Slocum and the Spirit Bear (9781101618790) (14 page)

“Glad you decided to show up,” Slocum said.

“You thought I would not?”

“Wouldn't blame you if you'd found something better to do.”

“I owe Spirit Bear a debt that can only be repaid in blood,” the Indian said gravely. “It seems I have a better chance of settling that debt with your help.”

“Some of the men we left behind might not agree. They still wanted to take a straight run at Spirit Bear.”

“If they did not let us go after Spirit Bear alone, I would not have come. But I understand why they want to fight. They have a debt to repay as well. If they were to try and spill Spirit Bear's blood, they would not live to see another sunrise.”

“I'd have to agree with that,” Slocum said.

They rode for a few moments before Slocum broke the silence. “So do you really know where to find Spirit Bear's camp?”

Hevo hesitated before replying, “I know where his last camp was. I also know the kind of ground he likes to choose for his camps. Seeing how many men are now riding with him, I also know where he cannot make camp. That gives me enough to work with.”

“Sure. All those men and their horses need water, and they need space to pitch tents and set up cooking fires where they can't be seen. I take it you're familiar with this country and know some likely prospects?”

Hevo nodded. “And I take it you picked up the tracks left by Spirit Bear's riders?”

“We're following them now, but they're already splitting apart. Won't be as easy as tracking them if they stayed clustered together.”

“Between the two of us, we should find him.”

“Right,” Slocum said.

Close to a minute passed. This time, it was Hevo who broke the silence. “You have no plan for killing Spirit Bear, do you?”

“Pointless to burden us with an involved plan when we don't even know what we're dealing with yet or what sort of terrain we're fighting on. I do have one question for you, though.”

Hevo glanced over at Slocum. “What is it?”

“What sort of name is Hevo?”

“It is Cheyenne.”

“I've met plenty of Cheyenne and never one with a name like that. They're usually much more of a mouthful.”

The Indian patted his horse's neck. “My true name is Hevovitastamintsto.”

“Now
there's
a mouthful. What does it mean?”

“Whirlwind.”

After seeing him fight, Slocum wasn't surprised in the least.

15

They rode for three days. Compared to those nights huddled beneath blankets with nothing but half a sputtering fire for warmth and eating every meal cold, life in the wagon train had been one of luxury. Everything Slocum and Hevo did was for the sake of keeping from being seen. Whenever possible, they steered clear of any trail on the off chance that it was being watched. The prairie was mostly flat, but still presented challenges. Pits in the ground could trip up a horse that was going too fast. Logs or rocks covered in tall grass could break legs, twist ankles, or even snap necks if they caused a bad enough fall.

At night, neither one of them got more than a few hours' sleep. One would watch the camp, but that didn't mean the other could rest easy. Any sound could mark the approach of a killer. Every shift of the grass could be a Dirt Swimmer creeping up on them with blades in hand. If Spirit Bear's main tactic had been to instill uneasiness in his opponents, he seemed to have done a good job. But Slocum and Hevo weren't playing into their enemy's hands. They simply couldn't afford to let their guards down.

On the fourth night, they struck pay dirt. All of their diligence in keeping their heads down while covering plenty of ground brought them close enough to spot a series of fires at the base of a range of tall hills. They weren't within sight of the Rockies just yet, but the ground was swelling with higher formations like water that was churning into bigger waves with the approach of a storm.

For over a mile before reaching the hills, Hevo had insisted they dismount and continue on foot. A quarter of a mile later, he insisted they crouch down low and walk at a pace that was slow enough for their steps to remain silent as they worked their way up the sides of the hills. When Slocum asked for an explanation, he was immediately shushed. Just when his patience was wearing thin, Slocum heard a familiar voice.

It wasn't quite a howl, but was unmistakably Spirit Bear's voice raised in what some might call a song. The chants were powerful and rhythmic. As soon as they faded, several other voices answered back.

Slocum and Hevo crested the hills on their bellies, pulling themselves forward using their elbows and knees. Although the movement had become painful early on, Slocum ignored the grinding of small rocks against his kneecaps when he saw the camp that was spread out beneath him.

A central teepee was larger than any of the dozen or so others surrounding it in a clearing that was roughly oval in shape. Apart from teepees and tents that could have come from any number of Indian camps, there were also two cabins at the far end of the clearing and several wagons parked around its perimeter. It was next to impossible to get an accurate count of how many occupied that camp. While some dancing figures were on prominent display, the shadows teemed with many others. Some of the movement could have been shadows cast by swaying trees or bodies dancing close to one of the fires or torches. Past experience with the Dirt Swimmers told Slocum that those moving shadows could just as easily be alive themselves.

