UCBooties
Black Iron House
Part One:
Alexander Campbell was the richest man west of St. Louis. The inventor of the auto-carriage and steam cannon could have lived quite comfortably off the proceeds from his patents but he instead parlayed his early earnings into a prodigious buy up of land across some of the most inhospitable land in the southwest. The papers had made much of “Campbell’s Folly” until reports returned that he had opened mines that were quickly becoming some of the most profitable in the country. A few years later he began leasing the land to the rail companies that were racing to complete the first contiguous line to California and his fortune seemed to redouble with each passing year.
Now the self-styled Duke of Arizona had turned his attention to politics. He was a favorite of temperance leagues and anti-vice coalitions for his strict teetotalism and his fiery speeches regarding the virtues of a godly work-ethic and the spiritually edifying nature of hard labor. Indeed, Alexander Campbell seemed to be the perfect representation of the new west, an unbending moral fiber married to a brilliant mind bent to industry and the efficient exploitation of the frontier’s limitless natural resources. Back East, Campbell was often heralded as the very incarnation of Manifest Destiny and the savior of American morals in the West. Rumors swirled that he would surely run for governor soon, and after that, it could only be a matter of time before he set his sights on the Presidency.
More than temperance, more than mining rights, more than anti-unionization, there was one campaign against moral decrepitude and national degeneracy which consumed him above all others: Vampires. He was the founder and primary financier of the Arizona Anti-Sanguinists League and professed a hatred of Vampires that often seemed to border on mania. After the announcement of the 1873 Armistice at Cincinnati, Campbell took out full page advertisements in every major newspaper in the Union to lambaste the Nation for ceding the War to what he scathingly referred to as the “Bloody Empire” of the Confederacy:
Can there be any species so DISREPUTABLE, so CONTEMPTABLE, so HATEFUL in the sight of the LORD, as the American VAMPIRE? Even when measured against the PRIMITIVENESS of the Indian, the SLOTHFULNESS of the Irishman, or the LOW CUNNING of the Oriental, we find the American Vampire to be ESPECIALLY deserving of scorn. Whereas the Vampire of the Old World cloaks His WICKEDNESS beneath a veneer of nobility and tradition, the American Vampire makes no pretenses to disguise his SAVAGE and BASE nature, no efforts to moderate his GLUTTONY for the BLOOD of those GOD-FEARING individuals so unfortunate as to cross his path.
Now we are told that we must make peace with such a creature. WASHINGTON has surrendered in the WAR, justly waged, against the BLOODY EMPIRE of the C.S.A. and their VAMPIRE masters. A huge expanse of our NATION, and millions of CHRISTIAN SOULS are now ceded to RAPE and MURDER and a hundred other VIOLATIONS at the FANGS of VAMPIRES. Indeed, with the SURRENDER of the UNION, we must now countenance the existence of a VAMPIRE NATION, here on the continent that our FOUNDERS won for GOD-FEARING CHRISTIANS.
Our leaders claim that this HOLY WAR has become too TAXING for the national coffers to BEAR. They claim a NATIONAL EXHAUSTION which prevents the war from being prosecuted further. To this, I say, NO price is TOO HIGH to pay to wipe this SCOURGE from our shores. Let NO EXPENSE be spared in the prosecution of this HOLY WAR. Let EVERY MAN take up arms AGAINST this EVIL. Let there be no rest until EVERY VAMPIRE has been put to the FLAME.
To the VAMPIRES I say this, do not come to ARIZONA. Only SILVER and FIRE await you in the WEST.
So fervent was Campbell’s hatred of the Vampire that when the ceremony was planned to complete the Transcontinental railroad Campbell commissioned a silver spike to be driven to complete the link as a symbol of the West’s resistance to Vampirism. The spike itself was currently being kept in a safe in Campbell’s large home in the foothills of Congress, AZ and it was that spike that brought Sam Warwick and his compatriots to Campbell’s residence shortly before midnight on April 11th, 1875.
Warwick frowned as he looked at the house. He had a tip that Campbell was away on business, but it unsettled him that the house was completely dark. Shouldn’t there at least be a few servants or guards at home? He’d just have to be careful, that’s why he was hired for this job, after all. Careless thieves just ended up dead. He gave a nod to Nolan to keep watch while Thomson, Sanchez, and he began quietly picking their way down the hillside through the scrub brush and loose stone.
Warwick held his breath for a moment at the bottom of the hill and listened. There was no sound, no movement, no sign of life from within the looming house. Setting his jaw he trotted towards the wide porch that circled the house and pulled himself over the railing. Stillness greeted him. He carefully raised his hooded lantern and opened it just enough to flash a sliver of light at Thomson and Sanchez, signalling them to join him.
While they made their own approach, Warwick approached one of the large windows and risked a peek inside. There was no light inside, no movement of any kind. He could only make out the vaguest shapes of furniture. Could a man as rich and crafty as Campbell really have left his house completely unguarded? Not a chance. They’d see what they were really up against soon enough.
