Yellowstone Run Page 8

  “They’re only scratches,” Blade said, and sat down on a clump of grass.

  He wiped the Bowies clean on his pants and replaced them in their sheaths, then removed his vest, grimacing as he pulled the garment from his left shoulder.

  Geronimo inspected the five gashes, gingerly probing with the tips of his fingers. “We need to stop the blood flow. Hickok, did you wear underwear on this trip?”

  “Whether I’m wearin’ my drawers or not is none of your beeswax, pard.”

  “I couldn’t care less about your flea-infested drawers,” Geronimo said.

  “Did you wear a T-shirt? I didn’t, and we can use one to staunch the blood.”

  “Oh,” Hickok responded sheepishly. “No, darn it. I’m not wearin’ a blasted T-shirt.”

  “I am,” Achilles declared. “I’ll gladly remove it to help Blade.”

  “Then quit jabberin’ and get the blamed thing off,” Hickok prompted.

  Achilles deposited the Bullpup at his feet and started to take off his red cloak. He happened to gaze in the direction of the thicket and abruptly froze. “What in the…” he blurted.

  The others glanced at the undergrowth.

  “What did you see?” Blade asked, scouring the vegetation, speculating there might be another grizzly.

  “I’m not sure,” Achilles replied. “A hairy face of some sort: It was were one instant, gone the next.”

  “You were probably looking at Hickok and didn’t know it,” Geronimo cracked.

  “Very funny, you mangy Injun.”

  Blade slowly stood. He saw his Commando lying nearby and quickly retrieved the weapon, then ejected the spent magazine and inserted a fresh one, “Do you want me to go take a look?” Hickok volunteered.

  “No,” Blade responded. “We’ll stick together. We’ve only been in Yellowstone a few hours, and already we’ve lost one man and come close to losing one or two others.” He stared at Achilles. “Do you have any idea at all what you saw? Could it have been a bear?”

  “I wish I could say,” Achilles answered. “I saw dark hair and beady eyes and that was it.”

  “Okay. Hickok, you’ll keep us covered. As soon as my wound is taken care of, we’ll move on.”

  “You’ve got it,” the gunfighter replied. He fed cartridges into the Henry and strolled a few yards to the north, eyeing the thicket. “If there’s another grizzly in there, it’s dead meat.”

  “Breath on it. That’ll do the trick,” Geronimo suggested.

  Blade walked toward the river. The blood from the cuts had diminished to a trickle and the pain in his chest and his legs had subsided. He was eager to get out of mere and locate a defensible site for their camp. At the rate things were going, what with having to contend with buffaloes, scavengers, and a grizzly before the sun even set, they’d have to take every prudent precaution to make it through the night. At the edge of theriver he knelt and splashed the cold water on the gashes, letting the liquid seep into each cut, goose, bumps breaking out on his skin.

  Geronimo ran up bearing a white T-shirt. “Here. Soak this and press it on the wound.”

  “Thanks,” Blade said, and glanced over his right shoulder to see Achilles donning the black tunic. He took the T-shirt and submerged the fabric, holding it under to saturate the material. “It’s a good thing we brought Achilles along instead of Helen,” he mentioned, and grinned. “I’d look silly as all get out with a bra wrapped around my shoulder.”

  “Helen doesn’t wear a bra.”

  Blade looked at his friend. “How would you know?”

  “Hickok told me.”

  “And how would he know?”

  “He claimed he overheard Helen and Sherry talking one day.”

  “They were discussing bras?”

  Geronimo snickered. “It seems that Sherry was complaining about the fact that it takes Hickok about an hour to remove her bra on their whoopee nights. She usually falls asleep by the time he figures out how to undo the clasp.”

  “Nathan admitted this to you?” Blade queried in disbelief.

  “Well, actually, he came up to me and asked if I’d give him pointers on how to unfasten a bra. I had to pry the reason out of him.”

  “Did your pointers help?”

  Geronimo beamed. “Now he takes two hours.”

