The Missing Link

Well, see, Link were fryin’ up some bacon, all the while chippin’ his teeth ‘bout some girl he knew back in Boulder (if you catch my drift). He were just gettin’ to the good part when I tole him be quiet. He didn’t much like that but, when he saw me starin’ out in to the fog, he shut up, took that sizzlin’ pan off o’ the fire n’ set it down in the dirt.

I weren’t sure what it was that I had heard, but I knew it weren’t natural right away. Some mechanical thing, I thought, tip-a-tappin’. The pan quieted, leavin’ behind the not-quite-right sound o’ the fog. That fog had settled o’er us three nights previous, bringing a dose o’ January wi’ it, so thick we couldn’t rightly see where we were, let alone where we might be wantin’ to be, an’ it showed no sign o’ lifting. Now, bein’ in fog’s like bein’ in snow, or an ol’ pine wood. It eats sound, see? Fellow can get crept up on real good in fog.

Anyway. After a time, Link shrugs, meanin’ he don’t hear nothin’ n’ what am I fussin’ o’er. Now I weren’t sure I’d heard anything at all, n’ I’m about to tell him not to worry when there it comes again, tip-a-tap, tip-a-tap, tip-a-tap.

In an instant the two of us are standing, back to back, wavin’ our shooters at white nothin’.

I were sure the noise had done come from o’er by the horses, but Link, he nudges me an’ points in the opposite direction. I tells him no n’ give a little chin-nod toward the horses, but he ain’t havin’ it.

Then it comes again, tip-a-tap, tip-a-tap, tip-a-tap. Closer. Louder. Behind me.

Realisin’ that Link were right, I spun round, but then so did he, n’ so we’re still both wavin’ our guns at opposite directions.

Tip-a-tap. It were real close now, out in front of me.

Tip-a-tap. Behind me.

Then, jus’ as I’m about all out o’ wits, this darned abortion appears out o’ the fog.

Now, I ain’t no liar. Any fool round here will tell you so, but this thing… Shit. I saw it and I still don’t believe it.

First o’all, alls I could think was “tall”. It were twice my height, easy. Then I see it’s walking on three legs, sharp to points (them’s what was doing the tip-a-tap), and it’s got this big, fat body, all covered wi’ sparklin’ diamonds, n’ peerin’ down at me, two jet-black eyes in a massive face, all painted up like a whore, n’ worst o’ all, the great godburned thing is grinnin’ at me. Pardon my language.

Well, I can’t say I’m yeller, no man can say that, but this thing? I was damn near out o’ my mind. I shot it, jus’ once, mostly ‘cause my hand were shakin’ than ‘cause I were plannin’ to, but that bullet jus’ bounced off those crazy ass diamonds. I reckon it were me shootin' that set Link off, ‘cause behind me he starts shootin' too and I lamp there’s two of these crazy diamond bastards.

Link lets off three or four rounds ‘fore the one in front o’ me steps o’er me and it puts one o’ it’s legs straight through Link’s hand. He drops his gun o’ course, n’ then he screams real loud. They do not like that. Not one bit. The other diamond bastard, the one in front o’ Link, it rams one of its legs right in to his open mouth n’ it comes out the back of his head, right in front o’ yours truly, covered in blood and brain, n’ he stops screamin’ for good, jus’ like that.

I don’t recall nothin’ after that. I jus’ woke up the next mornin’, lyin’ in the dirt by the fire, n’ when I open my eyes I see that pan o’ bacon sittin’ in front o’ me. No sign o’ no fog, no sign o’ no Link, and no sign o’ those three-legged rat-bastards.

I figure there ain’t nothin’ I can do n’ I do not very much like the idea o’ bein’ out there on them plains alone, so I pack up n’ I come ridin' 6back on in to town, n’ then that fog comes rollin’ in off those mountains, so I hightail it to this here drinking establishment n’ now it’s now n’ here we are.

Boy, I know jus’ how crazy this all sounds, but I ain’t roostered n’ I don’t give a rat’s ass who or what you want to believe, so you feel free to go out there in that soup. But if you hear that tip-a-tap, well. You can’t say I didn’t warn you.