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    Fury of the Dark Ghost
    Fury of the Dark Ghost
    Fury of the Dark Ghost
    Ebook425 pages7 hours

    Fury of the Dark Ghost

    By Dallas Releford

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    About this ebook

    What happens to us when we die? Do we survive death by entering another world on the other side?

    Clint Foster, a rancher on his way home in West Texas, after a long cattle drive to Abilene, Kansas battles marauding Cheyenne warriors and dangerous outlaws. Almost fearless, he is alarmed when a deadly severe storm strikes.
    Lost and confused, Clint wanders into a town called LIMBO that is even stranger than the storm. Richard Canfield, owner of the stable tells him that when people die, their souls come to LIMBO on their way to the other side. He is terrified to learn that all of the people in LIMBO are dead, except for him.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDallas Releford
    Release dateFeb 13, 2013
    ISBN9781301041817
    Fury of the Dark Ghost

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      Fury of the Dark Ghost - Dallas Releford

      INTRODUCTION

      We are born.

      We live.

      We die.

      If we are lucky enough to live to a ripe old age, all of the above mentioned things happen in orderly rapid succession. We are born, we go through life and then when our time comes, we die.

      Perhaps every living creature that is capable of wondering about such things ask the same questions, mostly about their own mortality. We think that life must have been created by somebody. After all, how did it occur on its own without superior creation or divine intervention? We know that mankind (and womankind) have been here for millions of years because we have found evidence of their presence. We also know that many forces come together to create life in our own time and to control it. One of those forces is called evolution. It seems that there aren't too many places where life cannot develop and grow. From the coldest places to the hottest places you will find something growing.

      Once the creator put everything in motion, it is pretty much like programming a computer to do something, it just happens.

      If my theories are correct, then there was a creator of all things and it is all controlled by evolution, adaptation and in some cases, survival of the best suited to survive.

      We know evolution as a powerful force that is constantly looking for new ways to create new life that can survive in any environment. Evolution tries every possible solution to create life leaving no stone unturned. It seems that we have to adapt to our environment in order to survive. We have seen many examples of that in the last decade. As humans cut down trees, put up parking lots and cell phone towers, they drive animals and even bacterium out of their environment. If the animals are to survive they must adapt to another environment or die. Animals that have been forced out of their environment have moved into cities, towns and small communities. A few years ago when I was a kid living in Central Kentucky you had to search hard in the woods just to find a rabbit, squirrel or raccoon. They were scared of humans and avoided them. Today, with plenty of food available in garbage cans and dumpsters, they don't even worry about us. In my opinion, that is an excellent example of how animals adapt to their new environment when they are kicked out of their homes. It is not unusual for me to see three or four coyotes in my backyard.

      Food seems to be the great motivator. If drought occurred in our own country for more than a couple of years, we would be facing the same quandary. We would have to adapt to a new environment where we could obtain food or we would perish from the earth.

      From observing these few things, creation, life, death and evolution, we can logically determine that there is some type of order in our universe although it is generally a place of chaos. We are beginning to understand some of the forces and principles that regulate how things work in our universe except we aren't quite there yet. It seems logical to me that we can assume that somebody created the process that started life and evolution on its way. Perhaps a creature that is invisible to us and encompasses the entire universe (and all the other universes too) started the entire thing because it was lonely and needed input. If it was a totally logical creature without the ability to think any other way that began it all then it all makes sense. Purely logical creatures aren't usually hampered by emotional feelings. Perhaps this creature needed knowledge and emotional input. If that were the case then that would also explain why we don't think that God is rational sometimes.

      The opinion that I have concerning this great force is that it is commonplace in all the universes and that we are part of it. It is a life force that gives part of itself to creatures like us and when our bodies can no longer sustain us then our soul (spirit) leaves our bodies and becomes part of that life force again. Did this life force create a plan (blueprint) for life and create a kind of seed from which all life is created in every possible format? It is quite possible and the more I studied certain sciences such as computer programming, drafting and design, the more I realized that someone in ancient times so long ago that we can't count the years designed the universe and all the life that is in it. If you look around you, you will discover that everything is created from seeds, sperm or from a similar method. If everything about living creatures is contained in DNA then why can't there be a similar plan for the rest of the physical universe. We start out with gas and end up with stars, solar systems, planets and then life. It can and does happen wherever there is an opportunity for life. New stars and solar systems are being created all the time. It seems to me that there could have been a seed for creating non-living matter too. The only way we can prove that is to compare universes and since we cannot see other universes, we cannot prove our assumption.

