The Lon Williams Weird Western Megapack. Lon Williams

to be clearly seen, moved a horse and its rider. They moved as if they’d been his own horse-and-rider shadow, no faster, no slower. He heard no hoof beats; their muffled sounds were carried away on a southwest wind. Appearance of another rider, Lee reasoned, should have been no more mysterious than his own presence there; but he was worried nevertheless. To keep a watchful eye, he turned sideways, right foot loose in its stirrups, left hand to saddlehorn.

      Though he was scared, he was not so alert as he should have been; he realized that when an unearthly noise broke loose on his left and Cannon Ball leaped as a terrific spring triggered free.

      Winters was flung backwards. He hung on by hom and strap, head down, with flying hoofs knocking alkali into his face.

      Cannon Ball, scared and mean, clamped teeth to bit and pounded toward Forlorn Gap, accelerating with every leap. Winters clung fast until his horse had settled into maximum speed. He righted himself then and looked back. As far as he could see, Alkali Flat was again an untenanted, wind-swept waste.

      Doc Bogannon’s saloon had been a busy spot for hours, but most of his customers had departed. A tall, elegant gentleman, lingering mysteriously, stood before him. “A small nip of wine, my good man.”

      “With pleasure,” said Bogannon. He filled a wine glass and picked up a coin. “If I’ve made your acquaintance, I’ve forgotten it.”

      “Friend Bogannon, I am Swan Caplinger. It is a coincidence of travel that I am stopping over in your town. Tomorrow’s stage will take me to Pangborn Gulch, to new adventures and new fortunes.”

      “Interesting,” said Bogannon. Bogie himself was tall; he was also broad and solidly built. If appearance had meant anything, he’d have been a statesman—perhaps an ambassador—instead of a barkeep in this crossroads semi-ghost-town of Forlorn Gap.

      “Interesting is right,” said Swan Caplinger. He was slender, well-dressed in gray suit, bow tie and high-topped gray hat. There was also a superior look in his eye, one that bespoke tremendous self-confidence. “Truth is, Bogannon, I lead a most interesting life.”

      Bogie leaned back, folded his arms and surveyed his guest with modest curiosity: “Forlorn Gap is a stopover; once it was a teeming gold town. All sorts of men have come and gone. I’m always curious concerning those who boast of interesting lives. Just what is it about your life, Caplinger, that rates it as most interesting?”

      Caplinger smiled indulgently. “Gladly I shall divulge my secret. As to who invented sleep, I know not. As to who conquered sleep, I know full well. ’Twas I.”

      Bogie’s eyes spread. “No joking?”

      Caplinger leaned toward Bogie and spoke confidentially. “I haven’t slept a wink in eight years.”

      Bogie’s incipient reaction did not materialize. His batwings swung and Deputy Lee Winters tramped in, face sweaty and alkali-stung. “A stiff drink, Doc.”

      Doc poured whiskey. While Winters swept it down and glanced curiously about, Doc set up a bowl and placed a clean cloth beside it. “Your vinegar, Winters. I see you’ve come across Alkali Flat; I’d say, also, you’ve seen a ghost.”

      Winters swabbed his stinging face with vinegar. “Doc, sometimes those ghosts scare me stiff; sometimes they make me mad. This time I’m scared and mad, too.”

      “Winters, don’t you know there’s no such thing as a ghost? Men merely see what they look for. I’d say that if you made up your mind to it, you could see an elephant on Alkali Flat. Possibly two elephants. You’d see them, but of course they wouldn’t be there; they’d be in your mind.”

      Winters arched one eyebrow at Bogie. “You’re a most consoling gentleman, Doc. If you’d seen me hanging onto Cannon Ball, like a tail-hooked monkey on a trapeze, I reckon you’d have said that, too, was mental.” Winters had a creepy feeling suddenly. He whirled and found a tall gentleman in gray smiling at him. “Well, stranger, you look amused; perhaps I should buy you a drink.”

      “A courtesy of that sort would be gratefully received, Officer Winters.” He beamed joyfully. “I am Swan Caplinger, and I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.”

      Winters looked him up and down in a quick glance. He couldn’t recall having seen this beanpole on any “wanted” circular. Doc had poured two drinks. Winters passed one to Caplinger. “With my compliments, Cappy.”

      Caplinger’s mouth corners went up indulgently. “You are every inch a gentleman, Officer Winters. Now, as to me, I have a most unusual interest. I’ve always said to myself, in some way or other every man is superior. If you will pardon my asking, I should like to know in what way you excel all other men.”

      Winters cast a suspicious glance at Bogannon. “Is this meant for a joke?”

      Doc shook his head. “Caplinger’s got something; you shouldn’t miss it.”

      Winters eyed his inquisitor with something between disapproval and anger. “Well, sir, there is something at which I once excelled all mankind. Down in Trinity Valley my dad, who’d migrated from Tennessee, had a farm; he raised com, as well as brats, and every fall he pulled corn-fodder for his stock. In my youth I was a good fodder-puller— best in Texas, therefore best on earth.”

      Caplinger, doubting not a word he’d heard, waxed enthusiastic. “Winters, I welcome you into a great brotherhood, that of superior men. It is a privilege to think of oneself as being in some way without a peer. Congratulations!”

      Winters glanced toward Bogie’s batwings as a big stranger entered and headed for a table. His attention returned to Caplinger. “And now, Cappy, just what have you got to rooster about?”

      Caplinger rose to his utmost height. “Officer Winters, it is I who have conquered sleep. This will seem incredible to you, certainly; but I have not slept a wink in eight years, seven months, and twenty-three days.”

      Winters was still in a bad mood from his wild ride on Alkali Flat. But here was an unblushing windbag who infuriated him. “Well,” he snapped, “now that I’ve seen everything there is to see, I reckon I’ll go home. Goodnight, Doc.”

      Caplinger was not offended. He watched Winters shove out, then turned a pleasant countenance upon Doc. “Truly, it is hard for men to believe in my extraordinary willpower; hence my feeling toward Officer Winters is nothing but kind.”

      * * * *

      A big stranger had moved forward and paused near Caplinger. He, too, was tall, but much heavier than Caplinger. He was bareheaded, his dark hair thick and wavy. His forehead was broad, and his dark eyes twinkled with a friendliness that could have sprung only from assurance of inner excellence far beyond that of ordinary mortals.

      He extended a long-fingered hand. “My friend Caplinger, I overheard you respecting your extraordinary talent, and I believe every word of it; I am Kirk Delozier.”

      They clasped hands and bowed, as one genius to another. Caplinger squared his shoulders. “You, of course, have some point of unsurpassed excellence, friend Delozier. You will be doing me a great favor—”

      Delozier laid a quarter-eagle on Bogie’s bar. “Bartender, a bottle of wine; also, glasses.” When Bogie had obliged, he took wine and glasses and nodded toward a table. “I have much to tell you, sleepless friend.”

      Bogie watched them, wondering what sort of chattering monkeys they were. But they took a distant table, and Delozier kept a wary eye to make sure Bogie did not watch or listen too closely.

      Over their wine, he leaned toward Caplinger. “Sleepless friend, you are interested in my specialty; well, I shall disclose it. But first, how old would you take me to be?”

      Cappy studied him a moment. “About forty, I’d say; possibly forty-five.”

      “Caplinger,” said Delozier, a bit haughtily, “I am three hundred and eighty-seven years old.” Caplinger caught his breath. Not that he doubted, but rather was amazed and delighted. “Most remarkable! I should