THE RAIN SHOWER steadily increased in intensity until it had transformed into a bone rattling storm. A storm which like the mysterious Uriah Moon appeared to have come from nowhere to unleash its tempestuous fury and punish those it deemed guilty of unpunished crimes. Nobody had witnessed the vigilante leave his room and move across the hotel porch. Not one of the many inhabitants of Apache Springs had seen him drop effortlessly to the ground.
As the rain had increased it became a shield for the phantom figure as he wove in and out of the shadows toward his goal. The big sky rumbled deafeningly and clouds swirled in hypnotic spirals above the arid settlement as Moon continued on. Powerful white flashes of blinding lightning snaked between the clouds before splintering bolts of lethal ferocity came hurtling to the ground.
The smell of sulphur filled the air as the wide shouldered vigilante pressed on toward the tall structure set away from the townsfolks nostrils.
Yet Uriah Moon paid the storm no heed. It did not slow his determined advance toward the aromatic stables one bit. The sound of the many horses in their stalls within the livery seemed far louder to Moon than the ear-splitting thunderclaps which raged above his head.
The stalled animals terrified calls echoed in the electrified air all around him. They drew him on to where he knew his gelding had been taken hours before. Yet it was not the horse that Moon wanted, it was his trusty repeating rifle in its saddle scabbard.
When he neared the tall structure more flashes of heavenly venom lit up the entire town. His blue eyes focused on the livery stables wide open barn doors.
Moon narrowed his eyes and stared deep into the buildings vast interior in search of his mount.
The storm had grown even more intense since he had started out from the hotel. It was as though the very gods themselves were angry with those who mistakenly used this remote place as sanctuary.
Uriah Moon had learned long ago that there was no true sanctuary in this lawless land for those who had yet to be punished. They could never hide from his vengeful wrath. Moon had vowed that he would not only find but punish them for the wrongs they had inflicted upon the innocent.
He straightened up and moved to the large barn doors and steadied their shaking with one of his hands as his other hovered above one of his holstered Peacemakers.
Rain drove down and ran freely off the brim of his wide brimmed hat. He squinted hard into the depths of the livery stable in search for his valued mount.
The livery stable had a large blacksmiths forge set halfway along its south wall, but its coals were cool and did not spill a lot of light into the otherwise dark stable.
Uriah Moon gritted his teeth and regretted that there were no lanterns spilling their amber glory around the large interior of the livery stable.
Then another sudden flash of lightning lit up the dark sky above him and everything below. As the blinding illumination bounced off the inside walls of the stable, Moon spotted his nameless horse a few stalls down from the open entrance.
Like something more akin to an unholy apparition, the long haired and bearded Uriah Moon was briefly illuminated between the stables open doors.
The terrifying sight of the vigilante was a haunting vision which caught the attention of the burly blacksmith within. To the powerfully built liveryman, it was as though he had just witnessed the arrival of a demon.
With his heart pounding inside his huge chest the startled blacksmith sat bolt upright upon his cot beside the forge. He hastily got off the cot and rose to his full height. The stable was plunged back into darkness as the lightning momentarily paused in the restless heavens.
Blacksmith, Gus Thorson was a muscular man who had originated in a coastal town many thousands of miles away from Apache Springs, but he had lost none of his fearless Nordic nature or might.
Thorson had only caught a brief glimpse of the strange figure bathed in the light of the lightning flashes but he knew that what he had seen was real. A less stalwart person might have doubted what they had actually witnessed, but not Thorson. He was resolute that he had seen a real, living man.
A man who was now gone.
The blacksmith rubbed his eyes with his knuckles and glared at the wide open barn doors of the barn. The rain grew louder as it pounded the very fabric of the tall building he stood within.
Every sinew of his bulky frame was alerted to possible trouble. Trouble was something Thorson had grown used to since his arrival in the lawless Apache Springs.
He stared through his bushy eyebrows at the constant storm which kept battering the ground between and beyond the tall barn doors.
The brief glimpse of the vigilante had momentarily startled and surprised the muscular man. His mind wondered if he had just imagined the sight.
