Far into the Superstition Mountains, ten miles down a tortuous dirt road off the Apache Trail, sits a small cabin. It's the same sort of prospector's hovel one sees so much of in the area. Located near a small stream, dried up more often than not, the cabin is weathered as only the rugged Arizona clime can do. Measuring twenty feet on a side, full of holes in the roof and walls, possessing the crudest of dirt floors, it could hardly be called cozy.
I would never have known about the cabin, or Arizona for that matter, if my last surviving relative, Uncle Jules, would not have sent for me in such an urgent manner. The letter was so hastily drawn I could scarcely decipher more than "Come quick! I need you!"
Making amends to business partners, I left Chicago as rapidly as I could. Travel in the 1890's was not then as it is today. It took four days by train from Chicago to Phoenix, two days arranging for a horse and supplies and another five, days to reach Uncle Jules. I could find no one willing to guide me to this particular area, but I was fortunate enough to have been sent a map by my uncle, who apparently foresaw .the difficulty I would have.
On the thirtieth of September, 1892, I first saw the cabin. After five days on the trail and little used to the Arizona Mountains, it looked for all the world like a mansion. Alighting from my horse, I approached the cabin with hopes of a warm meal and cool water, two luxuries I found in scarce supply on the trail.
I knocked on the door and, receiving no answer, opened it. I was greeted by a wild disheveled man holding a shotgun to my face.
"Hold there, stranger", he said. "Step out into the sun. Let's see what kind of shadow you cast."
Unable to believe what I heard, but seeing my uncle pull the hammer back on the shotgun cradled in his arm, I did as he asked. Barely glancing at me, he looked only at the shadow the three pm sun cast from me. Seeming satisfied, he turned his gaze back to me, the gun pointed at my chest.
"Well, you be man enough. Who are you and what do you want?" said Jules.
"Sir, I am William Osgood, your nephew", I replied.
"Why didn't you say so in the first place?" he said, putting down the gun and extending a wizened hand. 'Come on in. I haven't got much, but it'll do.
Following my uncle into the cabin, my first thought was that the years had not been kind to him. Not having seen the man in over twenty years, I had no clear impression of him in my mind, only a vague remembrance of the picture over my parents' mantel. A tall bold man then, my uncle was now bent over, his skin darkened and seamed. What little hair remaining on his scalp was, for the most part, white. My mental image of him was also amiss. His picture conveyed to one the idea of authority, a man in command. This man was in the grips of fear, although he tried not to show it. In his red-rimmed eyes was a hunted look, such as an animal on the run would have.
The old man pointed to a chair and I sat. He busied himself preparing a meal of beans and sourdough bread. This was certainly an improvement over the tinned food I had eaten on the trail. I attempted to speak to him several times, but he only put his finger to his lips, while he constantly went to the window and peered out.
Handing me my food, he sat down to eat himself. Every few minutes he would stop and listen, his ears straining for a sound I could not detect. All my queries were met with a stony glance which meant only one thing: silence.
The rest of the afternoon was spent in this way. Finally, as dusk approached, Jules breathed an audible sigh of relief. Pulling a bottle from a cabinet, he took a long swig and offered the bottle to me, which I refused. He pulled up his chair and sat next to me, beginning a tale which no sane man could possibly relate."
Billy.you don't mind if I call you by your nickname, do you? He asked.
I shook my head no and he proceeded.
"Billy, you and me are pretty much strangers; haven't seen each other in twenty years now. I'm gonna tell you a story, boy, and you listen. You may not believe it now, but you'll come to believe it soon enough."
"Uncle Jules, what's wrong? Why did you write me that letter? What are you looking for? What are you afraid of?" I said, the words pouring forth like water over a fall.
"That's just what I'm about to tell you, boy", he replied. Taking another long pull from the bottle, he began.
"I don't know what your folks told you about me, but I was thirty years old then and I got into some trouble. Your Pa and me figured the best thing was for me to disappear for a while and so I came out here. Thought I could make my fortune."
He shook his head then, mournfully back and forth.
"But I didn't know the cost, no I didn't."
He paused, wearing the look of a man caught in a misdeed.
"I drifted around for quite a few years, working one small claim after another, making just enough to keep body and soul together. After a time, I met some Indians. Good or bad, I sold them guns."
As he spoke, he kept his eyes riveted to the table, apparently knowing the look of disgust I wore.
