Ghosts of the Wild West
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Ghosts of the Wild West

Enlarged Edition Including Five Never-Before-Published Stories

Nancy Roberts

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eBook - ePub

Ghosts of the Wild West

Enlarged Edition Including Five Never-Before-Published Stories

Nancy Roberts

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About This Book

Seventeen tales of untamed spirits in the newly expanded edition of the Spur Award finalist from the "custodian of the twilight zone" ( Southern Living ). In these seventeen ghostly talesā€”including five new storiesā€”Roberts expertly guides readers through eerie encounters and harrowing hauntings across Kansas, Montana, Wyoming, Colorado, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, and the Dakotas. Along the way her accounts intersect with the lives (and afterlives) of legendary figures such as Wild Bill Hickok, Wyatt Earp, Bat Masterson, and Doc Holliday. Roberts also justifies the fascination among ghost hunters, folklorists, and interested tourists with notoriously haunted locales such as Deadwood, Tombstone, and Abilene through her tales of paranormal legends linked to these gunslinger towns synonymous with violence and vice in Western lore. But not all of these encounters feature frightening specters or wandering souls. Roberts also details episodes of animal spirits, protective presences, and supernatural healings. Forever destined to be associated with adventure, romance, and risk taking, the Wild West of yore still haunts the American imagination. Roberts reminds us here that our imaginations aren't the only places where restless ghosts still roam. "Tales of vaporous ghost lights, haunted mesas, phantom gunmen, and reanimated skeletons. It's a book sure to please collectors of Western lore, fans of well-told, old-fashioned ghost tales and, it would seem to me, school librarians looking for just the right book to introduce middle school and high school readers to American folklore." ā€”Michael Norman, author of Haunted Heartland

