Slocum and the Spirit Bear (9781101618790) (9 page)

9

The wagons remained still as Slocum and Ed waited for the three horses to arrive. Both men had rifles to their shoulders and were sighting along their barrels. Ed searched the horizon for any hint of movement, including strange tremors in the ground or anything at all that might mean someone was trying to circle in on them from another angle. Slocum kept his aim on the third horse he'd spotted. Through the field glasses, he'd picked out Tom and Josiah. The other rider was unfamiliar, and even though he seemed to be accompanying the other two more or less peacefully, Slocum wasn't about to take any chances.

Once he was close enough, Josiah shouted, “What the hell's goin' on over here? I swore I heard a shot fired!”

Slocum could feel Vera's accusing stare boring a hole straight through the back of his head. “Wasn't anything,” he said without giving her the satisfaction of looking back. “Who's that with you?”

Tom and Josiah rode on either side of the third man, who was an Indian with sunken features and skin that looked more like dried rawhide stretched across a wire frame. Wide, dark eyes were cast downward and he kept his hands clasped around a tuft of his horse's mane. He had no saddle and no gun. In fact, the only thing he did have was a set of buckskin britches and a shirt made of tanned skins still bearing the coarse hair of the animal from which it had been taken.

Josiah held his pistol in one hand and reached over to grab the Indian's shoulder. “We found this one poking around on a ridge less than a mile from this here trail,” he said while pulling the other man upright. The Indian rode bareback, but still seemed to be better situated on his horse than the men on either side of him. “Ain't that right, boy?” Josiah sneered.

No man, regardless of where he came from, appreciated being treated like something less than an animal. Even if the Indian didn't know a word of English, the tone in Josiah's voice had more than enough disgust in it to convey his meaning. Slocum guessed the Indian to be somewhere in his late twenties or early thirties. Whichever it was, he was old enough not to take kindly to being called a boy.

“Did he attack you?” Slocum asked.

“Not as such,” Tom replied.

Before the larger man could explain any further, Josiah said, “Didn't have to attack us! He was creepin' around, skulking behind us, dogging our trail like some goddamned rodent.”

“So if he didn't attack you,” Slocum said, “that means he's only guilty of riding in your vicinity?”

Although he didn't put anything to words, Tom gritted his teeth and sighed. More than likely, he'd made either this same argument or another very similar one not too long ago. It seemed Josiah was as closed to suggestions now as he ever was.

“I don't need nobody to tell me when to be suspicious of someone!” Josiah growled. “I know sneaking when I see it and this here redskin was trying not to be seen while he followed Tom for more'n three miles! If Tom hadn't had his head in the sand, he would've seen as much for himself.”

“I saw plenty,” Tom said in his own defense.

“You didn't see this one until I fired a shot at him.”

“What was he doing that you shot at him?” Slocum asked.

“He was creepin' on the ground, comin' up on fat Tom here, while he was takin' a piss!” Josiah said. “After what you told us about crazy men jumpin' up from the ground and comin' at you with knives, I figured I shouldn't be too careful. He even smells bad, just like you mentioned in your story.”

Slocum approached the three men, sliding his rifle into the saddle's boot so he could skin his Colt instead. As he got closer to the Indian, he watched for any sign of hostility. All he could gather after closing the distance between him and the dark-skinned rider was that the Indian could very well be a bit older than Slocum had guessed. There didn't seem to be any immediate threat, especially since he could now tell that the Indian's hands were tied together by a rope around both wrists. The other end was tied to Josiah's saddle horn.

“It was more than just a story.” After pulling in a deep breath through his nose, Slocum added, “And this man doesn't smell anything like what I smelled when me and Ed were attacked.”

Josiah shrugged. “Honest mistake. Every Injun smells like dung anyhow.”

“Shut your damn mouth,” Slocum said. “And if this man didn't do anything to warrant being trussed up like this, you'd best untie him.”

“How do we know he won't do anything once he's free?” Josiah asked.

