Sudden Fury

Chapter 3

Frank wheeled in that direction. He had heard shrieks like that not long before, and six men had died. He jerked his Winchester from the saddle boot and broke into a run toward the sounds.

As thick as the woods were, he could move just as fast on foot as the other men could on horseback. He charged through the trees for several moments, then had to leap aside as a runaway horse suddenly loomed up right in front of him. The animal’s eyes were wide and rolling with fright. Foam drooled from its mouth. It wasn’t paying any attention to where it was going, and only Frank’s superb reflexes kept the horse from trampling him.

He heard more crashing in the brush, as if other horses were bolting through the woods in panic-stricken flight. The gunfire had stopped, but the screaming continued. Frank couldn’t be sure, but he thought it was a different voice now.

As if something had already stilled the first one.

Another shape appeared in the shadows before him, coming toward him at a fast rate of speed. Frank stopped and swung the rifle up, ready to fire if whatever it was attacked him. It wasn’t a monster, though, or even some sort of wild animal. It was a man, running for his life like Satan himself was after him. A crimson smear of blood covered his face, and he kept looking behind him as he plunged heedlessly through the forest.

Frank lowered the Winchester and called, “Hey! Stop! You’re all right!”

The man never slowed down. Frank stepped to the side so that the hombre wouldn’t barrel right into him, leaned the rifle against a tree trunk, and then reached out to grab the man as he went by. Frank wrapped his arms around him, the muscles in his arms and shoulders bunching under the butternut shirt as he jerked the fleeing man to a halt.

The fellow wasn’t going to settle down without a fight, though. He was too hysterical from fear to do that. He struggled frantically to get loose, twisting in Frank’s grip and flailing at him. The fists thudded into Frank’s shoulders and back and didn’t really do any damage, but he got tired of it in a hurry anyway. He grabbed hold of the front of the man’s shirt, shoved him back a step, and drove a short but powerful punch into the hombre’s jaw.

The blow snapped the man’s head to the side and made his eyes roll up in their sockets. Frank let go of him. The man’s knees unhinged. He folded up and crumpled to the needle-covered ground at Frank’s feet.

The riders had arrived while Frank was struggling with the stranger. They looked down at the stunned man, and one of them asked, “Who’s that?”

“I think his name’s Scott,” another rider said. “I’ve seen him in Eureka.”

“Man, looks like somethin’ tore into him.”

That was true. Most of the blood on the man’s face came from a hideous gash that slanted across his forehead, but he had some smaller cuts and scratches on his cheeks, too. His shirt was torn and bloodstained, like something had tried to claw it off him.

Frank realized that the screaming had stopped. He picked up his rifle and said to the men on horseback, “A couple of you come with me. The other one stay here and keep an eye on this gent.”

“Who are you to be givin’ orders, mister?”

“The man who’s giving the orders,” Frank snapped. “Come on.”

The tone of command didn’t allow for any argument. One of the men shrugged and said, “I’ll stay here with Scott. Just don’t you fellas be gone too long. That critter’s still roamin’ around out here in these woods, unless I miss my guess.”

Frank led the way, stalking forward with the Winchester at the ready. In a few minutes, he spotted what looked like two heaps of old clothing lying on the ground ahead of him. He had a bad feeling that there was more to the heaps than old clothes, though.

Unfortunately, he was right. He saw the torn and mangled bodies as he came closer. Blood formed reddish-black pools around both dead men. Not only had their flesh been shredded, but their throats were torn out as well. These injuries looked more like something an animal would inflict. Frank was getting back to the bear idea again. The killer hadn’t taken the time to rip the bodies apart this time.

“Holy Mother o’ God!” one of the riders who had trailed along behind Frank exclaimed when he saw the mutilated corpses. Frank heard retching behind him, but didn’t look around.

“It was the Terror, that’s what it was,” the other man said. “No doubt about it. The damn thing’s gone on a real rampage this time.”

Frank thought that eight dead men in less than an hour qualified as a rampage, all right. But he still wasn’t convinced that some sort of monster had done this.

“There’s nothing we can do for these fellas,” he said. “Let’s go back and see about that other one.”

They returned to the spot where they had left Scott and the third rider. The injured man had regained his senses, at least to a certain extent. He sat with his back against the trunk of a redwood. He had his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped around them. He swayed back and forth and made soft moaning noises.

“I was gonna try to clean up those wounds a little,” the third man said, “but he won’t let me touch him. I figured if I tried too hard, I might spook him and make him run off again.”

Frank nodded. “It was good thinking to leave him alone. I’ll see what I can get out of him.”

He went over to the man and hunkered on his heels, not getting too close to him. The man rolled his eyes in Frank’s direction and cringed away.

“It’s all right,” Frank told him in a calm, steady voice, the sort of tone he would use on a frightened horse. “The thing that killed your friends and hurt you is gone. You’re safe now.”

The man’s teeth chattered. “N-nobody’s safe,” he stammered. “Nobody’s s-safe in the w-woods. The T-Terror’s out there!”

“Did you see it?” Frank asked.

Scott jerked his head in a nod. “It…it came out from behind a tree…knocked Billy off his horse…I never saw anything move so f-fast.”

“What did it look like?”

“Big! Hairy! Must’ve been…nine feet tall…and it had these…claws…” A shudder ran through the man’s body. “It tore out Billy’s throat…with one swipe…There was blood all over him…We tried to shoot it, but it was too fast…It went for Rance…” Scott sobbed. The tears left little trails in the gore smeared on his cheeks. “Rance’s horse spooked, threw him. So did m-mine. The thing jumped on Rance…it was tearin’ him up…slashin’ at him with those claws like it was tryin’ to…to dig his insides out…Then it…came for me…hit me once and knocked me clear across the open space between two trees.”

