Slocum and the Spirit Bear (9781101618790) (8 page)

“I thought so, too. I just didn't want anyone else to get rattled. Bad enough you heard the gunshots.”

“Since you don't know who or what was out there, I take it those shots didn't hit anything?”

“They did. I don't know how many, but some were hit.”

“And what about the howling? Just some crazy man trying to frighten us like you said?”

Slocum stared at the tarp stretched above him, but was clearly seeing more than just the thick, weathered material. “The ones that attacked us were men. They wore some sort of cloaks or something with leaves and dirt stuck to it. I didn't even get a good look at any faces, but I could feel it was a man beneath all of that mess. I couldn't check each of them. I don't even know for certain how many there were. I just don't know if I'd call them crazy.”

“They sound crazy to me.”

“There was a method to what they were doing. They might not have gone about things in a way I know, but they were able to sneak up on me and Ed when both of us were out there looking for anything out of the ordinary. Even now, I'd swear to the Almighty himself that there wasn't anyone in that field beforehand. They had to be out there, though.
Had
to be. They were there and they could stay hidden long enough to jump me and Ed without benefit of horses, firearms, or high ground.”

“This is Indian country,” she said. “I've heard of savages dressing up in all sorts of ways to stay hidden. They even paint their faces and wear feathers and such. Maybe that's all it was. Crazy Indians.”

“Whole damn thing is crazy.”

She settled against him and let out a slow, measured breath. “Should we be worried about this, John?”

“It's like you said, everyone on these wagons has already weathered more than one storm and you all knew there would be more to come,” he said. “If threats are all it takes to change someone's mind, they shouldn't expect much of a life anyways.”

“That's a fine bunch of inspiring talk,” she said dryly. “I want to know an honest answer to my question. Should we be worrying about these animals or Indians or . . . whatever they may be?”

“I don't think they should be ignored, but they can't be allowed to stop us in our tracks.”

“Do you think they'll attack us again?”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Slocum replied. “If I could guess what's running through their minds, they wouldn't have been able to get the drop on us in the first place.” The moment those words left his mouth, Slocum regretted them. While he knew he could be franker with her than some of the others, he still didn't want to burden her with too much frankness.

He leaned forward so she could hear him as he dropped his voice to a low, intimate whisper. “I'm not just here to collect my fee. I took this job and I don't intend on letting anything happen to you or any of these folks.”

“Why did you take this job? I mean, you don't strike me as a man who was just sitting around scraping together money. You're certainly not just a hired gun.”

“I'm not rich, but I can afford to be particular when it comes to picking jobs. Ed seemed like a good man and my instinct told me he genuinely needed help. I was ready to refuse him several times. Even during the ride to meet up with the wagons, I was searching for a good enough reason to just refuse his offer and part ways. He spoke highly of everyone here. Well . . . everyone but Josiah.”

“What did he say about him?” she asked with a laugh.

“Called him a cantankerous blowhard. Also said he was good with a rifle, though.”

Theresa seemed disappointed. “We've called Josiah a lot worse than that to his face. I thought Ed might come up with something better when he was out of earshot.”

“My point is all I wanted when I met up with Ed was to get out of Missouri. I could have done that on my own. I've had to fend for myself enough times. I've also seen too many good people meet bad ends on account of rotten luck or the whims of lesser men. It never did set right with me. The way I was raised, every man should pitch in and help when he can. That way, he'll earn the right to be helped when his own run of misfortune comes along.”

“So you wouldn't mind doing this for free?” she asked.

“A man's also got to earn his keep.” Shrugging, he added, “If he can do so while helping those in need, then that's all the better.”

“There's that silver tongue again.”

“Things have a way of working themselves out,” Slocum said earnestly. “Just so long as you aren't stupid and do the work that needs to be done. We'll make it through this and I'll get you to Colorado. As for my silver tongue . . . you don't know the half of it.”

They remained in the back of the wagon for a little while longer, doing their best to keep quiet.

8

As much as he would have liked to keep Theresa busy for hours, she only indulged him for a short time before finishing with his leg and climbing back into the driver's seat beside her son. No matter how badly his leg hurt, Slocum needed a splash of cold water more than anything else after she left him without doing much more than kissing him for a few minutes. Still, it was better than nothing.

Now that he had some time to take stock of his injury, Slocum realized how very lucky he was. Even a small sprain or any one of dozens of lesser pains could have made his job a whole lot harder to do. As it was, years of being in the saddle and the ability to keep his wits about him when things went to hell had served him well. His leg would ache for a while, but wouldn't prevent him from doing his part on the journey into Colorado. He spent another hour or two with his leg up before getting to his feet and stretching it when the wagons stopped to water the horses. When it came time for them to move on again, Slocum got back into his saddle to take his spot riding alongside the others.

