Blood Trail (7 page)

They sat around the fire with Gerhardt and some of the others—Talbot and Sarah still sitting close together. Clint and Bullet listened while Gerhardt told them what happened.

“I sent the boy to get some water,” he said. “When he didn't come back, we went looking for him. It was dark, we used torches. It took most of the night but we found him—what was left of him.”

“So much blood,” another man, Klaus Mueller, said, shaking his head sadly.

Sheriff Bullet asked him, “What do you think killed the boy?”

“I do not know,” Mueller said in heavily accented English, “an animal of some sort.”

“An animal,” Bullet said. “A wolf?”

“Maybe.”

“Not a werewolf?”

“Werwolf?”
the man said in German. “I have never seen such a thing.”

“But do you believe in them?”

“In the old country, perhaps,” the man said, “but not here.”

“We buried him,” Gerhardt said. “The . . . pieces.”

“We're so sorry,” Clint said.

Talbot reached out and put his hand on his friend's shoulder. At that moment Captain Parker came over to join their circle.

“Sheriff,” he said, “you've got to do somethin'.”

“Like what?”

“Catch this maniac,” Parker said. “He's after my train.”

“Maybe,” Bullet said. “In the morning' we'll have a look around.”

“You gotta catch him,” Parker said, “or it. It's your job to protect us.”

“I thought it was your job to protect these people,” Clint said.

“Huh? It's my job to get them where they're goin',” Parker said. “I didn't get paid to hunt some kinda wolf. I ain't a hunter.”

“I am, Captain,” Talbot said. “Do not worry. I will find it.”

“Yeah, don't worry, Captain,” Bullet said. “We'll find it.”

“Well . . . can we pull out in the mornin'?” the captain asked.

“Sure, why not,” Bullet asked. “We'll ride with you for a while.”

“Fine,” Parker said, “that's fine.”

He walked away, back to the front of the train, where he sat at his own fire.

“The man is a coward,” Gerhardt said. “He will leave us soon. Run away. If this thing is not stopped.”

“Do not worry, my friend,” Talbot said. “I will stop it.”

“I will go with you,” Gerhardt said.

“I have the sheriff and Mr. Adams,” Talbot said. “You should stay with the train. We cannot trust Captain Parker to protect our people.”

“You expect me to protect them?” Gerhardt asked. “I could not even protect my own son.”

“You protected my daughter,” Talbot reminded him.

Gerhardt looked at Sarah, then said to Talbot, “I love her like she was my own. I will protect her.”

“Good,” Talbot said. He looked at Clint and Bullet. “We will start in the morning.”

* * *

After everyone on the train had turned in, Clint and Talbot remained awake, on watch. They had decided to watch two-by-two. In a while they would wake Bullet and Gerhardt.

Clint picked the coffeepot up from the fire and poured two cups. The other fires were starting to wink out.

“Perhaps,” Talbot said, “we could get the sheriff to stay with the train tomorrow while we go hunting.”

“Why?”

“He doesn't believe.”

“I don't either.”

“You have an open mind, Mr. Adams.”

“Call me Clint.”

“You have an open mind, Clint,” Talbot said. “The sheriff is closed.”

“That may be, but he thinks it's his job to find the killer.”

“It is my destiny,” Talbot said. “That comes before his job.”

“And me?” Clint asked.

“You know what your destiny is,” Talbot said. “But you will help me, because that is the kind of man you are.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am very sure.”

“Well,” Clint said, sipping his coffee, “I guess we'll see.”

* * *

The killer watched as the wagon train began to bed down—except for two of them.

The first was his foe, the hunter. The other man was even more of a danger.

More watching . . .

* * *

Talbot walked to the other end of the train, leaving Clint by the fire. He drank coffee and looked out into the darkness. Was there something there? Not that he could see anything, but he had a feeling . . . and he always put great stock in his feelings. They had kept him alive this long.

“I have that feeling, too, I'm afraid,” Sarah said from behind him.

Clint turned and saw her standing there.

“Your father will be back any minute,” he said.

“You feel it, too, don't you?” she asked. “It's watching us.”

