Yellowstone Run Page 13

Blade shook his head, his lips tightening. He had to be firm. He had to weigh which course of action would achieve the greatest good. Giving chase to the mutations must be his paramount priority. If it later developed that he’d been in error, then he could indulge in self-recrimination. Personal failings were best reflected in the mirror of one’s own soul in private. The faint sound of drumming hoofs reached his ears.

  He hastened to the south rim and saw Achilles galloping toward the hill astride a brown stallion, the red cloak streaming in the wind, leading another horse, a black gelding, by the reins. Eager to get underway, he jogged to meet the younger man halfway.

  “The other two ran off,” Achilles announced as he drew nearer. “I assumed you didn’t want me to waste time trying to catch them.”

  “You were right,” Blade stated.

  “With the horses we should overtake the mutations quickly,” Achilles declared optimistically.

  “Unless they can run as fast as a horse,” Blade noted, and slowed to a walk.”

  Achilles reined up and scowled. “I never thought of that. Some mutants are quite fleet of foot.”

  “Let’s hope these are part turtle,” Blade quipped. He the stallion and took the reins from Achilles.

  “Surely we can catch them by nightfall.”

  “We’ll do our best,” Blade said, and swung onto the black horse. He glanced at the hill, remembering the Flathead’s Winchester, and decided against retrieving the rifle. There wasn’t time. “Let’s go,” he directed, and rode to the west.

  “Did you find their tracks?” Achilles inquired hopefully.

  Blade nodded. “If you’re up to it, I don’t intend to stop except for nature breaks. No food, no rest until our fellow Warriors and Eagle Feather are safe and sound.”

  “And Priscilla. Don’t forget about her.”

  “Did I neglect to mention her name?” Blade said, suppressing a grin.

  “Sorry about that. Now let’s ride.” He led the way to the wallow, then swung westward. They crossed the field and entered a strip of woods, their eyes riveted to the ground, constantly seeking footprints. Beyond the woods lay a narrow plain, which they traversed in short order. The land began to slope gradually upward, and they found themselves ascending hills thick with pines and fallen timbers. The hills blended into a mountain range.

  Three times they found tracks. Once in the comparatively softer soil in a small gully west of the woods. The second set of prints was discovered on the narrow plain. And the last impressions were imbedded in the moist earth next to a trickle of a creek bisecting the hills.

  Early on, one fact became readily apparent. The mutations were moving at a swift rate, indicated by the manner in which their footprints were imbedded in the dirt. Because of their weight and their speed, they tended to splatter the mud and earth outward when their feet came down hard.

  Blade tried to save time by deducing the probable route taken by the creatures. Most men and animals usually took the path of least resistance; they would go around a mountain instead of over it, or they would skirt dense brush instead of plunging through a thicket. Not so with the Bear People. Blade perceived that the creatures intentionally preferred the most difficult course. Undoubtedly to discourage pursuit, the mutations went directly over hills and mountains and passed through thickets with apparent ease. Either they were incredibly clever or they were amazingly resilient.

  Or both.

  An hour went by. Then two. Three. By the fourth hour Blade’s simmering impatience threatened to shatter his normally superb self-control. He realized catching the things wouldn’t be easy, and his anxiety over Hickok and Geronimo mounted. He felt sympathy for Eagle Feather and Priscilla too. But the gunman and the Blackfoot had been his dearest friends since childhood. The three of them had been almost inseparable since the age of four. He knew himself well enough to know that if anything ever happened to them, he’d go crazy with grief. And there wouldn’t be a single damn member of the Bear People left alive when he was through.

  Well, there wouldn’t be, anyway.

  By late afternoon they were approaching a narrow pass through the mountains. The shadows were lengthening and the air becoming quite chill.

  “We won’t find them today,” Achilles commented morosely.

  “You never know,” Blade responded, his tone totally lacking conviction.

  “If I ask you a question, will you promise me not to laugh?”

  Surprised by the query, Blade looked at the novice. “What’s your question?”

