The Treasure of Hairy Spider Gulch.

Chapter 2: Do you feel lucky?

I paused at the top of the hill to catch my breath. I leaned the rifle up against a rock, and reached into my pocket to retrieve the map. It was worn, and the paper was yellow with the time, but the digital images were still readable. They flickered a bit every now and then. I looked out and scanned the horizon. Tarantula rock was out to my left, and Camel Spider Canyon was directly in front of me.

According to the map, I just had to make my way through the canyon, and over the Black Widow Sand Dunes. Then it was short 1/2 mile to Hairy Spider Gulch, where my uncle's treasure was just waiting to be dug up. Unfortunately, there'd be plenty of car-sized spiders on the way there.

Well, at least I wont have to go through Roly Poly Pass. I know it doesn't sound all that bad, but trust me, the cute name is kind of a misnomer. Getting crushed by a two ton bouncy ball is pretty god awful way to go.

I folded the map up and put it back into my pocket. I grabbed my canteen and took a long gulp. I looked down for a moment to fasten the canteen back to my pack, and when I looked up, I saw him standing there. Startled, I reached over and grabbed my rifle. By the time I brought it to my shoulder, he already had a piece aimed at me. Two of them actually. He couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen.

He grinned, showing a number of very crooked teeth. He was scrawny, and wore a dirty poncho. He had on an old hat, like the kind the cowboys used to wear. Underneath it was a giant mop of messy red hair. He was armed with dual DL-44 blaster pistols. Probably chambered in .35 or .40 watt bolts. Their energy packs whined with anticipation.

He finally spoke, "Are you gonna pull that rifle or whistle Dixie?"

"What?" I said.

"Do you feel lucky? Well do you, punk?"

I gave him a confused look. "Why are you talking like that?" I said.

"You're one of those road folk aren't you?" He said. "We knows what kinds of evil you all are capable of.""Don't think I'd hesitate even for a second to turn you into a pile of dust"

I slowly started to stand up.

He stepped forward quickly, nervously fidgeting with the pistols. "Go ahead, make my day!"

Where have I heard that line before? It seemed oddly familiar.

I lowered the rifle, and laid it down on the ground. "Alright kid, I don't mean you any harm. And I'm no road agent either. Whatever one of those is. I'm just trying to find something my uncle left out here, that's all."

The kid's toothy grin faded. "So you're not one of them?"

"Um... no" I said.

He flicked a switch, and the pistols stopped whining. He didn't lower them though. "Well, you'll understand if I don't trust you."

"Sure kid. No worries. Just put away the guns okay?"

"What I'm gonna do is this. I'll let you get on your way. But you're gonna leave the Winchester with me."

A loud roar interrupted my response. I turned just in time to see eight hairy legs the size of telephone poles leap into the air. The kid fired. And then everything turned black.

The Treasure of Hairy Spider Gulch.

Chapter 1: The long colt

The bullet is resting in my right hand. It is a .45 long colt. It is an older style round, with a flat head instead of a hollow one. Like the kind the cowboys would have used. I play with it, rolling the round with my fingers. Despite its size, it carries a bit of weight. The sun beats down hot, and the ground is dry. Nothing but slate rock and dust for miles, interrupted by the occasional cactus.  Heat dances in the air, and in the distance a hawk circles. He wavers a bit, wobbling as he makes a survey of the land. I grin, because not even he can escape the rising heat. Serves him right too, because here we all suffer equally.  Rabbit, coyote, human, and bird alike. No one is special in the desert.

Well, except for the the wolf spiders. They're very special. And big too.

Never did quite hear the reason why they got so big. Radiation? Science experiment gone wrong? Or maybe God just wanted to see our reaction to seeing a spider the size of a VW bug.

I'm sorry... I'm rambling. I tend to do that. On one thing, and then all of sudden, I am talking about something that doesn't at all relate to what I was originally saying. I guess we all have our quirks.

A cloud moves across the sky. It's shadow bumbles along like a wandering tumble weed. I take the round, and place it between my index and middle finger like a cigarette. My father's rifle is in my left hand. It is a Winchester 1892 Deluxe Takedown. I work the action, pulling the lever down to check to see if it's loaded. Empty. I smile again. Safety was always his thing. I close the breach. I take my lonely round, and load it into the magazine. I take a eight more out of my pocket, and load them into the rifle. I work the action and chamber a round. I place my thumb on the hammer, gently squeeze the trigger, and gingerly lower it.

Why do I have a rifle you ask? Because of the wolf spiders? Well, no not because of them. Sure a 45 L.C. can do some damage. I heard they used to use these rounds to hunt black bear, and they're no bigger than a wolf spider. Or at least the old ones were. Sorry, another tangent.

No, I have the rifle because I am after something. My uncle buried a particularly special item out here. Yes, buried treasure in the desert, how cliche. Don't judge me. Anyway, I could really use the cash. Or gold. Or Micro-neuron chips. Or whatever it is. And besides, I have his map too. They ransacked his piece of shit house and never found it. You know why? Because he gave it to me a long time ago. Even showed me on the map where it is. It's sitting in Hairy Spider gulch under a pile of stones, behind a dead mesquite tree, marked by...

Um... I think I've said too much. But, I will tell you this, whatever is buried out here is valuable. And valuable things are generally sought after. Sometimes by multiple people. Dad's rifle is just a precaution. In case someone tries to start something. And that's all.  Honestly.

Sweat spills into my eyes and I wipe it away quickly. My shirt sticks to my back.  I pick up my pack, carrying my rifle in my right hand, and head up the hill. Rocks move and slide beneath my feet as if they were alive. I make my way slowly up the hill.