The Way Of The Heron
By C. T. Creekmur
Prequel Five
Holy Irons
Author's warning: This story depicts men performing sexual acts upon one another that immature people might find shocking. If graphic depictions of sex between men upsets you, or if you are under 21 years of age, then DO NOT READ THIS! - go read something else!
Please understand that this is a work of fantasy and fiction, set in a time when safe sex was unheard of. It is not intended to provoke or promote promiscuity or abandonment of common sense where sex is concerned. Especially in this day and age.
Though historical personages are mentioned, none of the principal characters are based on real individuals and any similarity to such is coincidental. This story is copyrighted (c) by the author and may not be reproduced in any form without the specific written permission of the author.
Historical Note: This story happens in the Willamette valley of Oregon and the town of Spring Hill in the spring of 1864.
And now, on with the story!
HOLY IRONS
Robert Vaughn was well known as an honorable man who lived by the gun; his adventurous life had gained him fame and earned him trust in many quarters...
...but the spirits of the Elxa saw what no one else did, the secrets hidden in the heart of a gunslinger known to the natives as...
HOLY IRONS
The morning sun was bright and the air was cool, clean and carried the crisp scent of the evergreen woods all around. Mark Nutley took a deep breath of the living fragrance as he rode along the Staley Creek portage trail, feeling fine. The cowboy's goal was not far ahead and his thoughts raced ahead of him.
'It's too bad Phil couldn't come with me... I hope everthing's okay at the AE... Haven't heard anything from Charlie all winter... But Nizano's grandfather would surely have gotten word to him if his family needed him... Aw, quit worrin', Dark Fire,' Mark thought his Elxa name. 'Charlie's your best friend in the whole world, and the spirits would've sent you warnin's if someone that important to you was in trouble, even if Charlie ain't a heron man... '
Two quick gunshots shattered the silence of the forest, as well as Mark's train of thought.
'Those were pistol shots,' the cowpoke judged as he halted his horse and peered cautiously in the direction of the sound.
"Dammit, Morgan!" an angry voice came to Mark's ears. "Why'd you have to try that?!"
There was an answer, presumably from Morgan, but Mark could not make out the words. Spotting a faint trace branching off the main trail that looked as if it had been recently used, Mark urged his horse onto it. It was not long before he reached a small camp and found two men: one, a blonde headed man on the ground gripping his bleeding left arm, grimacing in pain. The other was a ruggedly handsome man, tall and lean, chestnut haired and ruddy moustached, his cheeks stubbled with a few days growth of beard. He quickly brought his gun up to point at Mark. Smoke still floated from the barrel, curling in the air as he challenged the newcomer.
"Hold it!"
"My name's Mark Nutley. I was ridin' by and heard the shots," Mark said, showing his empty hands. "You need help?"
'Hm,' the man with the gun thought as he looked over the black haired and bearded rider. 'Just a cowboy, by the look of him. But an uncommonly handsome one, I must say... '
"Maybe," he said aloud as he holstered his weapon and moved towards the wounded man. He picked up another gun and filled the empty holster on his other hip. "Morgan here grabbed one of my guns."
"Why... Oh... "
As Mark swung down from his horse, he spotted the chains on Morgan's ankles.
"My name's Robert Vaughn."
"Holy Irons!" muttered Mark. Robert eyed the cowboy again.
"How do you know that name?"
"I have some native friends. They told me some stories about you. They say you live by the gun, but your heart is pure and your tongue is straight. You've never broken your word to a native."
"Or to any other man," Robert added, glaring at Morgan. "I told you I had no wish to be hard on you, but if you want it rough, that's how you'll get it, mister!"
"Shit, Vaughn!" he returned. "What'd you expect? You're takin' me back to hang!"
"I always expect a man to act like a man. I see it was a mistake to give a two-legged snake like you the benefit of the doubt! Well today I wash my hands of you. I figure we'll be in Spring Hill by this afternoon."
"I can't ride like this!" Morgan exclaimed.
"I'll tie you onto your horse like a sack of potatoes if that's what it takes to get you where you're goin'!" growled Robert.