  “Why is it that all I can think of today is Priscilla? I mean, I hardly know the woman. We talked for a few hours. That’s all. And yet I can’t seem to get her out of my mind. I keep hearing the silken music of her voice and the cheery sparkle of her laugh. And when I close my eyes, I see every chiseled contour of her radiant beauty. Why?”

  “You missed your calling,” Blade said, the corners of his mouth curling upward.

  “What?”

  “You should be a poet.”

  “I’m serious, Blade.”

  “And so am I,” the giant replied, and sighed. “Do you want the truth?”

  “I would, expect nothing less from you.”

  “You’re in love.”

  Achilles snorted. “I hardly know the woman,” he reiterated skeptically.

  “Tell that to your hormones.”

  The man in the red cloak digested the news for half a minute. “Do you feel the same way about Jenny?”

  Blade smiled happily. “Yeah. Which astounds me sometimes.”

  “Why?”

  “After all these years, even after having a son, I still love her as much as I did when we were first married,” Blade said. He chuckled. “Correction. I love her even more. When a relationship is based in love and nurtured by wisdom, the affection is bound to grow.”

  “You sound like Plato.”

  “Who do you think told it to me?”

  “I wonder if she feels the same way about me,” Achilles remarked.

  “I’m afraid I can’t help you mere. With a woman there’s no telling.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Men and women are two distinct varieties of the same species. We’re flip sides of the same coin. Although we can love one another and become as close as it’s possible for human beings to be, complete comprehension between a man and a woman is impossible. We’re essentially different from women, Achilles, and anyone who tells you otherwise doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

  Achilles stared at the giant. “Are those Plato’s words?”

  “They’re mine,” Blade said. “Don’t get me wrong. I love Jenny with all my heart and soul, and I flatter myself that I know her better than anyone else does. But I still can’t predict her every thought and word, and I doubt I’ll ever be able to do so. That’s part of the mystique of romance.”

  “What about those who claim that men and women are basically the same except for their sex organs?”

  “They’re morons. In every part of our being, in our personalities, our minds, and our bodies, we’re different from women. Live with one for a while and you’ll see what I mean.

  “I hope I do, one day.”

  Blade stared ahead at the pass, a defile averaging ten yards in width and 20 feet in height, its walls composed of smooth, solid rock. He leaned forward and peered at the soil, seeking tracks. He entered the pass first, engrossed in scrutinizing the dirt, wondering if the Bear People would continue to the west on the opposite side of the mountain range. He was grateful the creatures were in such a hurry. Otherwise, he’d have to worry about the possibility of an ambush.

  As it turned out, be should have worried anyway.

  Blade realized his error the next moment when he heard a feral snarl from overhead and glanced up in lime to see a bestial form hurtling toward him.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The sun was just rising above the eastern horizon when Hickok obtained his first clear look at his abductors. He’d
been carried for hours, the creatures covering mile after mile, over hills and mountains and along a winding valley, and he’d expected them to keep going during the day. At dawn, however, they moved into, a stand of trees until they arrived at a spacious clearing, and the next thing Hickok knew, he was being unceremoniously deposited on the ground. He landed on his back, grunting from the discomfort, and glanced around.

  Geronimo, Eagle Feather, Priscilla Wendling, and another woman were being dumped to the turf a few feet away.

  Hickok stared at the creatures doing the dumping, the short hairs at the base of his neck prickling. He automatically reached for his Colts, groping from holster to holster, forgetting the guns were gone.

  The Bear People, as the Flatheads referred to the mutations, did indeed possess an unnatural combination of human and bearlike trails. There were 37 of the creatures walking around, all adults, the majority males.

  They stood between six and six and a half feet tall and weighed in the neighborhood of 210 pounds. Their shoulders were wide, their bodies endowed with rippling muscles, their legs perpetually bowlegged, and they walked with an odd, stooped-over posture. Bedraggled black hair hung to their shoulders and covered their shoulders, upper arms, abdomens, and legs. In contrast, their faces and upper chest were pale and hairless.