Soon Sanchez was crouching next to him while Thomson kept watch around the corner of the building. Warwick kept his voice low, “Keep light on your feet once we get inside, boys. Campbell’s an inventor, so I don’t doubt for a moment that he’s got any number of fancy tricks up his sleeves. Keep an eye out for automatons or other surprises once we get inside.” Both men nodded.
“Sanchez, check the window. Once we’re inside, split up and we’ll find the safe. Remember, we’re only here for Campbell’s fancy railroad spike. Keep things professional, no souvenirs.”
Sanchez sidled up to the window and pulled out a stethoscope. He pressed it gently against the glass and listened with an intent expression on his face. He then took his own lantern and used a sliver of light to inspect the edges of the window for any signs of a wire or other special security measures. When everything seemed clear, he pulled a geared contraption from his satchel and pressed it against the glass. With three quick cranks of its handle, the device’s armature began to turn, quickly, noiselessly, cutting a hole in the glass of the window. When it was done, Sanchez simply reached into the hole he had made and flipped the window latch.
There was no sound of alarm or any other response. With a shrug, Sanchez quietly slid the window open and Warwick hopped inside. Moments later, Sanchez and Thomson were inside as well and the window was closed behind them. The house was set far back from the town and Nolan was outside keeping watch. Warwick decided to risk the light.
In the glow of his lantern, they found themselves in a parlor with a few chairs and a number large bookshelves. Sanchez and Thomson unhooded their own lanterns and cast around to get their bearings. Thomson let out a low whistle as his light passed over the sash above the windows. Warwick glanced up to see that there were heavy steel shutters poised to drop to cover the windows. Thomson kept his voice low but his appreciation was evident, “That is some heavy duty hardware.”
Warwick gave the shutters an uneasy glance, “A man like Campbell surely has a lot of enemies. One of them hired us after all. It’s no surprise he can lock this place up if he needs to. Split up, and find me that safe.”
“Sure thing, boss,” Sanchez crept out of the parlor and headed for the stairs. Thomson cast one more worried look at the steel shutters and then followed him out of the room. Warwick took another glance around the room. There were gaudy red banners everywhere, stitched with those white, four-petaled flowers the Anti-Sanguinists loved so much. It certainly seemed like Campbell was getting ready to make a big move. Warwick shook his head, the “Duke’s” plans didn’t concern him, he had a job to do.
Alexander Campbell was the richest man west of St. Louis. The inventor of the auto-carriage and steam cannon could have lived quite comfortably off the proceeds from his patents but he instead parlayed his early earnings into a prodigious buy up of land across some of the most inhospitable land in the southwest. The papers had made much of “Campbell’s Folly” until reports returned that he had opened mines that were quickly becoming some of the most profitable in the country. A few years later he began leasing the land to the rail companies that were racing to complete the first contiguous line to California and his fortune seemed to redouble with each passing year.
Now the self-styled Duke of Arizona had turned his attention to politics. He was a favorite of temperance leagues and anti-vice coalitions for his strict teetotalism and his fiery speeches regarding the virtues of a godly work-ethic and the spiritually edifying nature of hard labor. Indeed, Alexander Campbell seemed to be the perfect representation of the new west, an unbending moral fiber married to a brilliant mind bent to industry and the efficient exploitation of the frontier’s limitless natural resources. Back East, Campbell was often heralded as the very incarnation of Manifest Destiny and the savior of American morals in the West. Rumors swirled that he would surely run for governor soon, and after that, it could only be a matter of time before he set his sights on the Presidency.
More than temperance, more than mining rights, more than anti-unionization, there was one campaign against moral decrepitude and national degeneracy which consumed him above all others: Vampires. He was the founder and primary financier of the Arizona Anti-Sanguinists League and professed a hatred of Vampires that often seemed to border on mania. After the announcement of the 1873 Armistice at Cincinnati, Campbell took out full page advertisements in every major newspaper in the Union to lambaste the Nation for ceding the War to what he scathingly referred to as the “Bloody Empire” of the Confederacy:
Can there be any species so DISREPUTABLE, so CONTEMPTABLE, so HATEFUL in the sight of the LORD, as the American VAMPIRE? Even when measured against the PRIMITIVENESS of the Indian, the SLOTHFULNESS of the Irishman, or the LOW CUNNING of the Oriental, we find the American Vampire to be ESPECIALLY deserving of scorn. Whereas the Vampire of the Old World cloaks His WICKEDNESS beneath a veneer of nobility and tradition, the American Vampire makes no pretenses to disguise his SAVAGE and BASE nature, no efforts to moderate his GLUTTONY for the BLOOD of those GOD-FEARING individuals so unfortunate as to cross his path.