"Let me see your arm," Mark asked, kneeling beside the wounded man. As Mark started to cut the sleeve of Morgan's shirt away with his knife, Robert's gun reappeared in his hand as if by magic. Mark realized the tales he had heard were true; the man was unbelievably fast with a gun.
"Don't try to go for his knife, Morgan." Robert warned. "I won't shoot to wound this time."
"Help me, buddy," whispered Morgan as Mark bent over him.
"That's what I'm doin'," Mark answered.
"Morris Morgan there killed three men robbin' the Spring Hill bank last November, Mark," Robert informed him as he worked. "The widow of one of his victims asked me to track him down and bring him to justice."
A sudden chill gripped Mark's heart as he thought of how his friend Charlie fit that description. He looked at Robert with pained eyes. He had to ask.
"Who... "
"Sarah Ashley employed me. Her husband just happened to be in the bank that day."
"Bill Ashley?" Mark exclaimed in mingled relief and regret.
"Did you know him?"
"Yep, he was a good pard and hard worker. We rode togather at the Bar-O before Bill got married. He bought a small farm for himself and Sarah, on Goose Creek, north of town. He was real proud of his spread... There."
"Ow!!" Morgan winced as Mark tightened the bandage, perhaps a touch more than was necessary.
"That'll keep you from bleedin' to death until you get to Spring Hill. The doc there will take care of you then." Mark looked at Robert. "I'll ride with you as far as the AE Ranch, if you're willin'."
Robert looked Mark over again. Mark got the impression Robert was... interested in him. His thoughts rebelled.
'Naw! Not a famous gunslinger like him!'
"Sure, Mark," he answered, making Mark wonder again, "I'd appreciate that."
Amos Barnet led a big roan stallion into the barn and patted the horse's nose gently.
"Lookie here, Red," he soothed. "Here's a nice mare for you. You be a good boy and do right by her."
Amos' nephew, Charlie Barnet, had hitched the mare to a post. As Red went to her, drawn by her scent, Charlie looked at Amos and asked the same question he'd been asking all morning.
"Is there any word yet?"
Amos fought the urge to cuss.
"No. The doc is with Lizzy and Mary knows what to do." Amos wanted to add, 'don't worry', but he couldn't. "Look, I remember what I was like when Zeke was born. You can't help but be worried, but all the worry in the world isn't gonna speed things up. Givin' birth is the most natural thing in the world, boy, but it happens in it's own sweet time."
Charlie nodded, but he did not look reassured.
"Hello!"
Both men looked to see who had spoken from the barn door.
"Mark?" Amos smiled.
"Mark!" Charlie lept over a rail and grabbed his friend. "Mark! You're here, you made it!"
"Just in time too," grinned Amos.
"Why? Is Lizzy... "
"It's close." Charlie nodded. "Doc Orwins is here... "
"He is?" Mark turned and waved. Amos and Charlie saw two other men on their horses outside.
"Who... " Amos began.
"I'm sure you've heard of Robert Vaughn. The local tribes call him Holy Irons."
"Why, yes indeed! Welcome to my home."
"Thank you, sir." As Robert tipped his hat, Amos eyed the wounded man Robert had in tow.
"That's Morris Morgan," explained Mark.
"The bank robber? The one who killed Bill?" Charlie exclaimed.
"Yeah." Mark turned to Robert. "Doc Orwins is here, Robert. He's lookin' after Charlie's wife."
"I hope it's not serious."
"She's havin' his first baby," grinned Mark.
"Well, that does sounds fairly serious," he grinned back. "I'm afraid I'll have to borrow the doc for a little while, Mr. Barnet. As you can see, Morgan here has a wound that needs tending."
"Okay, bring him into the kitchen, the doc can work on him there."
"Well, ordinarily I'd say you were a lucky man, Morgan," Cy Orwins said as he finished bandaging the murderer's arm. "The bullet missed the bone and passed clean through the muscle. You'll stand trial for murder with both your arms."
"So he can travel?"
"Yes."
"Good. I'm ready to turn him over to the sheriff at Spring Hill and relax for a bit."
"Mr. Vaughn, I'd like to invite you to stay at my home." Amos offered.
"That's very generous of you, Mr. Barnet, but it is convenient? You have... other things to attend to."