“Do you think so?”

“I know so.” She hugged her upper arms.

Clint walked up to her.

“You'd better go to bed,” he said. “You need your rest.”

“Don't let it kill my father,” she whispered. “Don't let it.”

“I won't,” he promised, wondering if that was a promise he'd be able to keep.

Clint woke up in the morning before most of the train's people. He rolled out from where he'd been sleeping beneath a wagon and stood up. It was Talbot's wagon, the one he had walked Sarah to the night before. Talbot had also been asleep underneath it, but he was gone already.

Soon other people began to rise. Women went to the fires to prepare the morning meal.

As Clint walked to one of the fires, Gerhardt turned to him and said, “He's gone. Left during the night.”

“Who? Talbot?”

“No,” Gerhardt said, “Captain Parker. He left, took his horse and some supplies. The coward has run.”

“And the guide?”

“Him, too,” Gerhardt said. “We are on our own.”

“Don't worry,” Clint said. “You'll get where you're going. Where is Talbot? And the sheriff?”

“They are around somewhere,” Gerhardt said.

“And Sarah?”

“She has not come out of her wagon yet.”

But at that moment she did, and came running to the fire.

“I am sorry,” she said. “I overslept. I will start the morning meal.”

“Don't worry about it,” Clint said.

“Where's my father?” she asked.

Clint was about to say he didn't know when Talbot came walking up to the fire.

“Here he is.”

“Good morning, Papa.”

“Good morning, Sarah. Where is breakfast?”

“I am about to start it,” she said. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

She smiled and set about preparing the meal.

Talbot took Clint's elbow and walked him a few feet away.

“What is it?”

“I had the feeling last night that we were being watched,” Talbot said.

“So did I,” Clint said. “Sarah felt the same way.”

“Yes,” Talbot said, nodding, “she has what you and I have.”

“And what's that?” Clint asked.

“The instinct.”

“And what does the instinct tell you?”

“Just so much,” Talbot said. “For the rest I had to go and have a look.”

“And?”

“I found tracks out there in the brush,” he said. “He was watching us, possibly all night.”

“And now?”

“No,” Talbot said, “not now, not in the daylight.”

“What do you suggest?” Clint asked.

“The same thing I suggested last night,” Talbot said. “That the sheriff accompany the wagons while you and I hunt.”

“Well, you'll have to make that suggestion to the sheriff,” Clint said. “I think he'll have something to say about that.”

“I shall do so, at breakfast,” Talbot said.

They turned and walked back to the fire.

* * *

“I can't do that,” Sheriff Bullet said.

“Why not?” Talbot asked.

They were seated around the fire, eating the bacon and beans Sarah had prepared for their morning meal.

“Well, for one thing,” Bullet said, “I'm the sheriff of my county. Technically, I can't leave it. Not and have any authority. I need to catch the killer before it gets too far away.”

“But you're already out of the county,” Clint pointed out.

“I know the sheriff of this county,” Bullet said. “We've worked together before. He'll vouch for me. But I'm not going to be able to go further.”

“So what do you suggest?” Clint asked.

“Let Talbot here go with the wagon, and his people,” Bullet said. “You and I can go hunting.”

“But Talbot's the hunter,” Clint pointed out, “and the tracker.”

Bullet considered that for a moment.

“Well . . . you could go with the wagons, while I hunt with Talbot.”

“I would prefer to hunt with Mr. Adams,” Talbot said quietly but firmly.

“Why?” Bullet asked.

“He and I are the same.”

“Is that a fact?”

“We have the same instincts,” Talbot said. “We would keep each other alive.”

“And I couldn't do that?”

Talbot didn't answer.

“Okay, but damn it,” Bullet said, “there's got to be another way.”

“There is,” Clint said.

“What's that?”

“You go back to Effingham and resume your job,” Clint told him.

“And you?”

“Talbot and I will travel with the wagons,” Clint said. “If it's true that the killer is following this train, you won't have any further trouble.”

“But you will.”

“When Talbot and I have taken care of the situation, I'll telegraph you and let you know that your murder has been solved.”