      Are we information gatherers for a creature (or series of creatures) that began everything because it needed information and could not get it by itself? Our purpose when we are born is to gather information and to store memories and emotions. The intelligent life force has no emotions and craves the pleasure it gets from love, hate, frustration and fear that we supply. And we are not the only ones gathering that information. There are trillions of beings on trillions of other worlds doing the same thing.

      What are we? Brain food?

      Maybe we are just hands, legs, feet, eyes, ears and tongues of an increasingly intelligent life force.

      To some, these ideas may seem ridiculous, however, we must keep an open mind and pursue every avenue if we want to find an answer. Perhaps we will never know. I'm just offering a few facts about our world and our existence to prepare you for an excursion into a dark world where you will need all the knowledge you can get.

      Life and death are just the orderly conversion of matter to energy and energy to matter.

      We are born and we die. What happens to us when we die? It has been said that matter cannot be created nor destroyed. It can be changed into another form. For example, energy can be changed into matter and matter into energy. It seems logical to me to assume that we exist in two forms, physical and non-physical. We can only stay in our physical body as long as our body can sustain our spirit or our soul. Our soul is energy while our body is matter. So, what happens when we die? I believe that our spirit vibrates at a higher frequency than our physical body so it simply enters the world on the other side which also vibrates at a higher frequency. Our physical bodies cannot enter that world on the other side because we vibrate at a lower frequency. Another world exists where we carry on another life.

      There are more questions here than I am capable of answering. For instance, if the great life force that is the Supreme Creator, designed everything then who designed and created it?

      In the beginning, there was absolutely nothing in the place we call space. Except for an extremely creative, intelligent, logical being that was composed of billions of other creatures much like a peer-to-peer (PTP or P2P) computer network where any one station can communicate with any other station or it can communicate to all stations refereed to as nodes. Of course, this life force was not made up of computer workstations. It was made up of super intelligent cells (units such as a computer workstation) that were connected together. This life force was something like a magnetic energy field that was extremely intelligent and logical. It only knew logic.

      In effect, A + B = C or 1 + 2 = 3.

      I'm sure I will get a thousand emails or letters pointing out that in the beginning all was darkness and that space was empty. If so, where did this extremely intelligent, logical creature come from in the first place?

      Well, the only logical assumption I can make is that it was there forever. Forever and infinity are things that humans cannot understand. We know what they mean, except we cannot quite comprehend exactly what they are. It is inconceivable to us that we can travel through space in a straight line and never reach the end of our journey. Our understanding and rationale is that everything must have an end, because we have a beginning and an end.

      Or, do we?

      Is our soul infinite? Does it exist forever? Does it stay with the life force until it is expelled again to be born on earth or another world? That we do not know and will not know, in this world. What I have been trying to do is acclimate you to the one big question this book attempts to answer.

      What happens to us after we die?

      On August, 2010 my wife of thirty years, Sharon passed away and thus began my quest to discover answers to several perplexing questions that her death brought about. After almost three years, I'm still discovering more questions every day, except I have come away from the ordeal with many more questions than I started out with.

      Worst of all when you lose someone that you love is the loneliness and grief. I don't think that ever ends. You just learn to live with it no matter how painful it is.

      I wanted to write a paranormal-ghost story, however, the more I thought about it and the more research I did, the more I was inclined to offer my reader a possible explanation about what happens when you die. Of course, most of this was prompted by the death of my wife and my struggle to understand what happened to me and to her. It is impossible to justify the death of anyone and to justify the death of someone you have loved for thirty years is nearly impossible. Now, that I have told you the reason for writing this story and why it may break the normal method of writing paranormal-ghost stories I will tell you a little about what the story is about. I guess you could call this novel a paranormal-ghost-science fiction story.

      The story.