"He can bunk with me," Mark offered. He'd been thinking about the signals Robert was sending and decided to push his luck. "I'll go into town with you, Robert; might as well stick with you until Morgan's safely locked up."
"I'll go with you also," the doctor added. "There's not much more I can do here."
"But Lizzy... isn't the baby comin'?" asked Charlie.
"Your wife is perfectly fine, Charlie. She wasn't in labor, she just had some pain. I've given her something for it and she'll sleep for awhile now."
"Why was she in pain? Is there something wrong with the baby?"
"No. I have to check my medical books, but I think false alarms are to be expected with any woman's first pregnancy." Cy paused and smiled at the expectant father. "Especially when the woman is going to have twins."
"Twins?" squeaked Charlie as Amos and Mark steadied him.
"I'll check back tomorrow," the doctor promised as he picked up his bag and went outside.
"Well, well. There's Sheriff Dunn right there. Hey, Will!"
"What's up, doc?" The sheriff asked as Doc Orwins and his three companions stopped before Dunn's office.
"I have a gift for you, sheriff," Robert said, gesturing at his prisoner.
"Morgan!" Will Dunn looked at Robert again. "You're the gunman Mrs. Ashley hired."
"That's right. I'm Robert Vaughn."
"I've heard of you. Well, let's get Morgan in a cell and then we'll go to the bank so you can collect the bounty on him. If you don't mind my askin', how much did Mrs. Ashley pay for your services?"
"I do mind you asking, sheriff. The deal I made with Mrs. Ashley is our business alone."
"Okay, didn't mean to... "
"Morgan!" an angry voice abruptly yelled. "You yellow-bellied snake! You killed my brothers! By God, I'll... "
Things went by too fast for Mark to see. He heard three quick shots, pow-pow... pow! As the gunsmoke cleared, he saw a blonde headed man lying face down in the street. Both Robert and the sheriff had their guns out. Hot smoke curled from the barrels of both. Doc Orwins went to the fallen man at once.
"It's Clem Ray Junior," the doctor said as he turned him over. "He's dead."
"Who else did Morgan kill?" Mark asked.
"His brothers," the sheriff nodded at the dead man. "Ray Ray and Ricky Bo Ray. He shot Ricky Joe Ray too, but only crippled him. Those three came into the bank and when they realized Morgan was robbing it, they tried to stop him, but Morgan already had his gun out and mowed them down." Robert was hustling Morgan into the sheriff's office as he spoke. "Now another member of the Ray clan is dead because of you, Morgan!" Sheriff Dunn continued as he locked the murderer in a cell. "Old man Ray and his remaining sons will be here soon, raisin' hell and puttin' a prop under it, most likely lookin' to tear my jail apart to get to you and lynch you!" He shook his head. "I don't get paid enough to deal with this crap! C'mon, Vaughn, let's get your money."
As they came out, they saw a curious crowd had collected. The undertaker was there too, taking measurements for Clem Junior's coffin. Will Dunn cussed under his breath. His eyes swept the nearest men.
"You! Vern Horn! I'm makin' you a deputy. Stay here and don't let anyone into my office until I get back!" As he spoke, Will dug into his pocket and tossed a tin star to Vern.
"Yessir, sheriff," Vern obliged, pinning the star on before taking a stand before the door.
After Robert got his reward, Mark suggested they head back to the AE, but Robert said he needed to see Bill Ashley's widow first. On the way to her home, a nice little spread on Goose Creek that Sarah shared with her mother-in-law, Mark learned that Robert and Bill were first cousins. For Robert, bringing in Morgan had been a matter of justice for Bill, not another paycheck, and Sarah owed him nothing. As the men reached the Ashley farm, they were intrigued by the sight of Sarah Ashley and Bill's mother, Bess Ashley, speaking to a native brave on their front porch.
"Robert!" the ladies cried happily at the sight of him.
"Hello, Sarah, Aunt Bess. I wanted you to know I got Morgan. He's in the town jail." Robert told them after he'd introduced Mark. His eyes flickered to the native.
"I am Katchikoa," he introduced himself.
"One of the horses ran off this morning. Katchikoa caught her and brought her back. I was just thanking him." Sarah explained.
"I thank you as well."
"You are Holy Irons," the brave stated.
