The Two Devils Read online

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  Lachesis Publishing

  www.lachesispublishing.com

  Copyright ©2005 by David B. Riley

  First published in 2005, 2005

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  For A.B.L

  Acknowledgement

  The Two Devils

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  About the Author:

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  The Two Devils

  By

  David B. Riley

  The Two Devils Copyright © 2004 by David B Riley. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Disclaimer

  While inspired by actual events, this novel is a work of fiction.

  Cover Artwork by Gin Fenton

  Internal Illustrations by Billy Tackett

  Edited by David Lee Summers

  LIC in Progress

  A co-publication of:

  LBF Books & Hadrosaur Productions

  Pittsburgh, PA Las Cruces, NM

  FIRST PRINTING

  For A.B.L

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Acknowledgement

  This book is based on characters that first appeared in Hadrosaur Tales and Cabal Asylum.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  The Two Devils

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Prologue

  EXPLORERS

  Yucatan Peninsula, Mexico, January 1866

  "Commodore!” Sub Lieutenant Watson yelled. He had a young, brown-skinned native girl by the arm. “Lookie what I got.” The girl was bare-breasted, wearing only a thin, woven cloth around her middle. “I ain't had me one of these in neary a year."

  "As long as you share her with the rest,” Commodore Ian Macintosh decided. “They burn for a woman just as much as you."

  "This is not the way to endear ourselves with the natives,” General Creed protested.

  "Quit your yappin,” the commodore snapped. “Go ahead, Sub Lieutenant. We in the Confederate Navy don't answer to General Creed. Have your girlie."

  General Creed glared at him. “Some navy genius you are; one United States warship and here we are in this crap hole."

  "Ships sink. That's part of naval life. If your men hadn't failed to get President Davis to our rendezvous, we would be in Mexico City instead of this bug-infested crap hole,” the commodore snapped back. “Now, he sits in a Union prison and we hide from the Union navy—and the Federales. If you want to blame someone, look in a mirror."

  "Gentlemen, we need to get along,” Commander Philo McGee intervened. There are just a handful of us in a very foreign land."

  Sub Lieutenant Watson had his trousers off and the cloth was off the girl. Just after throwing her to the ground, his head—in that instant before he lost consciousness—realized it was no longer attached to the rest of his body.

  There were lots more shirtless brown people. One of them held a big knife in his right hand and Sub Lieutenant Watson's head in his left. He held the head up into the air and admired it.

  The confederates stood motionless, each with a similar knife at each of their throats.

  The men were tied, then marched off into the jungle.

  Confederate General Renaldo Creed, a West Point graduate, found the rhythm of the drums beating to be oddly compelling. Soon, they were taken into a clearing. A massive stone building stood before them. It looked to the general like one of the pyramids in Egypt, or at least a terraced version of one of them.

  The drums stopped. Ten men wearing orange and black robes marched single file to a point behind an altar-like stone table that was erected in front of the pyramid. One of them, though dressed identically, seemed in charge. More robed men brought an ornate chair and placed it behind the altar. Then, a lone man brought an owl, an odd-looking owl, to the altar.

  "Must be their god,” the commodore said.

  "You are right,” the man in orange and black robes said.

  "You speak English?” the commodore asked.

  "No. You are speaking Mayan,” he corrected.

  "How can this be?” the commodore asked.

  "Which one of you is in charge?” the man in the orange robes asked.

  The commodore pushed past General Creed. “That would be me."

  Two of the men without shirts grabbed him by each arm. One of the wickedly sharp knives they'd just seen relieve the head of Sub Lieutenant Watson did the same for the commodore. As the head rolled along on the ground, the body was placed on the altar.

  The owl moved the lower part of its body into the neck cavity of the commodore's body. In a few moments, it sat up. The owl-headed man briefly looked at his new body, then moved over to the ornate chair and seated himself. He looked at the confederates. “Why have you come?"

  "We were in a naval battle, sir,” General Creed explained.

  "Address Ah Puch as Great Lord,” the man in the robes instructed.

  "We were in naval battle, sir ... Great Lord,” General Creed said.

  "A naval battle?” Ah Puch asked. “What is that?"

  "A battle between two ships, at sea."

  "At sea? With cannons and such?"

  "Yes."

  The man in the robes gave General Creed a look.

  "Great Lord,” the general added.

  "Where are you from?” Ah Puch asked.

  "The Confederate States of America,” General Creed said.

  "Fascinating,” the Mayan god of Death said. “Tell me more."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 1

  THE HAUNTED MINE

  I'd been in Virginia City the better part of a day, coming over from California on the railroad. I was fired from a job in Stockton. It was either the mining camps or San Francisco. The coin landed tails. A fellow at the general supply store introduced me to a man from a mining company. I got hired on the spot, no questions asked.

