13

Slocum fired at the closest two Dirt Swimmers that ran at him. They sprang at him like dogs that had been cut from their leashes and reeled away when they were met by bullets from Slocum’s gun. Unsure as to how badly or even where the obscured figures had been hit, Slocum ran over to Tom.

The big man wheeled around and reflexively pulled his trigger. His pistol went off, sending its round into the tops of some nearby trees. “They’re everywhere!” he said to nobody in particular. “They’re demons crawling up from hell!” His face was covered in the sweet-smelling paste, which meant there was no way for Slocum or any man in his right mind to know for certain what he was seeing.

“It’s me, Tom!” Slocum shouted. “John Slocum! Over here!”

When he turned toward Slocum, Tom led with his gun. Fortunately, Slocum was close enough to grab the pistol from his hand before it went off again.

“Get away, John!” Tom said, seeming not to notice the fact that he’d been disarmed. He swung his arms fiercely and stared in every direction with eyes that were obviously seeing things that weren’t truly there.

As a pair of Dirt Swimmers came at Slocum, he fired two quick shots. Once more, he was unsure as to whether he’d hit them or if they were simply jumping aside to get out of the way of any more incoming fire. Ed and Josiah had joined the fray by now, firing their rifles at mounds of leaves that had the rough shape of men and moved about like overgrown rodents.

Slocum reached out to place a steadying hand upon Tom’s shoulder. “Tom, listen to me. Take a breath and calm down. You’re only seeing—” He was cut short by a sharp jab across his face.

“I think I got one!” Tom declared. “I think I struck down one of them demons!”

Slocum followed up with a punch that caught Tom square in the jaw. His head snapped back and his arms were still flailing as he fell over.

Now that he’d dealt with one crazy man, Slocum shifted his attention to the others. Several Dirt Swimmers straightened up and threw their cloaks back to reveal muscled chests covered in thick layers of caked mud. Strange circular symbols were drawn over their hearts and stomachs. The ones with pistols fired at Ed and Josiah. Since Slocum was closer, the ones carrying blades rushed at him.

Slocum dropped the rifle so it didn’t throw off his balance when he fired the Colt. It bucked against his palm, drilling a hole through the chest of the closest Swimmer. The next attacker was so fast that Slocum didn’t have enough time to shift his aim before needing to defend himself. They swarmed him so quickly and with so much reckless abandon that Slocum lost track of how many there were. It was all he could do to keep from getting chopped to pieces by the blades slashing at him.

When he saw movement to his left, Slocum turned to face that direction while swinging his Colt around. The side of the pistol knocked against a Swimmer’s arm and he could barely make out the pained expression on a mud-covered face before something rustled behind him. Rather than taking the time to turn all the way around again, Slocum pivoted and dropped to one knee while keeping his Colt tucked in close to his body. Slocum snapped his left arm down and under the blade that had been sailing toward the back of his neck. Deflecting the blow before it landed, Slocum fired a shot directly into the Swimmer’s stomach. The bullet sent the warrior staggering away after exploding out through a messy hole in his back.

The dead man’s blade landed heavily on the ground, so Slocum scooped it up and stood to face his next opponent.

In the distance, Spirit Bear raised his staff, reared back, and howled. His call was answered by a row of three men on horseback carrying long spears and rifles. A fourth horseman was a bit farther back and rode at a full gallop to catch up with the other three. They thundered in from the left side of the trail where they could hit the rear and middle portion of the wagon train. With all the commotion so far, they must have had all the time in the world to sneak up and get in position. No longer needing to sneak, the three up front sent their spears sailing through the air.

One of the spears stuck into a wheel of Franco’s wagon.

The second spear passed over the wagons to land less than a foot away from Josiah.

The third ripped through the tarp covering the McCauley wagon. A second later, a child’s scream pierced the air.

Now, the three riders closest to the wagons shifted to their rifles. The weapons were all decorated with charms, feathers, and bones. Slocum’s intent was to deny them their hunt. Apparently, that intent was shared by the fourth rider, who’d been charging up to the other three.

Until now, it had seemed the fourth rider was another one of Spirit Bear’s warriors. Once he got a little closer, Slocum recognized the horse as well as the man upon its back. Hevo rode tall and rose up as if he had stirrups instead of just strong legs to remain in position. He and the horse moved like one creature, and even when both hands were filled with a weapon, he still managed to steer his horse expertly among the other animals.

At first, the attackers with the rifles didn’t respond to Hevo’s presence. Perhaps they were accustomed to seeing wild-eyed Indians charging in to join them or they could have also been shocked by the sheer intensity in this one’s face. When their surprise wore off, they brought their horses around to try and stop him. They weren’t able to do anything but fire a few hurried shots before Hevo was close enough to strike. He carried a knife in each hand. The blades were about a foot long and curved in the middle. Hevo swung them around his upper body so the blades looked like nothing more than blurs that caught the occasional glint of light. When one of the weapons found its target, the blur was tainted by the crimson spray of blood.