"Yes."
Katchikoa spoke in his own tongue. Mark thought he caught a few words; he was becoming fluent in the Elxa tongue and this sounded similar. Robert replied in a negative sounding way and Katchikoa seemed disappointed.
"What did he want?"
"He says he's on a medicine journey."
Mark's ears pricked up at that. But he noticed the way Robert's eyes shifted nervously towards the ladies and chose not to ask any more about it just then. While Robert went inside the house to speak privately with Sarah and Bess, Mark tried some of his Elxa on Katchikoa. A slow smile came to the native's face.
"Yes, I am indeed on a sacred journey," he answered in English. "And I was told that when I met two white men who knew my tongue, I would be close to that which I seek."
"What are you seekin'?"
Katchikoa knelt and drew in the dust. A sinuous, curling glyph took shape.
"Do you know the sign?"
"Yes." Mark controlled himself. "Why are you lookin' for those who wear it?"
"I have had dreams. The guiding spirit of these men is calling to me."
"So... you share the same nature as them."
"Yes. I do." Katchikoa looked hard at Mark, not knowing what to expect but prepared for condemnation from the white man. Mark reached up to his collar and yanked on a rawhide string. His Elxa glyphstone popped out from underneath his shirt and Katchikoa saw that the sign engraved on it was identical to the one he had just drawn.
"I share that nature too," he murmured in Elxa.
"Ah!" Katchikoa's face brightened. "Will you guide me to your brothers?"
"I'd be happy to take you to our tribe's shaman, Falling Star, Katchikoa. But I came here to help a friend... I think I'm gonna hafta stay here a month or so before I can return... "
"May I stay with you until you go?"
"Well, sure," Mark lifted his hat and scratched his head, stirring the night black hair that grew there. "I figure I might need some help. You see, my friend, er, doesn't have the same nature as us, but he is my closest friend and he knows what I like... Anyway, his wife is havin' his first baby... babies that is, twins, and Charlie's a nervous wreck. So I came to help out on his ranch until... "
"I understand," the brave nodded. "I am not familiar with how the white man herds cattle, but I will do what I can... "
"My friend breeds horses." Mark corrected.
"Ah! Horses I know." Katchikoa glanced towards the house. "Is Holy Irons a man of our nature as well?"
"I don't know. But the way he's looked at and talked to me so far makes me think he might be interested in me. I managed to talk him into sharin' a bed with me at the ranch."
"It cannot have taken too much talk," the brave smiled. "You are a handsome man, Mark."
"So are you... I'm sure we'll get a chance to... " Mark paused. "I hope I'm not sounding like... like I... " Mark gave up English and tried an Elxa expression. Katchikoa shook his head.
"No, I do not think you are one of those who runs from blanket to blanket, whose hunger is never satisfied. If the stories I have heard are true, the heron men share their love freely, so it natural you might want myself as well as Holy Irons. But I am curious about him also. I can wait for my turn with you. Will you... tell me what you learn after you share a bed with Holy Irons?"
"There are many among the heron men who love to gossip about their brothers. I'm not sure it's a good thing. But I'll let you know if he shares our spirit."
"If he does, then Holy Irons should also be a heron man. My elders say he is the only white man they trust."
"That's high praise. But the spirits that guide and protect the Elxa are the ones who call to a man when they judge him ready to be our brother... just as they called you."
"I see. Well... "
Katchikoa fell silent and moved his foot slowly, erasing the symbol in the dust as Robert Vaughn came out on the porch. Mark quickly and casually stuffed his Elxa glyphstone back under his shirt. Robert could tell Mark and Katchikoa had been talking, and that his appearance had interrupted that talk. He eyed Mark again, wondering if there was more to this cowboy than met the eye. He began to think that was the case when Mark told him of Katchikoa's plans to help out at the AE.
The ride back to the AE took the trio through Spring Hill again. As Sheriff Dunn had predicted, Clem Ray was there with his remaining sons, Jim Bob, Jeff and Ricky Joe. Ricky Joe had lost his left arm, a memento of his run in with Morgan at the bank, but it did not seem to preclude him from handling the shotgun he held ready. Mark spotted Herman Bush with them as well, sporting a ratty black beard and looking leaner, meaner and tougher than the last time Mark had seen him. It appeared some of the rough and tumble ways of the Rays had rubbed off on him.