“That doesn't—that doesn't sound right.”

“But it's the only way,” Clint said.

Sheriff Bullet chewed his food and considered Clint's words.

“It makes sense,” Talbot said.

“I know, damn it!” Bullet said. He looked at Clint. “I got you messed up in this. It doesn't feel right leaving you to handle it.”

“Don't worry, Ray,” Clint said. “If I wanted out, I'd ride out. Believe me.”

“Yes,” Bullet said, “yes, all right. It does seem the only solution. I'll head back to town after breakfast. But you have to keep me informed and let me know when you catch the killer.”

“I will,” Clint promised.

“And,” Bullet said, “you have to tell me what the hell it is!”

Bullet rode out and headed back to Effingham.

Clint turned to Talbot, Gerhardt, Mueller, and the other members of the wagon train.

“So,” he asked, “where are we headed?”

“Nevada,” Gerhardt said. “We bought some property there. There is enough for all of us to settle on.”

“You have paperwork?” Clint asked. He'd known of a lot of Easterners who had bought property in the West, only to find out upon their arrival that they'd been swindled. Either the seller never owned the property, or it was barren land that could not be worked.

“We do,” Gerhardt said.

“Maybe you'll let me have a look?”

“Of course. I'll get it.”

Gerhardt went to his wagon.

“Can we really make it?” Mueller asked. “Without Captain Parker, and the guide, and . . . a killer following us?”

“We will make it,” Talbot said.

“I'll see to it,” Clint said. “I was ready to leave Effingham and head west anyway. I'll get you all where you're going.”

Talbot turned to the people and said, “Get your wagons ready to go.”

The people—thirty men, women, and children—dispersed to get themselves ready to travel.

Talbot turned to Clint.

“I am very grateful,” he said. “I would not hold it against you if you rode off with the sheriff.”

“It's true that Bullet got me involved,” Clint said, “but I'm in it now for the long haul. I don't want to see anyone else get killed.”

“And you are curious, eh?” Talbot asked. “About who or what this killer is?”

“I have to admit,” Clint said, “I do want to see who the killer is.”

“You will,” Talbot said.

Gerhardt came walking up, carrying some papers.

“Here they are.”

Clint perused the papers. They looked like legitimate deeds, but of course it all depended on whether or not the seller had been legitimate. At the bottom of each page were half a dozen signatures.

“These wagons represent ten families who left Pennsylvania together,” Gerhardt explained, accepting the papers back.

“They look okay,” Clint said, “but I guess we'll find out for sure when we get there. You better get your wagon ready to travel, Mr. Gerhardt.”

“Yes.”

The man hurried back to his wagon. Clint walked over to Eclipse and saddled him, then saddled Talbot's horse for him.

Talbot came over and said, “I will ride in the wagon with Sarah for a while.”

“Okay,” Clint said, “I'll tie your saddle mount to the back of your wagon.”

Clint saw Talbot's gun tucked into his belt.

“I'm glad to see you're carrying your pistol,” Clint said. “Fully loaded with silver bullets?”

“Yes,” Talbot said, touching the gun. “I want to be ready. I have a mold to make other bullets. I can make some for your gun, if you like.”

“That's okay,” Clint said. “I'm not buying into the whole silver bullet thing . . . not yet.”

“I wish you would,” Talbot said, “but I understand.”

“Thanks for that.”

“No, thank you,” Talbot said.

“For what?”

“For not thinking I am a crazy man,” the Romanian said. “For not telling the sheriff that I am crazy. For not walking away when you had the chance.”

“Listen,” Clint said, “you might just be crazy, Talbot, but I still think you're the best bet to catch this . . . killer.”

“In that case,” Talbot said, “I think perhaps you should start to call me Frederick.”

“Okay,” Clint said, “and you call me Clint.”

The two men shook hands, as if meeting for the first time.

“I better take the lead,” Clint said. “You go and get aboard your wagon.”

“Yes.”

“Who is in the lead wagon?”

“Gerhardt.”

“Okay,” Clint said. “Let's get rolling.”