The Hawkline Monster: A Gothic Western Read Online Free PDF Page A

thank you, thank you, over and over again to Greer.
    Cameron counted how many times she said thank you. She said thank you eleven times. He waited for her to say thank you a twelfth time but she didn’t say it again.
    Then Cameron took his turn with Magic Child. Greer didn’t bother to get out of bed. He just lay there beside them while they fucked. Greer felt too good to move.
    After another while the bed fell silent. There wasn’t a sound for a couple of moments and then Magic Child said, “Cameron.” She said it once. That’s all she said it. Cameron waited for her to say his name again or to say something else but she didn’t say his name again and she didn’t say anything else.
    She just lay there affectionately stroking his ass like a kitten.

• The Drum •
    The slamming of screen doors and dogs barking and the rattling of breakfast pots and pans and roosters crowing and people coughing and grumbling and stirring about: getting ready to start their day beat like a drum in Billy.
    It was a silver early-in-the-morning drum that would lead to the various events that would comprise July 13, 1902. The town drunk was lying facedown in the middle of the Main Street of town. He was passed out and at peace with the summer dust. His eyes were closed. There was a smile on the side of his face. A big yellow dog was sniffing at his boots and a big black dog was sniffing at the yellow dog. They were happy dogs. Both of their tails were wagging.
    A screen door slammed and a man shouted so loudly that the dogs stopped their sniffing and wagging, “Where in the hell is my God-damn hat!”
    “On your head, you idiot!” was the female reply.
    The dogs thought about this for a moment and then they started barking at the town drunk and woke him up.

• Welcome to the Dead Hills •
    They woke up at dawn the next morning and rode out on three sad horses into the Dead Hills. Their name was perfect. They looked as if an undertaker had designed them from leftover funeral scraps. It was a three-hour ride to Miss Hawkline’s house. The road was very bleak, wandering like the handwriting of a dying person over the hills.
    There were no houses, no barns, no fences, no signs that human life had ever made its way this far except for the road which was barely legible. The only comforting thing was the early morning sweet smell of juniper brush.
    Cameron had the trunk full of guns strapped onto the back of his horse. He thought it remarkable that the animal could still move. He had to think back a ways to remember a horse that had been in such bad shape.
    “Sure is stark,” Greer said.
    Cameron had been counting the hills as they rode along. He got to fifty-seven. Then he gave up. It was just too boring.
    “57,” he said.
    Then he didn’t say anything else. Actually, “57” had been the only thing that he’d said since they left Billy a few hours before.
    Magic Child waited for Cameron to explain why he’d said “57” but he didn’t. He didn’t say anything more.
    “Miss Hawkline lives out here,” Greer said.
    “Yes,” Magic Child said. “She loves it.”

• Something Human •
    Finally they came across something human. It was a grave. The grave was right beside the road. It was simply a pile of bleak rocks covered with vulture shit. There was a wooden cross at one end of the rocks. The grave was so close to the road that you almost had to ride around it.
    “Well, at last we’ve got some company,” Greer said.
    There were a bunch of bullet holes in the cross. The grave had been used for target practice.
    “9,” Cameron said.
    “What was that?” Magic Child said.
    “He said there are nine bullet holes in the cross,” Greer said.
    Magic Child looked over at Cameron. She looked at him about ten seconds longer than she should have looked at him.
    “Don’t mind Cameron,” Greer said. “He just likes to count things. You’ll get used to it.”

• The Coat •
    They rode farther and farther into the Dead