URIAH MOON HAD taken less than five minutes to dress again after he was sure that the beautiful and obliging female had eventually fallen asleep. He stood beside the tray and quickly consumed the stew before filling a cup with the powerful beverage. The silent vigilante filled his cup with cup after cup of the coffee and poured every drop down his throat before casting his ice blue eyes back at the sleeping Maria.
Totally refreshed, he replaced the napkin over the tray and then stooped and plucked his wide-brimmed black Stetson off the floor and placed it over his mane of shocking white hair. For a moment Moon simply stood and pondered the situation.
His ever-active mind raced as he walked back toward the bed and quietly lifted his gun belt off the bed post and swung it around his hips. As he buckled it his mind wondered to the relentless activity which had occupied him since he first went to the remote Fort Hook.
The expressionless vigilante looked down upon the slumbering female as she slept blissfully unaware that he was once again about to leave her once again. His eyes studied Maria’s naked form with a cool admiration.
She was perfect, he thought.
Few females to his knowledge were built the way that Maria was constructed. Every inch of her was perfection to his ghostly eyes. From her long black wavy hair to her small toes and everything in between, she simply looked like something which the world’s finest artist might have created.
But Maria was no painters work of art.
She was real.
She did not dwell in the mind of an artist, she actually existed and he had savored her coffee. His fingers pushed his moustache from his lips and then ran down the length of his white beard.
Moon gave a silent sigh and then walked to the door and carefully unlocked it and headed out on to the landing. His icy stare glanced down at the snoring desk clerk as he made his way down toward the foyer.
Few men built the way that the vigilante was built could have moved so quietly but to Moon is was natural. He had learned long ago that it did not pay to make too much noise when you walked.
He moved with the grace of a cougar in search of its next prey. It had been too long time since he had plied his trade as the avenger of the weak and innocent. It was time to return to his chosen profession of being a vigilante.
Condemned men and wrong doers alike feared the name of Uriah Moon for they knew that once this mysterious vigilante was on their trail, their days were numbered.
Moon took no prisoners.
As Moon walked out on to the boardwalk he noticed that the sun had dropped in the sky and the shadows were getting ever longer. Apache Springs was still hot though and what remained of the day continued to cast its bright sunlight across the remote settlement.
For what seemed like an eternity, Moon had postponed his usually relentless pursuit of those who had escaped justice since answering his cousin Colonel Ambrose Moon’s call for assistance.
Now it was time to resume his lethal occupation.
Every inch of the tall figure lusted after the satisfaction of hunting down those who had escaped the long arm of the law and fled into the lawless terrain. Moon was determined to hunt every one of them down and teach them that he was their judge, their jury and their executioner.
As the vigilante stepped down upon the sandy street he pushed his coat tails over his holstered gun grips. The bright sunlight caught the pearl handled guns as his long legs made short work of reaching the long line of store fronts.
Yet as he stepped up on to the opposite boardwalk his honed instincts noticed that the usually bustling settlement was different.
Apache Springs was far quieter than usual.
His unblinking eyes darted all around him. He noticed a few of the towns inhabitants hurrying away from the heart of Apache Springs back to their homes. It was as if they were afraid to be out once the sun set.
That confused the wide-shouldered vigilante.
As Moon strode along the boardwalk he wondered if he might have killed all of the evil in town. He doubted it though. It seemed that no matter how many bad-men he dispatched to Boot Hill, there always seemed to be more lurking in the shadows.
Whatever the reason, there was no mistaking the look of fear carved into the faces of so many of the townsfolk. They were scared and it showed as they hurried from the stores along the wide main street.
It confused him. Fear was something which Moon had never experienced in all his days. He simply did not understand it.
A million differing thoughts raced through the skull of the man who looked like a phantom in search of his final resting place. The vigilante wondered whether it was him who attracted the scum he took lethal retribution upon.
Were they attracted to him in a misguided defiance of his unrivalled expertise in the art of killing? Other thoughts flashed through his mind as he continued to stride along the boardwalk.
Suddenly the heavens darkened as black clouds rolled over the remote settlement. Moon rested a hand upon a wooden porch upright and glanced upward. The sky suddenly began to rumble as though a herd of stampeding steers were charging around within its brooding clouds.
There was a storm coming back to the lawless land, he thought as he steadied his tall frame and began to roll a cigarette. A breeze kicked up dust which rolled down the street like unseen saddle horses in search of refuge.
His narrowed eyes looked out from beneath the wide brim of his black hat and noticed that the townsfolk were now running as though they sensed an even greater danger was coming.
Moon raised the cigarette to his lips and ran his tongue along its gummed edge. His long fingers rolled the crude makings into shape and then poked it into the corner of his mouth as he searched for a match in his deep pockets.
The sound of a distant thunderclap drew Moon’s attention as he struck a match and cupped its flame. He sucked in smoke as his ice blue eyes studied the sky.
Whereas most people out on the long street cowered and ran away from the noise above them, Uriah Moon blew smoke into the air and strolled casually along the boardwalk. The ear-splitting sound of thunder did not trouble the vigilante in the same way that it frightened everyone else.
