The Best of Penny Dread Tales (7 page)

Seamus saw that satisfied expression again—oh so briefly—and it was tinged with a mix of profound sorrow and resignation.

The explosion was tremendous, reminding the older folk of the War, and yet most of its damage was confined to a short range around the point of detonation. Isabella and Crook were no longer to be seen—they literally disintegrated, scattering over hundreds of yards. A few of the guards fared no better. Other men lay dead or dying on the street. Body parts were scattered everywhere. A large number of bystanders received minor cuts, only a few died from their wounds. O’Rourke was knocked off his feet, and a piece of metal was lodged in his upper right arm—he later discovered it was a small bronze gear.

***

In the dusty aftermath of the explosion, a wounded Irishman worked his way back to Mulberry Bend, wondering why Isabella chose to kill herself. Tears ran in rivulets down his whiskery cheeks.
Yer took what ya needed to take, girlie, but God Almighty at what a price
.

He wore Isabella’s bronze cog on a chain around his neck for the rest of his life. He no longer judged a book by its cover, and furthermore, he no longer had any business with Madam L’Orange or the Chinese traders.

***

The Great Dinosaur Roundup of 1903

Laura Givens

12, March 1903

My Dearest Bess,

I take pen in hand to inform you of the possible untimely death of your brother, Pete. I know for a fact he loved you dearly and regretted all the things he said that last time in Wichita. He was drunk that night, and a man will say stupid things when in such a state. I am still here in Wisconsin—a town called Milwaukee—with the Wild West show and will send his last wages and belongings as soon as old Buffalo Bill settles accounts. I’m certain Pete would want your mother to have them, so please see that she gets them.

I say possible untimely death because Mr. Tesla says, strictly speaking, Pete died a few million years before he was even born. Be that as it may, he was still alive the last time I saw him, though his situation seemed dire enough. Bess, sit yourself down, and I’ll try and explain, as best I might, just what happened and how Pete wound up trying to break a dinosaur with a Bowie knife.

Well, it all started with the two of us finally getting some time off so we could take in the local culture of the fair city of Milwaukee.

You’d think that getting massacred at the Little Big Horn twice a day plus an extra matinee on Sunday wouldn’t be all that hard, but it gets to you after a while. Me and Pete got a little happy before one show and decided that maybe Custer should win that night—just as a change of pace. Now, the way it works is the Indians ride around us shooting lots of fake arrows at us. We troopers wear padding under our outfits that those arrows stick into, and we stumble around dying heroically. These city folks just eat it up. That particular night we just stayed up, getting shot at until we both looked like a couple of porcupines. Finally, one of the Indians, big old son of a gun called Cold-Wind-In-Spring, dismounts and stomps over, picks Pete up by his shirt and throws him at me. We both go flying right onto General Custer—Bill Cody himself—who gets up and starts whacking us with his hat and using words that I shall not repeat here. So, we had us a week off.

Now, Milwaukee makes some mighty fine beers, and just to be neighborly, me and Pete had us a few more than might normally be considered temperate. Well, we got into a sort of roping match to see who could lasso and hogtie this yahoo in a funny uniform and helmet. I won, and Pete was about to use a cigar as a branding iron when we were accosted by a horde of men in funny helmets. To make a long story short, that yahoo turned out to be a policeman with no sense of humor at all, so we got us a night’s lodging in the local calaboose. The next morning Cody shows up to throw our bail. With him is this real refined gent in a three-piece suit, spats and a top hat. That was our introduction to Mr. Nicola Tesla, inventor of the time machine, among other things.

After he got us outside Bill, blistered our ears for a spell. He finally finished up by saying that if we weren’t the best damned straight-up trail hands he had ever seen, he would have let us rot. Luckily for us, it seemed he needed us for a special deal he was working with Tesla. Bill had met the man ten years earlier at the Chicago World’s Fair, and they hit it right off. Mr. Tesla had him an idea about something he called “time travel,” and they had set up a secret base up there in Milwaukee where land was cheaper. Bill had fronted the money for the whole operation because, it turned out, he’d loved something called “archeology” since he’d met some fella years ago digging up dinosaur bones out west somewhere.

With this here time machine, me and Pete were going to go back a few million years and round up some critters called Tyrannosaurus rex for the show. Bill is always lookin’ for new exotic acts for the show. If we refused to help, we were informed we could spend the next sixty days in the jug and be left stranded in Milwaukee. Cody had us by the short hairs, so we were in whether we liked it or not. Tesla explained it all to us in detail, and I understood not a word of what he said. He is the only man I’ve ever met more in love with his own voice than Bill.