Thorson edged closer to his forge and pulled down on its wooden lever. Slowly but surely its bellows began to pump air into the heart of the forge. The coals turned from grey to a glowing red color as the heat reignited them.
The area started to warm up as a devilish glow spilled flickering red light around the vast interior of the livery stable.
With darkness forced back into the shadowy corners of the horse stalls the blacksmith began to relax. There was nothing more frightening than imagination itself and Thorson was well aware of that.
Unsure of who he had actually seen framed between the vast barn doors, the blacksmith grabbed his primed coffee pot and placed upon the hot coals. Thorson had only caught a glimpse of Uriah Moon but he still did not recognize him.
His mind raced.
Who had he seen?
If there were answers, the blacksmith could not find them.
Thorson had been raised in a land where the gods of old Norse legends were still talked about as though myths were reality yet he did not believe in any of them. To the powerfully built blacksmith, he only believed in reality.
The storm still raged all around Apache Springs but even that held no fear to Thorson.
He had been raised in a land of tempestuous storms far worse than this one. He snorted and rested his knuckles on his hips as his eyes vainly glared at the falling rain.
‘Who was that guy?’ he muttered to himself as he placed a tin mug on the brickwork surrounding the forge. ‘Who in tarnation was he?’
Then as the light from the fiery forge filled the vast interior of the livery with its scarlet hue, the blacksmith suddenly spotted the tall figure of Uriah Moon standing less than ten feet away from him near the stall where his horse was stalled.
‘That’s a bad habit you got there,’ Moon drawled. ‘Talking to yourself, I mean.’
Fast for a man of his enormous size, Thorson grabbed his mighty hammer and cradled it in his hands and then swung around to face the stranger.
Some called it a Mexican standoff. Others might have just noted that it was like a matador facing a snorting bull. Either way it just meant that the vigilante and the blacksmith were facing each other like ancient gladiators.
‘Who are you?’ Thorson growled loudly as Moon slowly turned to face him. ‘What you doing next to them horses? Speak up or I’ll use this hammer.’
Moon’s eyes glinted in the forge light. They gleamed like a pair of rubies as the scarlet light of the forge washed over his bearded features. Moon studied the large man wielding the long handled hammer.
It was clear that the blacksmith knew how to handle the hefty hammer. The muscles of his bare arms rippled as he toyed with it.
‘Answer me.’ Thorson shook his hammer threateningly at the emotionless Moon. ‘Who are you and what you doing here?’
Uriah Moon sighed and turned silently to his saddle resting on the top of the separating boards of the individual stalls and the pulled his Winchester free of its saddle scabbard. He turned to face the blacksmith and cradled his rifle in the same manner that Thorson held his trusty hammer.
‘I came here for my Winchester, friend,’ Moon drawled as his eyes bore across the distance between them. ‘I figure I might need it later on.’
Thorson nervously edged away from the forge still holding on to his mighty hammer. He never took his eyes off the mysterious Moon as he studied the stranger. A man he had never seen before.
Uriah Moon did not flinch.
‘How’s that your rifle, stranger?’ the blacksmith asked as he grew more and more ready for a fight. The sky above the livery stable erupted and shook the building violently.
Moon tilted his head. He looked up at the rafters and then returned his attention to Thorson.
‘A weedy fella named Hector brought my nag to you a couple of hours back,’ the vigilante said in a low whisper. ‘I gave him a gold piece to have my horse fed and watered for a few days.’
‘I remember the gold piece,’ the blacksmith said. ‘Took every last cent making change for that damn coin.’
‘But now you got a gold coin in your pocket.’ Moon said as he kept studying the large man from beneath his hat brim. ‘I figure it was worth it. Right?’
Hearing the explanation, Thorson loosened his firm grip on his hammer. The story made sense but it still did not explain fully why the stranger was here now. The blacksmith paused and peered at Moon.
‘That might be but what the hell you doing out in this weather, mister?’ Thorson asked curiously. ‘It don’t make no sense for anyone to come out in a storm like this.’
Moon removed his Stetson for a few moments to reveal his long white mane of hair. He shook the hat and then replaced it on his head.
