Yellowstone Run Page 12

  “Do you want me to jump up and down every few feet to attract attention?”

  Blade smiled. “That won’t be necessary,” he replied, and walked to the edge of the water. “Just keep your eyes peeled.”

  “You don’t have to tell me twice,” Achilles assured him. He picked up the trailing edge of his red cloak, draping the lower half over his left arm.

  “Ready when you are.”

  Unslinging the Commando, Blade held the weapon at chest height and proceeded into the frigid water. He advanced gingerly, feeling his way with his feet, hoping to avoid slipping on a rock. Ten feet from the bank he abruptly halted.

  A rustling noise arose in the thicket, a loud crackling of branches and swishing of leaves.

  Blade pointed the Commando at the obscure mass of dense brush.

  “What if it’s a grizzly?” Achilles whispered.

  “Don’t miss.”

  The rustling suddenly ceased.

  “Stay frosty,” Blade advised, and took two strides. The next sounds he heard brought a tingle to his spine, and he spun and stared to the west.

  There had been two shots.

  Two shots blending almost as one.

  “Hickok!” Blade exclaimed, and surged toward the west bank, stepping past Achilles, and even as he moved there were two more shots. “Let’s go!”

  Achilles started to follow when he detected movement on the east shore in the vicinity of the thicket. He hesitated, and a half-dozen shadowy figures materialized near the river.

  The six creatures plunged into the water.

  A hasty glance confirmed that Blade was almost to the shore. The giant seemed to have forgotten all else in his desire to reach the hill. Achilles looked at the things splashing toward him. He cooly leveled the Bullpup, aimed at the creature in the lead, and fired.

  The blast knocked the figure into the river.

  Grinning, Achilles backpedaled. Whatever they were, the creatures could be killed. His elation lasted all of five seconds, however.

  The thing he had shot rose out of the water and resumed its pursuit.

  Achilles moved faster. He shot another of the creatures and saw it go down, only to stand erect moments later. What in the world were they? He wondered, and bumped into the bank. A heavy hand fell on his right shoulder. Startled, he looked up.

  “This is no time to go swimming with the natives,” Blade said, and helped the younger man clamber onto the bank.

  “They’re still coming!” Achilles declared, his eyes on the six charging things.

  “Let them,” Blade said, and gave the novice a shove westward. “Run as you’ve never run before,” he ordered, and took off, gratified when Achilles came alongside him on the right.

  Two more shots sounded from the hill.

  “Hickok and Geronimo must be holding their own,” Achilles remarked breathlessly.

  Blade didn’t bother to respond. He conserved his energy, staring at the circle of light crowning the prominence, dreading that he had committed a monumental blunder by dividing his forces.

  A large, vague shape suddenly came into view on the left, angling to intercept them.

  “Blade!” Achilles cried in warning.

  “I see it,” the giant replied, and aimed the Commando on the run. He squeezed the trigger, shooting by instinct, and his aim turned out to be unerring.

  The thing clutched at its torso and toppled.

  Blade faced front, his legs pounding, his heart doing the same. What if he was too late? What if the mutations had killed his friends and the others? What if his blunder wound up costing lives, the lives of the two best friends he had?

  “On the right!” Achilles shouted.

  Blade glanced to the north and spotted two more of their assailants loping toward them. “Waste them!” he barked, and fired the Commando at the same instant Achilles cut loose with the Bullpup.

  One of the creatures fell, but the second bounded closer.

  Aiming carefully, Blade fired at the thing’s head.

  The other figure dropped.

  Blade raced onward, scanning the field for more .creatures. He gazed over his right shoulder and saw the mutation he’d just shot stand and sprint after them. Talk about tough! He looked at the hill and poured on the speed.

  Achilles did likewise. “Go on ahead of me!” he urged.

  “Be serious,” Blade replied.

  “You can run faster than I can. They might need you,” Achilles said.

  “Priscilla could be in trouble.”

  “We’ll stick together.”

  “But Priscilla—”

  “Just move it!” Blade snapped. He scanned the field to the right and the left, relieved to note none of the creatures were trying to overtake them.

  But there was still the one to their rear. He looked back again, and felt momentarily disconcerted at discovering the thing had vanished.

  What was going on?

