Yellowstone Run

CHAPTER TWELVE

An hour after sunset the air became cool thanks to a stiff breeze from the west, a breeze that fanned the flickering red and orange flames and sent fiery sparks wafting into the atmosphere.

Blade sat on the south side of the fire, his arms looped around is legs, his chin resting on his knees, and pondered their predicament. The fire and the roast venison had done wonders for Priscilla and Eagle Feather and aided their recovery after the grueling cauterization. Blade had done the honors himself, using a red-hot firebrand on both of them, inserting the thin, glowing stick into their bullet holes as far as it would go, first from the front and then from the rear. Priscilla had tried her best, but the agony had caused her to cry out and swoon. Eagle Feather, to his credit, had refused to scream the first time, although he had broken into a sweat and trembled as if suffering from a grave illness. But when the first attempt had failed to staunch the loss of blood, Blade had reheated the firebrand and tried once more, inserting the stick even farther, and the Flathead had succumbed to the torment and passed out. The second cauterization had been successful.

The Warrior stared at the two of them, lying to the north of the blazing wood Geronimo had gathered earlier, and nodded. They should both live.

He’d allowed them to rest for half an hour after the operation, until the venison had been cooked, then aroused them to partake of the succulent meat. Now they were both conversing with Achilles, who seemed to have attached himself to the Mormon woman. From the way Priscilla kept touching his arm and leaning close to him, she reciprocated fully. Blade grinned at the sight. He’d have to take Achilles aside after they returned to the Home and talk to the “true gentleman” about conducting a romance while on duty.

Novices!

Blade leaned back and looked at Hickok, who sat on his right, then rotated his head until he spied Geronimo, who was on guard duty and walking the perimeter.

The full moon had risen 40 minutes ago.

“Tomorrow we’ll see if we can catch any of the horses and begin sweeping the area for sign of the Bear People,” Blade said conversationally.

“The who?” Priscilla asked.

“Mutations. They abducted Eagle Feather’s wife and two sons. The reason we’re in Yellowstone is to find them and eliminate them,” Blade explained.

“What do they look like?”

“No one knows for sure.”

“I caught a glimpse of them,” the Flathead disclosed. “I only know they are big and hairy and very, very clever.”

“I wonder if they were involved in the disappearance of two of Harmon’s men,” Priscilla remarked.

Blade peered at her through the flames. “Two of his men vanished?”

“Yep. About a week ago. We never found a trace of them, but we did discover one of their horses. It had been partially eaten.”

“Were any strange tracks found at the scene?” Blade asked.

“Not that I know of.”

Could there be a connection? Blade wondered. The Bear People might have been responsible for the disappearance of the pair of scavengers, but a wild beast could just as well have done the job. He speculated on whether he had miscalculated. Maybe the creatures had already passed through the Lamar Valley and were now somewhere in central or southern Wyoming. If he’d—

“Blade! Hickok!” Geronimo suddenly shouted.

The giant leaped to his feet, grabbing the Commando as he stood. “Stay put,” he directed the others, then nodded at the gunman and together they ran to their friend.

Geronimo was standing on the southeast side of the summit, the FNC cradled loosely, staring at something in the distance.

“What is it, pard?” Hickok asked.

“Did you hear something?” Blade added.

“I see something,” Geronimo informed them. “A fire, to be precise.” He lifted his right hand and pointed.

Blade spied the campfire before Geronimo’s arm was extended. A solitary beacon of light in a virtual sea of shadowy landscape, the roaring blaze appeared to be three times the size of their own. He estimated the fire to be situated in the general vicinity of the slain buffalo. “It must be the other woman, Milly Odum,” he commented.

“What the blazes is she tryin’ to do?” Hickok questioned. “Set the countryside on fire?”

“She’s probably scared being all by herself,” Geronimo guessed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she keeps mat fire going all night.”

“How about if I mosey on down there and try and persuade her to join us?” Hickok proposed. “She shouldn’t be all by her lonesome in a wilderness like this.”

“You’d have to cover over three miles,” Blade noted.

“So? I’m not afraid of the dark,” Hickok responded. “Besides, with the full moon and all, it’s not that bad.”

Blade debated for a moment. “No, we’ll all go in the morning. Priscilla told me that Odum will take off if we try to get near her, and we don’t want her roaming around at night.”