Spirit Bear himself stood upon a raised platform that looked more like a pile of refuse. He treated it like a dais, standing proudly at its peak with his arms raised high. Firelight danced across the hides covering his body and the shadows made it difficult to say which skin was his own since he and his leathers were all covered in spiral symbols painted in white.

On either side of the platform, men sat cross-legged pounding on drums with bare hands, chanting to their own rhythms. Throughout the camp, figures dressed in everything from loincloths and animal skins to the netting of the Dirt Swimmers danced and waved their hands in response to Spirit Bear's voice. There were women among them who wore only painted symbols matching those upon Spirit Bear's body. One in particular straddled what looked like a kettle from which a wispy trail of smoke rose and was fanned in every direction by her gyrating body. Her arms moved like waves in rough waters, and she snapped her head back and forth to make the beads in her hair clatter noisily.

The longer he looked at her, the closer Slocum felt to the strange, exotic woman. Although he recognized the scent of the narcotic smoke, it seemed to be weaker than before. To break the spell before it took hold of him, he asked, “Is this how many Spirit Bear usually brings along with him?”

Hevo shook his head so subtly that the motion could hardly be seen. “Many more have joined him.”

“Where the hell would he find so many crazies? I thought you said he didn't lead his own tribe.”

“He needs no tribe. There are some who follow him because they think he can speak with the Spirit World. Most follow him to pick the meat from the carcasses left behind.”

“You're telling me they're cannibals?”

Now, Hevo looked at Slocum as if he was the crazy one. “I speak of robbers and thieves. Spirit Bear is not interested in money or valuables. He leaves such things behind and any of his warriors are free to take what they want. When someone kills as many as Spirit Bear, there is plenty left behind. Money. Jewelry. Horses.”

Slocum took a breath, but refrained from drawing too much poisoned air into his lungs. “How has the Army missed this?” Slocum asked as he took in the sight before him. “How can this go on without being snuffed out?”

Shifting his sharp eyes back to the sprawling camp, Hevo seemed just as transfixed by the sight as Slocum. “You must have seen much, John. Surely you know that this is a wide land and the white man's eyes are rarely focused on anything that does not serve him. Spirit Bear knows this also. He stays where the blue coats seldom go and rarely leaves anyone behind to tell his tale.”

As much as Slocum would have liked to dispute that, he simply couldn't. More often than not, when there was an Indian attack, it was described more by the carnage left behind than any accurate details regarding the ones who'd committed it. For too many Army officers, one redskin was the same as another. For the ones who did know the difference, Slocum doubted they would imagine something like this in their wildest dreams. He doubted many among the local tribes would even guess something like this was going on.

“You're right,” Slocum said. “I have seen a lot. Now let me tell you something else I've seen. I see those lunatics dancing around in that smoke like they were smelling daffodils. I've also seen them charge through it without faltering while men like me and Ed and Josiah could barely get our eyes to stop tearing long enough to stay in our saddles. I doubt Spirit Bear uses that smoke to control his people because his warriors fight too damn well to be out of their minds. It makes a lot more sense that they burn that smoke whenever they can so they get used to it. I've heard of assassins who drink bits of poison to become immune to it or even men who work in laundries who can damn near pour bleach on their biscuits because they've spent so many days inhaling it.”

“This is not the time for so many words,” Hevo said. “We will be heard.”

“Above all that music and chanting? I can barely hear myself think. Or perhaps I'm just feeling the effects of that smoke rolling up into these hills? That brings me to my point, Hevo. You don't seem to be the slightest bit dizzy from breathing this air and you never seemed to waver when the wagons were attacked.”

“I have been following Spirit Bear for some time. I have often breathed his smoke.”

“You rode with him, didn't you?”

Hevo turned on him so quickly that he almost resembled the twitching dancers at Spirit Bear's feet.

Slocum shook his head. “Don't give me that offended look. You know that man down there.”

“Of course I do. He killed several of my people. Burned them like weeds in a field.”

“He's hurt some of my people, too,” Slocum said. “From the times I've seen him fight, it seems he does it the same way each time. Rides in like a demon, spouting threats, slinging spears and bullets. He dresses like a demon, talks like one, kills like one. That would hardly allow someone to get to know him the way you do.”

“The only reason I follow him is to kill him.”

“Sure. Maybe now that's true. But what about before? What about when you were close enough to know him as something other than a demon? When you were close enough to see what he really is and how he operates?”

“I watch him because he is my prey,” Hevo insisted.

Slocum shook his head again. It didn't matter how vehemently the Indian protested, his gut instincts were saying something different. “No, if you were so fired up for revenge, you would have taken it by now. You know his tactics. You breathe this garbage in the air like it was made by a cooking fire. You knew what to look for when we were searching for this camp.”

