single, solitary note broke the disquieting stillness.
Nate could understand why it gave people the jitters. The silence, the twisted shapes of the rocks, the absence of life, gnawed at the nerves. Bad medicine the Indians called it, and they were right.
He roved on ahead of the wagons to try and locate the valley. As usual, the Texan accompanied him. The shod hooves of their mounts sounded like hammers on the rock.
A reek filled the air, a foul stench explained when they came on a pool of bubbling water no bigger around than a washtub.
The Texan coughed and said, “So this is what hell smells like?”
They rode on. It was a maze, this country, and Nate began to think he had been overconfident and the Valley of Skulls would be a lot harder to find than he imagined when they came on ruts. Wagons, a lot of wagons, had come in from the east. It had to be the Shakers, Nate reckoned. No other wagon train that he knew of had ever penetrated this far.
“These people must be crazy,” Maklin remarked.
Nate wondered, too.
The tracks led to the northwest along a ribbon of a stream that had no name. It had another quality, which Nate discovered by accident when he dipped his hand in the water to drink. “It’s warm.”
“What?” Maklin said.
“This water. It’s warm enough to use for bathwater.”
The Texan climbed down to see for himself. “I’ll be damned. Is it safe to drink, you reckon?”
Nate dared a sip. Save for a slight metallic taste, the sip produced no ill effects.
“I wouldn’t want to drink this regular,” was Maklin’s assessment.
Neither would Nate. They climbed back on their mounts. The wagon tracks hugged the stream and they did the same until along about the middle of the afternoon when it brought them to a narrow cleft dark with shadow. There was barely enough room for a wagon to pass through.
Nate entered the cleft. He didn’t like being hemmed by rock and was glad when after only thirty feet they emerged to have a valley floor spread out before them. Not a valley of grass and flowers but a valley of rock and boulders. Grotesque stone shapes testified to a geologic upheaval in the remote past that had bent and twisted the foundations of the earth.
Both abruptly drew rein.
“Is that
Nate heard it, too, wafting from deeper in the valley, around a bend that hid what lay beyond. “They don’t even post a guard,” he noted. Then again, what need did they have of a sentry when the Indians wouldn’t come anywhere near the place?
They rode around the bend and again drew rein.
“Pinch me so I know I’m not dreaming,” Maklin said.
The valley broadened. To the north and south it was rimmed by high ramparts pockmarked with the dark openings to caves. The ground was rock, dark rock dotted with pale patches, broken here and there by pools that bubbled and hissed and gave off steam. Ahead, perhaps half a mile, grew an area of green, and there, parked in rows, were Conestogas. A corral held horses and mules. Two buildings had been built, long and low and made of logs, and a third was being erected. Around and among the buildings and wagons moved dozens of people, many singing as they worked.
“We should introduce ourselves and tell them their supplies will be here soon,” Nate proposed. He raised his reins and was about to move on when his gaze alighted on what he had taken for pale rock.
“A skull!” Maklin exclaimed.
That it was, far bigger than the skull of any grizzly or buffalo. Others were scattered here and there, along with giant spine bones and legs bones and even rib bones. But the skulls far outnumbered the rest. Strange skulls. Unnatural skulls. Skulls of creatures from another time.
Nate passed one with three horns, two of which were broken. Another skull was ringed by teeth as long as his fingers.
“What monsters were these?” the Texan marveled.
Then, around a boulder, skipped a young woman in her twenties wearing a pretty yellow dress. Around her throat was a neckerchief and on her head she wore a small cap. She was carrying a basket, and on seeing them she flashed a friendly smile. “How do you do, kind sirs? On behalf of my brethren, I bid you welcome to Second Eden.”
The Shakers were well dressed, the women in bright dresses and all wearing neckerchiefs and the same type of cap. The men wore jackets and trousers and short-brimmed hats. Oddly, all the men wore their hair the same way: long at the back, cut in bangs at the front. They constantly smiled and many sang hymns of praise as they bustled about. The arrival of Nate and Maklin barely caused a stir. Curious glances were thrown their way, but no one stopped his or her work to come over and ask who they were and what they were doing there.
The young woman with the basket ushered them past the wagons and the corral and the two completed log buildings to where a third structure was being erected. The men did the actual building. The women were involved with other tasks.
Nate noticed that they were equally divided between the sexes. All were grown men and grown women. There wasn’t a child to be seen. That struck him as peculiar. So did the fact that while the Shakers smiled and sang as they worked, none stood around talking. He nodded at a gray-haired woman who smiled at him and again at a man who had paused in sawing a log to mop his sweaty brow.
“They remind me of a bunch of bees,” Maklin said.
The young woman overheard. “I thank you for the compliment. Elder Lexington says we must keep as busy as bees if we are to have our buildings done and our provisions stocked for the coming winter.”
“At least they have the brains to do that,” Maklin said to Nate.
Most people would be offended by the comment but not the young woman. She laughed and said, “Oh yes, sir. Elder Lexington is very smart. He’s the smartest man I know. Why, he can quote the entire Bible by heart. And look, here he is now.”
From around the nearest log building came a middle-aged man on the portly side with a middle-aged woman of the same stout build. They gazed about—as might overseers on a plantation, only overseers with benign smiles and the serene air of earthbound angels. The young woman beckoned and the pair walked over.
“Who have you here, Sister Benedine?” the man asked.
“Outsiders, Elder Lexington. They say they are with the man you hired to bring our supplies.” The young woman pointed. “This is Brother King and Brother Maklin.”
The Texan said gruffly, “I’m not your brother, girl, or anyone else’s.”
“But that you are,” Lexington said. “Surely you have heard that in the eyes of the Lord we are all brothers and sisters, and he who loveth God must love his brother also?”
“Where was this God of yours when my Na-lin was being gutted like a fish?” Maklin snapped.
“I beg your pardon?”
Maklin turned to Nate. “They raise my hackles. I’ll be over by that pool yonder if you need me.” So saying, he gigged his mount toward the stream.
“My word,” Lexington said. “I didn’t mean to upset him so. Whatever is the matter?”
“Don’t fret yourself, Brother,” said the stout woman beside him. “He is an outsider. Outsiders have no true conception.”
Lexington looked up at Nate. “How about you, Brother King? Do we raise your hackles as well?”
Nate did feel uncomfortable, but he couldn’t explain why. “You have to excuse him. His wife was butchered by the Comanches.”
“Ah, well,” Lexington said sympathetically.
