The Wolf Tree (32 page)

“… we’ll need to find a pond tomorrow or by the latest the following day, so we can refill the water tank …”

“… how much longer until we need to take on more coal? There positively has to be a depot or some town if we just keep …”

“… they say the board governing the Columbian Expo denied Buffalo Bill’s application for his Wild West show. How do you like that? So he’s setting up just outside the Expo grounds by the Midway …”

“… that’s why he’s using Stacker Lee …”

Ray paused on this group of men. Muggeridge was talking to Pike and two other men, named De Courcy and Murphy.

De Courcy licked his spoon. “So who is this Stacker already? I heard his name before. Is he a Chicago Pinkerton?”

“He’s no Pinkerton at all,” Pike answered. “He’s not even a living man.”

“What’s that mean?” Murphy asked.

Pike and Muggeridge exchanged a look, and Muggeridge nodded for Pike to go ahead and answer. Some of the other men turned their heads to listen.

“Sure, Stacker Lee was once a regular man, as regular as any St. Louis two-bit thug. He was absolutely a known killer. Sometimes for money, sometimes just for sport. Killed this Lyons kid over some hat. So after that, Stacker up and disappears. Some said he was dead. You know something? I know plenty of marshals that wished he was. And then Muggeridge hears he’s working for the boss.”

“The boss? Our boss? Mister Horne?” another Bowler asked.

“Not Horne,” Muggeridge said, cocking his eyebrows.
“The
Boss.”

The men nodded, eyeing one another and leaning forward as Pike continued. “What I heard, someone stabbed Stacker Lee in the chest with a bowie knife. Split his sternum. Burst his heart. Right! So the Boss, he somehow he gets ahold of Stacker as he’s dying. He takes out Stacker’s heart and replaces it with a mechanical heart. Some clockwork device.”

“Yeah, like that … that …” De Courcy cocked a thumb toward the steamcoach.

“Right,” Pike said. “One of them. So Stacker, he’s walking, talking, breathing, killing, but he’s not alive. Believe me, any shred of human emotion that once tugged at his malevolent heart, well, it’s gone now. If he was remorseless before, he’s ruthless now. If he was a stone-cold killer before, he’s a glacier now. Yeah, he’s a catastrophic blizzard.”

“So he’s working for the Boss?” Murphy asked.

“That’s what I heard,” Pike said with a shrug. “He’s off looking for the Nine Pound Hammer. You know, John Henry’s hammer.”

Ray nearly lost his link of concentration with B’hoy. He struggled to refocus his thoughts to what the crow was seeing and hearing.

“… that Negro boy who destroyed
The Pitch Dark Train
, yeah?”

“That’s the one,” Muggeridge said.

“What’s the Boss want the hammer for anyway?”

“I think just to display at the Expo. Probably thinks it’ll be a hit with the crowds, people are interested in John Henry and all. Guess the authentic Nine Pound Hammer will bring people to his exhibit …”

“… keep seeing that crow.”

Ray’s attention—and B’hoy’s—was suddenly drawn to two of the men on guard duty at the back of the car.

The men were looking at B’hoy. “Crows are beggars,” the other man said. “He’s only waiting for our scraps.”

The other man scraped out the last of his meal from his tin can. “I hate beggars and bums of any kind.” He heaved the can at the crow. B’hoy took flight as the can scattered out in the grass.

Ray raced into the campsite, startling Marisol, who swung around with her bow. Redfeather grabbed the arrow and pushed the bow down.

“What’s the matter, Ray?” he asked. “You nearly got shot.”

“The … the Bowlers,” Ray panted. “They said there’s this man with a clockwork heart and he’s looking for the Nine Pound Hammer….”

“Slow down,” Redfeather said. “Start from the beginning.”

Ray tried to sit, but as soon as he did, he was on his feet again, pacing around the fire and telling them what he had heard.

“Don’t worry. He’ll never find it,” Redfeather said, when
Ray was finished. “The Nine Pound Hammer’s head is at the bottom of the Mississippi River. There’s no way he could get it.”

“But who is this mysterious ‘Boss’ they were talking about?” Marisol asked.

“It’s Grevol. It has to be,” Ray said.