"Don't judge me yet, boy, just listen. Me and the Indians got to be good friends over the course of time. One day, an Indian medicine man, name of He Who Casts No Shadow, tells me of a white man in these hills with a fabulous claim of gold. Says that if I kill the white man, me'n Shadow'd split the gold. Plenty for everyone he says. Then I got to thinking. Why don't Shadow just kill this white man himself? What's he need me for? I knew Shadow wasn't afraid of killing; didn't I see him cut the heart out of one of Geronimo's own? So I asked him and he told me the white man had much magic. Said that he couldn't even hurt the white man, but one of his own kind could, meaning another white man. I thought on it and said killing him was okay by me, but what was to stop Shadow from killing me once the deed was done? Shadow went into his teepee and brought out a queer looking rock on a rawhide strand and put it round my neck. Said that long as he was alive, the rock would stay on and protect me, but if I killed Shadow, the rock would fall off and he'd be back for me. I knew better than to offend a powerful Indian, but to myself I was laughing.
"It don't take much figuring to see that I killed the white man. I had more gold than I knew what to do with. This fool had been hoarding his lode in a cave and there were thousands there, maybe millions. And now it's here."
"Here", I swallowed; "where?"
"Underneath your feet, boy; you're sitting on a fortune", he cackled. "C'mon, I'll show you."
So saying, he produced a shovel and proceeded to dig beneath the very spot I had been sitting. A few feet down and I saw dirty bags. My uncle began to haul them up. They were large and very heavy. It took some time; we stacked them near the table. forty-seven bags in all.
"Did Shadow get this much too or is he working the mine?" I queried.
A weary look came over my uncle's visage once again and he gestured for me to sit down.
"I'll make this short, boy. Shadow didn't get no gold; I killed him. This here's the whole thing."
"Uncle, then why are you still here?"
"Cause Shadow's after me. That damn stone fell off just like he said it would. He put a curse on me, Billy! Every time I look in the mirror there, I see more of my hair gone. Would you believe a month ago I had a head of hair as full as you? When this last is gone, then my time's up, and I figure to face him here. I don't want to be looking over my shoulder everywhere I go."
I began to seriously doubt my uncle's sanity. One moment he avers he killed Shadow, the next he states Shadow is trying to kill him. But before I could point out this obvious discrepancy, he replied to my unasked question.
"You think I'm crazy, don't you, Billy? Well, I'm not. I did kill Shadow, leastways his body. It's his spirit that's got to be taken care of."
"What does that have to do with me, Uncle?" I asked, attempting to humor him.
"You're gong to do the job for me", came his swift reply.
"You're mad!" I shouted, jumping to my feet. "I won't kill a man for you!"
"Mad am I", he slowly replied. "You think you know all there is to know, don't you, boy? Maybe in the world of Chicago you do, but out here it ain't the same. The world's different here."
"Possibly for you, but not for me. I'll not stay another minute here with you."
"Listen, Billy", said my uncle, spitting the words out at me. "Shadow knows you're here. He knows you're kin. He'll kill you same as me. Think about that before you open that door."
I paused, the look in his eyes seeming to hold a glimmer of insane truth. An idea formed in my mind that this was my uncle's way of deceiving me.
"I don't believe you", I said.
"Alright then, I'll tell you what. No sense you leaving now. Stay here with me tonight. Tomorrow, when it's light, I'll prove it to you."
The insane gleam in his eyes told me there was no point in arguing. I consented to stay the night, wishing I had purchased a gun to defend myself from this madman I called uncle.
I lay down and pondered my predicament. I didn't know why my uncle fled Chicago, but from what I had heard from his own lips, he was quite an unsavory character. No wonder my parents seldom spoke of him. I thought that I might overpower him in the night and I sat up after a time to see if he was asleep. He was sitting at the table, his hand on the shotgun resting there. No words were spoken, yet the message was indeed clear. Unable to formulate a plan due to my anxiety, I resolved to wait for the morrow and take whatever course of action seemed prudent.
I was awakened by my uncle roughly shaking me.
"C'mere boy, over to the window. Quick, here's your proof!"
He nearly lifted me up bodily, propelling me to the window. It was just dawn. The sun lit the desert mountains in hazy carmine light. And then, about one hundred yards from me, standing to the far left of my position, was an Indian. His body seemed to glow red which I attributed to the early morning sun. He was a tall, powerfully built man, obvious at even this distance.
"There! There's the proof, Billy. Do you see him?" shouted Jules.
"I see an Indian, but other than that, I fail to see the proof you speak of", I replied.
"Look closer, Billy, closer!" he exclaimed excitedly.
I strained my eyes but could see nothing unseemly about the red man.
"Billy, he ain't got no shadow! What kind of a man is there don't cast no shadow?"
I rubbed my eyes and peered intently at the Indian. Indeed, he did not possess a shadow. He was standing near a tall Saguaro cactus, itself casting a definite shadow. I could not believe my eyes. As I was wondering if my uncle's madness had by some means transferred to me, the Indian slowly yet powerfully raised his left hand and pointed at the both of us. His right hand moved to his throat which he moved with a slicing motion. A palpable evil arose around me, as if I were gazing upon one of Satan's own. As I continued to stare, the Indian turned and moved away, not once having moved his legs, his body seeming to float upon the ground.