Slocum holstered his Colt but kept his hand resting upon its grip. “If the three of us can't do anything against one man, then I doubt we have much chance of getting all the way to the Rockies.”

There was a challenge wrapped up within that logic and it wasn't lost on Josiah. He glared defiantly at Slocum while drawing a hunting knife from the scabbard at his belt. He made a point to be especially rough with the Indian as he grabbed his bound wrists and hacked through the rope tying them together. “There,” he spat while throwing the rope to the ground. “You want him free so bad, he's free. Want me to fix him a nice meal as well?”

“I take it you already searched him.”

“Course we did! I ain't stupid. He had a few knives on him along with a bow and some arrows.”

“No gun?”

“Damn savage probably don't know what a rifle is,” Josiah grunted.

Ignoring the petulant rifleman, Slocum looked to the Indian and asked, “What's your name?”

The Indian didn't respond.

“Do you understand English?”

After a few more silent moments, Josiah grumbled, “Fat load of good this is doing. We were better off without this man tagging along.”

“I did not ask to be here,” the Indian said, much to Josiah's surprise.

“I believe he was referring to me as the tagalong,” Slocum said. “What should we call you?”

The Indian pressed his lips into a tight line and sat so his back was straight as a board.

Josiah jammed his knife back into its scabbard and rode toward the wagons. “I call him your problem, Slocum. You need any help, you know where to come crying for it.”

“What about you, Tom?” Slocum asked. “Care to tell me more about where you found this man?”

The big fellow squirmed in his saddle. When he looked toward the Indian, he reflexively pulled his reins in the opposite direction. “Just like Josiah said. He was creeping around. Josiah said he saw someone following me, and when we doubled back to have a look . . . there he was.”

“I was not hunting you,” the Indian said.

Slocum looked over at him. “Is that a fact? What were you hunting?”

“Spirit Bear.”

“Beg your pardon?”

The Indian moved his head about a fraction of an inch so he could look Slocum squarely in the eyes. Something about the slow, deliberate nature of that motion seemed eerie. “I hunt Spirit Bear.”

“Then why follow me?” Tom asked.

First, only the Indian's eyes moved toward the fat man. Then his head turned just enough to allow him to meet Tom's nervous gaze when he replied, “I followed you because Spirit Bear will come for you before anyone else. You ride like a herd of wild buffalo and you wheeze louder than wind through the branches. Spirit Bear hunts trespassers in lands he has claimed as his own because he sees it as his duty. His warriors would hunt one such as you for sport.”

A sweat broke out on Tom's forehead.

“Why don't you go see your wife, Tom?” Slocum said. “I know she's worried about you.”

The big man couldn't leave fast enough. He was so rattled that he wasn't concerned with appearing otherwise. Before his horse could get too far away, Ed called out from the wagons.

“Need a hand, John?”

“Not just yet.”

“How long are we to stay here?”

“Go ahead and get the wagons moving,” Slocum replied. “I'll bring our guest along.”

“You all right on your own?”

“I'm not on my own, Ed. If this one does anything foolish, surely one of you can keep him from escaping or getting too close to the wagons.”

It took a few minutes for Tom and Josiah to get their horses tethered to the wagons, and once the men were aboard, the entire train got rolling. Slocum kept his eye on the Indian and his hand on his gun. Before the wagons could get too far ahead, he looked over to the dark-skinned man and asked, “Want to come along with me of your own accord, or do I have to tie you up again?”

The Indian took hold of the horse's mane and shifted his weight upon its back. For a second, Slocum thought he was going to make a run for it. Instead, the Indian made the slightest movement with his legs that got the horse walking forward.

Slocum fell into step beside him, careful to stay close enough to keep an eye on the prisoner yet outside of his reach in case he decided to take a swing at him with an arm or leg. “Do you have a name?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Mine's John Slocum.”

The Indian glanced over at him, narrowed his eyes and said, “I am called Hevo.”

“What tribe do you hail from, Hevo?”

“My people are Cheyenne.”

