ same wholesale across the country, endangerin’ all life thet gits in the way o’them fallin’ back t’earth.”

Sally gave a great sigh, so displaying her state of mind over the problem.

“So, yer sayin’ we doesn’t know sh-t-all about the whole dam’ thing?”

“Thet covers same, yeah.”

“OK, jes’ wanted t’be clar on the subjec’.” Sally shaking her head. “So, back t’Mesa Flats, then?”

“Yeah.”

“They ain’t gon’na be happy with our news, y’know. Sort’a negative all round; no sort’a explanation thet’s any kind’a use at all.”

Henrietta curled a supercilious lip in reply to this.

“When thar cain’t be an explanation, a straight-up truthful one at least, what else is thar but t’give some trumped up answer even if jes’ based on hot air an’ hope? We tell the citizens o’Mesa Flats thar’s somthin’ nat’ral goin’ on thar, at the Mesa; somthin’ like t’a volcanic origin. Thet’ll suffice ‘em fer the time bein’; then we jes’ hope the dam’ machine, which we ain’t gon’na mention at all, final gits fed-up an’ leaves of its own accord. Cain’t do anythin’ else, kin we?”

Sally rebelled; this stance becoming something of a new, but steadily increasing, habit on her part.

“What’s happened t’the ordinary truth? Jes’ tell ‘em what we saw, thet thar’s a strange huge unidentified flyin’ machine usin’ the Mesa as its base an’ it affects the nat’ral ground all round it in the doin’ so, flingin’ boulders every which way fer reasons we cain’t fathom. Git ‘em all t’form a posse an’ come out h’yar t’see fer themselves one night. Thet’ll stir them up some if’n it, the machine, comes back one night t’perform its shenanigans in front of a big crowd?”

Henrietta shook her head at this.

“Controversy, baby; an’ pos’ble widespread social unrest later. Some things is jes’ too fantastical fer common consumption; tell everyone about this curious machine, they’ll go mad about it—meb’be end by makin’-up a new religion round it an’ start worshipping the dam’ thing. Whar’d we be if thet happened, I asks?”

“Up the dry creek fer sure.” Sally acknowledging the reality of the question. “See’s whar yer comin’ from, no objection. They might even call in learned folks from Washington, New York, or Chicago t’ research the thing. Cause chaos all round thet way. So you, we’re, gon’na make up some story or other an’ hope the thing doesn’t keep on assaultin’ folks over the comin’ months. But what if some enterprising prospector comes out h’yar on his own acount, sees what the thing is an’ what it’s doin’? What then. Ain’t thar any way we kin, right now, stop the thing comin’ back at all?”

Henrietta gave this suggestion some further thought, but to no worthwhile avail.

“Cain’t think of anythin’ right off, no. Meb’be spend weeks, if not months, dragging loose timber up thar, t’make a whole bundle o’ fires, thick clouds o’smoke obliteratin’ the ground from above every night; meb’be make it, or the man who operates the dam’ thing, think twice about making the Mesa top a favorite visitin’ place when he cain’t see his landing spot clar none?”

Sally was appalled at this probability.

“Lady, I’ve listened t’some outlandish idee’s from ye over the last few days, but this takes the cake an’ the biscuit. I ain’t draggin’ so much as a feather-weight twig up thet scree t’the top o’thet dam’med mountain fer any reason whatever. Think agin, sister. In fac’, I got one o’my own. Wan’na hear it? Waal, I’m fer tellin’ it out loud anyway, so button yer lip an’ open yer ears, baby.”

“Mighty strong streak o’the wild bronco appearin’, al’la sudden, dear; if I may say so.”

“My idee’s better’n any o’yourn so far, sis, so listen up.” Sally glowering like a rattlesnake with the toothache. “What I sez is, we cut all thet dam’ crap about tellin’ porky pies t’the cits back in Mesa Flats; what we do is go up thar, atop the dam’ Mesa, this comin’ evenin’, yet agin but loaded this time with buckshot an’ bullets galore, wait fer the infernal thing t’show itsel’ agin then blast it t’Kingdom Come, or wharever else it came from—probable somewhar’s over New Mexico way fer sure, take my word on thet. What y’say, lady?”