One of the riders flew from his saddle, knocked backward by the impact of Hevo’s blade. Slocum saw the rifle sail from the man’s grasp and couldn’t be sure if the Indian’s hand had flown with it. Hevo’s next swing sparked against a rifle, turning the barrel away a split second before the trigger was pulled. He drove the other blade straight into that man’s gut while letting out a fierce war cry that rivaled Spirit Bear’s howl.

Slocum let Hevo mop up those riders and shifted his attention back to the wagons. Josiah was blazing away with his Winchester, firing round after round into the dirt mounds at his feet. Ed’s horse was beside Josiah, but the man himself could not be seen. When Spirit Bear howled again, everyone stopped what they were doing. Even Slocum, who had no intention of obeying the whims of a lunatic, was compelled to hold off from pulling his trigger.

“The men you have slain this day,” Spirit Bear said, “will rise again! They will attack with the might of devils! They will strike you down for trespassing upon my soil!” As he spoke, a thick, greenish fog formed behind him. He raised his staff above his head, turned his back to the wagons, and strode into the smoke.

All of the Dirt Swimmers dropped down to scamper away like four-legged animals and the one remaining rider broke away from Hevo so he could gallop toward the growing, murky cloud.

The rider thundered past Slocum and the wagons. Hevo followed close behind and slowed only so he could steady his arm to throw one of his blades at the retreating Indian. Slocum heard that blade slice through the air as it spun toward the rider’s back, landing with a solid thump between the warrior’s shoulders. For a few seconds, it seemed the man would keep riding toward Spirit Bear’s fog. Then, he toppled from the horse’s back, allowing the animal to continue on without him.

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere!” Josiah shouted as he fired at the attackers.

For once, Slocum was in total agreement with him. He ran to his horse, jumped in the saddle, and knocked his heels against the animal’s sides. The horse bolted forward and Slocum joined Josiah in sending hot lead into the ever-expanding fog.

The moment the first wisp of that green smoke entered his nose, Slocum knew it was something similar to the mixture that had affected him before. One sniff was all it took to make Slocum unsteady in his saddle. Suddenly, he felt as if he was going much faster than before.

Too fast.

His horse was going wild.

Slocum had a hard time seeing through the tears flowing from his stinging eyes. When he tried to aim his Colt, he couldn’t even be sure if he was lifting the damn thing high enough to hit something other than the ground. There didn’t seem to be an end to the smoke. The ground felt as if it was teetering beneath him. Slocum felt the whole world tilting crazily in one direction and then another. He grabbed his reins reflexively when he thought he might fall backward from his saddle. That’s when he realized the smoke wasn’t affecting just him.

“Josiah!” he shouted. “Can you hear me?”

“I . . . hear ya . . . damn it!” Josiah said between hacking coughs.

“We need to turn back. The smoke is getting to the horses. They’re gonna throw us and bolt!”

“To hell with—”

As if responding to what Slocum said, Josiah’s horse whinnied and stomped the ground. Slocum couldn’t see much but he could hear the fit the horse was throwing as well as Josiah’s attempts to calm it. Finally, Josiah swore and said, “Let’s just get out of this damn smoke!”

Slocum followed the sound of the other horse’s steps as best he could. He thought they were still mostly following their original course, but when the smoke began to clear, he saw they’d veered well away from the trail. That didn’t matter, however, since Spirit Bear and his followers were nowhere to be seen.

“Where’d that damn Injun git to?” Josiah growled.

Looking around for any trace of the attackers, Slocum replied, “He knows this land better than we do. Could be anywhere.”

“So you just wanna give up, then? Those savages fire at us and hurt our young ones and you just wanna let ’em go?”

“What would you rather do? Pick a direction and ride that way for a few miles, firing at nothing?”

“They must’ve left a trail. Let’s find it!”

“We’ll wait for the rest of that smoke to burn off and then that’s just what we’ll do.”

Josiah rode up close to Slocum, holding his rifle as if he meant to use it. “Know what I think? You’re scouting for them, not us.”

“What?”

“None of this hell found us until you arrived,” Josiah said. “Maybe you brought it with you!”

“You hear that crying? You hear those voices? That’s our own people. They’re hurt and scared and they’re alone. If those Indians really want to finish off this wagon train, the best time to do it would be when the men that are supposed to be protecting it go riding off half-cocked and leave the others to fend for themselves. If you want to do that, I say it’s not me who’s the one putting those good people in harm’s way.”

Josiah chewed on those words and he chewed them hard. Every muscle in his face jumped beneath his skin. Water streamed from his eyes and nearly every pore as if something were wringing him out like a dirty rag. Before he could say anything, a familiar cry pierced the air. It was the child’s cry that had erupted when one of the mounted attackers threw a spear into the McCauley wagon.