      In the late 1800s, Clint Foster rides southwest toward his ranch on the West Texas Plains. After leaving Kansas where he had just sold his herd of longhorns, he heads south alone facing dangerous outlaws and marauding hostile Indians. With thousands of dollars in his saddlebags, he hopes the marauders and outlaws will not consider him a likely target.

      Riding into a severe thunderstorm, he becomes disoriented and is horrified to see ghostly Confederate soldiers passing by him. Mesmerized and confused about what he has seen he is confounded when a figure in dark clothing and riding a black horse nearly runs him down. As the fury of the storm intensifies, Clint sees the lights of a small town in a valley below him. He discovers that the name of the town is LIMBO. In the town, he meets Richard Canfield who owns the local stable. Canfield tells him that LIMBO is the place you go when you die. Horrified, Clint learns that there is a war going on between good forces and evil forces. The Abductors are part of the evil army run by Devlin Stearn and they attempt to coerce souls to join them by any means they can including lies, treachery and threats. The good force is called the Appenders. They direct all the good souls that come to LIMBO to the good side of the force. Clint learns that a conflict has developed between Stearn, the leader of the evil Abductors and a demon named Zemonar who is trying to get enough souls to destroy Devlin Stearn. In the town, a battle ensues between Clint and Devlin Stearn when he tries to help Canfield and a woman that Stearn has been harassing. Clint does not realize that he has set the stage for a battle between his own world and two deadly antagonists on the other side.

      It is a war that will put the lives of everyone he knows in morbid danger and turn his world upside down. After Canfield and a female inhabitant of LIMBO help him on his way home, he forgets all about everything that happened in the ghostly town on the other side. Will he remember enough about his past experience in time to save his family and friends from the wrath of Devlin Stearn and Zemonar, the Cruel?

      Dallas Releford

      * * * * *

      FURY OF THE DARK GHOST

      By

      Dallas Releford

      Adapted from a short story written in 1964 called, Ghosts Walk the Earth by Dallas Releford

      1

      With seventy-eight thousand dollars in two saddlebags strapped to the saddle horn of the packhorse trailing along behind him, Clint Foster slowly fought against howling winds, torrential rain, consistent deadly lightning and muddy ground as he made his way southwest. The money was payment for sale of his herd in Abilene, Kansas three weeks before he found himself in this hellish storm not sure of where he was and where he was going. In his entire life as a rancher on the West Texas Plains, he’d never seen such a devilish, furious storm as he was now trying to survive. In the last terrifying ten minutes he counted fifty lightning bolts that kept the dark night constantly lighted. Each burst of lightning and the subsequent roaring thunder made his body shudder and his stomach quiver. Although almost fearless, he knew the storm was the work of someone more powerful than he was and that gave him reason to dread each passing moment. He didn't need the stress or the strain of dodging lightning bolts after a trip that would have killed most men.

      Within fifty miles of home, a warm fire and his family, he was barely able to find his way through the darkest of nights. Closer to home, he began to think about the long drive north, the problems he'd had in Kansas and his eventual journey back to the Texas home he loved. After paying the trail hands, he’d taken a dangerous course when he decided to travel alone hoping he could avoid the warring Cheyenne and Sioux tribes that were making war on small towns and travelers. Suggesting to his men that they travel in small groups and keep alert, he left Abilene and headed south. Things had gone well until yesterday when he ran into more than twelve warriors, a small foraging party out for no good. Killing several drunken braves, he’d outrun them and hid in an arroyo for seven hours losing precious time. He reckoned that losing a few hours was better than losing his life in horrible ways at the hands of the murderous Indians.

      Indians weren’t the only danger he’d had to face on his southward journey. Marauding outlaws and rogues were common on the trail from Kansas to Texas. These ruthless gangs of murderers, gunslingers, outlaws and misfits were usually from outlaw gangs that made their home in the Oklahoma Territory where they would hide out after foraging into Kansas and other areas. During those excursions, they searched for cowboys returning from long cattle drives. The marauders knew that those men might be carrying large amounts of money they’d earned from cattle drives to Kansas railroad shipping yards. These gangs sometimes consisted of one or two men to dozens depending on the circumstances.