“Suit yourself,” Hickok said with a shrug.

“One of us will relieve you in a few hours,” Blade said to Geronimo. He turned and took a few strides, then froze when his ears registered the far off sound.

A scream.

A primal, wavering, almost eerie scream, the unmistakable cry of a terrified woman, faint yet compelling in its intensity.

“Dear Spirit!” Geronimo exclaimed. . “I knew it,” Hickok declared. “One of us should get down there, pronto.”

Blade stepped to the crest and stared at the campfire. He thought he saw indistinct forms pass in front of the flames, but he couldn’t be certain.

“I’ll go.”

“Why you?” Hickok asked.

“Because rightfully it’s my job. I’m the representative of the entire Federation in my capacity as the head of the Force,” Blade said, feeling a twinge of guilt. If that woman had been a Family member, he would have gone after her. “I should have tried to contact her earlier. You were right.”

“I was?” Hickok replied, and grinned. “Boy, am I on a roll.”

“By the time you get down there, she’ll probably be dead,” Geronimo mentioned.

“I have to find out for myself,” Blade stated.

“Take one of us with you, pard,” Hickok said.

“Yeah,” Geronimo said. “What if it’s the Bear People?”

Blade swung toward their fire. “Achilles! Front and center on the double!”

“You’re takin’ the greenhorn?” Hickok declared in surprise.

“Why not one of us?” Geronimo questioned.

“He needs the experience. You don’t. It’s that simple,” Blade explained.

He spotted the aspiring Warrior racing their way. “I’ll expect the two of you to keep watch over Priscilla and Eagle Feather. If you see or hear anything out of the ordinary, get off a few shots and we’ll come running.”

“Just take care of yourselves,” Geronimo said.

Achilles joined them, “What is it?” he asked excitedly, glancing around.

“Are we being attacked?”

“You’re going with me,” Blade directed, and nodded to the southeast.

“And leave Priscilla?”

Hickok snickered. “Maybe Blade wilt let you carry her piggyback,” he quipped.

“Let’s go,” Blade said, and headed down the slope.

Achilles took a few steps, then looked back at the gunfighter. “Take care of her, will you?”

“Don’t fret your noggin’,” Hickok responded. “We’ll watch out for her.”

“Thanks,” Achilles said, and beamed. “She finds me fascinating. Not that I blame her.”

“True love, huh?”

“I’ve never been in love before,” Achilles confided. “But I do know I find her irresistibly exhilarating.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts. After the first kid, you’ll be lucky if you’re exhilarated once a month.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Figures.”

From a dozen yards down the hill came an irate bellow.

“Achilles!”

“Uh-oh. Be seeing you,” Achilles said, and sprinted into the night.

Hickok glanced at Geronimo. “That boy is downright pitiful.”

“Yeah. I know what you mean. He reminds me of you when you were his age.”

“I was never that stuck on myself.”

“I was referring to his ignorance.”

“He does have a heap to learn about women, that’s for sure.

“Yeah. And the more he learns, the less he’ll know.”

Geronimo observed. The gunman ambled off. “Give me a holler if a moth tries to beat you up.”

“Try not to set your buckskins on fire.” Hickok chuckled and strolled to the fire, the Henry in his left hand.

Both the Flathead and the Mormon woman were sitting up.

“What happened?” Priscilla inquired anxiously. “Where’s Achilles?”

“Blade and him went snipe-huntin’,” Hickok said, and eased to the ground, lying the rifle on his left.

“At this time of night?”

“Yep. There’s a whole herd of the critters down near the river. They wanted to bag a few for breakfast.”

Priscilla glanced toward the east rim. “It’s too dangerous to wander around after dark in Yellowstone.” She paused and regarded the gunman suspiciously. “Wait a minute. Snipe hunting? I’ve never heard of snipes. What are they?”

“The meanest animals in the world.”

“Do you mean Achilles could be hurt?”

“Knowin’ snipes the way I do, they could tear him to itty-bitty pieces if he’s not careful,” Hickok said with a straight face. “But I wouldn’t worry if I was you. He can take care of himself. And Blade will baby-sit him.”

“Achilles doesn’t need baby-sitting,” Priscilla responded defensively.

