An Occurrence in Crazy Bear Valley Read Free

present. She’s a real beauty, ain’t she?”
    Clara frowned at this, but said nothing. Parker and Gunderson held their tongues, waiting for Morgan to speak. He didn’t. Instead, he simply stood there, expressionless, quietly appraising the captive. They’d all seen this look before. Morgan wore it when he was playing cards, sizing up an opponent, or getting ready to kill someone. Quite often, those things were one and the same.
    The captive woman was young, maybe nineteen or twenty, and she would have been beautiful under better conditions. It was obvious to Morgan that her current situation had been less than optimum. She was nude except for a coarse, moldering burlap bag. Mold grew in sprawling patches on the fabric. Holes had been cut in it for her arms, head and neck. It stretched from her shoulders to just above her belly button. Her arms were tied above her head with bailing twine, and bound around a rusty nail sticking out of the post. Another length of bailing twine encircled her ankles. Her pale skin was covered with yellow-purple bruises and various scratches, cuts and scabs. Her long blonde hair was dirty and matted, the curls more like barbed wire than anything remotely feminine. The girl’s lower lip was split in the center. The wound looked fresh. Tiny traces of dried blood and snot crusted her upper lip and nostrils. She stared at Morgan and the others, her eyes wide and panicked.
    “You got a name?” Morgan asked.
    The girl moaned. Morgan crossed the floor, grabbed her chin, and pulled her face up. He stared into her eyes.
    “Name,” he said again. “Do you have one? Answer me, now.”
    Boot heels sounded at the door. Stephens walked into the bunkhouse, paused, and glanced around the room in confusion. He gaped at the naked captive. His gaze darted down to her exposed lower half and then back up to her face.
    “Who the hell’s this?” he asked.
    “That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Morgan said, turning to face him, the girl’s chin still cupped in one hand. “You take care of them bodies like I told you to?”
    Stephens nodded. “Sure did, boss. I strung them up just like you said. Hung them in a little copse of pines on the edge of the clearing. I figure that way, we can shoot at whatever comes sniffing around from inside of here. No sense standing out there at night. I reckon it gets downright cold in these woods come nightfall.”
    If Morgan heard all of this, he didn’t acknowledge it. He’d already turned back to the girl.
    “I’ll ask you one more time. What is your name, girl?”
    The girl licked her swollen lips. “Are y’all here to rescue me?”
    Sighing, Morgan struck her hard with the back of his hand, simultaneously answering her question and demanding an answer to his own. The girl cried out as her head rocked to one side. She let her chin rest on her chest as she began to sob. None of the others moved. They watched, impassively. Morgan seized the girl’s chin and raised her head again.
    “You want me to hit you again?”
    “C-crystal,” she stammered. “My n-name is Crystal.”
    “Crystal.” Smiling, Morgan released her chin and softened his tone. “Now that’s more like it, Crystal. Is that your Christian name?”
    “I don’t know what that means. Please don’t hit me anymore.”
    “It means was that the name you were born with?”
    She nodded, sniffling. Tears rolled down her dirty, bruised cheeks.
    “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Crystal.” Morgan tipped his hat to her. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out a faded handkerchief, and wiped her face and eyes. His nose wrinkled as he leaned close. Her burlap garments smelled musty, and the girl obviously hadn’t bathed in a while. Crystal winced when his fingers brushed against her lips and nose. Morgan shushed her, his tone apologetic, and finished wiping the grime and her tears away.
    “My name is Morgan,” he said, and then motioned to the others. “These are my