      Sometimes, they even hung out in places like Abilene, Dodge City, Wichita and other cow towns gathering information about trail herds and following likely victims as they made their way south with stuffed saddlebags.

      The worst enemy he’d had to face, so far, was the unrelenting, violent weather.

      The day had been clear at noon. A soft breeze blew across the prairie and the sky was cloudless. The hot sun, which Clint supposed pushed the temperature up over a hundred degrees by the time it was overhead, seemed to stand still beaming heat down on him and his horses. He worried about his packhorse more than anything. Although not overloaded, carrying only two saddlebags, a couple of packs that contained food, medical supplies and other necessary items, the mare was showing signs of fatigue and perspired intensely. On the plains of West Texas, there were few trees where he could rest himself and the horses. Hoping for a cliff or some other place where they might find shade and water, he had seen none and didn’t expect to see shade any time soon. Knowing that trees grew in abundance a few miles ahead, he had pushed ahead hoping to find shelter from the midday heat before he and his mounts collapsed.

      By noon the next day, a Thursday, he hoped he would be on his ranch with the money safe in a bank. Clint knew that he could not relax his guard for a few minutes because outlaws could be anywhere, even out here on this section of the plain where anything could happen. With perspiration flowing out of his pores on his forehead and down his back, he wished he’d invited a few of the other cowboys to come with him. Loneliness was not one of those things he'd learned to cope with very well. However, outlaws looked for groups of cowboys. They sometimes erroneously contemplated that groups of cowboys traveling south from Kansas were loaded with full bags of money from the sale of cattle. Clint had hoped they would not bother a lone rider since a lone rider would not be crazy enough to carry cash.

      Well-armed cowboys accompanied most ranch foremen who had just left the cattle towns in the north and were headed home to Texas. Clint had taken a chance on going it alone hoping that the outlaws would not expect a lone rider to be carrying money. So far, his ruse had worked quite well.

      The monstrous storm occurred late that afternoon. As heavy rain pounded his soaked body, Clint feared that the devilish storm would conjure up the worst of nature’s fury, a tornado. Tornadoes were as common in West Texas as longhorn cattle. He’d been a little too close to them on at least four occasions that he could remember. His first experience was when he was ten years old living on his parents ranch near Austin. That was before his father had pulled up stakes during the Civil War and moved to West Texas near the Panhandle. Almost fearless of everything except tornadoes and rattlesnakes, his father believed that a man should be prepared for everything that he could protect himself against and that included scorpions.

      Clint was a good fighter in a fair fight. However, he’d learned from his father a long time ago that most fights weren’t fair. People usually killed each other from concealment.

      Carrying a matched pair of 1873 Calvary revolvers in leather holsters strapped around his waist, he was an expert marksman with either hand, and fast to clear leather. In two special pockets his wife had sewn into the inside of his jacket, he carried two matched short-barreled .44 caliber pocket Colts. In a holster attached to his saddle near the saddle horn within easy reach, he carried his father’s old 1866 Dragoon .44 caliber pistol. It was the same kind carried by the Texas Rangers. For long range shooting and extreme accuracy, he carried a lever action Henry 1866 .44 caliber repeating rifle. For emergencies, he carried an 1866 double barrel .41-caliber derringer in a pocket in his hat. When all else failed he often resorted to a double-barreled shotgun that was always in a leather scabbard hanging from the saddle horn on the packhorse. The old shotgun also had belonged to his father and it had convinced many drunken cowboys to find easier pickings and leave Clint Foster alone. Even with all the firepower, Clint felt helpless when confronted by the raging storm. Against a furious, devilish storm, all the guns in the world were useless.

      The rain fell cold and hard. Small balls of ice burned his face and bounced off everything around him including his hat and horses. Sensing evil, something different in the air, the horses were nervous and about ready to spook. The last thing Clint wanted was to be thrown into the mud and stranded on the open plains miles from Fort Stockton where his ranch was located about twenty-five miles from the fort.

      Looking for shelter, Clint saw a deep ditch that would shelter him and his mounts from the vicious wind. With his heart beating faster, he guided his horse into the low area pulling the packhorse along with them hoping that a flash flood would not wash them away. His worst nightmare was about to come true. Hoping things would not get worse he took his chances in the deep mud-slick ditch only to realize that he’d made a bad mistake.