  And what visages! Low, sloping foreheads were rimmed by beetle brows that protruded above dark eyes. The nostrils were long and rounded, much like the nostrils on bears, and their cheeks were concave. Pointed teeth glistened when they opened their thick-lipped mouths.

  Other than deer-hide loin-clothes and skimpy tops covering the pendulous breasts of the females, they were naked.

  Hickok struggled to a sitting position and glanced at his companions.

  Geronimo was also sitting up. Priscilla lay on her right side, gawking at the mutations. Eagle Feather was intently scanning the clearing. The other woman, a brunette wearing beige slacks and a green blouse, had fallen to her knees and appeared to be too terrified to move.

  The gunfighter focused on his best friend. “Well, this is another fine mess you’ve gotten me into.”

  “Me?” Geronimo responded. “What did I do?”

  “You dozed off on guard duty and let these critters conk you on the noggin’.”

  “I was wide awake, I’ll have you know.”

  Hickok grinned. “Oh, really? And what happened to those great Injun senses and reflexes I keep hearin’ about?”

  “They took me by surprise,” Geronimo said lamely while testing the leather thongs binding his wrists.

  “I recollect you tellin’ me that no one can sneak up on an Indian,” Hickok said, and smirked.

  “You misunderstood.”

  “I did?”

  “Yeah. I meant no white man.”

  “Is that a fact? At least I got off a few shots. What did you do? Breathe on them?”

  Priscilla leaned toward them, glaring. “How can you two joke at a time like this?” she demanded angrily. “We’ve been captured by mutants!”

  “No foolin’?” Hickok responded.

  “Where are they?” Eagle Feather interjected.

  “Who?” the gunfighter asked.

  “My wife and sons. I don’t see them,” Eagle Feather stated, his emotional anguish transparent.

  “The creatures might have your family elsewhere,” Geronimo said.

  “I pray they do,” Eagle Feather said.

  Priscilla pulled her knees up to her chest, then rolled onto her shins.

  “You’ve got to get us out of here,” she told the gunman.

  Hickok snickered. “Yeah. Right. I’ll sprout wings and fly all of us out.”

  “There must be something you can do!”

  A brittle laugh came from off to the left. “There’s nothing any of you can do,” a surly voice declared. “The sooner you accept your fate, the better.”

  Hickok twisted, his eyes narrowing.

  Three of the creatures were strolling toward the captives. The mutation in the lead, the tallest of them all, bore a jagged scar on the right side of his face, from the corner of his eyes to the tip of his pronounced chin. The scar distinguished him from his comrades, and so did the tomahawk he clutched in his huge right hand. His fingernails, like all those of the Bear People, were over an inch long and slightly curved.

  “Talkin’ bears,” Hickok quipped. “Now I’ve seen everything.”

  The trio halted, and the apparent leader placed his hands on his stout hips and glowered at the gunfighter.

  “My name is Longat. I’m the head of our Breed.”

  “My condolences,” Hickok cracked.

  “Have your fun while you can,” the creature named Longat stated.

  “We’ll save you for last so we can watch you suffer.”

  “What are you?” Priscilla asked. “Why have you done this to us?”

  Longat glanced at the creature on the left and grinned. “Humans, eh?”

  “They’re pathetic,” growled the second mutation.

  “If I had my Colts I’d show you pathetic, you turkey,” Hickok stated.

  “What’s your name?” Longat queried.

  “Hickok.”

  “Keep flapping your gums, Hickok, and I’ll gut you right here,” Longat vowed, and looked at the Mormon woman. “Can’t you figure out what we are?”

  “You’re mutations.”

  “How perceptive,” Longat said.

  All three creatures laughed.

  “What do you intend to do with us?” Priscilla asked.

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “Yes.”

  Longat grinned, a malevolent expression devoid of mirth. “I’d rather keep you in suspense. It’s more fun that way.”