  Blade chuckled and stared at the river, noticing the shallow depth, and then gazed at the opposite shore. A gently sloping hill approximately 100 yards to the west attracted his interest. The crown of the hill appeared to be flat and not more than two dozen yards in circumference. “Get Hickok and Achilles.”

  “Right away,” Geronimo said, and hastened off.

  Given the fact the mission had turned into a typical fiasco, and bearing in mind that he should rest his shoulder until the blood flow ceased, Blade decided to use the top of the hill as their campsite for the night. He’d hoped to proceed much farther north than they had, but he had to adapt to the circumstances. Continuing half-cocked would avail them nothing.

  He raised the T-shirt and dabbed tentatively at the cuts.

  A small fish swam past him, not a yard away.

  Blade studied the hill again. The setup appealed to him. The slopes were covered with grass, which would deny any adversaries cover for a clandestine attack. Beyond the hill lay a field dotted with trees and a few boulders. Granted, at night anyone with a modicum of skill would be able to creep close to the crown before being detected, but the terrain worked in the Warriors’ favor. Having a field border their camp was preferable to stopping for the night in a forest.

  “Here they are,” Geronimo announced, returning with the gunman and Achilles. “And here’s your vest,” he said, and extended the black leather garment.

  Blade took his vest in his left hand, slung the Commando over his right arm, and stood. “That hill will be where we stay tonight,” he informed them. “We’ll cross here.”

  “I’ll take point,” Hickok said, and waded into the river.

  Achilles was adjusting his red cloak. “What about supper?”

  “We’ll hunt for game after we check out the hill,” Blade stated, and followed the gunman. The water invigorated him, and he strode to the far side rapidly. Once on the bank he pivoted and scrutinized the thicket, but there was no sign of anyone or anything watching them. Good. They’d experienced enough grief for one day. He wheeled and headed for the hill.

  Hickok was already 20 feet off.

  A dull ache pervading his left shoulder. Blade thought of his wife and son and frowned. He missed them terribly, as usual, and he wondered if it would always be the same. For years he had been going on missions for the Family or the Force, and on each one he invariably pined to be with Jenny and Gabe. On each mission he felt gnawing guilt at being away from his loved ones, knowing how much they missed him and, disliked his extended absences. He toyed with the notion of retiring from the Warrior ranks in a few years, after the major menaces to the safety of the Federation were eliminated.

  Who was he kidding?

  The list of Federation enemies seemed to be growing geometrically.

  There were the Soviets in the East, the Technics in Chicago, the Superiors in Houston, the New Order of Mutants in the Pacific Northwest, the Lords of Kismet in Asia, the Peers in Atlanta, the Gild of professional assassins, and others. He was deluding himself if he believed they could all be defeated within a few years. A few decades would be more accurate.

  Engrossed in his contemplation, Blade hiked to within 50 feet of the hill. He held the cool, damp T-shirt against his shoulder the entire time.

  Possessing complete confidence in his fellow Warriors, believing they would spot any threat in time to warn him, he failed to exercise his customary vigilance, and he didn’t realize he had made a mistake until several seconds later.

  A shot rang out and a bullet struck the earth next to his left foot.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Blade dove to the right, unslinging the Commando as he did, releasing the T-shirt and ve
st, forgetting all about his shoulder. He landed on his elbows and knees and scanned the terrain ahead, seeking the sniper.

  Hickok had already flattened. He twisted and pointed up at the top of the hill.

  Training the Commando on the crown. Blade debated whether to charge up the slope. Whoever had fired that shot could easily have killed him. So the shot must have been meant as a warning. But who’d fired it?

  And why?

  “You down there!” a man’s voice called out. “You’re not welcome here! Leave at once or the next time I won’t miss!”

  Hickok made a gesture, signifying he was ready to circle around the hill and sneak up on the man from the rear.

  Blade shook his head. “Who are you? Why did you shoot? We mean you no harm.”

  “My name is unimportant,” the man replied. “All you need know is that I’m a Flathead and I make my living by hunting and trapping, which means I can hit what I aim at. Now leave!”

  The Warrior rose to his knees. “If you’re a Flathead, then you must know who I am,” he yelled.