      Realizing that the plain on which he was presently located slowly rose until it became a level plateau, Clint knew that he was in a bad position since rain falling on the rise would end up in the lower valley where he was. Respecting nature as he did, Clint drove his mount until they were out of the ditch. With the falling rain so intense, he could barely see more than a few feet in front of him. The devilish storm pounded him as he clenched his teeth and kept struggling against its cold dark fury.

      The lightning was so extreme it kept the barrage of falling rain well lit so that it appeared as a solid wall of water. If Clint hadn’t known that it was rain, he would not have been brave enough to attempt traveling through it. Riding as hard as possible through the soggy mud, heading up the incline, Clint hoped he could gain elevation where he might escape deeper water. With visibility low, he wasn’t aware of traveling upward. Instead, he thought that he was on level land and that realization worried him.

      As the rain diminished in intensity for a few minutes, he could see a bright blue luminance through the light rain in the distance. Clint could see a single solid light and then there were several. The blue pulsating balls of light darted up and down and sideways. What were they? He'd never seen anything like the lights before.

      Startled when he realized that he was looking at over twenty mounted soldiers on the plain below and in front of him, he thought that lightning had struck them and that caused them to glow. He had heard tales about lightning striking boulders and they glowed for a little while, except these figures glowed all of the time.

      Appearing translucent and apparently unaware of the weather, the torrential rain did not seem to have any affect on the soldiers.

      Haphazardly, Clint made his way quickly down the slope to where the dark phantom figures were riding. Deciding to follow them, he wondered if what he was seeing were real soldiers that were illuminated by static electricity in the air. Anything was possible, he thought as the soldiers turned toward the southwest. Still, he wondered where the soldiers were going and where they came from. As he drove his horses closer to them, he could see that they looked ragged and exhausted like maybe they’d just been in a terrible battle and had lost. Through the hazy blue light he could plainly see that they wore gray uniforms adorned with bright yellow insignia and trim. The uniforms confused him. Who were they?

      The Civil War had ended several years before and the only explanation he could think of was that they were Civil War soldiers that had turned to robbing and killing after the war. Maybe they were even guerilla's. His best guess was that they were from the Oklahoma Territory where most of the other outlaws found a home and refuge from the Texas Rangers.

      Concerned because he was much too close to the outlaw soldiers for comfort, Clint let his horse drop back a few paces as the phantoms disappeared into the rain. Alone again, he fought his way forward through gusting winds and hail that burned his skin. The heavy downpour made visibility almost nonexistent. Somewhere out there was his ranch with a loving wife and kids waiting for him to come home. However, Clint Foster didn’t know that fate had placed something ominous ahead of him on the trail home to change everything he ever had learned about life and reality. Before the day was over, he would even question his own sanity and mortality.

      The hellish storm had taken all the joyful thoughts and memories of home and family out of his mind. Gone were the warm thoughts of his wife and kids, the ranch he loved so much and his neighbors whom he appreciated. Now, his only thoughts and concerns were those of surviving. Aware that enemy soldiers were somewhere ahead of him and that the vicious storm was in complete control of his fate, Clint pressed onward wondering what was behind the next rock or over the next rise.

      He didn’t have long to wonder about anything. As sometimes happens, things can occur quickly. The formidable weather continued for another twenty minutes as Clint kept moving hopeful that he would not fall into a deep ditch or that his horse would not stumble over a canyon wall. Listening intently for any sounds of rushing water, he was unable to hear anything except heavy rain and hail pounding everything around him. It was a situation he was slowly getting used to, until a dark figure on a black horse with a black cape fluttering behind him rode out of the deluge of rain and headed straight for him. Clint shuddered when he realized that the demon creature had bat-like wings.

      Reacting quickly, Clint was able to urge his horses out of the way just as the strange figure flashed by and disappeared into the darkness.

      Swinging his horse around, Clint stared into that same darkness, heavy rain and fog, and saw nothing. Whatever, or whoever it was, it was gone now leaving Clint Foster shivering from terror and wondering what kind of place had he had wandered into. He was about to find a new meaning for fear and terror.