‘I told you,’ Moon started dryly. ‘I came for my rifle.’
Thorson grinned. ‘What’s the matter? You think someone might steal it?’
Ignoring the question, Uriah Moon slowly advanced toward the blacksmith. He stroked his beard and stopped in front of the red glowing coals. He raised his left arm and gripped the long pole which protruded above the hot coals. He pumped the pole a few times and smiled as sparks rose from the coals.
‘I need my rifle right now,’ Mood said.
‘Why?’ Thorson wondered.
‘I’ll tell you why,’ Uriah Moon turned his head and looked straight into the blacksmiths muscular face. ‘I got a certain party to kill. By my figuring he has a lot of hired guns that I might have to kill as well. This rifle holds fourteen bullets and that might be just enough.’
Gus Thorson’s face went grim as the words bored into his mind. He stepped closer to the stranger and looked hard into Moon’s expressionless face.
‘You can’t go around killing folks,’ he grunted.
Moon used the hand guard of the rifle to hang the Winchester on the holstered gun grip on his left hip. He pulled out his tobacco pouch and began rolling himself a smoke.
‘Why not?’ he asked.
‘Killing folks just ain’t right,’ Thorson said.
‘What they done wasn’t right either.’ Uriah Moon snorted as he concentrated on making the cigarette. ‘The hombres I’m after killed men, women and kids. This is retribution.’
‘But it just ain’t right,’ the blacksmith repeated.
Moon lifted the tobacco filled paper to his mouth and ran his tongue along its gummed edge. As his fingers carefully rolled the paper into a tube he handed the pouch to the blacksmith.
‘You heard of a critter named Morgan Bray?’ Moon asked as he placed the twisted cigarette in the corner of his mouth.
‘Is he the varmint you’re gonna kill?’ Thorson gulped.
Uriah Moon nodded his head slowly as his ice cold eyes darted to the corner of the livery stable. He dragged one of his Peacemakers from its holster, aimed, cocked and fired. The deafening flash spewed from the long gun barrel as its bullet sought out and found its target.
‘Got the stinking rat,’ Moon said as he pulled the spent casing from the smoking chamber of his weapon and then replaced it with a fresh bullet. ‘He won’t trouble you again.’
Thorson had never seen such speed or accuracy before. He gulped and watched as Moon slid his six-shooter back into its holster.
‘Bray got himself a spread a couple of miles outside town, stranger.’ He stammered. ‘You can’t miss the place. It’s got his name carved in big bold letters above the gate.’
Uriah Moon nodded. ‘Has he got many men?’
‘Yeah but most are just cowpokes,’ Thorson replied. ‘He has about three though who are just gunmen. Body guards I think they call them.’
Thorson placed his hammer on the ground and then began rolling himself a cigarette. As his large fingers labored with the delicate task, Thorson licked the papers gummed edge.
The blacksmith handed back the pouch to the vigilante and said nothing as the vigilante returned the tobacco pouch to his vest pocket.
Both men shared the flame from a match and sucked in smoke.
‘Is Morgan Bray the critter you intend killing?’ Thorson asked Moon. ‘He’s well-guarded.’
Uriah Moon savored the smoke which drifted from behind his moustache and then vanished in the smoke which rose up from the bed of coals.
‘You really kill folks?’ the blacksmith asked.
‘Among other things,’ Moon retorted.
Thorson looked long and hard at the face of the tall stranger standing beside him. He found it difficult to believe that Moon could be a killer, but on the other hand he had just witnessed the display of incredible marksmanship and the destruction of the vermin with his own eyes.
‘You a bounty hunter or something?’ The blacksmith asked.
‘I ain’t no stinking bounty killer,’ Moon hissed like a rattler at the thought. ‘They’re worse that vermin.’
Thorson sat back down upon his cot and looked hard at the stranger above him. Yet even though Moon had admitted to his unusual occupation, the blacksmith felt no fear.
‘Are you telling me the truth, stranger?’ he pressed.
Moon nodded.
‘I don’t lie,’ he sighed. ‘There ain’t no profit in it.’
