Read Online Shadow on the Sun by Richard Matheson - Free Book Online

casting up gouts of mud.
    Then, whirling abruptly, he raced to the bed and jerked hisnightshirt off. He was dressed in twenty seconds, his arms and legs a blur of agitated motion. Jerking on his boots, he jumped up and sprinted to the door, snatching his hat from the bureau as he passed it. The door went crashing against the wall as he flung it open and sped into the hallway.
    He met Boutelle as he half-skidded across the second-floor landing, his hand squeaking on the bannister. The younger man, a long coat thrown over his nightshirt, feet thrust bare into his boots, looked at Finley angrily.
    â€œSo much for your treaty!” he snapped.
    Finley didn’t take the time to answer. Darting past Boutelle, he descended the stairs in a series of step-engulfing leaps. Boutelle followed hurriedly.
    â€œWhat’s wrong, Mr. Finley?”
    Finley shot a glance to one side as he raced across the dim lobby. He saw Mrs. Vance in her nightgown standing in the doorway to her and Mr. Vance’s apartment.
    â€œDon’t know, ma’am!” Finley answered breathlessly. He jolted to a halt before the door and jerked it open, the bell tinkling sharply.
    â€œIs it an attack?” cried Mrs. Vance.
    â€œNo!” he shouted over his shoulder as he plunged into the chilly morning air. Turning right, he began to run again along the plank walk. Down the street, the Apaches had drawn their ponies up in front of the general store. At first, Finley didn’t see what they were looking at.
    Then he caught sight of the man sitting there on the general store’s porch.
    Within earshot now, Finley skidded to a halt in time to hear Braided Feather address the man in Apache. The agent stopped so abruptly that Boutelle, running close behind, almost rammed into him.
    Across the street, the man remained seated, his eyes on Braided Feather as the chief spoke.
    â€œWhat did the Indian say?” Boutelle whispered, not recognizing Braided Feather.
    â€œHe asked the man what he wants,” Finley translated hastily, his gaze fixed on the seated man. Who was he? Finley wondered. Why had Braided Feather ridden all the way to Picture City just to see him?
    As Finley wondered, the man stood slowly and moved to the edge of the walk. The agent noticed how the Apaches seemed to cringe at his approach, how the ponies nickered in restless alarm and tried to back off.
    The man answered Braided Feather.
    â€œWhat did he say?” whispered Boutelle.
    Finley’s face had grown suddenly taut. He did not seem to have heard the question.
    â€œWhat did he
say
?” Boutelle repeated angrily.
    â€œHe wants to know where the Night Doctor is.”
    â€œWho?”
    The Indian agent waved him off and leaned forward, listening intently as Braided Feather spoke again. He heard a sound in the chief’s voice he had never heard before—the sound of fear. It made him shudder.
    â€œWe do not know,” Braided Feather was telling the man, edging his horse back slowly as he spoke.
“We do not know.”
    The man smiled coldly.
    â€œIt does not matter,” he said. “I will find him.”
    Suddenly, Braided Feather jerked his horse around and drove heels to its flanks. In an instant, the other Apaches followed his lead and the street was shaking with the impact of driving hooves.
    â€œWait!” Finley shouted to the chief. But if Braided Feather heard, he gave no sign of it. Face a carven mask, eyes held straight ahead, he drove his horse toward the edge of town. In a minute, every Apache was gone.
    Finley stood for a few moments, staring in the direction they had gone. Then, slowly, his gaze shifted to the man.
    â€œWhat in the name of heaven is going on?” demanded an angry, confused Boutelle.
    Finley shook his head, looking at the man.
    â€œAre those the Apaches we met with yesterday?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAre they trying to—”
    â€œHey, what in hell’s going on around