      When the ominous figure did not appear again, Clint turned the horses toward the direction of the soldiers hopeful that they were now long gone. As best as he could determine, he was traveling over a wide plateau where the land was level. It wasn't long until he came abruptly to a hill that sloped down into a long valley. Even though it was still raining, he could see down into the valley where a significant gray fog clung close to the ground. Sitting in the saddle with the valley below him, Clint leaned forward and peered through the darkness. He was sure he could see the lights of a small town and vaguely make out a single street with buildings on both sides of it. What he could not see clearly worried him. The soldiers were not in sight and he wondered if they were down there in that town. If they were there, it was the last place on earth he wanted to be. Except, without better directions and definitely lost in strange territory, he didn't have much choice. Perhaps someone there, a friendly bartender, for instance, might be willing to give him directions about how to get home. None of his surroundings looked familiar. Each time Clint thought about the dark phantom he had seen galloping through the harrowing night, the more he wished that he had seen nothing at all.

      The slope below the plateau was steep, wet and Clint wondered if he could manage to maneuver the horses down it without sliding or tumbling to the land below. With great caution and apprehension, he started down. The rain was still falling although not as hard as it had been. The horse had only taken a few steps down the hill when it slipped on treacherous mud and lurched forward throwing Clint over its head onto the sloping hill in front of it. Landing on his back, he was helpless to prevent his body from sliding and rolling uncontrollably down the hill. Since the rope of the packhorse was tied securely to the pommel of Clint's horse, when his horse stumbled, it pulled the packhorse down the hill with it. Both horses ended up at the bottom of the incline unscathed. Soon, they were nonchalantly nibbling on green grass while Clint attempted to gather enough strength to arise from the soggy ground.

      The rain transformed into a cold thin mist that moistened his face and neck. Covered in mud, he struggled to his feet and picking up his hat, let the rain wash the mud from his face. Realizing that if it had not been for that same soft earth, he would have broken most of the bones in his body, he suppressed a scream and a few cursory words intended to express his great dissatisfaction with things, in general.

      Clint realized that he was lost in a storm with an unknown town down the valley in front of him and an unknown army of men somewhere out there on the plains, or perhaps in the town where blinking lights were inviting him to come on in.

      Leading the packhorse, Clint rode toward the southwest watching every bush and rock wondering when someone, or some thing, might step out and open fire on him. Aware that something was indeed awry, he touched each of the pistols in holsters strapped around his waist to make sure they were still there. Confident he was ready for action, he glanced in every direction wondering where death was waiting for him.

      The horses hoofs cast dirty water and mud up around him as he came to the edge of the small town and halted. Studying the town from the safety of his saddle, Clint looked down the semi-dark street wondering if he should not attempt to bypass the town and find his way home without asking anyone about how to get there. The horrendous, hellish rain had given away to a constant barrage of lightning bolts and gusty winds. It didn't take much of the horrible electric storm to convince Clint that he'd probably be safer inside the bar than out in the severe storm. On the many trail drives he'd been on, he had seen exactly what lightning bolts did to steers. It was not a pretty sight.

      Feeling like he was riding into a den of hungry lions, Clint wondered why he felt so much anxiety when nothing unusual had happened, except for the soldiers that seemed to vanish into nowhere and a phantom that almost knocked him out of his saddle.

      He had ridden through many thunderstorms in his life. However, this one was the most intense and violent storm he'd ever seen. Now it was reduced to gusty winds and extreme lightning, something he did not want to deal with. Perhaps it wasn't the storm that made him feel uneasy. Maybe it was the feeling that he was being watched all the time or the thought deep in his mind that evil was all around him. Clint could not understand the overwhelming feeling that he did not belong here.

      Whatever it was, the horses felt it too. They had been unwary for a long time before those dark clouds with even darker bottoms first appeared in the western sky. Animals were sensitive and could sense many things. Clint had learned that from their old yellow cat, Tiger that had died two years ago. Tiger used to sit in the middle of the living room and stare at the doorway as if something or someone was standing there. Laura, his wife, said that animals could see ghosts or spirits. Clint had learned to believe in the miraculous sensitivities of animals because he'd felt something was there too. Now, he had that same feeling, as if something evil was near and that something repugnant was about to happen. Urgency and common sense pounded him and every sense he had impressed on him the inclination to run, to get away from this place, except where would he go?