Frank leaned closer. “How did you manage to get away?”

“Just luck. The thing started tearin’ at me…like it had done to Rance…and then one of the horses stampeded right into it. Knocked it off of me. I got up and ran.” Scott lifted horror-haunted eyes and gazed at Frank from them. “It could’ve come after me, could’ve caught me. I don’t know why it didn’t. Maybe the horse hurt it. Maybe it was just tired of…playin’ with us.”

One of the hunters said, “You hear that, boys? The thing’s hurt! We can track it down for sure now.”

Frank looked around at the men and told them, “You don’t know that. Like this hombre said, maybe it had some other reason for leaving.” He returned his attention to Scott. “You must have gotten a good look at it. Could it have been a bear? Maybe a grizzly that wandered over here from somewhere in the Rockies?”

Scott shook his head. That made the flap of skin that hung down from the gash on his forehead move. “It wasn’t a bear,” he said. “It was hairy all over like a bear, but…it wasn’t a bear.”

“How can you be sure of that?”

“It didn’t have a snout like a bear. And it went on two legs.”

“Bears can get around on two legs,” Frank pointed out.

“Not like this.”

“Some other sort of animal then?”

Stubbornly, Scott shook his head again. “No, it was more like…a man’s face, but…bigger…hairier. It was the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Sounds like one of those Sasquatch critters they’ve got up north,” one of the men said. All three of them had dismounted and stood around Frank and Scott now.

“Yeah,” another man said. “I’ve heard ’em called Bigfoot, too. They’re supposed to be nine feet tall and hairy, just like this hombre said.”

Frank wasn’t going to believe in such a thing, not unless and until he saw it with his own eyes. Even then, he’d be doubtful.

He came to his feet and said, “This fella needs medical attention. I want the three of you to take him to Eureka.”

“Hell, no! There’s ten grand on the hoof not far from here. We’re gonna go find it.”

The other two spoke up, voicing their agreement.

Scott clutched at the leg of one of them. “You can’t!” he wailed. “It’ll kill you, too, just like it did Billy and Rance!”

The man pulled his leg loose and said, “We can handle some damned old Bigfoot.”

“You don’t know…It’s worse than that…I can’t even t-tell you how bad it really is.” Scott closed his eyes and shuddered. “Like it’s not even from this world.”

“You saw what it did to those two men,” Frank said. “Well, just a little while ago it killed six more the same way, only worse. Those hombres it tore apart. Flat out tore them apart.”

One of the men rubbed at his angular jaw. “Maybe it would be better to come back later,” he suggested. “Maybe get some more men first.”

“That’ll mean splittin’ the bounty more ways.”

“I’d rather have a little less to spend and still be alive to spend it.”

“Well, I’m not goin’.”

“Yes, you are,” Frank said.

“Who the hell are you to be tellin’ me what to do?” The man who had been arguing moved his hand toward the butt of his gun. “Folks say I’m pretty fast on the draw, and if you ain’t careful, I might just show you.”

“That wouldn’t be a very good idea. My name’s Frank Morgan.”

The man’s nostrils flared as he drew in a deep, startled breath. His face paled under its tan. “Morgan,” he repeated. “The gunfighter?”

“One and the same,” Frank said.

“You’d best back off, Tom,” one of the man’s friends advised him. “Bein’ fast for around here don’t mean nothin’ against a man like Frank Morgan.”

“Yeah. All right.” Tom nodded. “We’ll do like you say, Morgan. We’ll take this fella in and find a sawbones to patch him up. And I, uh, didn’t mean any offense…”

“None taken,” Frank assured him.

“What are you gonna do, if you don’t mind my askin’?”

“Are you goin’ after the monster?” one of the other men asked. “That’d be somethin’, The Drifter takin’ on the Terror.”

“I thought I’d pay a visit to that fella Chamberlain,” Frank said. “I don’t believe it’s a good idea to be throwing out a bounty like that. It can lead to more trouble than it’s worth.”

“It won’t do you any good. From what I hear, Chamberlain’s the big skookum he-wolf in these parts. He’s used to doin’ as he pleases.”

“Maybe I can talk some sense into his head.” Frank looked around. “If I can figure out which way’s north. It’s hard to tell in this blasted forest where you can’t hardly see the sky.”

He had a keen sense of direction, though, so it only took him a few minutes to orient himself once he picked up his horses and Dog. As he rode off, he could hear the other riders moving through the trees toward the settlement of Eureka, to the east. Scott was riding double with one of them.

Frank kept his eyes and ears open. From the way Scott had talked, whatever had attacked them had struck with no warning, moving so fast that they couldn’t even hit it with their shots. Frank didn’t know if he would fare any better should the thing jump him, but he didn’t intend to go down without a fight, even if he was facing some nine-foot-tall hairy critter with giant claws.

Nothing bothered him, though, and after a while he came to a fairly wide, hard-packed dirt road that led more directly northward. Frank had a hunch it led to Rutherford Chamberlain’s house. He wondered how much it had cost to hack a good road like this out of the thickly timbered wilderness. It must have been a pretty penny.

But he supposed Chamberlain could afford it. A few minutes later, the road reached a huge clearing. The trees had been stripped from a small hill to form the estate, and at the top of the gentle slope stood a mansion the likes of which Frank hadn’t ever seen anywhere except San Francisco, Denver, and Boston. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t sure he had ever seen anything like it in those places.

He recognized the sort of men who came galloping around the house and charging toward him, though. They bristled with guns, and they were looking for trouble.