Yellowstone Run Page 11

  “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.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The cool night invigorated Blade as he raced toward the Lamar River.

  He inhaled deeply, enjoying the exercise, his long legs flying over the terrain. The Bowies jiggled in their sheaths, and the Commando, which he had slung over his left shoulder, swayed from side to side, rubbing against his back. He trained his eyes on Odum’s campfire and listened for another scream.

  Except for insect noises, all was quiet.

  Blade glanced over his right shoulder at Achilles. Fifteen feet separated them, and the novice appeared hard-pressed to keep up. “Quit goofing off and get up here,” he commanded.

  “Who’s goofing off?” Achilles retorted, and increased his speed marginally. “Can I help it if you cover twice as much ground with each step?”

  Grinning, Blade slowed to allow the aspiring Warrior to reach his side.

  “You must be out of shape.”

  “I’m in excellent condition,” Achilles responded defensively.

  “How many miles do you jog every day?”

  “Five miles every other day.”

  “After we return to the Home, start a new exercise regimen and include doing ten miles every day.”

  Achilles glanced at the giant. “Every day?”

  “Until you can comfortably keep up with me, yes.”

  “How do Hickok and Geronimo do it?”

  “They have a secret.”

  “What is it?” Achilles inquired eagerly.

  “They usually ask me to take little steps.”

  For a moment Achilles couldn’t decide if the top Warrior was serious, then he voiced a hearty laugh. “No one at the Home could ever hope to match you on a long run.”

  “Yama and Rikki-Tikki-Tavi consistently tie with me,” Blade mentioned. “And on short sprints, Rikki is even faster.”

  “I had no idea. What’s the secret of their success?”

  “They’ve developed their bodies to where they can perform at their maximum level,” Blade said. “Alth
ough they’re quite different in stature, they’re both solid muscle.”

  “So is Samson,” Achilles noted.

  “But Samson has never had to lift a weight or exercise strenuously in his life. His physique matured naturally.”

  “Is he as fast as you are?”

  “No, but he’s equally as strong.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Size alone is no prerequisite for the possession of great strength,” Blade said. “Look at Rikki.”

  “I still can’t accept that any of the other Warriors are as strong as you.”

  “Trust me. I’ve seen Samson in action. When he calls on the Lord for strength, none of us can rival him.”

  “Do you really believe that Nazarite mumbo jumbo?”

  “Samson does. And whether you prefer to think that his immense power is psychologically triggered or stems from the Spirit, the fact remains that when Samson prays to the Lord, his strength is increased a hundredfold.”

  Achilles gazed at the river ahead. The surface of the water reflected the pale moonlight and resembled a wide ribbon of glass. A thought occurred to him and he almost stopped in surprise. “Wait a minute!” he blurted.

  “What’s wrong?” Blade asked, running effortlessly.

  “Why are we doing all this talking? Shouldn’t we approach the fire stealthily? Whatever attacked that poor woman will hear us.”

  “Good.”

  “Did I miss something here?”

  “I want them to hear us,” Blade stated. “I want them to come after us.”

  “I definitely missed something.”

  Blade grinned. The fact that Achilles possessed a sense of humor indicated the novice wasn’t quite as egotistical as he seemed. “Think, Achilles. Think. Why did we travel all the way to Yellowstone?”

  “To exterminate the mutations responsible for the raids on the Flatheads.”

  “Exactly. And we can’t exterminate them if we can’t find them. In which case we do the next best thing. We let them find us. If they’re out there somewhere, they’ll hear us and try to take us down.”

  “In other words, you’re deliberately setting us up as bait?”

  “Bingo.”

  “My apologies. I should have realized. Normally my deductive reasoning is superb.”

  “Not to mention your modesty,” Blade said. He came to a halt 20 yards from the river and scrutinized the opposite shore. The thicket where the grizzly had been concealed presented a foreboding aspect, visible as a dark wall of inky vegetation. “We’ll cross here and work our way southward along the other bank.”