Henrietta, hardly convinced, shrugged her wide shoulders accompanying this with a dubious expression which hardly needed words to accompany it.

“Sounds dam’ silly, t’me. What if they-all, bullets an’ buckshot, jes’ bounces off’n the thing, an’ then it gits some riled as a result? What then, babe?”

Sally in her turn brushed this feeble worry aside with delicate grace.

“Bollocks, woman! A Spencer an’ a Henry, accompanied by Colts and Smith’n Wessons? Blast the thing apart no problem, believe me! Ain’t ye got any belief in yer own capabilities no more? What are ye, a lion with a mission in Life or a mouse tremblin’ in the hayfield watchin’ the mower comin’ all the nearer an ‘cryin’ in fear, like t’thet ol’ poem?”

Henrietta sighed mournfully, having severally experienced this almost anti-social side of her revered and loved partner at various times in the past.

“Doll, I never likes when this side o’yer character drags itsel’ in’ta the daylight; but, what the Hell, what could happen? Waal, we could both be killed outright, squished t’death by boulders weighin’ half a ton each; but if’n thet don’t scare ye, why, let’s git to it then. Jee-sus! Must be losin’ my dam’ mind mysel!”

—O—

Late evening was reaching its zenith just before true dark night arrived; the pair’s horses had been removed to a safer spot some half mile further away from the trail leading past the Mesa, and the women were now once again standing atop the Mount, rifles to hand and pistols set squarely in holsters, bags of spare ammunition on the ground by their boots. They had decided against a fire so were now crouched in a small hollow shivering in the cold night air.

“Fer a huge barren desert all round these parts it al’lus surprises me how dam’ cold it gits every dam’ night.” Sally starting in the plane of carping criticism she meant to continue in.

“Campfire’d jes’ alert the folks in thet dam’ flyin’ thing t’our presence.” Henrietta covering the basics. “Meb’be make ‘em cut an’ run fer home fer the night, which’d throw us on our back heels some. Or, contrary, attack us with whatever weapons they may have; blow us t’Hell with a small cannon or whatever—meb’be a dam’ Gatlin’.”

Sally gave her loved partner a cold glance.

“Baby, y’sure knows how t’put a gal’s fears t’rest, don’t ye? Me, I’m workin’ on the theory thet they as gits in the first true shot gits the resultin’ rump steak medium roasted fer dinner, OK?”

“Jeez!”

By the time another hour had passed on the windswept plateau the women had settled down some; Henrietta nibbling a biscuit while Sally exercised her jaws with a strip of jerky; this passing the time if nothing else. Sally finally leaning back to stare up at the wide panorama of cloudless sky above.

“Jee-sus! Hell’uva lot’ta stars this evenin’! More’n I’ve ever seen a’fore.”

“Please! Not more questions as t’what star’s what, or what it’s dam’ name might be. Couldn’t stand thet anymore this evenin. Spare me, babe, if’n ye truly loves me!”

Sally sniffed imperiously, shifting her gaze to the edge of the plateau which lay just some twenty yards to their left.

“Standing lookin’ out over the distant plains earlier I was amazed jes’ how far y’could see. Some twenty mile, meb’be, an’ only sand an’ scrub the whole way! God, this Territory’s a barren cold, unfeelin’ place!”

“Pretty wooded mountain land up round Phoenix way.”

“Who goes t’Phoenix when they kin avoid same?” Sally throwing this suggestion out with the bath-water. “All I’m sayin’ is, desert unbounded round these h’yar parts, is all.”

Henrietta tossed the remains of her biscuit towards the edge of the plateau though, it quickly disappearing in the surrounding darkness, whether it achieved her purpose or not no one could tell.

“Y’re rifle in order?”

“My Spencer’s got seven point fifty-two slugs ready an’ waitin’, with more t’follow if necessary. Y’know anythin’ other then a armor sheet thet’ll survive thet kind’a broadside?”