“Grevol!” Redfeather scoffed. “The Gog? He’s scattered in a million pieces at the bottom of the Mississippi too. Didn’t you see what that explosion did to
The Pitch Dark Train?”

“But the Gog was no normal man,” Ray argued. “The bottletrees couldn’t stop him. He could walk through fire—”

“So can I. So could you when you had my copper. But if we’d been on
The Pitch Dark Train
, we’d never have survived the explosion. Conker didn’t.”

“Whoever he is,” Marisol said, “someone’s carrying on the Gog’s work. And about this Stacker, I think Redfeather’s right.” Redfeather raised his eyebrows with surprise, but Marisol continued, “There’s no way that anyone—even someone with a clockwork heart—could find the Nine Pound Hammer.”

Redfeather nodded. “We can’t stop this Stacker Lee. Besides, we’re out here now. We’ve got to find out what that steamcoach is after.”

Redfeather salted the rest of the venison, which, along with the arrowhead tubers, would last for several more days. They continued following the steamcoach, keeping the horses out of sight.

B’hoy was more wary now. Ray had to coax and flatter him into spying. At night, the crow was willing to listen in
less conspicuous spots near their camp, but by day, he would do little more than circle high overhead for Ray to watch from above.

At one point, they came upon a spot by a creek where the earth was violently upturned. Ray got off Unole to examine the ground.

Redfeather watched curiously from Atsila. “What happened here?”

“There was a fight,” Ray said, kneeling to look closer. “Some sort of animals. Wolves? Coyotes, maybe, but the grass is really torn apart. No, here’s a good print. These tracks are some sort of canine, but they’re huge. Bigger than any dog I’ve ever seen. I don’t think wolves even get this big. Look, there’s other tracks, too. Shoes. They’re small. Probably just kids. Two sets. It looks like the kids camped here and left in that direction. Huh?”

“What?” Marisol asked.

“Strange. It looks like the kids’ tracks follow one of the wolves.”

“Or the wolf followed the kids,” Marisol said.

Ray nodded and took Marisol’s hand to get back on Unole. They started to ride off, when Redfeather pointed to the ribbon of black coming from the steamcoach beyond the hills.

“Look,” he said. “They’re turning north.”

The initial relief they had felt after leaving the Darkness had been replaced by determination to discover what the steamcoach was after. But their days of travel had yielded no answers.

As the three sat around the campfire, Redfeather worked on fixing some of the feathers that had come loose from the arrows Marisol had been using for practice. “We can’t keep hoping we’ll sneak a glance sometime,” he said. “We need to find a way.”

“How do you propose we do that?” Ray said, clenching his fists. “Over a dozen armed Bowlers guarding it day and night. B’hoy’s too scared to go close enough to see anything.”

Marisol said, “But every night, when the Bowlers set up their camp, Muggeridge goes into the car, right? If we could only catch him when he does—the door is left cracked.”

“That’s suicidal,” Redfeather said. “Even in the dark, we could never get close enough to look inside the doorway. We’d be spotted in a second.”

Marisol leaned forward, planting her hands firmly on the ground. “But a snake wouldn’t.”

Redfeather opened his mouth, but said nothing.

Ray asked quietly, “You’d be willing to risk Javidos?”

With the firelight dancing off her lovely face, Marisol’s eyes betrayed her terror for a moment, but then she tightened her mouth and nodded. “He’ll be all right.”

Redfeather said, “It’s not like B’hoy who can fly over there. We’ll have to leave the Five Spot to bring Javidos close; otherwise it will take him forever to reach their camp.”

“We shouldn’t all go,” Marisol said. “I’ll do it.”

“No, we’re coming with you,” Redfeather insisted. “Just in case.”

“Then let’s do it.”

“Now?” Ray asked.

“Now,” Marisol replied, her jaw set.

Lying on their stomachs, they peered down at the Bowlers’ camp. Away from the Five Spot’s protection, they had to be particularly careful. Redfeather had his bow and arrow, along with his tomahawk.

The steamcoach was shadowed against their campfire. They could hear the voices of the men as they ate their meal on the far side. The horses grazed several yards outside the firelight.