“And where are they now?”

“Why?” Hevo asked. “Do you seek to burn them from their homes and rape our women?”

“Now why the hell would you ask me something like that?”

“Because that is what the white man does best. He burns, rapes, steals, and claims land as his own when his ancestors are not even buried here.”

As much as Slocum would have liked to dispute those harsh accusations, he'd seen enough blood spilled and raging fires to know the Indian wasn't exactly out of line. “Do we look like a bunch of pillagers to you?”

Hevo turned his slow gaze toward the wagons to find several little heads poking from their hiding spots to stare back at him. The moment the children knew they'd been spotted, they quickly ducked back into hiding. “Maybe not,” he admitted. “But this will not matter to Spirit Bear.”

“This isn't the first time I've heard folks make up tall tales to cover their tracks. Sometimes, they make up fantastic stories to justify their actions. Fact is, I've heard some pretty frightening stories about damn near every tribe there is.”

“Spirit Bear is more than just a story. He is a great warrior and he hunts on many lands.”

“Well, with all the men we have riding with these wagons, I think we can handle one bear.”

“There is more than just one warrior,” Hevo said. “You already know this. You spoke of the scent and the bear's war cry. You have seen Spirit Bear with your own eyes.”

“So there's more than one?” Slocum asked.

When Hevo turned away from him to face forward, he once again spotted the children peering at him from the wagon train. The intensity that had caused his words to hang heavy in the air was alleviated somewhat when he said, “The others are Dirt Swimmers. They are warriors who travel with Spirit Bear during his hunt. They arrive before Spirit Bear and claw at the eyes of any who might dare stand against him. They smell of rotted soil. This scent comes from the dirty water running through their veins.”

“That's a hell of a story,” Slocum said. “Harbingers of doom. Monsters. Hunters. I imagine some of the children in them wagons might get a thrill hearing that one. I did see those Dirt Swimmers and they did do a fair amount of clawing. I saw something else, too. The thing that was doing the howling.”

“Spirit Bear glows like an emerald moon. His voice rolls like thunder.”

“You make it sound like this thing is a demon or some kind of devil.”

“Perhaps it is,” Hevo said. Then, he looked over to Slocum and added, “Or perhaps it is just stories. I know what I have seen and I know you have seen it, too. Those men who tied my hands . . . they see nothing more than what is directly in front of their noses.”

“You got a point there.” Leaning over a bit, Slocum asked, “Why did you let them capture you?”

“You think I allowed men like those to capture me?”

“The alternative would be that Josiah and Tom happened to get the drop on you all by themselves. They aren't incapable, but you were out there on your own and it sounds like you were pretty well armed. That means you must know how to handle yourself. Seeing as how you rode out by yourself, that says even more about your skill with the weapons that were taken from you. If you weren't by yourself,” Slocum continued, “then there are others out there who didn't take a stand when you were brought in. These wagons are anything but silent, and if you had partners out looking for you, they would have found you by now.”

“Perhaps they will find me now that they have followed me back here.”

“So we're back to me having to believe any Cheyenne hunter would need such a ruse?”

Hevo nodded quietly. “I did think for a moment that you would believe such a thing. The men who tied my hands would have. At least, the one with the narrow shoulders and ferret's face would have.”

“His name is Josiah, and yeah, I guess he does kind of look like a ferret. This is Cheyenne territory, isn't it?”

“Partly. Some of these grounds are home to the Pawnee.”

“And wouldn't those tribes have reason to chase away anyone coming through without permission?” Slocum asked.

“This trail has been used by white men's wagons for many years. My tribe has traded with such travelers for food and valuables. Many times, they will pay a great price for supplies they have lost before coming here. Some will pay even more for guides that will take them to lands where they are free to plant their crops and trade in peace.”

“Or to steer clear of this Spirit Bear?”

“Spirit Bear belongs to no tribe,” Hevo said gravely. “He wishes to claim territory that does not belong to him. Steal from those who would go in peace. Kill those who would harm no one.”