  The dirty, shanty town was making me nervous with its muddy, rutted streets, dilapidated shacks, torn canvas tents, and an overall crowded feeling. Someone once told me Virginia City now had more people in it than did San Francisco. I believed it. And, every one of them was after a buck, though this form of capitalism was proving a little too stark for my liking. Two plump prostitutes were looking me over. I pulled out the empty linings of my pocket and shrugged my shoulders. The women immediately turned their attention toward someone else.

  This was a strange place. It was awful to look at. Yet, they had an opera house and really good singers came through regularly. The newspaper was remarkably well written. The Territorial Enterprise could be seen in the hands of just about everyone as the writings of Dan Dequille and some new guy named Mark Twain ke
pt folks informed and entertained.

  And, most of the miners seemed literate and could actually be seen reading the darned thing. Half the people in my hometown couldn't even read a newspaper.

  "Hey, kid!” I looked around, then noticed Mr. Benson standing over in front of the dry goods store. I waved and hurried to the buckboard. I dropped my duffle in the back and climbed aboard. “All set, kid?” the burly, bearded man asked me.

  "I reckon.” I didn't really like being called kid, but protesting seemed pointless.

  The ride up to the mine turned out to be a rather grueling experience. The country was extremely rugged and the roads were little more than animal trails chewed up by a newfound avalanche of men scouring the land for ore. We'd ridden for some time before my new employer again spoke.

  "So you're from Virginia?"

  "No,” I answered. “That ain't right."

  Mr. Benson scratched his head. “Oh? Thought they said you were from Virginia?"

  "They may a told ya that, but it ain't right,” I said. “No. I come out of Kansas."

  Mr. Benson shrugged. “As long as ya work, I guess that's all that matters."

  We rode along for another mile or so. “Is it a big mine, sir?” I asked.

  "Nah, a little piss-ant operation. We struck a small vein. Oh, we do all right. We're not nearly as big as them shaft operations near town. Hell there's one shaft that goes right under Virginia City. Folks are sleepin’ and they start blasting away some nights. Scared the bejeebers out a me when I hit town."

  He turned off the bad road and onto a really miserable one. We rounded a bend then I was able to see the mining camp, which was mostly a collection of canvas tents on platforms. A bluish haze filled the little valley as the cooking fires revved up. We parked the buckboard and I helped unload its contents into the yellow canvas supply tent.

  Then, I was handed off to a toothless, crusty individual named Roy.

  Roy took me to a tent. “This here's where you'll be sleepin', kid. Now your two tent mates are down in the mine. They're workin’ nights, so ya may not be seein’ much of ‘em.” Roy tugged on his suspenders. “We eat in around twenty minutes. You can wash down by that water tower."

  Then Roy hobbled away, leaving me alone in the tent.

  I didn't think I was going to like the job of “kitchen boy,” but at least it would provide food and shelter until I found something better to my liking.

  Supper proved an experience. It was the first, last, and only chance I was going to get to eat when the miners ate, as my duties would require me to serve them the slop. “Mmm, slops up,” had replaced “come ‘n get it,” the mandate from the ranch in Kansas where I'd grown up.

  The cuisine actually was palatable, with a well-seasoned stew, ample cornbread and a generous wedge of apple pie. Roy had a variety of rigged-up stoves, and even an oven. It was all outdoors, but a canvas tent could be erected over everything if need be.

  I found myself annoyed with the miners and kitchen help. I knew they were talking about me, though I never really could figure out what was being said. Being the new guy, I expected some curiosity. But, the snickers and laughs were making me more than a bit uneasy as I slopped down my third glass of apple juice and fourth slice of pie. I might've responded, but I decided to keep focused on what really mattered. I hadn't eaten a true meal in days. Finally, with belly sated, I waddled back toward the tent. I nearly collided with two skinny, tall men who were leaving as I was going in.

  "Eh,” one of them said.

  "I'm Miles,” I introduced myself to my tent mates. I offered out my hand, but found no takers.

  "Eh,” the other one grunted as they both scurried off toward the main tunnel entrance of the mine.

  The following morning, Roy extracted me from my bunk promptly at four o'clock. Groggy-eyed, I soon found myself crying over a bushel barrel of onions. I had to dice all of them for the taters Roy was preparing for morning breakfast. I'd never seen so many onions in my life, nor even heard of putting them in with taters. And, every single one of those onions was soon devoured, along with every biscuit, egg, potato and scrap of jelly to be found anywhere near camp. Roy fended off complaints that there was no more ham by waving a large cleaver around and threatening several of the miners with castration if they didn't shut up and quit their “yappin'."

  I complained to Roy about all the gluttony. “Shucks, that taint nothin', just you wait till dinner rolls around. Them men work hard. They eat."

  By the time dinner did roll around, and the last supper plate was washed and put away, I simply staggered to the tent and collapsed on top of my bunk. I was asleep before I hit the pillow, with my clothes still on.