“He’s a mature adult.”

“Know him that well already, do you?”

“Let’s just say I happen to like him.”

“Do tell! I never would’ve guessed.”

Priscilla reached up and rubbed her sore shoulder. “You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”

“Who, me?”

“I think you’re pulling my leg,” Priscilla said. She looked at Eagle Feather. “Is Achilles in any danger?”

“From the snipes?”

“Of course. What else would I be talking about?”

“Are you sincerely concerned?”

“What kind of question is that?” Priscilla snapped.

Eagle Feather nodded. “Yes, you obviously care for him. And you shouldn’t have to needlessly worry. No, Achilles is not in any danger.”

“Thank you,” Priscilla said, and stared at the Warrior. “You have a sick sense of humor.”

“So everybody keeps tellin’ me.”

“Then why don’t you change?”

“My missus likes me the way I am.”

“You’re married?”

“Yep. To the cutest filly this side of the Milky Way,” Hickok stated proudly.

“Give her my condolences.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’ve got a nasty streak a yard wide?”

Priscilla smiled. “I wish it was true.”

“Why?”

“I would have blown that bastard Harmon away years ago.”

“Don’t blame yourself. Most folks are naturally nice. There are some who are outright nasty just to be spiteful. And there are those who learn to be nasty when the chips are down, but even most of them don’t cotton to the nastiness,” Hickok said. “Get my drift?”

“I think so,” Priscilla replied. “Which category do you belong to?”

“None of them.”

“None?”

“I’m in the fourth category.”

“Which is?”

“I’ve learned how to be nasty when the going gets rough, when lowlifes are tryin’ to hurt decent folks or a crazed mutation is tryin’ to rip someone’s face off,” Hickok stated, then grinned. “The difference is I like being nasty when nastiness is called for.”

“You like exterminating lowlifes, as you call them?”

“Someone has to do the job.”

“What about Achilles?” Priscilla asked.

“What about him?”

“Does he like being nasty?”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen him against the wall yet.”

“Against the wall?”

Hickok nodded and gazed into the fire. “That’s when everything is going wrong, and you find yourself outnumbered with your back to the wall. It’s either you or the other guy. Or things. And it’s then, when the lives of others are ridin’ on your shoulders and you know a lot of good people will die if you don’t get your act together, that you have to become nasty, become as mean as you can be, just to stay alive. As far as I know, Achilles hasn’t been in that kind of situation yet. He’s never had to be nasty.”

“Well, I hope he never finds his back to the wall.”

“And I hope he does.”

“Why on earth would you wish such a thing on any man?”

“Because it’s the true test of whether he’s cut out to be a Warrior. Until he learns whether he’s got the guts to do whatever it takes to beat the bad guys, he’ll never know if he has what it takes to be a Warrior,” Hickok said. He looked at her. “Our Elders don’t pick just anyone to be a Warrior.

There’s a tough selection process every candidate goes through, and there’s a reason. The Elders want to weed out the dreamers from the true fighters. It’s real easy to sit in a comfy chair dreamin’ about slayin’ dragons, but to go out and actually kill the dragon takes more guts than most folks realize.”

“Truly you are a wise man,” Eagle Feather interjected.

Hickok laughed. “Could I have that in writing?”

“Why?” the Flathead asked.

“Otherwise my misses will never believe it.”

“You must love your wife very much.”

“You bet. Don’t you?” Hickok asked, and immediately regretted his lack of tact when Eagle Feather frowned and bowed his head.

“With all of my heart.”

“Cheer up. We’ll find her and the young’uns.”

“I pray you are right.”

They fell silent, each engrossed in his or her thoughts.

Hickok watched the flickering flames and thought about Sherry, Ringo, and Chastity. What were they doing right at that moment? Sherry was probably giving the kids their nightly baths, and he wished he could be there to play Navy with Ringo. A month ago he had traded a hunting knife for four carved wooden ships an Elder had whittled.

What was that?

Hickok stiffened and glanced to the south. He’d heard a soft thump, as if a horse had stomped its hoof. Or a body had struck the ground.

Where was Geronimo?

The gunfighter stood, his hands hovering near his Colts, and scanned the summit.

“Is something wrong?” Priscilla asked.

