NOW THEY HAD reached the canyon's mouth again. The first person lthey saw was Windy O'Day, his whiskers bristling with anxiety. He sat his horse expectantly, counting the riders as they emerged and brightening as soon as he saw their faces. Behind him now it was possible to see the practical magic Tex had worked, enabling Captain Gideon to get to the canyon hours ahead of the Apaches and position his men.

Nothing would have been possible, of course, without Colonel Meadley's famous 'Flying Tracklayers' who had laid a temporary bed across the prairie, enabling Captain Blackgallon Jones to bring up his mighty double-decker war-trams loaded with men and ordnance. These so-called 'gun-tubs' with their electric gatlings could be of spectacular effect in plains conditions and had been employed to full effect at the Battle of El Paso against what Texas still insisted on calling The Yankee Threat.

Express trams had transported the cavalry and now Captain Gideon's battle-hardened squadrons lined every vantage point of the surrounding country!

This vast display of military co-ordination brought a small smile to Sir Seaton's lips as he looked around him. He was too well-bred to observe what his companions also understood, that it had taken a great deal of organisation and a great many men to ensure that a certain cornet note sounded at a certain moment in the wilds of the New Guadalupe mountains!

Two master-strategists had, for a short time, joined in a game whose rules were known only to one of them. Pale Wolf had used the Masked Buckaroo's famous strategic skills for his own purposes.

"I first smelled a rat," he said, "when I felt for that dog's pulse. That animal had died of natural causes. The arrow had been shot into it much later. Did you notice that no-one was killed in those 'raids'. Nobody was even seriously hurt." The Buckaroo could only admire the way in which he had been tricked.

He was not sure, however, how he was going to explain it all to Captain Gideon and his men.

As if he had had the same thought, Sir Seaton Begg leaned across in his saddle and murmured: "Remember what Pale Wolf said about not lying—that people usually refused the truth?"

The young vigilante nodded.

"Well," continued Sir Seaton, "I think we had best not explain all the details of how your dear ones were restored to you and what happened to Ulrucha and his miserable band."

Tex was inclined to agree with him.

"But first," he said, "you must tell me something about that queer fellow, Pale Wolf. He's clearly not an Indian. He's definitely a white man. But he didn't look much like an average white, either. What is he, some kind of cross?"

"HE IS AT once the last and the first of his race," said Seaton Begg. "I should perhaps explain that he is a relative of mine. We have ancestors in common. The family is from Germany. They are the von Beks of Bek, in Saxony.The family is better known, however, in neighbouring Waldenstein. Most of its sons spent more time abroad in Mirenburg, which is the capital of of Waldenstein, with whom they are identified. They intermarried with the local aristocracy and share an intimate history with the place. The man you met is Ulrich, Prince of Mirenburg, Count of Bek, who carries the ancient curse of the Bek blood..."

"Curse? More melodrama?" said Tex, almost wearily, but the Englishman ignored him.

"Every few generations they give birth to an albino. Every few centuries they give birth to identical albino twins. And about every five hundred years they give birth to albino twins who are a girl and a boy. When that occurs there is a certain stir created in the occult world. A proliferation of magical swords is one phenomenon associated with such a birth."

"What are they?" asked Don Lorenzo in some distaste. "Vampires? Werewolves? What?"

"Some of them, as I said, are called 'eternals'. They live according to different rules and conditions, but few have sinister ambitions where we are concerned. Indeed, they are often fairly altruistic. No others possess the warlock's powers you saw demonstrated just now. But 'Monsieur Zodiac', as that individual sometimes styles himself, is a master of magic, though his familiars are not always available to him here. His mind holds ancient secrets. His regular companions are the restlessly damned, the dispossessed, the abnormal. He consorts with criminals in the lowest dens of vice. And he plays the violin like an angel. No, Don Lorenzo, this is not an ordinary monster. Neither, in the usual sense, is he damned. I expect to meet him again. And when I do, I hope I shall have the luck to best him. Even extraordinary monsters, my dear sir, have no place in decent society."

"Which is why they deserve the freedom of the wild underworld at least," said the Masked Buckaroo with some feeling. He had been thinking over those events. "I propose we should leave them alone. Why pursue them, Sir Seaton?"

The detective sighed. "Monsieur Zodiac'—or Pale Wolf as you know him—is a criminal. It is my duty to bring him to justice. And that means I must follow him wherever he hides."

The Englishman rode over to have a word with Captain Gideon. The officer issued instructions and soon several saddle-bags had been handed over to Sir Seaton. He rode back, lifting his hat to Jenny. "Goodbye, Mrs Brady. A pleasure to meet you." He shook hands with the others who were rather surprised. They had not expected the detective to leave them so soon.

None asked him where he was going. They were not surprised, however, when he turned his horse about and began to ride into the shadows of the canyon, on his way to the Realm Below.

They watched until he disappeared. "A man after my own heart, that Englishman," said young Tex. "I almost wish I was going with him."

"Where he goes, he goes alone, I think," said Don Lorenzo, frowning. He murmured some sort of prayer under his breath and crossed himself.

"Well, I seem to be the only one looking forward to getting home," said Jenny with a grin. "After this strange experience I'll never be bored with the ordinary routines of the Circle Squared."

By now they had ridden up to where the tram-tracks began. Captain Gideon stepped forward, saluting.

The Masked Buckaroo thanked him for responding so rapidly and efficiently to his messages.

"I'm glad we could be of help," Gideon insisted warmly.

"You will never appreciate the full extent of your help, captain," said young Tex dismounting.

AS THEY CLIMBED the steps of the heavy war-tram and took their places on the mahogany seats, the young buckaroo put a strong and manly arm about his wife's shoulders. Soon the vehicle was in motion, racing back across the plains as a second machine collected track behind it, a demonstration of the skill and ingenuity of 'Thunderclap' Meadley's famous 'Flying Tracklayers', who had done so much for Texas's military reputation. Within hours they would be back at the Circle Squared.

Yet for all Jenny's talk of a return to normality, the young avenger knew that life would never be quite the same again.

No matter how much he blocked it from his conscious mind, he would continue to dream of that subterranean world Sir Seaton called The Grey Fees. He would long to experience its alien wonders. Then one day he knew his curiosity would get the better of him. He would give in to his impulse, saddle his horse, and retrace the trail to the Realm Below.

Something in him yearned for that day to come, but he was not to know how soon his desire would be fulfilled!

For that is another story.

THE END

of an sf detective western lost race sword
and sorcery fantasy story by W. Colvin Jnr

"The Ghost Warriors" was first published in Tales from the Texas Woods by Michael Moorcock (Mojo Press, 1997.)