As they continued westward, Slocum kept his eyes fixed on the horizon. Before long, his neck ached more than his leg simply because he continued to look all around for any hint of trouble or signs that the scouting party might need help. His ears strained for echoes of gunfire. His nose continually tested the winds for that sickly sweet stench from the crazy Indians who'd ambushed him and Ed.

Having thought of little else all day, Slocum convinced himself that the bushwhackers had been Indians after all. They weren't anything like the Pawnee or Cheyenne he'd met before, which didn't mean a whole lot. The tribes may live differently, look different, and speak in different tongues than the white man, but they were similar in many ways as well. They had their rules. They had their traditions. They had their ways of conducting themselves, and no matter how savage the Army or bounty hunters might swear they were, the Indians were not crazy.

There was always the possibility that those bushwhackers were something new within a particular tribe or some newly born tribe in itself. Slocum could piece that together if they crossed paths again. And if they never saw those filthy, marauding, howling lunatics again . . . all the better.

As the wagons rolled forward, Slocum's horse trotted beside them, going just a little faster than the teams. When he made it to the front of the train, he rode ahead a little ways, veered off to the other side of the trail, and slowed down so the wagons could roll past him. That way, he essentially rode in a wide, lazy circle around them all so he could get a look at all sides of the wagons while stretching his horse's legs. He was just allowing the wagons to catch up to him again when he heard May Warren call out from the front of the train.

“See anything interesting, John?” she asked.

“Franco has been peeling potatoes and carrots ever since we broke camp,” he said. “I'm guessing there'll be some kind of stew for supper. That's about the most interesting thing I've seen for a while.”

“Better than what I've had to keep me occupied. This one hasn't stirred since you got back.” She reached over to slap Ed's shoulder. Her husband was beside her in the driver's seat, but had both feet propped up, his hat down over his face, his hands folded across his stomach, and was snoring with every breath.

“This trail's been full of more holes than a sieve,” Slocum chuckled. “I'm surprised his hat wasn't knocked off or his teeth wasn't knocked loose by now. The fact that he's still asleep boggles the mind.”

“He can sleep through just about anything. Seen any sign of Tom or Josiah?”

“Not yet. They're not due for another hour, though.”

“It's been quiet all day long. That is,” she added as she reached up to draw her shawl around her a little tighter, “after you and Ed got back from those hills.”

“Quiet's not such a bad thing, you know.”

“Usually not.”

Slocum could tell by the way she spoke that May had plenty more on her mind that she wasn't putting into words. Rather than trying to guess what was bothering her, Slocum took a lower road. He drew his pistol, thumbed back the hammer, and fired a round into the air.

The sound of the shot cracked and rolled across the flat land in every direction, sending a nervous ripple through the horses and causing every head in the wagon train to pop up for a look. More important, Ed sat bolt upright so quickly that his hat flew from his head and his eyes snapped open.

“Wha . . . what was that?” Ed sputtered. “Who shot at us? What's goin' on?”

“I thought I heard some kind of wild boar taking a run at us,” Slocum said.

Ed forced his eyes open and reached for his rifle. “A boar? What? Did you say a boar?”

Slocum holstered his Colt and scratched his chin. “On second thought, it was just you snoring. I could've sworn it was either a big ol' pig grunting or we were passing a sawmill. I didn't see any mill, so I went with the second guess. Sorry about that.”

For a moment, everyone in the wagons was dead quiet. Then, May started to laugh.

“Where's my damn hat?” Ed growled.

“It's on a horse's ass,” Slocum replied.

“What was that?”

Slocum pointed at the team pulling Ed's wagon. Sure enough, when Ed had sat up, he'd pitched his hat off and it had landed on the backside of the horse directly in front of him.

May laughed even harder, causing everyone else to join in.

Ed tried to stretch an arm out to reclaim his hat, but it was just outside his reach. More than that, it seemed to have landed so perfectly upon the horse's rump that it wasn't about to be shaken off by anything short of a powerful gust of wind. Staring at the hat perched in that inopportune spot, Ed had no choice but to join in on the laughter himself. He brought the wagons to a halt just long enough to get his hat, and when they were rolling again, everyone was in higher spirits.

Once they'd resumed their former pace, Slocum heard a scratchy, nasal voice come at him like a sharpened stick poking him in the ear.

“That was a damn fool thing to do,” it said.

Slocum glanced over to find a long, pale face staring back at him. “You think so, Vera?”