      Pulling his fathers gold watch from a pocket in his jeans, he confirmed that it was only a few minutes past nine o'clock. He'd have time to put the horses in the stable and get a hotel room, if the town had one, and then feed his aching stomach. With fresh dry clothes from his saddlebags, he would feel like a new man, or at least, a comfortable one. After a good nights sleep, he'd get up and head for home early in the morning. There wasn't much sense attempting to travel through unknown territory in a severe storm. He was sure he could still make it home on time.

      A sign on a post that had been painted white told him the name of the town. It was called Limbo. What a strange name, he thought. Wondering if it meant anything special, he also noticed that the population was listed as a hundred and thirteen. He thought most of the population must live on ranches because he saw few houses, just stores and other businesses.

      As Clint rode down the muddy rain-soaked street, he relaxed a little when he finally realized that the town called Limbo was exactly like most other western cow towns. Except, the other towns he had been to had people in them. Nobody was on the streets in Limbo. At least, there was nobody that Clint Foster could see. Perhaps people went to bed early, he supposed.

      While he passed several darkened buildings on both sides of the streets, Clint wondered if he were the only person in town until he heard the sound of laughter between the loud claps of thunder. The howl of high winds seemed to carry the sound away and then bring it back again. Straining his ears so he could hear where the sound was coming from, Clint's eyes were attracted to a bar where dim blue light was cascading out through swinging Dutch doors. He thought that the color of the light was strange and very unusual. Most light emanating from kerosene lamps and lanterns was warm yellow. The only other light was coming from a restaurant and what he thought was a store across the street. The high wind drove small droplets of rain into his face making it difficult for him to see.

      Knowing he had to get the horses to cover, preferably in a stable, before the wind tossed something on them, he rode past the bar while looking through the half-doors. His brief view of the interior of the bar sent waves of terror surging down his spine. There were at least twelve rough and rowdy men in the saloon. Some of them were standing at the bar while others were sitting at round tables playing blackjack or some other common game of the day. As lightning flashed and thunder roared, he felt that these men weren't ordinary men. He thought they looked like skeletons. Except, he also thought that he could not believe his own eyes. Attributing his perception of the men to an already stressed mind, he continued on up the street where he'd spotted a darkened stable. Perhaps someone was sleeping in the building.

      As he passed the restaurant where a light was burning, he peered through the windows. It was almost empty except for a woman standing at the counter reading a newspaper while carrying on a conversation with a man having a late meal. Continuing on down the street wary of the deep mud, tiring of being in the saddle for many endless hours, Clint stopped in front of the livery stable and dismounted. The huge double doors were swung open flapping in the furious wind and straining the ropes that held them to the barn wall. He could hear the noises of horses and smell them, even with the atrocious wind making every effort to blow him away.

      Cautiously leading the horses inside, a brief respite from the storm, he yelled for someone to accommodate his horses and to care for them. A single lighted lantern hung from a post in the center of the vast building where stalls held several horses. A slow moving cloud of fog crept under the rear door of the stable making its ghostly presence known in the dim yellow light of the lantern. Dark boots stirred the fog as an old grizzled man walked out of one of the stalls.

      Hold on, he said. The wind is disturbing the horses. Never seen wind like this during my fifty-two years.

      It is violent, Clint admitted briefly before addressing present business. When you get time, I need to have the horses fed, rubbed down and made comfortable. I'm Clint Foster. What's your name?

      I'm Richard Canfield, the old man replied offering Clint his aged and wrinkled hand. His hands were as pale as his face and neck. If you need to stay the night rather than face this storm, there is a hotel across the street.

      Thanks, Clint said while removing the saddle from his horse. I had given that some thought. I don't hanker going out in this, especially at night and in total darkness. Staying in a hotel sure sounds better than traveling in this mess. Tying the reins of the two horses to a post that was part of one of the stalls, he grabbed his saddlebags and his rifle from

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