The Devil of Cripple Creek

"The Devil of Cripple Creek" is a story set in the remote Colorado Territory of 1831, where a group of outcasts, seeking a new life, discover a large gold nugget in a bountiful placer deposit of gold. Their find attracts the attention of Don Ricardo Alvarez, a ruthless Spanish nobleman, who threatens to take the gold for himself. As a conflict escalates, a mysterious figure, Samantha Grey, enters the scene. The story follows the clash between the outcasts and Alvarez, and the consequences of Samantha's intervention. The tale, later recounted by an old man in 1912, becomes a legend, eventually making its way into a pulp comic book about the harsh and untamed American Western Frontier in Dimension Delta Zeta 17-46.

The Devil of Cripple Creek

In a dusty, sun-drenched porch in a small Colorado town in 1912. An elderly man, nearly one hundred years old, sits in a rocking chair, his face a roadmap of wrinkles etched by time and sun. His eyes, though faded, hold a spark of memory, a flicker of stories from a bygone era. He is dressed in simple, worn clothes, a testament to a life lived close to the earth. Across from him, a young, eager journalist sits with a notepad and pen, ready to capture his words.

The journalist, a man named Thomas, collecting tall tales for his magazine, begins by adjusting his spectacles and clearing his throat. "Mr. Silas, thank you for agreeing to speak with me. I've heard tales of a gold strike, and... something else, a legend... from the early days of the Colorado Territory, before the First War."

The old man, Silas, nods slowly, his gaze drifting to the distant, rugged landscape. "Ah, yes, the Cripple Creek. That's what we called it, for the way the water twisted and turned, like a snake. Must o' been at least eighty years ago. It was wild country back then, full of mountain men and those lookin' for a new start."

Thomas leans forward, eager for details. "I understand the story is about a large gold nugget and... some kind of devil? It's a bit hard to believe."

Silas chuckles, a dry, raspy sound. "Well, son, that gold was real enough. I was just barely grow'd to a man then, but I remember it still. We was a motley gaggle, former slaves, deserted soldiers, an' even me, no more than a runaway; we panned gold out o' that stream, and found it. A nugget so big a man could bare lift it with one arm, we named it the 'Cripple Nugget.' It was our chance at freedom, new lives. Maybe even in California." He pauses, takes a sip from a glass of water, and continues, "But, well, gold brings out the worst in men."

"I heard something about a Spaniard? That's when he comes in, I presume?" the journalist asks.

"Aye, that one. A cruel Spaniard, Don Alvarez with his own band of roughnecks. I can still remember his voice, nothin' like it anymore. He wanted that gold for himself, and he meant to take it, by force if he needed to." Silas’s voice drops a bit, a hint of the old fear creeping back. "And make us mine it for him, too. Whether we wanted tah or no."

"And the devil?" Thomas prompts, his pen hovering over the notepad.

Silas looks away, his eyes narrowing in thought, and a shadow passes over his face. "It was a woman, or looked like one at least, an' she was a sight. Wasn't one of us miners, no-sir. They said she lived up in the cliffs, watching when we found that creek. Then when Alvarez's men attacked, she came down from the rocks. Some say she came up from hell itself." He pauses again. "Carried scent o' brimstone, with eyes that glowed red even in the light, floating through the air, on fire. She fought on us outcasts' side, and she was strong, an' her magic crawled through us, but we felt strong, too, like nothing I had ever felt before."

Thomas scribbles furiously, "What did the other outcasts think of her?"

"Well, at first... we was scared. Alvarez called out after tha' first fight; told us she was a devil, sent to destroy us, that we shouldn't trust her. Said we whi' boys could join him, drive her away. He didn't like them coloureds, an' that's when we knew he was full o' shits, since Jericho was coloured an', 'e was my best friend. No way was I drivin' him off on some Spaniard's say so." Silas’s eyes are narrowed slightly as he says that last bit. He nods slowly and sighs. "Our leader, Cap'n Jack, he saw things differently. He was a brave man, and also a fair one. Jack told us that she was fighting on our side, and it didn't matter who she was, or where she came from -- she had tah be an outcast, too. He said he'd gladly take aid from the devil he din' know 'tall from the Spaniards he damn well did."

"And then you won the fight? The miners, with the devil-woman?" Thomas asks.

Silas nods slowly. "We did, we won. But many fellas died that day; and we were free. She done fought besides us, with power and fire. But..." his voice trails off, a note of sadness creeping in, "after the fight, when the dust settled, we jus' couldn't bring ourselves to trust her, not really. Up close, after tha' fight, she was unnerving to be near. Jus' couldn't take it, I guess. We asked her to leave, and she did."

Thomas, intrigued, asks, "And what became of her? Did she go back to where she came from?"

Silas shakes his head, "No one knows what became of her, son. She left, like a spirit fading away. Some say she returned to the underworld, others say she still roams those mountains. I guess we could have done more for her, but we didn't." He sighs, a deep, heartfelt sound.

Thomas continued. "Silas, What happened to the nugget?"

A twinkle showed in the old man's eye. "Well, sonny, thing about askin' men 'bout their gold? I don't know any man who'll say he's still got it. So far as I know, that Cripple Nugget be all spent an' long gone now."

Thomas smiled, and takes a final note. "It's quite a story, Mr. Silas. Thank you for sharing it with me. It seems the wilds of Colorado have their share of mysteries and legends."

Silas nods, his eyes distant again, lost in the mists of time, "Aye, son. They sure does."