Henrietta had the easy answer to hand covering this enquiry.

“Flyin’ thing looks some like it’s made of metal! Probable thick enuff t’stop same, yeah.”

Sally however wasn’t having any of this sloppy thinking.

“Don’t see sich, mysel’. Meb’be it’s metal, meb’be not. But if so, must weigh somethin’ awful in the tonnage line; dam’ strange sich kin fly at all, ask me; but strong enuff t’stop heavy caliber slugs too? Hardly!”

Henrietta sniffed in way of reply, having become bored with the subject, but Sally had cottoned onto a theme which interested her personally.

“What about you, sis? Your Henry up t’scratch, or what?”

Her revered and loved rifle being criticised in this forthright manner got right up Henrietta’s left nostril and she wasn’t slow in rebutting same, with menaces.

“Watch yer lip, babe!” Though spoken with a slight forgiving smile all the same. “My Henry’s meb’be a mite less powerful, with point forty-fours, but it has twice the number then your’n,—fifteen. An’ I’m certified t’hit a grizzly at six hunner yards easy. What about ye? Knows y’kin cut the heart out’ta a playin’ card at thirty feet with yer pistols, but what about bigger game, lady?”

“I kin see a church in daylight, sis, an’ hit it, too! Don’t worry about me, thanks.”

The fact they were presently enveloped by darkest night did occur to Henrietta to mention but she politely refrained from bringing this undeniable fact to her partner’s attention, knowing what the result would inevitably be and wanting the quiet to continue as long as possible.

Then, without any preliminary warning, things became serious.

Sally had still been idly staring up at the fields of stars, lost in thought about what one hardly wishes to presume; then she spotted something more material than a twinkling spot of light.

“Babe! Thar’s a ring o’lights up thar. A circle, a big circle, o’red’n green lights; I see it plain.”

Henrietta jerked to attention in an instant, trying to follow her partner’s line of sight.

“Whar? Whar? Don’t see nuthin.”

“Thar! See thet bunch o’stars in a group jes’ up an’ some t’the left? A finger’s width t’the right o’thet. Thar. Yeah, thar; see now?”

Having followed her lover’s instructions rather more precisley than she expected Henrietta gasped in disbelief when she focused on the exact spot that had drawn Sally’s attention.

“Jeez! Yeah! I see’s it plain, too. A broad ring o’lights, mighty high up, mind.”

Sally nodded, almost enthralled by the distant object.

“I’m guessin’ meb’be four-five thousand feet, p’raps even higher. It’s dam’ big, y’recall?”

“Yeah. Jeez! What’re our guns gon’na do aginst thet thing—built like to a dam’ batttleship. We’d need another o’the same o’the same size t’have any chance against thet!”

Sally sniffed coldly, while also looking carefully to her rifle.

“Jes’ git ready fer when it comes within range. It’s obvious gon’na try’n land h’yar somwhar’s agin; should come easy within range when it does.”

Though suddenly finding herself losing belief in their plan by the second Henrietta nevertheless checked her own rifle, readying for the coming fray; or whatever else might be the result of opening fire on the still anonymous machine high above their heads.

“Is this really wise, lady, y’think?”

Sally paused in her own preparations to examine her companion’s actions beside her.

“What? What’s the problem now? Things is hottin’ up by the second, lady!”

“I’m jes’ thinkin’—is it really a good idee fer us t’shoot at the thing, without it’s havin’ made any kind’a, y’know, aggressive action itsel’. I mean?”

Sally let out a deep sigh in response to this half-hearted concern.

“What about all those dam’ boulders rainin’ down on folks’ heads, not t’call out our own experiences these past few days. If’n ye don’t call thet aggresive within the meanin’ o’the term I don’t know what comes within thet category, is all.”

Further argument on the subject was cut short by the sight of the mysterious flying object suddenly becoming far more clear and larger by the second in the dark sky.

“Jeez, think its descending, at a dam’ fast rate o’knots!”

“More like t’jes’ fallin’ straight, out’ta the sky.” Henrietta forming her own interpretation of the sudden fast descent. “Think it may be crashin’, in fac’. Better cover our dam’ heads.”