As gentle rain started to fall, Moon paused beneath the porch overhang as he savored his smoke. His eyes noticed the water in the troughs start to be peppered by the rain. Then he glanced upward and squinted at the saloons set exactly opposite one another.
They were still as busy as usual, he noticed.
The sound of guitars and out of tune upright pianos filled the middle section of the street. A half dozen horses were tethered to the hitching poles outside both the saloons and the sound of loud voices spilled out as the day gradually turned into the night.
The rain was still gentle but Moon knew that it would soon grow in intensity if the overhead storm clouds continued to do battle in the heavens. His ice cold stare focused on the dark clouds which swirled around the sky at ever increasing speed.
Flashes of white hid behind grey and black clouds as the storm slowly developed.
After sucking the last of his crude cigarettes smoke from the final twisted half inch of gummed paper, he tossed it out into the street and turned toward the building beside him.
As he approached the office door handle, Uriah Moon surveyed the entire street in one casual swoop as was his ritual. Then he turned and gripped a brass knob, twisted it and entered the telegraph office.
The small figure of Gabe Payne sat beside the offices solitary window before his telegraph and continued to pay no attention to the unmistakable figure who stood across his desk from him.
Moon ran his long fingers through his mane of hair as he glared down at the disinterested telegraph worker. He adjusted his Stetson and allowed rain water from its brim to fall on to a stack of paper.
‘Don’t do that,’ Payne snapped without looking up. ‘Do you know how much that paper costs?’
The vigilante raised an eyebrow and stared down at the seated telegraph operator. Moon might have become annoyed had Gabe Payne been a larger man but he simply stared down at the bony old man and exhaled.
‘Nope,’ he answered bluntly before adding. ‘I don’t give a damn how much it costs, amigo.’
The words of the vigilante drew the small man’s attention up from the stack of forms which he was working upon. Payne angrily looked at the figure and started to shake a finger. He was about to give the stranger a piece of his mind when he suddenly got a good look at the towering man who loomed over his desk.
The sight of the vigilante froze Gabe Payne as he stared up at the bearded man less than two feet away from him. As terror raced through him, Payne felt his throat tightening as he stared up at Moon who rested his knuckles upon his desk.
He swallowed hard but there was no spittle in his arid throat. There was virtually no expression upon Moon’s face as he looked down at Payne.
There was no hint of emotion in Moon. He looked neither amused nor angry and yet he appeared no less dangerous. The vigilante was like a savage wild animal poised in readiness to leap and strike.
Payne forced himself to smile.
‘C…can I help you?’ Payne managed to ask as his trembling voice crackled. The telegraph worker vainly attempted to look unafraid.
With his ice blue eyes glaring down at the telegraph worker, Moon gave a nod.
‘Yep,’ he drawled.
Nervously, Payne pushed his note pad closer to the towering vigilante. He tried to look at Moon but found it hard to ignore the ashen features which were aimed at him.
‘You want to send a wire?’ he fearfully enquired as he licked his pencil with a dry tongue and readied himself.
Moon shook his head. ‘Nope.’
Gabe Payne sat upright and looked at the vigilante blankly as every fiber of his being began to tremble. The older man wanted to run for his life but knew that might not be the smartest thing to do.
Uriah Moon leaned even closer.
‘Then how can I help you then, stranger?’ Payne fearfully asked.
The daunting Uriah Moon tilted his head. His ice blue eyes burned though the dimly illuminated office at the weathered elderly man.
‘Have I had any telegraph messages?’ he enquired in a low deep drawl.
The small man screwed up his eyes. ‘Who are you?’
‘I’m Uriah Moon,’ the vigilante drawled.
Payne’s face went ashen. He had heard the numerous stories about the silver haired vigilante and already left countless bodies in his wake. He did not want to add his name to Moon’s tally.
‘I’ll check to see if you’ve had any wires, Mr. Moon.’ He feebly smiled.
As the telegraph worker got to his feet and started looking feverishly through the stack of messages which had yet to be delivered, Moon silently nodded before walking to the office window and staring through the falling rain at the Lucky Dice saloon.
Payne glanced up as he feverishly searched through the messages.
‘The Lucky Dice sure is appetizing at this time of day,’ He said dryly. ‘I bet you could use a nice cool glass of beer. Am I right?’
The suggestion did not appeal to the grim faced vigilante as he slowly shook his head.
‘Nope,’ he retorted.
The answer confused the telegraph worker. He had never met a grown man that did not relish a glass of beer.
‘Maybe you prefer whiskey?’ he said as his hands worked their way through the stack of paper. ‘I bet you like a few glasses of rye. Am I right?’
Moon glanced at the talkative Payne.
‘Nope,’ he answered. ‘I like coffee. Strong black coffee.’
‘Coffee?’ Payne repeated in surprise.
‘Yeah, nice strong coffee.’ Uriah Moon returned his attention to the street as the rainfall began to create puddles across its sandy surface. He pulled out his tobacco pouch and slid a thin gummed paper between his fingers. He remained silent as Payne continued to search for telegraph messages.