  Then someone was tugging on my pant leg. “It can't be time for work,” I protested. “I'm tired."

  "Shucks, it's only around nine, I figure,” a woman was telling me.

  A scent of lilac water wafted into my nostrils. There weren't any women around for miles, as I recalled it. But, there was one sitting on my bunk. I sat up and futilely tried to un-mesh my hair.

  "Hi, I'm Ruth,” she greeted.

  "Uh, Miles. Miles O'Malley,” I declared. I was still completely baffled by what was going on.

  She nodded some sense of recognition. “Oh, you're Irish then."

  "Uh, my parents were born there. I was born on a boat. Grew up in Kansas."

  She was young and reasonably pretty for a girl back home, a knockout for anything I'd seen in Nevada. There were very few women there. “Uh, why are you here? Who are you?"

  She smiled. She had a pretty smile. Her teeth were even clean. “I'm Ruth. Oh, I told you that. The fellas, they all think you're a virgin."

  "What?” I realized there were noises outside and flung open the tent flap. A good forty miners were milling about. “What is this? A joke on poor old Miles?"

  Ruth pulled me back inside. “No one's makin’ fun of you, Miles. The boys all chipped in."

  I did not like the sound of that. “Chipped in?"

  "For me,” she explained.

  I still did not like the sound of that. “You're a...?"

  "That's right.” She poked her head out the tent flap. “He is, and I'll be taking care of that right now. You all can leave now. You're scaring the poor boy.” She closed the flap and tackled me as I was trying to crawl out under the back of the tent. “No one's running out on me, Miles O'Malley.

  I earn me money fair and true.” She began unbuttoning my trousers.

  I tried to protest. “Now wait a second."

  "Well, most men enjoy me once they try me, Miles."

  She was right about that. The experience proved to be far nicer than my fantasies. Ruth was amazingly responsive and made me feel strong instead of the weak little toad I knew I was. She didn't leave right after we'd finished. Having a warm woman to cuddle with had changed my perception of tent life.

  But, suddenly, that warmth vanished. I sat up to discover there wasn't anyone else in the tent. I stuck my head out and saw Ruth walking away, sort of vacant. I could swear she was whispering “Peter,” but was uncertain due to the distance. By the time I got my drawers and boots on, she was nowhere to be seen. I headed out on foot in the direction she'd been going—out of camp and around to the very rugged far side of the mountain. I'd only made it a hundred yards when a firm hand grabbed me by the shoulder.

  "You ain't running out on me,” Roy said. “It's time to start breakfast."

  "No, it's not that,” I protested as Roy dragged me back to the cooking area.

  Lunch brought news of a strike in the new tunnel. There was also news that blasting for that same tunnel had busted open an underground cavern. There was plenty of curiosity, but no one had time to explore the cavern, as the new gold vein was much deeper inside the mountain.

  Supper brought even more news. The miners had now decided the tunnel was haunted. Curly, a bald miner with bad teeth, had disappeared.

  There were many reports of bats, and even one ghost sighting. The
miners grumbled, some even suggested a strike, but that talk soon faded as their mouths filled with steak and potatoes.

  The next morning was Sunday, and, after breakfast, I had the day off.

  There was no mining scheduled, and the camp was nearly deserted as most of the miners had gone into town to spend what was left of their pay.

  Though my body demanded rest, what I'd seen the night before didn't set right, so I grabbed a pickaxe, strapped on my boots, and headed around to the far side of the mountain.

  Except for sagebrush and plenty of jagged rocks, I found little else of interest as I tore my clothing and perspired heavily while the sun reflected off the granite mountain and onto my face. After an hour of looking around without any water or clue as to what I was doing there, I was pretty much ready to give up and return to camp. Then a lilac fragrance hit my senses. It was too early for flowers at this elevation. I looked around, puzzled at where the scent was coming from. I climbed higher, curious at why the fragrance was familiar. It was what Ruth had been wearing. I climbed up to a little plateau. Then, the bouquet vanished. I looked around. There was nothing. I started to climb back down, when a delicate whisper touched my ear.

  "Miles. Miles, come to me,” it was saying. It sounded like Ruth.

  "Come to me, Miles."

  "Where are you?” I yelled.

  "Come to me,” the voice repeated.

  I looked around, then finally noticed a small crevice. Upon closer inspection, it opened up into a cave. I entered the fissure. The far end seemed to go to infinity. Oddly, there was a small fire burning, with a pile of orange glowing embers and very little flame. Next to the fire was a boulder, otherwise the room was flat and unremarkable. There was no sign of the woman I was seeking and the cave seemed deserted.

  "How good of you to come?” a hollow voice greeted me from behind.

  With each syllable, adrenaline shot in waves up and down my spine. My muscles clenched.

  "Miles, isn't it?” Something sort of floated around to the other side of the cave, in front of me.