My uncle's voice snapped me out of the spell the sight of the Indian had induced.
"See, Billy, see? Maybe old Jules ain't so crazy after all, now is he? Well, speak up, boy, what do you think?"
"To be honest, I don't know what to think! I replied, my mind in a fog. "I don't know if I really saw that happen."
"You did, Billy, you did. You know, I'm real lucky you came when you did. Most of the little hair I had left yesterday is gone. I reckon tomorrow will be it. We got to get ready."
"Uncle, why can't we simply leave? That Indian can't follow us everywhere", I said, panic rising like bile in my throat.
"Yes, he can, Billy; he can and he will. You forget, I know Shadow, know what he can do. Believe me, he'll dog us to the ends of the earth if he has to. He'll finish us unless we finish him first."
"But why haven't you tried to kill him, Uncle? You stood and watched him this morning and never once fired a shot."
"Bullets won't kill him; only this will." He went to the bed, reached down and pulled out a bow and quiver. I noticed only two arrows remaining within the quiver.
"Then why didn't you use that on him?" I asked.
"Because I can't kill him again. Don't you think I tried, Billy, don't you think I tried?!"
I stood there a moment, attempting to collect my thoughts, but nothing rational would come to me. I felt a fear as I had never known before, the fear of painful death approaching swiftly. Out of the chaos of my mind, a rational question finally appeared.
"If you can't kill him, Uncle, what makes you think I can? I've never even hunted animals, much less a man or whatever that is out there."
"I couldn't finish my story last night", said Jules. "You weren't believing what I told you, but you're ready now."
He walked over to the table, took a long pull off the bottle and offered it to me. This time I accepted it gladly. It was the foulest tasting brew ever to have touched my lips, but I was thankful for it all the same.
"Sit, boy, sit. Good. Remember now only I could kill the white man for Shadow because I was a white too? Well, right after we got the gold, Shadow'n me slashed our right hands with our knives and became blood brothers."
He raised his hand, and I could see the wound, not wholly healed yet.
"That made me one of them. Otherwise I could never have killed Shadow. Now that he's come back, it don't work no more. I figure someone else's got to do it for me. I went to town and tried to hire a shootist. Even offered ten bags of gold, but everyone thought I was crazy. No one would take me up on it. I reckon they could tell the evil eye was on me. They wouldn't even let me stay. Told me if'n I didn't go on my own they'd run me out."
"So that's why I couldn't find a guide in town", I thought. "As insane as it sounds, the old man was making sense."
"I'm sorry to have to get you in on this, Billy", he went on, "but there was no one else to turn to. Do you think you can do it?"
"What choice do I have?" I replied. "I don't want to die here."
My uncle smiled in sudden relief, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. As I sat, another thought came to mind.
"Uncle, have you ever thought of giving the gold back?"
He shook his head wearily. "Billy, I tried. I took all the bags out there where he always stands. The next time he came by, he didn't even notice them. Just stared at me and pointed the way you saw."
"When will he, or should I say it, be back? How much time do we have?" I asked.
"Tomorrow at dawn, I reckon. Are you ready for what's got to be done?"
I shook my head affirmatively.
"That a boy", he said, slapping me on the back. "The way I figure it, the only way you got to kill Shadow is to become his blood brother. And the only way you got to do that is to become my blood brother."
He reached down to his right hip and produced an evil looking knife. I found myself wondering if this was the weapon with which he dispatched the miner.
"I don't suppose you got a knife?" he asked.
I shook my head no.
"Then this'll have to do."
Jules raised my right hand and cut a deep slash into the palm before I realized what had happened. The pain was excruciating.
"Here, take a healthy pull on this", he said, handing me the bottle. "It'll ease the pain."
When he saw the color return to my cheeks, he handed me the knife and bade me do the same to him. It was with a great deal of reluctancy that I did what must be done.
We spoke but little the rest of the day, each lost in our own private thoughts. I could not believe that I could possibly do anything to kill or even harm this monster. As I sat, I began to wonder about my sanity in this venture. Surely, this could not be happening to me. I had a small yet profitable business back in Chicago. My partners and I were doing well. What in the world was I doing here? Finding no answer a sane man could grasp, I ceased my ponderous musings and decided fortune alone could guide my hand. I placed my trust in this and nothing more.
I spent the night in a restless sleep, repeatedly seeing the Indian come at my uncle and myself, first tearing him limb from limb, then repeating the grisly process on me. What was strange was that I didn't die. I lay scattered about the desert floor, dismembered, completely aware of my surroundings.
I awoke before dawn to find my uncle already up and sipping his bottle. He offered me a drink which I refused. I knew I would have difficulty enough today without being hampered by his rotgut.