Sally had, however, a far more pessimistic response to this rapidly unfolding drama.

“Cover our dam’ heads? It’s so bloody big, when it comes down h’yar it’ll cover the whole o’the plateau all roun’. We’ll be squished flat as—as—as whatever. Jeez!”

Events now took a wholly unexpected turn as the women watched in some horror. The machine, whatever it was, had finally stopped its downward rush some thousand feet or so above the heads of the unsettled observers. The ring of shimmering lights, red and green, round its outer circumference allowing them to now guess more firmly at its overall size.

“G-d’d-m! Five hunner feet, if’n a dam’ inch!” Sally making her estimate public knowledge.

“Nah, bigger.” Henrietta taking a more defeatist outlook. “Six hunner, if not more. Bloody huge. An’ certin made o’metal; must weigh hunners o’tons if an ounce.”

“Tommyrot.” Sally having none of it. “Somthin’ thet heavy couldn’t possible fly. Jee-sus! Look now, it’s tiltin t’one side, a’most on edge.”

As the spectators continued watching the machine, still barely a dark silhouette in the sky, had tilted almost on one side, the lights round its outer circumference now flickering in moving lines, new yellow lights now intermingling with the red and green.

“Somehow I don’t think it wants t’be doin’ thet.” Henrietta musing aloud on the strange motions of the machine still far above. “Baby, git ready; somthin’ awful’s about t’happen!”

As if following her words precisely the machine, still barely visible except as a dark circular massive shadow against the background stars, achieved some sort of return to its earlier more horizontal attitude, while all the same still quivering significantly as if unable to steady itself completely.

“Watch out, babe; I don’t like this, none!”

A single second later a loud whooshing sound, in fact a nerve-grating whine which hurt the ears, could be heard all over the plateau of the Mesa; the shape in the sky suddenly coming to life by ascending in height at a speed which shocked the observers below, reducing in diameter from its original hundreds of feet to the merest speck amongst the stars above in almost the single blink of an eye.

“God! It’s gone agin.” Sally half-closing her eyes in the effort to keep it in focus. “No, it ain’t; it’s still thar, I kin see it plain, a sort’a multi-colored star—God!”

This last epithet forced out by the machine, now simply a single starlike point in the Heavens, suddenly without warning becoming brighter than anything else in the night sky, expanding till it took on the magnitude almost of the Sun in daylight. This huge light glowed for a further few seconds then decreased instantly till there was nothing left except for a shower of falling streams of golden light which finally flickered out before reaching the ground, leaving nothing behind but the everpresent stars in the sky.

“What happened?”

“Blew-up!” Henrietta making the only assumption available. “Blew-up in’ta fragments thet fell out’ta the sky; but it happened so high up none o’the shrapnel managed t’hit ground, thank the Lord! It’s gone. Won’t be comin’ back now.”

“Jeez!”

A long pause ensued while the women tried to make further sense of what had just taken place around and above their heads.

“What now?”

“We go home, is what.” Henrietta clambering to her feet, bending to help her companion to do likewise. “Nuthin’ t’keep us h’yar anymore. Tell the folks at Mesa Flats thar ain’t no more trouble out h’yar an’ they kin use the trail down thar as frequent as they likes from now on.”

“But what the hell was it?”

“Dun’no. Don’t care much, neither.” Henrietta making her personal feelings known to one and all. “Dam’ dangerous thing, whatever it was; glad it’s gone—hopes t’hell thar ain’t no more o’the dam’med things, is all. Kin sleep quiet if not, I reckon.”

Sally picked up her rifle and sadddlebag then turned to her lover once more.

“What we tell Charlie when we git back t’Red Flume?”

Henrietta considered this interesting administrative problem for a few seconds before shrugging nonchalantly.

“Oh, somthin’ll come t’mind, sure. Sometimes Sheriff’s need only hear what’s best rather than what’s actilly true, y’know, Y’agrees some t’thet, I takes it, lover?”

“Sure does, baby, sure does.”

“Great!”

The End

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