  “I’ve never laid eyes on you before, white man.”

  “Have you heard of Blade?”

  “The Warrior and the man who leads the Force? Are you claiming to be him?”

  Blade rose to his full height. “I am.”

  “How do I know you speak the truth? Whites are notorious liars.”

  “If you’ve heard of me, then you probably know my description. Take a good look.”

  Silence descended.

  Blade waited patiently for the Flathead to make the next move. He looked back at Achilles and Geronimo, both of whom were watching the hill anxiously. When he faced forward again, a man stood in plain view at the top of the hill.

  “Your appearance matches the description I have heard of the Warrior named Blade, but how do I know you’re truly him? How can I trust you?”

  The giant smiled. “I’m not in the habit of lying to an ally of the Family. And Star would be quite upset if I blew away one of her people.”

  “Did Star send you?” the man asked, taking several strides down the slope. He wore buckskins and carried a Winchester.

  “Yes,” Blade revealed. “She flew to the Home and requested our assistance. We’re searching for the creatures responsible for abducting the wife and sons of a tribesman of yours called Eagle Feather.”

  The Flathead suddenly broke into a run and sprinted down the hill at a reckless speed. He hardly glanced at Hickok when he passed the gunman, and drew to an abrupt halt a few yards from the giant. “I’m Eagle Feather!” he declared breathlessly.

  Blade studied the Flathead, liking what he saw. The man’s rugged features and frank brown eyes conveyed an impression of innate honesty and strength, tempered by the transparent anxiety he unconsciously radiated. “I thought you had returned to Flathead territory,” Blade mentioned. He scooped up the vest and T-shirt.

  “I did. I went to Gardiner and reported what had happened, and a messenger was immediately dispatched to inform Star. Then I returned to Yellowstone to hunt for my family,” Eagle Feather related, sorrow deepening the lines in his face. “I haven’t had any luck.”

  “Have you located the creatures?”

  “No,” Eagle Feather said. He glanced around as the giant’s companions converged on him. “I apologize for firing at you. I assumed you were part of a scavenger party I’ve seen roaming this area.”

  “We’ve seen them too,” Blade related, and gestured at his friends as he introduced them. “This is Hickok, Geronimo, and Achilles. They’re also from the Home.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Eagle Feather told them. “Thank you for coming to help. If you only knew how much my wife and sons mean to me…” he said, and stopped, choking on the words.

  Geronimo stepped forward and placed his hand on the Flathead’s shoulder. “We won’t rest until we’ve found them.”

  “Thank you.” Eagle Feather said softly, then cleared his throat. “To which tribe do you belong?”

  “I’m a Warrior. I live at the Home,” Geronimo divulged. “My ancestors were Blackfeet.”

  Eagle Feather motioned toward the hill. “Please, join me. I’ve made camp at the top. A few hours ago I shot a buck, and I was in the process of butchering it when I heard shots and spotted you.”

  “I could go for some venison,” Hickok said. “You’re on. Eagle Tail.”

  “That’s Eagle Feather.”

  “Whatever,” Hickok said, and headed for the slope.

  “Pay no attention to him,” Geronimo advised the Flathead. “He suffered an unfortunate accident as a baby.”

  “He did?”

  “Yes. Actually, he’s a medical marvel. He’s one of the few people ever born without a brain.”

  “I heard that!” Hickok stated.

  Eagle Feather glanced quizzically at Blade. “Are they friends?”

  “The best.” the giant confirmed. “They’re like brothers. Think of them as matching bookends. Frick and Frack.”

  They walked westward, Achilles bringing up the rear.

  “Are all four of you Warriors?” Eagle Feather inquired.

  “Geronimo, Hickok, and I are,” Blade replied. “Achilles will be soon, I hope.”

  “I’ve heard many stories about the Warriors. My tribe would still be languishing in bondage if you Warriors had not defeated Samuel the Second.”

  “We had a little help,” Blade said.

  “Speaking of help, why didn’t other Flatheads return here with you?”

  Geronimo questioned. “Why did you come back alone?”