  “Where are you from?” Hickok asked.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” the mutation retorted.

  Eagle Feather bent toward the leader. “Where’s my family? What have you done with my wife and sons?”

  “Your family?” Longat repeated quizzically. He studied the Flathead for a bit, then nodded. “I remember you. You’re the one we almost crushed in the rock slide. You’re the husband of Morning Dew and those two brats.”

  Fury contorted the Flathead’s countenance and he endeavored to rise, pushing upward with his tied hands. His injured left thigh, stiff and sore after so many hours of being held still, buckled and he fell onto his hands and elbows.

  “Your concern for your loved ones is touching,” Longat stated, his words reeking with contempt, “Where are they?” Eagle Feather shouted, crimson flushing his features.

  “Have a care, human. Control yourself or you’ll never learn their whereabouts.”

  Eagle Feather rose on his knees, heedless of the warning. “Where are my wife and sons?” he shouted.

  Like a striking rattler, displaying astounding speed, Longat swiftly stepped forward and backhanded the Flathead across the mouth, knocking Eagle Feather onto the grass. “Fool! We are the masters here.

  Mouth off again and I’ll take you next.”

  Glaring up at the mutation, Eagle Feather wiped the back of his hands over his cracked, bloody lips.

  “Take him where?” Hickok asked.

  “Nowhere.”

  “But you just said—” Hickok began.

  “I know what I said,” Longat snapped. “And you’ll comprehend the truth soon enough.”

  “I can hardly wait.”

  The head of the Breed looked at the timid brunette. “What’s your name?” he demanded.

  The woman stared blankly at the creature but did not utter a sound.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” Longat said. “What’s your name?”

  “It’s Milly Odum,” Priscilla answered. “Can’t you see that she’s too scared to think straight? Why don’t you leave her alone?”

  Longat took a pace and grabbed Odum by the hair. She winced and cowered, trembling uncontrollably. “Yes. You’re healthy. You’ll do.”

  “What are you goin
g to do with her?” Priscilla questioned, irate at Odum’s treatment. “She hasn’t done anything to you.”

  “And she never will,” Longat stated. He released Odum and started to stalk off with the other two creatures in tow.

  “Hold it!” Geronimo finally spoke up.

  Longat halted and glanced back. “What now, human?”

  “That’s my tomahawk you’re carrying.”

  “Really?” Longat hefted the weapon, admiring the craftsmanship. “And I neglected to thank you for your gift. How careless.” He laughed and walked away.

  “I can’t wait to plug that hombre,” Hickok commented.

  “You’ll have to wait your turn,” Geronimo said.

  Priscilla glanced from Warrior to Warrior. “What’s our next move?

  How can we escape from these monsters?”

  “Beats me,” Hickok replied.

  “You’re supposed to be the expert,” Priscilla stated. “Is that all you can say?”

  “For the time being.”

  “Some tough guy you are.”

  “What do you want from me, lady? The leather holdin’ our wrists is too strong to break. And even if I could, what chance would I have against all these critters when I’m unarmed?”

  “Hey, look,” Geronimo said, and nodded at the opposite side of the clearing.

  Hickok swung around.

  The mutations had placed three of their own, all evidently dead, near the far trees. All three were lying on their backs with their hands neatly folded on their stomachs.

  “I didn’t realize I killed so many,” Hickok said.

  “How do you know that you were responsible?” Geronimo inquired.

  “It certainly wasn’t you, pard. You were in dreamland, as I recollect.”

  “Rub it in, why don’t you?”

  “Gladly.”

  Priscilla made a hissing noise. “You two are so exasperating! Here we are in the clutches of a pack of freaks, and all you two can do is bicker.”

  “If you have a plan, I’d love to hear it,” Hickok said.

  “Yeah,” Geronimo chimed in. “We’re all ears.”

  “I don’t have one at the moment.”

  “I figured as much,” Hickok stated. “When you do then you can criticize us.”