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THE GAMBLER OF CIMARRON

ā€œLast year we went to an island in the Caribbean. What would you think about our going on a trip out to the Southwest?ā€ Roger asked.
ā€œMmmm. Sounds interesting,ā€ Joan murmured with mild enthusiasm. ā€œBut nothing phony.ā€
Roger was encouraged. He was worried about his wife's depression. For the first time since her father's death, Joan's voice held some interest in something.
ā€œWhat do you mean nothing phony?ā€ her husband said.
ā€œI just meant not a theme park sort of thing. I would like for it to feel authenticā€”as if I have been transported to what the Old West was really like.ā€
ā€œThat's a big order. No, this isn't a resort, honey. It's a townā€”a real town named Cimarron.ā€
ā€œI've heard of the book by Edna Ferber. Later it was made into a movie, wasn't it? And this is the place?ā€
ā€œNo. This is in northeastern New Mexicoā€”beautiful countryā€”and I think you are going to like it.ā€
She had been agreeable on the trip, but her depression had seemed to return. She was far from her vibrant self even when he pointed out the beauty of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. It was late afternoon, and Joan napped the last few miles. When she awoke, it was to see an enormous elk just outside the window on her side of the car. ā€œHeavens!ā€ she cried out, throwing up her hands in amazement. The animal drew back, avoiding their Land Rover, but was so close its brown coat almost brushed the car.
Even in the heart of town the presence of elk, buffalo, and antelope did not seem to be unusual. This was the way the surrounding grasslands had probably looked a century or two ago. They were in the broad valley of the Cimarron River, and before them was their destination
The St. James Hotel was a long two-story stucco building, golden in the sunlight like many of the early western buildings. Joan stepped into its lobby and looked up into the faces of mounted deer and buffalo staring down at her from the walls. For a moment she began to feel really part of this scene. Wasn't this what it would be like to live in the Old Westā€”the Victorian furniture, velvet drapes, antique chandeliers, and brocade wallpaper?
What was the desk clerk asking her husband?
ā€œDo you want to be in the one of the fourteen rooms of the main hotel with no phone, no radio, and no television, or would you prefer the ten-room annex and all the conveniences of a more modern hotel?ā€
She didn't know what possessed her, but she spoke up and said, ā€œI would like to stay in the main part of the hotel without a TV or telephone in our room to bother us.ā€
ā€œYes, ma'am,ā€ said the clerk, but her husband protested. ā€œJoan, are you sure this is what you really want? Your know we are used to just picking up the phone and calling some friend on the other side of the world.ā€
ā€œWho do we need to call? I talked with Mother and Dad this afternoon, and they said everything was fine. They know that we will be at the hotel here.ā€
ā€œFine. Then let's go down to the dining room.ā€
After dinner they took a walk and about nine o'clock returned to the hotel. Joan had bought a book about Cimarron and wanted to read in the room.
ā€œHello, cowboy,ā€ a voice called from the dining room as they passed, and looking in, Roger saw two men at a table, playing cards.
ā€œHow about joining us?ā€ said a middle-aged man whose western hat was tilted rakishly back on his head.
Roger paused and looked in. ā€œDo you mind, honey?ā€ he asked and turned back to his wife.
ā€œJust so it's for fun and not money,ā€ Joan said with an anxious look at him.
There was a flash of anger in his eyes. ā€œAnd why not?ā€
ā€œBecause the last time you did that you lost half of the money we were going to pay Dad for a share in his business. I think that horrible man becoming part owner instead of us played a part in his heart attack.ā€
ā€œLook at the money I won later that paid for the Caribbean trip last year.ā€
ā€œI wish the winnings amounted to half of what you have lost, Roger.ā€
ā€œOh, don't start that again. I don't want to hear it!ā€
ā€œRoger, that doesn't sound like you! You promised me you would stop.ā€
ā€œI'm sorry, Joan, I know I did. And I'm not doing any serious gambling. You know that. I won't be long.ā€
ā€œDeal me in,ā€ said Roger as he pulled up a chair, and the hands of the man with the western hat and the steel-gray eyes moved so quickly that within seconds Roger's cards were on the table before him. Two hours flew by, and the room filled with smoke that stung Roger's eyes. His hands were unusually good, and he had a drink or two to celebrate.
The man in the western hat leaned back in his chair, his eyes no longer friendly.
ā€œThat's it! Tryin' to make me think you're just a tenderfoot at this game, aren't you, boy!ā€ And he pushed the winnings toward Roger. Clapping his hat on, he rose to go. ā€œI'm turning in, boys,ā€ he said and started toward his room.
Roger walked after him a little unsteadily. The hall seemed filled with a gray mist. How could smoke be out here? he wondered. But he managed to keep the man in sight until he saw him entering a room some distance ahead. He was almost there when he felt a sudden piercing pain between his shoulders and realized it felt the way a bullet must feel. He stumbled but went on. Somehow he must reach that door.
Then he saw a horrifying face. It was the face of the man he had played poker with hanging in the middle of a flaming red cloud!
Then it began to speak. ā€œYou're coming, aren't you? I saw you when you registered today, and when I first looked at you, I knew you were mine. I'm ready to take you with me tonight.ā€ Roger felt himself losing consciousness as he fell against the door of room 18.
Joan woke up in the middle of the night to a loud knock.
ā€œMa'am, I think we need to see about your husband.ā€
ā€œSee about him? Isn't he all right?ā€
ā€œNo. He's not. He is lying on the floor in front of the door to room 18. I heard him groan and call out, Tve been shot,' and then, ā€˜God help me!' So I went running.ā€
ā€œI thought he was playing poker with some other men.ā€
ā€œHe sat at a table, but when the evening ended there was only one man playing cards with him. A stranger whom I have never seen in this hotel before. Then, begging your pardon, ma'am, but your husband had several drinks, and he seemed to be upset. When I next saw him, he was in the hall, lying on the floor groaning.ā€
ā€œYou will need someone to help you bring him to our room,ā€ Joan said. ā€œShouldn't we knock on this door?ā€
ā€œNo, ma'am. Not that door. That's room 18. It's the haunted one.ā€ He's crazy, she thought. At that moment the night manager came by, and to Joan's relief they half dragged, half carried Roger to their room.
All night he tossed and turned, and for a man uninterested in religion, his wife heard him mention God several times. He winced when he turned over and told her his back hurt because he had been shot. She found a dark bruise on his back but no trace of a bleeding wound.
ā€œIt was dreadful to find you out there in the hall lying on the floor. Do you know where you were, Roger?ā€ He shook his head. Joan continued, ā€œHave you heard the story that room 18 is haunted by a gambler named T. D. Wright? He is a man that an angry loser killed after the game. He had won everything from the other gamblerā€”I guess it was like the night you gambled away all the money you had saved to buy a share of Dad's business.ā€
ā€œI don't want to hear about that!ā€ Roger burst out.
ā€œJust let me tell you about Mr. Wright. It's quite a story. The man who had lost everything followed him and shot him in the back just as Wright reached his roomā€”where you were found outside the doorā€”he bled to death inside. They say Wright was known as an ill-tempered man.ā€
Roger felt for his wallet and looked in it nervously to see if he could reconstruct the events of the night before. Beginning to count his money, to his amazement, he counted out far more than he had brought with him! He had won considerably more than he had realized.
His wife patted him on the back. ā€œI'm so glad you stuck to your promise to me and didn't lose any money, dear.ā€
Roger winced at another pain in his back, and an expression of horror began to cross his face. He dimly recalled seeing something or someone in front of the door to room 18, the room in which Wright was shot. Was that some strange sort of warning to him? Perhaps his destiny? Had he narrowly escaped death? The terrible bruise on his back hurt whenever he moved. In any case he found that he had lost all interest in gamblingā€”perhaps for the rest of his life.
Room 18 has been left much as it was in the days of the Old West. It is considered by the staff of the hotel to be haunted, and guests are rarely allowed to enter. But if you would like to investigate it, someone on the staff might oblige.
There are fascinating history tours to take in Cimarron, New Mexico. Let the U.S. Park Service guide you around.
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THE ENCHANTED MESA