The sound of wooden shingles being ripped from the stable roof caused both men to look up into the rafters. The storm grew more intense as thunderclaps shook the tall structure from its roof down to its foundations.
It sounded as though dynamite sticks were exploding in quick succession all around the vicinity. Moon sucked the last of the smoke from his cigarette and tossed it into the forge then turned and stood thinking for a few moments.
‘What’s wrong?’ Thorson asked.
‘I’m just thinking,’ Moon responded as his hands stroked his long beard and retightened the leather lace.
Thorson flicked ash from his smoke. ‘What you thinking about, stranger?’
Uriah Moon pulled his Winchester off his gun grip and cocked it expertly before cradling it in the pit of his elbow. His cold eyes glanced down at the blacksmith.
‘I was just trying to figure the best way of killing that Bray critter, friend.’ He replied in a low drawl. ‘Killing folks can be tricky. If you get it wrong you can end up full of bullet holes yourself.’
‘You ever get it wrong?’
‘Nope.’
Gus Thorson dropped the last half inch of his cigarette on to the sod floor and crushed it under his hefty boot. He ran the palms of his hands over his sweat-polished face. He looked seriously at the tall vigilante.
‘You shouldn’t go around bragging about killing folks, stranger,’ the muscular blacksmith advised. ‘That might be real unhealthy.’
Uriah Moon smiled and then looked at the blacksmith.
‘I don’t brag about such things,’ he said. ‘but you asked me and I just answered.’
The blacksmith stood back up and nodded at the wide back of the vigilante as Moon started began walking slowly back toward the wide open barn doors and the fearsome storm beyond.
‘You going now?’ Thorson asked.
‘Yep,’ Moon drawled over his shoulder. ‘I got me a few things to do.’
Thorson caught the aroma of his brewing coffee in his wide nostrils and raised his voice. ‘Don’t you want a cup of coffee, stranger? I got a spare cup someplace.’
Moon glanced back at the blacksmith.
‘Nope,’ he retorted wryly. ‘I already had me some mighty fine coffee and I figure it’s best I wait until later before I have me some more.’
Gus Thorson scratched his head and stepped forward toward the still departing Moon. The rain still lashed the street as the blacksmith finally succumbed to his insatiable curiosity and bellowed against the noisy storm.
‘Who the hell are you anyway?’ he called out loudly as thunder rumbled above the drenched Apache Springs. ‘What’s your damn name?’
Moon paused his progress as his long legs reached the open barn doors. His eyes glanced down at the churned up muddy sand a couple of steps away from his boots and then he turned toward the sturdy blacksmith and touched his wide hat brim.
‘The name’s Uriah Moon.’ He muttered.
Gus Thorson looked surprised at the name. It was not what he had expected but the more he thought about the strange bearded man before him, the more the name seemed apt.
‘What kinda name is that?’ the blacksmith asked. ‘I ain’t never heard of anyone with a name like that.’
Moon held his trusty Winchester between his hands and then nodded.
‘Come to think of it,’ Moon agreed. ‘Neither have I.’
He touched his hat brim again, turned and walked out into the pouring rain. The smell of sulphur hung in the air as the vigilante waded through the sodden ground away from the wooden edifice.
The blacksmith ran to the place where Moon had paused for a few seconds. He watched the tall figure striding away and heading into the heart of Apache Springs.
The sight of Moon walking through the storm as though utterly oblivious to its power and fury confused the burly blacksmith as he rested his knuckles on his hips.
‘Look after my horse, Gus.’ Moon’s voice rang out though the unrelenting weather. ‘I’ll be needing that nag later.’
The large Thorson was startled.
How did this unearthly varmint know his name? Thorson wondered. He did not recall telling Moon his name. So how did he know it?
The question taunted the blacksmith.
Before Thorson had time to respond, a mighty eruption of deafening noise and blinding light caused the blacksmith to shield his eyes. He staggered out in the rain for an instant and then hurried back to the shelter of his livery.
As the light and ear-splitting noise subsided the muscular blacksmith looked back at the street. Thorson blinked hard and then started to shake his head.
Uriah Moon was gone.