  A minute elapsed without incident and they reached the base of the hill safely.

  “Cover my back!” Blade ordered, and sped toward the summit, fearing he would find the worst, afraid everyone would be dead. He swept over the rim and crouched, the Commando tucked against his right side, ready to combat all comers.

  But there was no one to fight.

  Not a soul was in sight. Hickok, Geronimo, Priscilla, and Eagle Feather were all gone. Only the fire still pulsed with a life of its own, its fingers of flame dancing heavenward.

  “Where are they?”

  Blade looked at the novice, who stood on the crest, and shook his head.

  “They took Priscilla?”

  “They took everybody,” Blade corrected him. A glint of firelight off a gleaming object in the grass near the fire drew his attention. He hastened over and bent down to find both of Hickok’s Pythons lying on the ground.

  The presence of the revolvers filled him with anxiety; Hickok never went anywhere without those guns. There was even a joke currently making the rounds, started by Geronimo, to the effect that the gunfighter even wore his prized Colts when he made whoopee.

  Achilles walked to the fire, evidently stunned by the disappearances.

  “They took everybody?” he repealed absently.

  “Check for weapons,” Blade directed.

  “What?”

  “Weapons, man. Weapons. The creatures didn’t take the weapons. We’ll need every one we can find.”

  “Right away,” Achilles said, grateful for the chance to do something, anything, so he wouldn’t need to dwell on Priscilla’s probable fate.

  Blade picked up the Pythons and stuck them under his belt. Nearby he found the Henry and slung the rifle over his left shoulder.

  “Here’s the FNC and Geronimo’s Arminius,” Achilles announced, waving the firearms.

  “You’ll have to carry them,” Hade stated. He started to make a circuit around the fire, moving in ever-widening circles as he searched for weapons and clues to the direction the attackers had taken.

  Achilles walked in a zigzag pattern to the north. He spotted a long object partly concealed by the grass and stooped down to grab it. A brief inspection sufficed to reveal the object was a Winchester with a shattered stock. “Hey, took at this,” he declared.

  Blade stepped over and took the gun. He examined the stock for a few seconds, then hefted the rifle. “This is Eagle Feather’s. Interesting, isn’t it, that they threw all the guns away.”

  “How so?”

  “Guns are at a premium everywhere. If human raiders had been responsible for this ambush, they would have taken all the guns and left bodies. But these Bear People, these mutations, obviously couldn’t care less about weapons. They prefer to rely on their mutant abilities, on their strength and speed.”

  “Maybe the things are too stupid to know how to operate a firearm,” Achilles speculated.

  “Maybe, but somehow I doubt it,” Blade said. He tossed the Winchester aside.

  “Shouldn’t we take it with us?” Achilles asked. �
��The stock can always be repaired.”

  “I know, but we’ll have our hands full as it is,” Blade replied. “We’ll cover the Winchester with deer hide and come back for it after we find out what’s happened to the others,” Blade proposed, and surveyed the summit.

  “Wait a minute. Where’s the buck?”

  “What?”

  “The mule deer Eagle Feather shot. The buck was carved up for supper.

  There was a lot left over,” Blade observed. “Where did the carcass go?”

  Achilles looked around. “They took it.”

  Frowning, Blade moved closer to the fire. “We’ll spend the rest of the night here. I’ll take the first watch.”

  “We’re not going after them?”

  Blade glanced at the novice. “Which way would we go?”

  Bafflement etched Achilles’ features. He turned to the north, then the south. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

  “There’s nothing we can do until daylight,” Blade said. “We can’t track them at night. At first light we’ll scour the hill and the plain for sign. If we’re lucky, we’ll find tracks.”

  “And if we don’t discover any tracks?”

  “Then we’ll have no way of knowing the direction they took,” Blade answered, his broad shoulders drooping, “and we may never see Hickok and Geronimo again.”

  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.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  A rosy tinge enveloped the eastern horizon and radiated upward and outward, heralding the arrival of a new day, the signal for the sparrows and starlings and other birds in Yellowstone to greet the dawn in their own inimitable manner, by chirping and singing in a boisterous avian chorus.