Ray looked around for who was on guard duty. Murphy and another man were sitting outside the firelight, smoking cigars in the dark. Sokal, the man who had seen B’hoy, was sitting on the bench atop the car. A Winchester rifle lay across his knees.

Ray whispered, “Muggeridge is in there. Look. The door’s cracked.”

“Perfect,” Redfeather said.

“Okay, here he goes,” Marisol said. After giving him a kiss on the top of his head, she laid Javidos down in the grass. The copperhead began slithering, his thick body moving over the earth. Marisol closed her eyes.

Ray and Redfeather watched Javidos move closer and closer. From their angle, the copperhead’s body caught the firelight and they could follow his progress. After a few minutes, Javidos was nearly to the car. Sokal climbed down from
the car and stretched his back. His boots were not more than a few feet from Javidos.

Redfeather notched an arrow in his bow. “No,” Ray whispered quietly in his ear so Marisol couldn’t hear him. “Don’t be hasty! If something happens to Javidos, we can’t risk being discovered.”

“I know,” Redfeather whispered. “Just in case.”

Ray looked over at Marisol. Her eyes were still closed, her face still and passive as she concentrated on seeing what Javidos saw. The copperhead moved wide around Sokal, going underneath the car to keep away from his feet. Sokal had not noticed him.

Javidos lifted his head onto the step off the back of the car. He was almost there. The door was cracked, an outline of light framing the doorway. Just as Javidos put his nose to the doorway, the light went off inside and the door opened.

Javidos dropped beneath the car as Muggeridge stepped down and turned back to lock the door. Pike came around the steamcoach to meet Muggeridge. The two talked. Sokal walked over toward the two men. Marisol gasped, and Ray looked over to see her struggling to hold her concentration.

Sokal cocked the Winchester and said something that startled Muggeridge and Pike. Ray realized what Sokal was doing. The agent had spotted Javidos.

“No!” Ray gasped.

Sokal aimed the rifle down, angling it into the shadows under the car. The barrel flashed, and if Ray had not rolled
over to put his hand over Marisol’s mouth, her scream would surely have given them away. B’hoy croaked and took flight.

“Wait.” Redfeather waved his hand. “He missed. Javidos might be okay.”

Ray took his hand from Marisol’s mouth, and the three looked toward the steamcoach. There was a bit of commotion. Sokal was holding the gun toward the ground, swinging it this way and that in the dark. Muggeridge and Pike had backed away from the car but suddenly ducked and swung their arms around to protect their faces.

“B’hoy!” Ray said.

Shouting erupted, and several of the other Bowlers came around the side of the steamcoach to see what was going on. Sokal shot his rifle repeatedly into the night sky, but B’hoy had gotten away, Javidos dangling in his talons.

“Quick!” Redfeather grabbed Marisol’s hand. “We’d better get back to the Five Spot.”

They ran, and when they returned to their fire, B’hoy was already waiting. Javidos wriggled on the ground next to him.

“Oh, Javy!
Te pido perdón,”
Marisol exclaimed, picking the copperhead up to caress and dote on him. B’hoy gave her a loud squawk and she added, “Yes, thank you, B’hoy! That was very brave of you.”

B’hoy hopped around proudly and then landed on Ray’s fist. “Absolutely you deserve a treat.”

Redfeather brought him some of the pronghorn and held it out. “How’s that? Hey! I think he likes it.”

“Of course he does.” Ray smirked. “He’ll eat anything.”

Marisol put her hand abruptly to her throat with a gasp.
“Muggeridge! I heard him. Before that man tried to shoot Javidos, he was talking to that other Bowler.”

“What did he say?” Ray asked.

“They were talking about whatever is in that car; it’s following a sort of scent or something. They said they were getting close. Not more than a day or two more. And then Muggeridge said what they’re tracking.”

“What?”

“A golden rabbit’s foot. Whatever’s in that car is leading them to your father’s foot. They said, ‘At last we’ll get the boy.’ They meant you, Ray. They think they’re pursuing
you
.”

“But … but that’s impossible,” Ray said, fear and puzzlement pounding in his head. “That can’t be! How can they be after the rabbit’s foot? The rabbit’s foot is back at Shuckstack … with Sally….”

Ray went cold.

The Bowlers were pursuing Sally.

20
FAMILIAR STRANGERS