Read Online Manly Wade Wellman - John the Balladeer 02 by After Dark (v1.1) - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: After Dark (v1.1)
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decided to make my trip so
far a mile's way.
And
as I went on for what might could be the start of
another mile, I kept a-watching the trees to left and right. They were the same
trees as before, but there was difference in there with them. They were grown
up, across from one another, with vines. And not only ivy and honeysuckle and
woodbine; another kind of vine, new to me who'd always watched such things. It
was a knotty-looking thing, with round leaves so dark as to look almost black,
and blossoms on it with pale milky petals and out of each a red scrap like a
tongue stuck out at you.
I
didn't like that kind of flower, and I kept my feet on the track that seemed to
keep its quiver in my blood.
Then
I came to a stop again.
A
sort of shallow ditch went down at the side of the track. In it lay a quiet somebody, a somebody that didn’t move, that
wouldn’t move again in this world.
I
bent to look. Sure enough, a Shonokin. I could tell that by the long black coat
he wore, by his long, snaky black hair, and by one outflung hand that had a
third finger longer than the middle one.
He
was dead. I’ve seen enough dead things in this life to know death when it lies
there before me. I bent closer but I didn’t touch him. His lips were dragged
back and I saw his clenched teeth, small and narrow and grubby-looking. He was
bloody in two places, the chest of his black coat and the side of his neck
above it. Ben Gray’s two rifle shots, I told myself. Mr. Ben didn’t mess round
when he aimed at you and pulled the trigger.
And
the Shonokin’s two friends had got him that far along, and then just went off and left him. He must have died right there, and they’d
dropped his body and let it lie. It must be the truth what Jackson Warren
said—nothing threw a scare into Shonokins like their own dead. That would be
why the old-timey Indians had whipped them in war; Indians, even far back then,
were bound to be good killers with spears and arrows and tomahawks. I stood
a-looking down at that poor dead Shonokin who’d scared his own kin so bad.
But
there was nothing I could do for him now, so I went on ahead.
Along
a little way farther, I thought for a second I was a- coming to the end of the
straight track. Then I saw that wasn’t so—it just came to a big hike in the
ground and went up over. I walked to the place and stopped to figure. Why
hadn’t they run their trail to right or left, where the ground was easier? The
Shonokins must know the answer, but I didn’t. I went up the trail over the
hump, and it was so steep I almost had to go on my all fours. I reckon I had to
go eighteen-twenty feet to get to the top, twice my height above the track if
you measured straight up.
When
I got there, I saw the settlement that had been Immer.
The
trees thinned out round it, so I could see houses. Only they didn’t truly look
any great much like the houses built by folks, by people like us, by men.
5
And
that settlement once named Immer was way back beyond, at that; it was sort of
closed in most of the way round by a laurel hell, grown up so thick and matted
together you'd figure a man might could get up and walk on top of it. If you
don't mind, you can push into a laurel hell and get so trapped you'll nair get
out again. In the open space stood a couple dozen houses, if they were sure
enough houses.
For
one thing about it, there wasn't what you could call a straightaway street.
That wondered me, when I thought how dead straight had run the track I'd
traveled. The houses, such as they were, stood in little circles of ground for
yards. Paths curved round the circles, onto paths round other circles for other
houses. I
far a mile's way.
And
as I went on for what might could be the start of
another mile, I kept a-watching the trees to left and right. They were the same
trees as before, but there was difference in there with them. They were grown
up, across from one another, with vines. And not only ivy and honeysuckle and
woodbine; another kind of vine, new to me who'd always watched such things. It
was a knotty-looking thing, with round leaves so dark as to look almost black,
and blossoms on it with pale milky petals and out of each a red scrap like a
tongue stuck out at you.
I
didn't like that kind of flower, and I kept my feet on the track that seemed to
keep its quiver in my blood.
Then
I came to a stop again.
A
sort of shallow ditch went down at the side of the track. In it lay a quiet somebody, a somebody that didn’t move, that
wouldn’t move again in this world.
I
bent to look. Sure enough, a Shonokin. I could tell that by the long black coat
he wore, by his long, snaky black hair, and by one outflung hand that had a
third finger longer than the middle one.
He
was dead. I’ve seen enough dead things in this life to know death when it lies
there before me. I bent closer but I didn’t touch him. His lips were dragged
back and I saw his clenched teeth, small and narrow and grubby-looking. He was
bloody in two places, the chest of his black coat and the side of his neck
above it. Ben Gray’s two rifle shots, I told myself. Mr. Ben didn’t mess round
when he aimed at you and pulled the trigger.
And
the Shonokin’s two friends had got him that far along, and then just went off and left him. He must have died right there, and they’d
dropped his body and let it lie. It must be the truth what Jackson Warren
said—nothing threw a scare into Shonokins like their own dead. That would be
why the old-timey Indians had whipped them in war; Indians, even far back then,
were bound to be good killers with spears and arrows and tomahawks. I stood
a-looking down at that poor dead Shonokin who’d scared his own kin so bad.
But
there was nothing I could do for him now, so I went on ahead.
Along
a little way farther, I thought for a second I was a- coming to the end of the
straight track. Then I saw that wasn’t so—it just came to a big hike in the
ground and went up over. I walked to the place and stopped to figure. Why
hadn’t they run their trail to right or left, where the ground was easier? The
Shonokins must know the answer, but I didn’t. I went up the trail over the
hump, and it was so steep I almost had to go on my all fours. I reckon I had to
go eighteen-twenty feet to get to the top, twice my height above the track if
you measured straight up.
When
I got there, I saw the settlement that had been Immer.
The
trees thinned out round it, so I could see houses. Only they didn’t truly look
any great much like the houses built by folks, by people like us, by men.
5
And
that settlement once named Immer was way back beyond, at that; it was sort of
closed in most of the way round by a laurel hell, grown up so thick and matted
together you'd figure a man might could get up and walk on top of it. If you
don't mind, you can push into a laurel hell and get so trapped you'll nair get
out again. In the open space stood a couple dozen houses, if they were sure
enough houses.
For
one thing about it, there wasn't what you could call a straightaway street.
That wondered me, when I thought how dead straight had run the track I'd
traveled. The houses, such as they were, stood in little circles of ground for
yards. Paths curved round the circles, onto paths round other circles for other
houses. I
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