My uncle and I took our watch at the window, I with the bow in my hand, an arrow at the ready. As the eastern sky showed its first hint of light, we walked outside, the better to confront this nightmare visage. My uncle threw back his head and began to chant in a low cacophonous tone that set the hairs on the nape of my neck aquiver. He proceeded in this manner a few moments more, then quit abruptly. I queried him concerning this strange behavior; the reply was that he was singing his death song. It took no great effort of thought on my part to realize what he thought of our chances.
The sun edged its way up over the Superstition Mountains and I felt as if I were greeting my last dawn. Suddenly, in the same spot he had appeared the day before, stood my nemesis. Evil emanated from him like a black mass. His body color went from red to purple and back again, finally settling at the color of dried blood. He saw me holding his bow, arrow drawn, and a huge malevolent grin broke out on his devilish countenance. Did he know I would not succeed or was he trying to scare me? Probably both, I reasoned, yet I realized that without making an attempt, both my uncle and I were dead men. I therefore resolved to steel myself as best I could and give forth my best effort.
I kept my eyes on the Indian, circling him, trying to keep the rising sun at my back. I failed. The monster managed to outmaneuver me. I could no longer see him; the sun was in my eyes. My uncle, standing not ten feet from my right, suddenly let out a horrible inhuman scream.
"Get 'im, Billy! Oh God, kill him!" came the anguished cry escaping from his lips.
I moved in closer and could see my uncle engulfed in a reddish glow, his entire body racked with pain, a constant high-pitched wail issued from his lips that one only hears in the worst of nightmares.
Without thinking any further, I pulled back on the bow and released my dart. I heard a scream, then all became still. Slowly the red mist moved away from my uncle and I saw him lying there, horribly mangled, in a position impossible for a living man. As I moved closer, I saw what had finally killed him. My arrow had penetrated his neck.
At once a fear possessed me, rendering me totally rigid. The monster had tricked me; it hadn't killed my uncle, I had. A terrible anguish flooded my soul as I realized what I had done. Gazing upon the wasted body of my uncle, my pity left me with a firm resolve. I may not be able to kill this fiend, I thought, but I would die trying to avenge the last of my flesh and blood.
I removed the last of the arrows from the quiver I wore round my neck and turned to the Indian standing not ten yards from me. I drew back on the bow with all my might, the fury welling up inside me. The instant before I was to release my pull, the drawstring broke. So great was my fury that, undaunted, I rushed at the Indian with all the strength left in me, the arrow held outward as a knife in my right hand.
The Indian cleverly sidestepped my forward rush and seized my right wrist, twisting so hard that my hand was literally bent at a ninety degree angle to my forearm. I fell to the ground in excruciating pain, landing on my left side. Through the fog of pain, I kept my eyes riveted on my adversary, who merely stood and watched me, a childlike grin of pure evil on his face.
As he bent down for the kill, my left hand reached out and clasped the arrow which I had dropped. I waited for him to draw nearer. An eternity passed before I allowed myself to thrust the arrow shaft fully into his left breast, my entire body straining with the effort. A sound of surprise and pure horror issued from the mouth of the visage. His lips pulled back in a hideous grin and, in a voice from Hell, whispered "I'll be back for you."
Evil issued from him in fetid waves. He tried to rise, but could not. Whatever life moved that body was swiftly departing it. He collapsed and the red mist once again surrounded him. At this point, my pain and exertion overcame me and I fainted.
I revived near dusk, my right arm racked with pain. Try as I might, I could not see the Indian, only a slight depression where his body had lain. I swiveled around and saw my uncle lying where he had fallen.
I know not how, but I pulled my uncle's body back to the cabin and buried him underneath the floor. With great difficulty and no little pain, I was able to manipulate my mangled hand back to a semblance of its original position, though to this day I have no use of it. Exhausted, I fell to the floor, not waking for what I judge to be a day or more.
I rested there for two weeks until I deemed by body able to attempt the twelve day walk to Phoenix. I took one bag of gold to pay my way. The journey was a torture for me, but nothing compared to the battle with Shadow.
Once in town, having secured a room and recovered as best I could, I purchased three mules and returned to the cabin. Things were as I had left them. I returned to Phoenix with the gold, converting it into a more convenient form of exchange and made my way back to Chicago. I sold out my share of the business and retired a hideously wealthy man.
That was thirty-odd years ago. I never settled in any one place, but traveled the world. Last year, I grew tired of hotels and purchased a large mansion in Chicago.
My stay here has been uneventful until last night. I had a fitful sleep and arose just as dawn was breaking. I went to the window and peered out. I saw motion to my left, at the edge of my periphery. There stood Shadow.
Last Updated January 7, 2007
All original material © Mike Dubrick 1980-2007. All rights reserved.