  Blade sat on the east side of the fire, staring at the low flames and the burning embers, and inhaled deeply. Morning at last! He’d been unable to catch a wink of sleep alt night. How could he doze off when the creatures might return? How could he take even a short nap when Hickok and Geronimo were in danger of losing their lives, if they hadn’t already? Not to mention Priscilla and Eagle Feather. The thought of the Mormon woman prompted him to glance to his right.

  Achilles hadn’t slept either. He’d spent all night walking around the rim of the hill. Around and around and around. Now he was moving along the north edge, his visage downcast, dragging his heels.

  “Are you ready?” Blade asked.

  “Finally,” Achilles responded, halting and stretching. “Yes I’m ready I can’t wait to catch the things that took Priscilla.”

  “And the others,” Blade noted dryly.

  “Of course. I want to rescue them too.”

  “I’m happy to hear it,” Blade said. He stood and surveyed the countryside. To the south, a quarter of a mile distant, were four large animals. Buffaloes, he assumed, until he look a closer look and distinguished the distinctive outlines and flowing tails of a godsend.

  “Horses!”

  “Where?” Achilles inquired, hurrying over.

  Blade pointed. “Go get them while I check for tracks.”

  “On my way,” Achilles replied, running off.

  The giant stood watching the novice jog down the slope, then turned and stepped to the north rim. He slowly proceeded westward around the outer circumference, intently examining the ground for prints.

  Unfortunately, grass covered almost every square inch of earth, minimizing the possibility of discovering an impression. He deduced that the things had departed either to the north, west, or south because he and Achilles had been to the east and hadn’t spied the creatures leaving with their burdens. Of course, the things could have slipped past unseen.

  Blade paused. Another factor to consider was the direction of travel the mutations had been taking before the attack last night. The creatures had been bearing in a south-southeasterly direction, and they might still be on the same course.

  Might.

  Then again, they might not.

  Perturbed, he reached a point due west of the smoldering fire and noticed a saucerlike depression of dirt at the base of the hilt. What could have happened to the grass? He wondered, and ran toward the depression.

  He vaguely recalled reading that buffaloes often formed dusty wallows in which they rolled and rubbed repeatedly. This must be one.

  The depression was ten feet in width, and the earth had been churned into clods by the constant tramping of heavy hoofs.

  Blade halted next to the wallow, noting the scores of hoof-prints in the dirt and around the border. He knelt and scrutinized the earth for different prints. If the creatures had fled in this direction, they might not have noticed the wallow in the dark. Or they might not have viewed the leaving of tracks as anything to become worried about. In any event, if he could find just one clear print he’d know which way they went.

  He found five.

  They were all along the north side of the wallow, crossing from east to west, blending into the buffalo prints so well he didn’t notice them at first.

  Five prominent toes were the
giveaway, and he moved around the border and squatted to examine the footprints.

  How grotesque.

  Blade had done a fair amount of hunting and tracking in his lifetime, and never had he beheld the like. They appeared to be a cross between a human print and a bear track, which fit the description supplied by Star and Iron Wolf.

  The Bear People.

  The bastards.

  He stood and walked back up the slope, debating his next move and trying to rationalize the intent of the creatures. Why were the things now heading westward after traveling southward for so many miles? Were they trying to throw off any pursuit? Did the things intend to double back later? What was his best option? Go west? Or go south?

  Blade came to the crest and stopped. Tracking the mutations promised to be a difficult and arduous task. It would entail scouring every foot of exposed earth en route on the off chance one of the creatures had goofed and left a print. Such a procedure would be wearisome and time-consuming, and time was a commodity they were short on.

  But what choice did they have?

  He moved to the fire and stared idly at the last of the flames, chiding himself for his performance. He should never have divided his forces! If only that woman hadn’t screamed…

  The woman!

  Milly Odum!

  Blade gazed to the southeast. He’d forgotten all about her in the heat of events, What if she was lying down there, injured? Or what if she had escaped the creatures and was now hiding in the general area? Should he ride to the scavenger camp before heading out after his friends, Eagle Feather, and Priscilla?

  What was he thinking?

  The plain where the buffaloes had been slain must be three or four miles distant. Precious time would be consumed in the ride there and back. He had to be practical. The odds that Odum had escaped the mutations was virtually nil. The creatures had undoubtedly captured her, as well. So venturing to the camp would serve no useful purpose.

  Still, what if he was wrong?