For many years the two professors shared an interest in the supernatural. Now Cardoza stole a glance at Montana, who was driving, and for the first time he became uneasy. There was a fanatic look about his face, and all of Dr. Cardoza's efforts to joke about why they were driving out here in the middle of the night were meeting with no response.
Joseph Montana drove on through the barren country among towering, grotesque mountain formations that appeared eerie indeed in the light of the full moon. This was the road to the Enchanted Mesa, southwest of Albuquerque. Montana had written asking him to leave his work in Tucson, fly to Albuquerque, and drive out here with him tonight. They had come here many times as boys, and he knew the tragic story of the mesa had held a strong fascination for Montana even when they were young, but that was years ago. What could he possibly be up to tonight? They drove in silence, as Montana did not seem inclined to talk. In the past year his letters had a strange quality about them, almost of madness, and Cardoza had been tempted to suggest he take a vacation. His research into the ancient lore of primitive tribes, once so stimulating, of late had appeared to have the opposite effect.
Montana broke the silence at last. ā€œRick, I have made a discovery you may not believe, but at least you must see and hear for yourself. If I am mad, then you are the only person I trust to help me. If I am not, then heaven help us both!ā€
Dr. Richard Cardoza stared at him in amazement. That first premonition he had experienced when a haggard Montana met him at the airport returned, and for an instant he wished that he were back in his laboratory in Tucson.
Apprehension swept over him as he realized that even if he had wanted to go back, it was too late, for there in the distance stood the mesa looming dark and enigmatic against an immense, storm-streaked sky. The place was unsettling enough in the daytime, but at night it became haunted and eerie.
Before them the Enchanted Mesa rose almost five hundred feet from the flat plain. The mesa top had been the home, centuries ago, of New Mexico's Acoma Indians before a tragic fate befell them.
To ensure safety from Apache attacks, villages were often built upon the top of mesas. They were, after all, natural fortresses. Fifteen hundred people had lived on top of the Mesa Encantada. Three hundred feet above the plain was a great opening like a cathedral arch, the entrance to a stair leading through a crevice in the rock and upward to the summit. From the plain to the arch was an outer stair of stone spiraling up the sides of a great column that leaned against the mesa.
Every day the young men came down from the mesa to the plain to work in the maize fields and to hunt. One afternoon the sky grew black. There were crashes of thunder, brilliant flashes of lightning, and heavy rain, so the men took shelter at the base of the mesa to wait until it passed over. As they sheltered themselves beneath the rock, there came a deafening crash of thunder and lightning, and stones began to fall all around them. In a few minutes the storm was over, and the men saw that the outer steps leading up the mesa had been struck and shattered off by the lightning.
They scrambled up as far as they could, then slid back in frustration. The people left on top began trying to descend, but their efforts were equally futile. As they realized that the only way that led down from the mesa was gone and there was no escape, they began to scream and weep. The best archers at the foot of the rocks could not send game far enough on their arrows to reach the top. The next day one woman, crazed by thirst, leaped down to her death, and on each succeeding day there were fewer faces staring down at the men below. Finally there were none, and those who were left at the base went to a mesa two miles away and built another home. They called it Acomaā€”city of the sky.
Joseph Montana parked his car near the foot of the Enchanted Mesa and motioned to the bewildered Cardoza to get out. He led him ...

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