They paused long enough to learn Clem had no plans to lynch Morgan. However, he did intend to guard the jail with his sons to make sure the murderer did not get away again. Robert walked his horse over to Jeff, who eyed the man.
"What do you want, mister?"
"A word with you about Mrs. Ashley."
"What's your interest in her?" Jeff bristled. "I'm warnin' you mister, everybody around here knows I've got my brand on the widow of Goose Creek!"
"Which one?" grinned Robert, not missing a beat. "The old one or the young one?"
Jeff's brothers all lost it, laughing like fools. Clem Ray looked amused himself as he urged his horse closer. Robert went on.
"Bill Ashley was my cousin. So naturally I'm interested in how Sarah is gettin' on. She tells me you've been around to court her."
"Be respectful, Jeff. He's only lookin' out for Mrs. Ashley like I would for my daughter. I'm Clem Ray." Jeff's father introduced himself.
"I'm Robert Vaughn. I'm sorry about your loss, sir."
"Thank you. A man does his best, but... I suppose Clem Jr. couldn't hold himself back at the sight of Morgan. It wouldn't have happened if I'd been here. But about Mrs. Ashley; I'm aware Jeff here has been courtin' her. Does the lady have any complaints about my son's behavior?"
"No sir. I thought I might get a look at him myself and have a word or two. Jeff seems a little light on manners, but in a situaton like this... well I'd be on edge too if I was confronted with the murderer of two of my brothers."
"That is so. I take it you have no objections to Jeff's interest in your late cousin's wife?"
"No sir. Of course I have no veto over Sarah's decisions. She is a strong woman."
"Just the kind Jeff needs. Maybe she'll teach him manners!" Clem grinned while Jeff looked annoyed.
"One can hope. Good day, gentlemen." Robert tipped his hat as he and his companions went on their way.
"Why that low-down..." Jeff growled, fingering his gun. Clem cuffed his son smartly. "Ow! What was that for, paw?"
"I don't wanna bury you too!" he growled. "That was the man the Injuns call Holy Irons. Try shootin' against him and he'd part your hair with that gun of his before yours would clear leather!" Clem looked at the famous gunfighter as he rode away. "If I was you, boy, I'd set my mind on treatin' Mrs. Ashley right, considerin' who her relatives are! And another thing, don't you go on so about havin' your brand on the widow Ashley; she's a lady, not a cow!"
In the meantime, the three rode along towards the AE. Long after they had left the town behind, Mark noticed a little side trail. He grinned and turned to wink covertly at Katchikoa.
"I've been ridin' all day, and brother, I'm ready for a bath!" Mark exclaimed.
"So am I." As Robert spoke, he wiped sweat out of his eyes. "Or at least a swim to cool off."
"See that trace there? It leads to a real nice swimmin' hole on the property of the AE."
"A swim would be nice." Katchikoa smiled, conjuring the possibilities.
"Lead on, Mark," agreed Robert.
Soon they were looking over a deep spot in the bend of a creek. As the men got undressed, Robert looked at Katchikoa and whistled. The native stood still and allowed Robert to reach out and slowly trace a long, livid scar that snaked across the man's upper chest and left shoulder with his fingertips.
"Good Lord! That must have hurt!"
"When I was a boy, I foiled an attempt to steal my father's horses. I caught the thief by surprise and stabbed him mortally. But he was a strong man whom death did not take quickly. He pulled out my knife and with his dying strength he held me down and marked me with it, so, as he tried to cut my heart out. Our tribe's shaman sang many songs of healing and power over me and succeeded in keeping my spirit from leaving my body."
"You're lucky to be alive! Look at this, Mark... "
Robert's words trailed off as he glanced at Mark. Mark was also eyeing at the brave's terrible scars, distracted by them. As he looked he doffed his shirt without thinking, forgetting about his Elxa glyphstone. It was there plain to see resting on his ebon furred chest.
"That's impossible!" Robert pointed at the pendant. "You made that for yourself, right, Mark?"