After a while Pete kind of warmed to the idea and allowed as how it might be fun. You will recall that your brother’s idea of fun also included riding your Pa’s prize bull through town in hat, spurs and the suit God gave him on his birthday. I remained skeptical but enjoyed the Havana cigars he had offered us.

Traveling through time turns out to be loud and flashy but not as uncomfortable as you might think. Tesla had set up the whole shebang in an abandoned brewery, with big old machines with dials and electric lights and wires everywhere. Strangest of all was a whole line of poles with lightning climbing up and down them, made my hair stand right on end. One wall had a huge rolling metal door set to roll up and down like a curtain. Right up against it was a great big cage with three sides tall enough to hold a two-story house.

The plan was that we would ride out through that metal door, and on the other side would be those rexes and other such critters. Then we’d herd them back into the cage, the door would drop down behind them, and we’d have us some dinosaurs. There was a smaller escape door on the side of the cage that me and Pete would be let out through. It sounded simple enough. Bill gave us pictures of what the rexes looked like and told us that if we couldn’t find none of them we should get a three-horned varmint called a Tri-ceratops. So, we said we’d keep a look out.

I was on a fast little pinto pony, and Pete had him a roan he was particular to, both top-notch cow ponies, but the noise and lights had them plum skittish. I’ve never enjoyed riding a rearing horse, but I understood that pinto’s point of view. When that big old door started `rolling up, I thought they would go loco. I certainly felt the urge myself. Up till that moment, I hadn’t actually believed what little I could understand of Tesla’s explanations. I fully expected that when that big old door raised up I would see the woman selling flowers we had passed coming in. We’d all wind up looking a mite foolish, and that would be an end to it. But there, on the other side of that door, looking like something out of a picture book, was a jungle all hot and humid, alive with sounds that hadn’t been heard on this earth in millions of years. Pete’s horse reared up on its hind legs, and Pete let out a whoop of pure joy. He set off at a gallop into the forest primeval. Against all good sense, I lit out after him.

Bess, you know how they say the buffalo herds used to be, going on and on as far as the eye could see? Well, that’s what this was like, but not just one kind of animal, no, there were critters of every shape and description grazing everywhere or lolling around in watering holes and rivers. It was so pretty, Bess, I wish you could have seen it. We rode around for a while, trying to find us a rex, to no avail, so I suggested we have us a little picnic and see if we couldn’t maybe catch one of the little ones running around on two legs … lure him in with a biscuit and grab him. I pulled out some chicken legs and fresh biscuits, while Pete produced a bottle of whiskey. Whatever else I might have thought of your brother, I always admired his priorities.

We got to toasting one thing and another, and Pete fired off a couple of rounds just to celebrate our not being in jail. I guess he must have winged one of the big old leathery birds that kept flying overhead, because it suddenly dived at us like an owl looking for a mouse lunch. I rolled back and grabbed my pistol, just managing to snap off a shot as that vulture snatched Pete’s hat—almost took his head along too, just for good measure. I must have stung it though, because it lit out, wanting nothing else to do with us. We finished off those chicken legs fast as we could, so we could get back to the job at hand.

Every now and then as we ate, one of these cute little critters—looked like a salamander walkin’ around on two legs, bright red, about three-foot tall—would get curious about us. None, however, was enticed to come very close by the food we offered. Then, just as we were about ready to ride, one little guy came right up to Pete and offered him his lost hat. That big bird must have dropped it, and this salamander was sharp enough to know to bring it back to Pete. On an impulse I grabbed him up and clutched him to my chest, him squawking and struggling to get free. He was handful, but we finally got him quieted down, Pete making soothing noises. I was trying to figure out how best to transport him when we heard a blood-curdling screech and saw something jump from the undergrowth and land a couple of yards away. It was another salamander, but this one stood a good six feet tall and had a spear clutched in one paw. He had a real determined look, and his other paw was ready to draw a bone knife from the woven belt slung round his torso. I dropped the little one and put my hand on the butt of my gun, not drawing it for fear of making things worse. There was no telling how many more might be out there. We stood there, eyeball to eyeball for a good minute, the little one cowering behind his daddy.