“Nope,” Hickok fibbed. He didn’t want to alarm her unnecessarily. “I’ll be right back. I need to shoot the breeze with that mangy pard of mine.”

“I saw him near the south rim a minute ago.”

“Thanks,” Hickok said, and walked away from the fire, probing the shadows for his friend’s silhouette. The fire didn’t illuminate the entire summit, but the full moon provided a pale glow along the outer edge. He should be able to spot Geronimo easily.

His fellow Warrior was nowhere in sight.

Hickok advanced to within a yard of the southern rim and halted. He felt confident that there wasn’t an animal or mutation alive capable of sneaking up on Geronimo undetected, and he reasoned his friend had undoubtedly stepped down the slope to take a leak. “Pard?”

There was no answer.

The gunfighter took a pace, then abruptly stopped. Something didn’t feel right. He couldn’t put his finger on the cause. The night seemed serene. Stars filled the heavens, and off to the southeast Milly Odum’s fire still blazed. “Geronimo?” he called out.

Again there was no reply.

Hickok decided to check the slope below. But first he’d better let Priscilla and Eagle Feather know he’d be gone for a few minutes. He pivoted and hastened toward the fire, and he had ten feet to cover when his roving gaze chanced to alight on the exact spot where the Mormon and the Flathead had been resting.”

They were gone.

For a second Hickok couldn’t believe his own senses. He slowed, glancing every which way, certain they had to be on the summit. They wouldn’t have gone anywhere, and if they’d been attacked at least one of them would have cried out.

So where were they?

Hickok stood still, listening, thoroughly confounded. A whisper of a noise was borne to his ears by the breeze, the merest hint of a footfall to his rear, the scraping pressure of a calloused pad on a blade of grass, and he tensed.

What a chump!

How could he have been so dumb?

The gunfighter whirled, executing his lightning draw as he completed the revolution, both Colts streaking up and out, and there they were, five or six hulking, hunched-over forms closing on him from behind, their facial features indistinguishable in the gloom.

One of the things snarled and leaped.

Hickok snapped off a shot from each Python, and he saw the creature somersault backwards as if slammed in the head by an invisible sledgehammer.

Another thing rushed at him, and another.

Hickok squeezed off two quick shots, the slugs tearing into the foremost attacker, causing the thing to stumble and almost go down. Incredibly, the creature recovered its balance and bounded forward. Hickok thumbed back the hammer, about to send two more shots into his adversary, when the unexpected transpired.

Steely arms encircled him from behind, pinning his arms to his sides.

He’d neglected to cover his rear!

Hickok felt warm breath on his neck and inhaled a fetid odor. He strained to break free, but the arms restraining him were like the unbreakable coils of a huge boa constrictor. Lifting his legs, he began thrashing and kicking and butting his head into the thing holding him, hoping his violent motions would make the creature stumble or release him.

No such luck.

One of his attackers halted directly in front of him, not a foot and a half away.

Still struggling. Hickok glanced at the creature, and his initial impression was of hair. Lots and lots of hair. And teeth. Long, tapered teeth that were exposed when the thing growled and hissed at him.

A hand reached for the gunfighter’s throat.

Do something! Hickok thought. His arms were pinned, but he could move his forearms a few inches and he did so now, slanting the Python barrels upwards. The angle prevented him from going for a head shot, so he did the next best thing. He simply pointed the Colts at the creature’s midsection and fired.

The thing clutched at its stomach and staggered a few feet, then sank to its knees, inadvertently putting its head in a direct line with the Warrior’s revolvers.

Hickok got off two more shots. Before he could witness the result, the creature holding him vented a bestial roar and hurled him to the hard ground. He landed on his left shoulder, grunting at the pain, and flipped onto his back to cut loose once more.

He never got off a shot.

The brutish beings rushed out of the night and swarmed all over him, coming from every direction, their heavy forms pouncing on his unprotected body. Hands gripped his wrists and others tore the Colts from his grasp. Mallet like fists struck him repeatedly, as the creatures battered him mercilessly on his head and chest. He struggled vainly to batter them aside so he could stand. A claw ripped his left cheek open. A knee gouged him in the stomach. He gasped for air and swung his fists to no avail.

An instant later a ten-ton boulder seemed to crash into his jaw and his universe faded to black.