"I'm afraid not," he sighed, deciding to be honest with Robert. "It was given to me by the chief shaman of the heron men, Falling Star. They are also known as the Elxa tribe. My tribal name is Dark Fire."
"So the heron men are not a myth! I can hardly believe it!" he said, coming closer to inspect Mark's pendant. "I had a feelin' about you, you know," he began, "and there was that dream I had last night... "
"A dream?" Mark asked, exchanging startled glances with Katchikoa.
"I think that was the reason Morgan managed to get ahold of my gun so easy; I was distracted this morning as I thought about all the things I saw and heard in that dream... I saw this big heron... "
"...with eyes of lavender flame." finished Katchikoa.
"Yes! Is that the same dream you were following?"
Katchikoa nodded and Robert finished telling about his dream. Mark got out of his clothes, and the others followed suit as Robert talked. Mark produced some soap from his saddlebag and they began to wash as Katchikoa shared his dreams, which were similar. Both men had been visited by the heron men's chief totem, the Heron Spirit. The godling had told them their brothers were waiting for them.
Mark shared what he knew with them about the heron men. The men made plans to stay at the AE and pitch in with the work there until Mark was free to guide them to the chief shaman of the Elxa, Falling Star. Once that was decided, the men moved on to more pleasurable business, exploring each other's bodies, releasing tensions and, for Robert and Katchikoa, getting their first taste of the Way of the Heron.
EPILOGUE
Chris Barlow had pulled a chair out of his office and set it on the plank sidewalk in the sun. He sat there enjoying the warmth and the view. A few of the leaves of the cottonwood trees along the river were just beginning to turn color; Chris was idly contemplating them and the turn of the seasons. Then he noticed a stranger - quite a good looking stranger at that - walking his horse out of the woods that bordered the Clearwater River and onto the short main street of the town of False Pass.
Chris knew the trail that man had followed and where it led. He had taken it himself not so long ago to see the heron men's chief shaman, Falling Star. Chris studied the stranger as he approached; he was chestnut haired and ruddy moustached, with a stubble beard darkening his cheeks. Chris rubbed his stubbly jaw and bushy moustache, realizing they wore their hair in the same way, except that Chris' hair was jet black. The rider stopped where Chris was seated and dismounted.
"Hello," the man began in a friendly manner as he tied his horse's lead to the hitching post. "Is this the sheriff's office?"
"Yeah, but we don't have a sheriff. I'm sorta fillin' in."
"So, for all intents and purposes, you are the sheriff."
"I suppose. I've got a star in my pocket, in case I have to wear it, which ain't often. My name's Chris Barlow. You have a problem?"
"No, just a message for you."
"Who're you?" Chris asked as he took the roll of deerhide he was offered.
"My name is Robert Vaughn."
Chris' mouth gaped as he stared at Robert, as if he were seeing the man for the first time. But he forced himself to look at the message and concentrate. His eyes traced the characters painted on the skin in violet pigment.
"This is from Falling Star... " he muttered. Chris reached the end and glanced up. "He wants you to be the sheriff here, keep an eye out and guard this path that leads into the Elxa's lands!"
"Yes. I didn't have any desire to live like a native, though I love quite a few of them... " For a few moments, Robert savored the pleasant memories of many summer weeks spent with the heron men in their beautiful, isolated valley. Then he went on. "And the idea of settlin' down in a place like this, a town full of men like myself, guardin' the western gateway into the heron men's homeland, has its attractions. Of course if you really enjoy bein' sheriff, I wouldn't think of takin' that away from you, Chris... "
"No, no! I mean, you're just so much better suited for the job... You're the famous Holy Irons, for cryin' out loud! I've heard all the stories about you... Hell, you're my hero!"
"If you think that much of me, I'll take the job. But on one condition."
"What's that?"
"I want you for my deputy." Robert licked his suddenly dry lips. "And for more than that, if you have a mind to it... I think you are a very handsome man, Chris."
"Yes, sir, sheriff," Chris murmured, standing up to hand over his star and kiss his hero.
THE END
of Holy Irons
the 5th prequel to the series
'The Way Of The Heron'
by C. T. Creekmur
Copyright (c) 2009 by Charles T. Creekmur
"All Rights Reserved"
submitted to www.nifty.org 1/14/2009