Yellowstone Run

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Strange.

He couldn’t remember a mountain falling on him, and yet that was exactly how he felt.

Every muscle in his body ached. He seemed to be one large bruise, from the hairs on his head to the tips of his toes. What could have happened?

His mind was sluggish, his memory fuzzy. Had his missus gotten ticked off because he’d let the kids play World War Three in the living room again?

Somebody had sure stomped him, but good.

He became conscious of a peculiar swaying movement and felt cool air on his cheeks and brow.

Where was be, anyway?

A rank odor assailed his nostrils. He became aware of being bent in half at the waist. When he opened his eyes, he thought for a moment he must be dreaming.

Why was he lying on a hairy rug?

Better yet, why was the rug moving?

Suddenly insight dawned and he recalled the battle on the hill. The blamed critters must have captured him!

How embarrassing!

Well at least he should look at the bright side. He was still alive. So to speak. He attempted to move his dangling arms and found his wrists had been securely bound.

Figured.

He realized he had been draped over someone’s shoulder. Correction.

Make that something’s shoulder. The creatures were carting him somewhere. Why? What did they have in mind? He wondered about the others. Were they still alive too, or had the critters killed them?

What should he do next?

He could feel an arm encircling his waist. By kicking and lunging forward, he might be able to break loose. Might. Whatever was carrying him must be immensely strong, if the ease with which the thing conveyed his 180 pounds served as any indication.

Someone groaned.

He twisted his head, listening carefully. Far overhead, the starry firmament stretched into infinity. So it was still night, and he probably hadn’t been unconscious very long.

The groan was repeated.

Relief made him smile. Would the creatures object if he spoke? There was only one way to find out. “Pard, is that you?”

“Hickok?”

“Yep. Are you okay?”

“Something is carrying me.”

“You Injuns never fail to amaze me with your powers of observation.”

“Suck eggs.”

A new voice interrupted their conversation. “Hickok! Geronimo! It’s me, Priscilla.”

“Where’s Eagle Feather?” Hickok inquired, but he never received an answer.

“Shut your mouth!” someone commanded in a gruff, raspy tone. “The next one of you scum who talks will have his tongue ripped out!”

Hickok almost told the speaker to go to hell, instead, he fell silent and pondered his predicament. There was no sense in trying to escape until he knew what was going on, so he resigned himself to playing along for the time being. But sooner or later he would have a reckoning with the critters that clobbered him. Provided they didn’t kill him first.