IT WAS AS if the glowing crystal spires were a magnet that used some unseen force to attract its unsuspecting victims to it. The light pulsated like a heart beating and perhaps that was what it was. Maybe this was the heart of the uncharted forest set in an otherwise body of trees. Whatever the truth, it worked and had lured both the vigilante and the cowboy to its radiant illumination. The light cut through the otherwise dense mass of trees and vegetation like a hot knife sliding through a block of chilled butter.
Uriah Moon drew rein and stared with unblinking eyes at the strange glowing sight ahead of him. As the young cowboy halted his quarter horse beside the mustang, he gasped in awe at the unexpected vision. A vision which seemed totally out of place in the forest. The vigilante looked upward through the dense canopy at the sky and then lowered his head again and glanced at the open-mouthed cowboy.
‘It’ll be sunup in about an hour, Billy,’ Moon drawled as he thoughtfully began to roll himself a cigarette.
The cowboy could tell that the storm was now beginning to move away from the forest but there were still pockets of lightning sporadically illuminating the vast woodland. He was confused by the fact that the vigilante had not mentioned the glowing crystals that they could both see quite clearly.
‘What in tarnation is that, Moon?’ Billy asked as he pointed a shaking hand at the mysterious sight. ‘I don’t understand how that thing is all lit up. What is it?’
Moon looked up for a mere heartbeat at the crystal mesas and then returned his attention to his fingers as he rolled the makings and raised it to his mouth. His tongue ran along the length of the gummed paper before he returned his tobacco pouch to his vest.
‘Don’t you know what that is, Billy?’ he asked as he scratched a match with his thumbnail and cupped its flickering flame against the eerie surrounding half-light.
The cowboy shook his head. ‘Nope.’
‘Me neither,’ Moon said through a cloud of smoke before he flicked the spent match at the sodden vegetation.
‘What you reckon it is?’ Billy pressed as he balanced on his stirrups. ‘And how’s it all lit up like that?’
Moon pulled the cigarette from his lips and studied the sight of the pulsating rods more carefully. Even his vast knowledge of unusual things found in the limitless boundaries of the west offered the vigilante no clues. Like many others, Moon had heard several stories concerning such a place but had never imagined that any of them were true.
‘It sure is a head scratcher and no mistake, Billy boy,’ he uttered before tapping his spurs against the flanks of his gelded mustang and urging it forward. ‘All I know for sure is that this is the place that I’m meant to be.’
‘What?’ Billy gasped.
The cowboy slapped his long leathers across the tail of his mount and rode to the side of his tall companion. As he steadied his horse he stared between the strange mesas and his thoughtful saddle pal.
‘What do you mean by that?’ he continued.
Like a granite statue, Moon sat atop his walking mustang with smoke drifting over his wide shoulders as he steered the animal closer to the daunting sight they neared. His eyes darted around the dense forest as his sturdy mount headed toward the bright beating illumination.
The vigilante halted his horse and filled his lungs with smoke. He then dropped the spent butt on to the damp ground and dismounted in one fluid motion. His tall frame stood staring at the blinding light which faced them.
Billy Rocco drew level with the expressionless Moon and also dismounted. The confused youngster could not fathom why the vigilante seemed so intent on entering the canyons.
‘Why did you say that place is where you’re meant to be, Moon?’ he asked. ‘I don’t understand.’
Moon pushed his jacket tails over the pair of holstered guns on his hips and revealed their deadliness. Without answering, he checked that both weapons were fully loaded and ready for action.
Billy stepped between the vigilante and the awesome sight of the uncannily glowing crystal spires. He rested his knuckles on his hips until Moon eventually looked at him.
‘Answer me, damn it,’ he raged. ‘I wanna know why you reckon this is where you’re meant to be. That just don’t figure.’
Moon shook his mane of white hair and adjusted his wide brimmed black hat. In truth, he did not understand it either but had grown used to the uncanny way that he was always guided to where his chosen prey would be found.
Uriah Moon tightened the leather lace on his beard. He raised an eyebrow and looked at his far shorter friend.
‘Why? Because that’s where the bank robbers are, Billy,’ he said confidently. ‘I’m a vigilante. I have to head into that place to make them pay for killing so many innocents over in Tuscan. I already told you that.’
Billy waved a finger at the tall man.
‘How’d you know that them hombres are even in there?’ he asked bluntly before pointing at the strange throbbing crystals. ‘We don’t know what that is. It sure don’t look like anything I’ve ever seen before. It looks mighty dangerous to me.’
‘It is dangerous, Billy.’ Uriah Moon tilted his head and looked back at the outlaws three saddle horses tethered to a stout tree trunk behind them in the shadows. ‘I know that they entered this place because they left their nags over yonder.’
Billy Rocco had not even noticed the three horses but the vigilante had clearly spotted them. He rubbed his jaw in total confusion.
‘How’d you see them nags from back there?’ he asked.
‘Because I was looking for them.’ Moon turned and paced across the muddy ground and pulled one of the leather trimmed canvas bags off the saddle and tossed it into the following cowboy’s arms.
The startled cowboy looked into the top of the bag at the crumpled bank notes which were stuffed into its belly. His amazed look amused the vigilante.
‘I reckon them bandits left this loot here, Billy,’ Moon said before walking back to his own mount and starting to unbuckle one of his own saddle bags satchels. ‘The question is why? Why leave bags full of cash from the bank in Tuscan out here? You’d only do that if you spotted something more valuable and headed off to collect it.’
