Read Online Death Mask by Cotton Smith - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cotton Smith
Tags: Fiction
Ads: Link
enemies.
The shaman’s great gift was the ability to transform himself into an animal, he had decided. The gift had been passed on to him in his ability to transform himself as necessary. It was too dark to see much of anything, especially a crow, he decided. More important, for now, was to complete the rest of his plan.
After a drink from the stream, Tanneman mounted his horse and took the reins of Gaggratte’s. He laughed. The next thing to do was to “kill” himself. The ultimate transformation. But he had to do it quickly, before anyone came to the jail and realized there had been an escape.
Quickly, he returned to the main road, riding his horse and leading Gaggratte’s. He reined up beside a long gully snuggled parallel to the well-traveled path. It was the first of a line of slopes and arroyos that stretched out for a half mile, broken by several clusters of trees. This was a good place for an ambush. He needed someone to become him in death. If not, he would ride on until someone suitable was found. He didn’t expect any posse until after the morning shift of lawmen arrived.
He tied the two horses well off the trail in a shallow ravine that was two over, so they wouldn’t give away their presence and alert anyone. Lack of sleep was pushing its way into his mind, but he couldn’t let that deter him. The next step in his plan was the one that would stop any Rangers from seeking him. He would stage his own death.
“ ‘When devils will the blackest sins put on, They do suggest at first with heavenly shows.’” Tanneman muttered one of his favorite passages from the second act of Shakespeare’s Othello, letting both of his hands swing dramatically toward an imagined audience. His shrill laugh turned the horses’ heads toward him, their ears cocked for understanding.
Discovery of his escape would not be too far away. Still, it was vital to be patient.
“Patience, ah, the wondrous virtue,” he said. “Something I learned centuries ago.” He laughed, then heard something.
Yes, someone was riding on the road. Probably headed for town. He crouched behind the rocky incline. Good. The rider was alone. But even in the dark he could tell the horseman had light-colored hair. That wouldn’t do. Patience. Two more riders passed and he was beginning to wonder if he should ride on and stage his “death” later.
A half hour slid by and he almost dozed. The noise of a rider brought him alert.
From his concealed position, Tanneman fired. The horse reared in fright as the man threw his hands in the air and fell from the saddle. Tanneman quickly fired a second shot. The startled horse stutter-stepped and stopped, its ears alert. Speaking softly, Tanneman gathered the reins. Faint blushes of rose lined the dark sky.
He carried the body back to where Gaggratte had died and tied the three horses to nearby trees. Without wasting motion, he stripped off the body’s clothes and put them on. The dead man was slightly taller than Tanneman, but the clothes would do until he could buy some. A bonus was discovering the man was carrying a small wad of gold certificates and a short-barreled Colt, but no extra bullets. The gun was more important than the money—for his special presentation.
False dawn was strutting across the sky as Tanneman dressed the body in his own shirt and pants, then built a small fire. The light of a new day took away any real concern about it being seen. Reluctantly, he placed the jaguar necklace around the dead rider’s neck. The spirits would understand. He dragged the body onto the flames, pushing the dead man’s face into the hot flames. The crackling sound made him queasy, but it was necessary. That was the final touch. No one would be able to identify the body. Tanneman left it as if he had died and fallen there.
Even though Tanneman didn’t want to do so, the guard’s rifle had to be left at the scene, placed carefully near Gaggratte. Tanneman left the guard’s handgun in the man’s
The shaman’s great gift was the ability to transform himself into an animal, he had decided. The gift had been passed on to him in his ability to transform himself as necessary. It was too dark to see much of anything, especially a crow, he decided. More important, for now, was to complete the rest of his plan.
After a drink from the stream, Tanneman mounted his horse and took the reins of Gaggratte’s. He laughed. The next thing to do was to “kill” himself. The ultimate transformation. But he had to do it quickly, before anyone came to the jail and realized there had been an escape.
Quickly, he returned to the main road, riding his horse and leading Gaggratte’s. He reined up beside a long gully snuggled parallel to the well-traveled path. It was the first of a line of slopes and arroyos that stretched out for a half mile, broken by several clusters of trees. This was a good place for an ambush. He needed someone to become him in death. If not, he would ride on until someone suitable was found. He didn’t expect any posse until after the morning shift of lawmen arrived.
He tied the two horses well off the trail in a shallow ravine that was two over, so they wouldn’t give away their presence and alert anyone. Lack of sleep was pushing its way into his mind, but he couldn’t let that deter him. The next step in his plan was the one that would stop any Rangers from seeking him. He would stage his own death.
“ ‘When devils will the blackest sins put on, They do suggest at first with heavenly shows.’” Tanneman muttered one of his favorite passages from the second act of Shakespeare’s Othello, letting both of his hands swing dramatically toward an imagined audience. His shrill laugh turned the horses’ heads toward him, their ears cocked for understanding.
Discovery of his escape would not be too far away. Still, it was vital to be patient.
“Patience, ah, the wondrous virtue,” he said. “Something I learned centuries ago.” He laughed, then heard something.
Yes, someone was riding on the road. Probably headed for town. He crouched behind the rocky incline. Good. The rider was alone. But even in the dark he could tell the horseman had light-colored hair. That wouldn’t do. Patience. Two more riders passed and he was beginning to wonder if he should ride on and stage his “death” later.
A half hour slid by and he almost dozed. The noise of a rider brought him alert.
From his concealed position, Tanneman fired. The horse reared in fright as the man threw his hands in the air and fell from the saddle. Tanneman quickly fired a second shot. The startled horse stutter-stepped and stopped, its ears alert. Speaking softly, Tanneman gathered the reins. Faint blushes of rose lined the dark sky.
He carried the body back to where Gaggratte had died and tied the three horses to nearby trees. Without wasting motion, he stripped off the body’s clothes and put them on. The dead man was slightly taller than Tanneman, but the clothes would do until he could buy some. A bonus was discovering the man was carrying a small wad of gold certificates and a short-barreled Colt, but no extra bullets. The gun was more important than the money—for his special presentation.
False dawn was strutting across the sky as Tanneman dressed the body in his own shirt and pants, then built a small fire. The light of a new day took away any real concern about it being seen. Reluctantly, he placed the jaguar necklace around the dead rider’s neck. The spirits would understand. He dragged the body onto the flames, pushing the dead man’s face into the hot flames. The crackling sound made him queasy, but it was necessary. That was the final touch. No one would be able to identify the body. Tanneman left it as if he had died and fallen there.
Even though Tanneman didn’t want to do so, the guard’s rifle had to be left at the scene, placed carefully near Gaggratte. Tanneman left the guard’s handgun in the man’s
Similar Books