  “They sent the word out to every man living within forty miles of Gardiner,” Eagle Feather answered. “I was too impatient, too filled with worry, to wait for them to organize their rescue mission. So I left directions and came on ahead. I expect them to show up any day now.”

  “And there will be a military unit dispatched by the Civilized Zone arriving in a few days,” Blade disclosed.

  “Between all of us, we’ll find your wife and sons,” Geronimo added.

  “I pray we will,” Eagle Feather said. “Every day that goes by increases the odds they won’t be found alive.”

  “Don’t talk like that,” Geronimo said. “Have faith.”

  “I have faith in the Spirit-in-All-Things, but the Spirit doesn’t guide the footsteps of the Bear People. The Spirit can’t gain entry to a closed mind.”

  “Haven’t you seen any sign of the creatures?” Blade probed.

  “A few tracks, and that’s all. Whatever they are, they seem to move across the countryside like ghosts.”

  “They’re flesh and blood, which means they can bleed.”

  Geronimo said. “Once we catch up with them, we’ll do the world a favor and eliminate them.”

  “It won’t be easy,” Eagle Feather stated. “Some of my people believe the Bear People are demons.”

  “Nonsense. They’re mutations, plain and simple,” Geronimo countered.

  “I know. But the knowledge doesn’t make my heart any lighter.”

  They ascended the slope in single file.

  Blade felt enormous sympathy for the Flathead. He could readily imagine the emotional turmoil Eagle Feather must be going through. If the same thing had happened to Jenny and Gabe, he’d be frantic, out of his mind with apprehension. He resolved to do everything humanly possible to rescue Eagle Feather’s wife and sons.

  “Tonight the Bear People will be abroad,” the Flathead mentioned.

  Blade glanced over his left shoulder. “How do you know?”

  “There will be a full moon.”

  “I don’t get the connection.”

  “Didn’t Star tell you? Several of our communities were attacked by these fiends.”

  “She told us.”

  “Did she inform you that it’s believed two of the attacks took place on nights when the moon was full?”

  “No, she neglected to tell us that news,” Blade said. “So did Iron Wolf.”


  “Iron Wolf? I know him. Did he visit your Home?”

  Blade nodded grimly. “He came with us to Yellowstone.”

  “Then where is—?” Eagle Feather began, and frowned. “What happened?”

  “He was gored by a buffalo.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. He was highly respected,” Eagle Feather remarked. “Perhaps, since the moon wasn’t a factor in other attacks, Star and Iron Wolf didn’t regard the moon as part of a pattern.”

  “And you do?”

  The Flathead shrugged. “When a man is desperate, he’ll grasp at any straw.”

  Blade said nothing. He finished climbing to the top, where Hickok stood waiting, and surveyed their surroundings. A mule deer carcass had been deposited in the center of the level summit, and a stack of limbs to be used as firewood lay nearby. Visibility extended for miles in every direction. He could see the meandering course of the Lamar River to the northwest and the Absaroka Range to the east. “This is perfect,” he commented.

  “That’s what I thought,” Eagle Feather said.

  Blade gazed to the southeast. He could distinguish vague figures moving about on the plain across the river. Harmon and his band were still working on the slain buffalo. He reasoned that the band would probably camp there for the night.

  “Are they the scavengers?” Eagle Feather queried.

  “Yep.” Blade placed his vest and the T-shirt on the ground.

  “I watched them go after the buffalo, and then the dust became so thick I couldn’t tell what was happening.”

  “Do they know you’re in this vicinity?”

  “No. I’ve avoided them like the plague. I figured they’d kill me if they knew I was here.”

  “Wise decision.”

  “We should’ve blown those turkeys away when we had the chance,” Hickok spoke up.

  “We still may get the chance, “Geronimo observed, and looked at the buck. “Why don’t you and I start on that deer?”

  “Fine by me,” the gunman said.

  “Be my guest,” Eagle Feather stated, and drew his hunting knife. “Here. Use this.”

  “Thanks,” Geronimo responded, and took hold of the hilt. “We’ll have supper in no time.”