It was then that Pete put himself between us and made a big show of putting his hat back on and waving back at the youngster. Then, in a stroke of genius, he took a swig from the bottle of whiskey and offered it to that big old salamander fella. Hesitantly, he took the bottle from Pete and sniffed it real good before tipping it back just like Pete had done. It was a mite comical the way he let out a big old belch and started blinking real fast. Well, he took a second swig and then tried to hand it back to Pete. Your brother motioned that he should keep it.

That red devil lifted Pete’s bottle and let out three blood-curdling whoops, and three more salamanders dropped out of trees. Well sir, the daddy started makin’ all kinds of clicks and barking sounds. We’d both been around Bill Cody long enough to recognize a speech when we heard one—even if we didn’t know what was being said. At the end of his remarks, we all sat down and passed that bottle around till it was bone dry. Then, without so much as a by your leave, they hopped up, whipping around fast as lightning, and were gone into the trees, leaving the bottle lying on the grass.

Me and Pete stared at each other a moment, and then we both started laughing like jackasses. After we had laughed ourselves dry, we crawled on our horses and got down to some serious rex hunting. Fun was fun, but we still had us a job to do.

Eventually Pete got bored and started cutting out critters from this group of duck-billed critters with horns on their crests. He was herding them right and left, plying his trade so to speak, when all of a sudden he ran smack dab into a greenish brown wall with four legs and three horns. He had found us a Tri-ceratops!

Now, neither Bill nor Mr. Tesla had mentioned how bad tempered one of these things might be. It started swinging its head around right and left, gorging and throwing duck-things all around it. It was about to have a go at Pete, but I rode in through the herd, whooping and hollering and blazing away with my Colt. The bullets didn’t hardly faze that critter none, but I had distracted it enough that Pete could get to a safer distance. Once we had the beast confused with our fancy horsemanship, we just kept at it, riding in circles and putting ropes on him till we figured we’d plum tired him out. He was big but none too bright, and I started to think of him as just another really cantankerous steer. Just as we thought we had him, that three horned devil gave one last huge jerk of his head and sent me and my pinto flying towards the trees. I got up, rubbing my back and using foul language.

Spying my Winchester on the ground, I determined that maybe I could make a larger caliber impression on that son of a buck with the right tool. All of a sudden, from behind me, I heard a roar and a high-pitched squeal that ended abruptly. Turning slowly, I saw four horse legs flailing in the air, and where its body should have been all I saw were long, pointy teeth and two eyes straight out of a nightmare.

That picture we had been given by Bill was off in several minor details. If this was a Tyrannosaurus rex (and I had a suspicion it was) it wasn’t some slow, tail-draggin’ oaf like in the drawing. This thing looked fast and mean as a scorpion on a hot rock. The teeth looked a lot bigger than in the picture, too.

Old three-horn took one look and tore off like a bat out of Hell, pulling Pete right off his roan, dragging him through the dirt and ferns. I ran over, grabbed the reins to Pete’s horse and was in that saddle faster than a flea on a hound. The one bright spot in all this was that the Tri-ceratops was heading right in the direction of that time-travel door, so I took off after him. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that the rex was crunching away on his pinto lunch. Nonchalantly, as he chewed, Mr. Rex was studying all the action with his eyes. After a few minutes of hard riding, I spotted the Tri-ceratops standing there breathing hard. In the distance ahead of him, I saw a dark square on the horizon that I knew had to be the time door. Missing from the scene was any trace of your brother. I made my way carefully around the heaving brute, fearing what grisly remains I might find on the mouth-end but was puzzled when I found nothing. I had no idea where Pete could have gotten to.

Then I heard a whump in the distance, followed by a second and a third and so forth, each one getting louder and closer together. Suddenly, I saw that rex barreling at me, crashing through the undergrowth like a runaway freight train. Three-horn took off like a shot, heading straight for the dark patch. I am ashamed to admit that my pony and I froze right there on the spot. I thought I would soil myself when that big old monster stopped right in front of me and opened wide, letting out a roar that could have stripped paint from a barn. All of a sudden something dropped right out of the branches overhead, landing on the varmint’s back. It was Pete, clothes all shredded and covered in mud and leaves, somehow still wearing his hat. He lifted that big old Bowie knife of his and plunged it into the critter’s hide. Pete let out howl and held on for dear life as that lizard tried to shake him off. Roused from my stupor, I put spurs to that roan and went off like lightning after the Tri-ceratops.

It must have been a strange sight for those boys back in 1903: having a three-horned mountain barreling at them, followed by a screaming maniac on a strawberry roan who was trying to get away from a big old dragon weaving from side to side, the dragon ridden by a laughing madman.