Vera McCauley was a sickly little thing who fought so as not to allow her ailments to get the better of her. So far, Slocum didn't even really know what was wrong with her. In fact, he didn't know what was wrong with Tom McCauley for marrying such a grating, disagreeable woman and dragging her across the country. Most men he knew would have gone to those lengths just to get away from her.

“I
do
think so, Mr. Slocum,” Vera said. “You could have started a stampede firing a shot for no good reason like that.”

“These horses are around when we hunt. We also fire shots to signal to each other from a distance. Are you trying to tell me the animals know I fired just to wake up Ed and will be upset about it?”

“I'm saying you could have spooked one of them. Isn't it bad enough you startled my children?”

Her son, Michael, poked his head up from where he'd been huddled beneath the wagon's seat. “I wasn't frightened, Momma. It was funny.”

Slocum smiled over at the boy. “Thanks, Mike.”

“His name is Michael,” Vera snapped.

The four-year-old climbed out from where he'd been hiding, crawled onto his mother's lap, and stared at him with wide green eyes. “Can I see your gun?”

Without hesitation, Slocum drew it from his holster and started emptying the cylinder into his hand. “Of course you can, little man.”

More color flushed into Vera's face than Slocum had seen since he'd first been introduced to her. “He most certainly
cannot!”
she declared. “I won't have my little boy playing with guns.”

“It's not loaded, ma'am. Besides, it's not like he hasn't seen one before. Might as well take some of the mystery out of it.”

“That gun of yours has caused enough commotion, Mr. Slocum, and I'm not just referring to the one in your holster. Don't think for one moment that we're ignorant of what you and Theresa Wilcox get up to.”

“What does he and Miss Wilcox get up to, Momma?” Michael asked.

Just then, the flap of the wagon's tarp was pulled aside so Vera's daughter could stick her head out. “Who's getting up to something?” she asked.

Vera closed her eyes and said, “Nobody is getting up to anything. Michael, you can hide under the seat or you can sit next to me properly. Elsie, you need to get back to your reading. Both of you need to be quiet.”

Slocum raised an eyebrow and fit the bullets back into his Colt. “Seems like I'm not the one stirring things up around here.”

“Hi, Mr. Slocum!” Elsie chirped. “That was real funny what you said about Mr. Warren's hat being on a horse's a—”

“Elsie!” Vera snapped. “Enough.”

The girl's smirk was so wide, it seemed to cover most of her face as she slowly eased back into the wagon. Michael was also grinning while he hunkered down and lay beneath the driver's seat in a little ball.

“Do you have anything else in mind for disrupting our day, Mr. Slocum?” Vera asked. “Perhaps you'd like to make some more noise and draw more attention to us?”

“Is that what this is about? You think I made enough noise to draw attention?”

“Could be why those savages attacked you and Ed earlier,” she said smugly. “Ever think of that?”

“You haven't ventured much past your own front porch, have you? Because if you did, you'd know that any Indians guarding their lands would have no trouble spotting a bunch of slow-moving wagons rolling down a trail that's probably been used by plenty of other wagons headed the same direction. All the scouting runs we've made and the campfires we've built have attracted plenty of other attention. In fact,” Slocum added, “I'd be willing to listen if you had an idea of how a group this size could make it to Colorado without attracting any attention. If you don't have anything so useful to say, perhaps you should set a good example and be quiet yourself.”

“That was very rude!”

More for the sake of the children listening and less for any sense of propriety where Vera was concerned, Slocum said, “Yes it was, ma'am. My apologies.” He knew his point had been made. He could see as much judging by the annoyed expression on the woman's long face.

Now that she'd stopped talking, Slocum could hear the distant rumble of hooves. If not for the fact that he'd been straining to hear something along those lines all day, the sound may have been lost beneath the constant grind of wheels against the ground and the horses plodding along to keep them moving. These hooves were moving a lot faster and they immediately put Vera McCauley at the bottom of his list of concerns.

Slocum rode away from the wagons toward what he guessed to be direction he needed to go to meet the approaching horses. Expecting Tom and Josiah to be returning from scouting, he was surprised to spot three horses instead of two. He reached into his saddlebag and dug out the field glasses to take a better look.

“What's wrong, John?” Theresa called out.

“Someone's coming this way.”

Ed signaled for the wagons to come to a stop, and by the time they did, the three horses were close enough for everyone to see them. “Who's that?” Ed shouted from the lead wagon.

Still staring through the field glasses, Slocum replied, “It's the scouting party.”

“But I count three of 'em.”

“I know. Tom and Josiah aren't alone.”

“Who's with them?”

Slocum returned the field glasses to his saddlebag and removed the rifle from the boot of his saddle. “Don't know who it is. We'd best get ready to meet them properly.”

Nobody in those wagons needed to be told to keep their heads down and mouths shut.