Billy screwed up his face. ‘What’s more valuable than bags full of money, Moon? And how come you’re so certain they went into that damn canyon?’
‘Where else?’ The vigilante glanced at the eerily haunting glowing canyon and gritted his teeth. ‘What’s more valuable than money, boy? Gold. They reacted the way all greedy critters do when they see sparkling golden nuggets and went in there to harvest themselves a whole heap of them. Yep, the varmints I’m after are in there and I intend getting them.’
Billy looked at the blinding light which throbbed constantly like a lighthouse and then back at his companion.
‘How would them outlaws know about there being gold in that canyon, Moon? How?’ he asked.
‘Look at the sand in there, Billy,’ Moon drawled. ‘The sand has been salted with hundreds of nuggets. Nuggets designed to lure the greedy into it.’
‘You mean there’s somebody in there who ambushes folks?’
The vigilante tightened his eyes and stared straight into the face of his far less worldly pal.
‘Somebody or something,’ he muttered before shaking his head. ‘It’s just cheese on a trap and the three bank robbers scuttled in there thinking that they had discovered themselves a treasure.’
Only then did Billy Rocco notice the dozens of glittering gold nuggets scattered on the crystal canyon floor. He was about to speak when he saw his far taller companion removing the six dynamite sticks and the coil of fuse wire from his satchel.
‘Why’d you need dynamite?’ Billy asked fearfully.
Moon stuffed the explosives into his jacket pockets and then turned to face the startled cowpuncher. He raised an eyebrow and then slid his Winchester from its saddle scabbard and started to fill its magazine with fresh ammunition.
‘I got me a gut feeling that them hombres could be mighty tricky customers, Billy,’ he said as he hung the rifle from his gun-belt close to one of his six-shooters. ‘You can never be too sure how they’ll react when they set eyes on me. Most folks don’t cotton to being executed.’
‘I guess not.’ Billy watched as the vigilante then removed his coiled cutting rope from his saddle horn and looped it over his left shoulder.
Without uttering another word, the vigilante strode passed the cowboy and continued on toward the brightly lit canyon entrance. The young cowboy ran behind the awesome Moon who stopped just shy of the canyon mouth.
Moon narrowed his eyes and stared at the gleaming golden nuggets that were scattered across the canyon sand. He looked down at his panting pal and issued a stern warning.
‘Whatever you do,’ he drawled ominously. ‘Don’t touch one of them nuggets, boy.’
Billy frowned. ‘Why not?’
‘Trust me, Billy,’ Moon added before resting the palms of his hands on his gun grips. ‘Do not touch any of them. They ain’t what they seem.’
Billy was totally bewildered. ‘Gold is gold, ain’t it?’
Moon sighed heavily and pointed at the nuggets which were strewn over the sand. He stroked his long beard thoughtfully and then gave a glance at the cowboy.
‘That’s true, Billy,’ he stated before returning his outstretched hand to his holstered six-gun. ‘But in all my days I’ve never seen gold that throbs like these nuggets. It’s as though they are alive. Trust me and don’t touch them in case they are hiding a deadly secret.’
‘You mean they might be coated in poison?’ Billy gasped.
Uriah Moon nodded. ‘Something like that.’
The cowboy was about to protest when he saw Moon stride purposely into the bright light and march into the canyon. As though by magic the confused youngster saw the vigilante disappear from sight within twenty steps into the shimmering glow.
Billy wondered what the vigilante meant by stating that the nuggets were not what they appeared to be and might be lethal. He tilted his head and stared at the almost hypnotic glistening golden rocks and then back up to where he had last seen the mysterious Uriah Moon. No matter how tempting the golden rocks were, the words of the vigilante continued to echo inside his mind.
Billy Rocco gulped but there was no spittle in his arid dry mouth or throat. Fear gripped his throat like a noose. He looked at the alluring nuggets which were screaming to be picked up but the instructions of the mysterious Moon kept ringing in his ears.
He was not about to disobey the tall vigilante.
The cowboy backed away, walked to his mount and removed his canteen from the saddle horn and started to unscrew its stopper to reveal its precious contents. His shaking hands lifted the canteen to his lips and he drank. As the refreshing water washed the dryness down his throat his fertile imagination wondered why Moon had been so adamant.
As the cowboy took another mouthful of water he glanced around the chilling area. The eerily haunting light from the tall spires danced across the tree trunks but did nothing apart from creating even more shadows. Billy nervously rubbed the nape of his neck as his trembling fingers slowly returned the stopper back to the canteen. Billy suddenly recalled the lifeless body that he and the vigilante had found miles behind this scary place. The pitiful remains of Trooper Davis. Whoever had killed the soldier might be waiting for his chance to strike again, Billy thought.
Billy Rocco felt as though he was being watched from every black shadow which surrounded him. It felt as though unseen eyes were observing his every move. The cowboy eased himself between both his and Moon’s horses. At least the animals offered him a bit more protection, he reasoned.
Was he being watched? Was the maniac actually as close as he imagined? The questions nagged at the young cowboy as his eyes fearfully darted around the forest.
He hung his canteen on his saddle horn and then rested his hand on his holstered six-shooter. Billy was dog-tired but too scared to close his eyes and succumb to sleep.
Billy wondered when or if the vigilante would return. He had never been so afraid. He looked to where he had last seen the awesome figure of Uriah Moon and kept his hand curled around his holstered six-shooter.
‘You’d better not leave me here on my lonesome, Moon,’ he whispered under his breath. ‘I don’t hanker dying on my own.’