Neither man had to say another word. Both of them rode around the perimeter of the smoke and found their way back to the wagons. Theresa and Franco stood side by side, each holding a weapon. As Slocum drew closer, he could see them trembling like blades of grass in a stiff breeze.

“Who’s hurt?” Slocum asked while dismounting. “Is anyone injured?”

Franco stepped forward. He lowered his shotgun so as not to point it at Slocum. “Mrs. McCauley is inside with her children. One of them was hit by a spear.”

“How bad?” When Franco shook his head, Slocum turned to Theresa. “How bad is it?”

“Can’t say yet, but she’s putting up an awfully loud fuss. Sometimes that’s a good sign.”

Slocum had seen plenty of wounded people to know Theresa had a point. More often than not, the gravest wounds were the silent ones and those who suffered from them didn’t suffer long. When someone was hollering, it meant they were still kicking. Even so, hearing a child holler that way wasn’t an easy thing to bear. “Is that Elsie?” he asked.

“Yes,” Franco said. “The poor little thing . . . she . . .”

Josiah lunged at the cook, grabbed the front of his shirt, and shook him as he snarled, “You hid inside yer goddamn wagon like a yellow dog while the rest of us were out here chasing away them savages?”

Franco didn’t have the strength to meet the other man’s accusing glare.

“I should kill you where you stand.”

Before Josiah could make good on his threat, Theresa pointed her hunting rifle at him. “Let him go,” she said in an even tone.

“Oh, you’re gonna turn on us now? At least them savages got reasons to attack us. They’re animals! They don’t know no better! You want to take sides with a coward?”

“He’s no coward,” she said. “Look for yourself.”

Josiah leaned to one side so he could look past Theresa. Behind her, a body lay sprawled on its back. It was one of the Dirt Swimmers, still wrapped in its netted cloak, lying in a pool of mud that had been created by the blood that had been spilled onto the dirt. One of his legs was caught in the spokes of a wagon wheel and an expression of wild fury was frozen on his painted face. His torso was blown open; the edges of the horrific wound charred in a way that marked it as having been created by a close-range shotgun blast.

Franco stopped trembling when he looked at the body. A cold, haunted look showed in his eyes, which would most likely be with him for the rest of his life.

“That one down there slipped past you men,” Theresa explained. “He meant to climb up into my wagon and . . .” She couldn’t finish her sentence, especially when James peeked out at her. “I was too slow to shoot him . . . maybe too frightened. I don’t know. But Franco stepped in for me. He stood his ground here to hold back the ones that slipped past everyone else.”

Slocum approached the cook, placed one hand on his shoulder, and said, “You did what you had to do. Just like the rest of us.”

“You shot that animal?” Josiah asked while nodding toward the corpse hung up in the wheel.

Franco drew a long breath, looked down at the body, and then locked eyes with Josiah. “He’s no animal,” Franco said. “He’s a man, and yes, I shot him.”

Josiah offered his hand, but Franco didn’t shake it. Instead, the cook took off his jacket and draped it over the corpse lying in the blood-soaked mud.

“Where’s Ed?” Slocum asked. “Or Tom?”

“I’ll look for them,” Franco said.

Josiah nodded and said, “I will, too.” He then climbed back into his saddle and rode to search the tall grass alongside the trail.

“May I?” Slocum asked as he approached Theresa’s wagon. She nodded and stepped aside so he could pull back the tarp and look in on the skinny little boy huddled among the stacks of furniture. “You all right, James?”

The boy nodded.

“Good. Stay put until we come for you, all right?”

James had no problem agreeing to that order.

Next, Slocum went to the McCauley wagon. Little Michael watched him approach and pulled his head back inside when Slocum got too close. He whispered to his mother, and by the time Slocum took a look inside, Vera was already making her way toward the back of the wagon. Theirs had more space inside compared to Theresa’s, which wasn’t saying much. There was room for two narrow piles of blankets and Elsie lay on the one farthest from the opening.

“What happened to her?” Slocum asked.

Vera’s face was taut with rage. Her eyes burned with hatred. When she looked at Slocum, that hate flared before quickly burning itself out. “A spear came through and caught her in the arm. She was . . .” Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks, but she forced them back through sheer will. When she spoke again, her voice was solid as stone. “She was a bloody mess, but the wound wasn’t too bad.”

“I heard her screaming after the attack.”

“That was because I was stitching her up.” Vera looked back at her little girl. Elsie was shaking with sobs that wracked her entire little body, but her eyes were bright and her face had color. “She’ll be all right,” Vera said.

“Can you tend to others who might need it?” Slocum asked.

“Yes. Can you find the brutes that did this to a wagon full of children?”

Looking at the spot where the spear had torn through the wagon’s covering, Slocum had to use every ounce of strength to keep from letting out his own enraged howl. “First we collect ourselves and close ranks. After that, I assure you, we’ll make those savages answer for what they did.”