Now we are told that we must make peace with such a creature. WASHINGTON has surrendered in the WAR, justly waged, against the BLOODY EMPIRE of the C.S.A. and their VAMPIRE masters. A huge expanse of our NATION, and millions of CHRISTIAN SOULS are now ceded to RAPE and MURDER and a hundred other VIOLATIONS at the FANGS of VAMPIRES. Indeed, with the SURRENDER of the UNION, we must now countenance the existence of a VAMPIRE NATION, here on the continent that our FOUNDERS won for GOD-FEARING CHRISTIANS.
Our leaders claim that this HOLY WAR has become too TAXING for the national coffers to BEAR. They claim a NATIONAL EXHAUSTION which prevents the war from being prosecuted further. To this, I say, NO price is TOO HIGH to pay to wipe this SCOURGE from our shores. Let NO EXPENSE be spared in the prosecution of this HOLY WAR. Let EVERY MAN take up arms AGAINST this EVIL. Let there be no rest until EVERY VAMPIRE has been put to the FLAME.
To the VAMPIRES I say this, do not come to ARIZONA. Only SILVER and FIRE await you in the WEST.
So fervent was Campbell’s hatred of the Vampire that when the ceremony was planned to complete the Transcontinental railroad Campbell commissioned a silver spike to be driven to complete the link as a symbol of the West’s resistance to Vampirism. The spike itself was currently being kept in a safe in Campbell’s large home in the foothills of Congress, AZ and it was that spike that brought Sam Warwick and his compatriots to Campbell’s residence shortly before midnight on April 11th, 1875.
Warwick frowned as he looked at the house. He had a tip that Campbell was away on business, but it unsettled him that the house was completely dark. Shouldn’t there at least be a few servants or guards at home? He’d just have to be careful, that’s why he was hired for this job, after all. Careless thieves just ended up dead. He gave a nod to Nolan to keep watch while Thomson, Sanchez, and he began quietly picking their way down the hillside through the scrub brush and loose stone.
Warwick held his breath for a moment at the bottom of the hill and listened. There was no sound, no movement, no sign of life from within the looming house. Setting his jaw he trotted towards the wide porch that circled the house and pulled himself over the railing. Stillness greeted him. He carefully raised his hooded lantern and opened it just enough to flash a sliver of light at Thomson and Sanchez, signalling them to join him.
While they made their own approach, Warwick approached one of the large windows and risked a peek inside. There was no light inside, no movement of any kind. He could only make out the vaguest shapes of furniture. Could a man as rich and crafty as Campbell really have left his house completely unguarded? Not a chance. They’d see what they were really up against soon enough.
Soon Sanchez was crouching next to him while Thomson kept watch around the corner of the building. Warwick kept his voice low, “Keep light on your feet once we get inside, boys. Campbell’s an inventor, so I don’t doubt for a moment that he’s got any number of fancy tricks up his sleeves. Keep an eye out for automatons or other surprises once we get inside.” Both men nodded.
“Sanchez, check the window. Once we’re inside, split up and we’ll find the safe. Remember, we’re only here for Campbell’s fancy railroad spike. Keep things professional, no souvenirs.”
Sanchez sidled up to the window and pulled out a stethoscope. He pressed it gently against the glass and listened with an intent expression on his face. He then took his own lantern and used a sliver of light to inspect the edges of the window for any signs of a wire or other special security measures. When everything seemed clear, he pulled a geared contraption from his satchel and pressed it against the glass. With three quick cranks of its handle, the device’s armature began to turn, quickly, noiselessly, cutting a hole in the glass of the window. When it was done, Sanchez simply reached into the hole he had made and flipped the window latch.
There was no sound of alarm or any other response. With a shrug, Sanchez quietly slid the window open and Warwick hopped inside. Moments later, Sanchez and Thomson were inside as well and the window was closed behind them. The house was set far back from the town and Nolan was outside keeping watch. Warwick decided to risk the light.
In the glow of his lantern, they found themselves in a parlor with a few chairs and a number large bookshelves. Sanchez and Thomson unhooded their own lanterns and cast around to get their bearings. Thomson let out a low whistle as his light passed over the sash above the windows. Warwick glanced up to see that there were heavy steel shutters poised to drop to cover the windows. Thomson kept his voice low but his appreciation was evident, “That is some heavy duty hardware.”
Warwick gave the shutters an uneasy glance, “A man like Campbell surely has a lot of enemies. One of them hired us after all. It’s no surprise he can lock this place up if he needs to. Split up, and find me that safe.”
“Sure thing, boss,” Sanchez crept out of the parlor and headed for the stairs. Thomson cast one more worried look at the steel shutters and then followed him out of the room. Warwick took another glance around the room. There were gaudy red banners everywhere, stitched with those white, four-petaled flowers the Anti-Sanguinists loved so much. It certainly seemed like Campbell was getting ready to make a big move. Warwick shook his head, the “Duke’s” plans didn’t concern him, he had a job to do.
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