“I do not ride with Spirit Bear.”

“No,” Slocum said. “Not anymore is what I'm guessing. Those attacks came too close to succeeding for him to need to send you in among us. That man down there,” he added while stabbing a finger toward the camp that was literally crawling with dancing figures, “is too damn crazy to do something like that. I believe you when you say you want to kill him. I just don't think it was always that way.”

Hevo closed his eyes and allowed his head to angle toward the ground. The chanting stopped and Spirit Bear spoke to his followers, who were too far away for Slocum to hear what was being said. In less than a minute, the chanting started up again and the Indians sang a song that wasn't quite as frenzied as the previous one. Slowly opening his eyes, Hevo looked down at the camp as if he was studying each and every figure in turn. “Your eyes see much, John Slocum.”

“And my ears work pretty good, too. You would have known that much if you'd told me the truth earlier on.”

“If I told you I used to ride as one of Spirit Bear's warriors, would you have listened to my words or would you have shot me where I stood?”

“I would have made a decision based on what was in front of me,” Slocum said. “The problem now is that instead of a lunatic, the man in front of me is a liar. At least with a lunatic or even a killer, I know where I stand.”

“If I wanted to see harm come to you or any of those in your wagons—”

“You would have had plenty of opportunity to hurt them,” Slocum interrupted. “I already thought of that, which is why I didn't mention any of this earlier. Also, I was hoping you'd come clean before we got this far.”

Hevo's face became stern and cold. As the Indians in the camp below became more joyful in their song and dance, he took on more of a shadowy aspect. “You know nothing of me or why I wish to put an end to Spirit Bear.”

“On the contrary, I think I do know a thing or two about why you're doing all of this. I believe every word you said about him killing someone close to you. In fact, it was probably several people close to you. Maybe an entire group of them just like you said.”

“Then what does it matter what I did before?” Hevo asked through gritted teeth.

“It matters because I'm putting my life in your hands. I spoke on your behalf to Ed and the rest of them and meant what I said.”

“We are here now. Spirit Bear is in front of us. If you want to bicker some more, we should find a better place to have our words.”

Slocum looked at the camp and then at the surrounding hills. The music was dying down again, but the chanting was still just as loud. There could have been Dirt Swimmers creeping up on them the entire time, but that was a given over the last several days. Strangely enough, Slocum felt more secure now that he was close enough to see where Spirit Bear lay his head at night. If a man like that was going to be so cocky when he was leading an attack, he would feel damn near invincible when he was at home.

But that's not why Slocum had waited for that moment to ask the question that had been burning in his mind. Until now, he'd had his suspicions where Hevo was concerned. Surely the Indian had proven himself more than once, but Slocum had been double-crossed by plenty of men who'd gone out of their way to prove themselves to him one way or another.

Hevo also had the hatred in his eyes when speaking about Spirit Bear and he certainly had the fire of someone who was out to settle a blood debt. Slocum wanted to believe in him and he needed Hevo's help to get this far. It wasn't until they'd approached this camp, when he saw Hevo's head bobbing almost imperceptibly to the beat of the drums and his lips moving reflexively to what must have been a familiar tune, that he knew for certain. And with that certainty, Slocum felt anger. It wasn't the first time he'd been lied to and certainly wouldn't be the last. Even so, it stung worse than a hornet trapped in his bedroll.

“I suppose we've seen what we needed to see here,” Slocum said. “Let's get back to the horses before they're spotted.”

Hevo remained silent, but mostly out of necessity since the noise from the camp was swiftly dying down. He and Slocum crawled like snakes in the tall grass, scraping their chests, legs, and stomachs over sharp rocks, partially buried roots, and slopes in the ground itself that bent them like rope being passed through a crooked tube. It took over half an hour for them to get back to where they'd tethered their horses, and every inch they crawled, Slocum expected to be discovered by a scout on horseback or by a Dirt Swimmer crouched less than an inch in front of him. After a while, Slocum's eyes were darting back and forth in response to so many sounds that they hurt more than the rest of his body.

From this distance, the chanting back at the camp could be heard as only a roiling echo. Light from the fires was too weak to make it this far beyond the hills, leaving Slocum and Hevo in eerie darkness. The horses were just a little farther ahead. Both men got their feet beneath them, holding still for a while to listen for rustling or movement coming from any source other than the animals. Since nothing but the wind could be heard, they stood up and walked the rest of the way to the horses. Slocum kept his hand on the grip of his Colt and Hevo maintained a firm grasp on one of his long, curved knives.