The Ancient Tunnel

The following is a continuation of the western I've been writing. The other parts can be found here:

http://www.abctales.com/collection/untitled-western

The Ancient Tunnel

     The rider stumbled and fell into a dark tunnel just as a gunshot shattered the calm outside. He slammed the rickety covering down above him, hoping that the carpet that had hidden it would stay in place. Instincts took over and he was running full tilt through a dark, dirt tunnel. There was a blinding pain in his forehead as he struck a crossbeam that hung too low for any man to pass under comfortably, and fell to the ground. He saw stars.

     “You coming? Or do you plan on lying there all night?” The working girl was short enough to pass under the beams without as much as a bend in her back. She had already picked up and lit a small lantern to guide their way, and was standing a few paces away, mocking him. For the first time, the rider felt hindered by his size. Out in the badlands, cutting an impressive figure was half the battle. There weren’t any short cowboys, and if there were, they weren’t around long enough for anyone to talk about them.

     The rider lifted himself from the ground and dusted off his jacket. The woman began walking, paying him as little attention as possible. Through the flickering candlelight of her lantern, The Rider could see an expansive tunnel continuing into infinity. “Are you sure this is safe?” Normally he wouldn’t have asked, but the tunnel’s walls were rough, packed dirt, with nothing but a few decrepit planks holding up the tons of earth above. The planks themselves looked like they might have been salvaged from a structure that had already collapsed once. The Rider shuddered at the thought.

     “It’s an ancient native tunnel. It’s been here a long time, should hold for a few more minutes.”

The way in which she said it almost made it seem true, but the rider knew for a fact that the native tribes had been driven out long ago, and wouldn’t have built a tunnel to a settlement even if they hadn’t been. “There haven’t been natives here for hundreds of years.” The Rider was acutely aware of the earth sitting precariously above him. All it took was a stray gunshot from the town above and they would find themselves taking a long nap in the dirt.

     “Five-hundred years? I guess that’s what makes it ancient then.”

The Rider couldn’t see her face, but he was sure that she was smiling. Well, it’s better than a scowl, he thought, and tried to keep the mood light despite the circumstances. “And who pray-tell told you about this ‘ancient native tunnel’” The sarcasm dripped off the last word like molasses, but if she noticed it, she paid it no mind.

     “An ancient native,” She said with a deadpan air that told The Rider to drop it.

He gave up on the subject for the time being, but reserved a special brand of mockery for later. In the cool air, his legs begun to loosen and he could feel the weight of the gold on his side against them. Hours on horseback had made his legs weaker than he liked. Soon they were burning with furious intensity, but he was determined not to show any signs of weakness, and soldiered on.  

     The Rider’s mind wandered to the town above. He could see the dark silhouette of The Man stepping off his horse in the evening gloom. The town would be terrified, and would give The Rider up in the first few minutes. Even the gold pieces he had slipped the sheriff would quickly turn to cowardice. He knew it from the beginning, but it was always worth the try.

     I wonder who caught the bullet. Could have just been a warning shot, he thought, not really believing it. In a small, dark corner of his mind, he felt something akin to guilt for the poor town’s struggle, but it didn’t last long. These feelings were overwhelmed by the primal nature of survival and pleasure that was The Rider’s natural state. Emotion never got him far in life, and for the most part, he felt better off without it.

    Still, might be the bandits would have passed them by if I hadn’t come. It was possible, but likely, a town so unprotected as the one above would have made too tempting a target either way. The tunnel slanted upward and distracted him from his thoughts. “Where does this passage lead?”

     “The tunnel leads to a native burial ground on the outskirts of town. Most people won’t go there on account of the ghost stories.”

     “A straight answer. Was that so hard?” The look that she gave him pierced like a knife. He made a mental note to sleep with one eye open. “In my experience ghost stories usually lead to where the treasure is buried. Superstition is more secure than any padlock.”

     “The stories are no mere superstition. The path can be very dangerous if you don’t know where to walk.” Her tone was respectful, but ominous.

     “So we’ve escaped the clutches of a madman, only to wander into a realm where we must fear the dead? I feel better about our predicament already.” The Rider did not believe in ghosts, but the earnest nature of The Working Girl set him on edge. There might not be ghosts, but all superstition contains grains of the truth.

     “I believe in what I’ve seen, and what’s out there is as real as the earth we’re standing on.” She continued to walk and the tunnel slanted down even further. “It’s only about a mile or so more. We should hurry. You don’t want to breathe the air down here too long. It might slow your mind more than it already is.” There was the joking side again. It peaked out every so often, but she was always quick to bury it.

     “Right, why keep the dead waiting,” said The Rider, following her into the dark.  The Rider felt inexplicably carefree, despite the dire nature of his predicament. He had half the gold, and that thought comforted him. At least I’ll get something out of this in the end. As he had this thought, a great pressure exploded at the back of his skull. His vision narrowed to a pinpoint and faded to black.