Chapter Fourteen

Hunter and the woman made their way through the brush and swamp to where the Appaloosa waited. He helped the woman onto Zeke's back; they moved with purpose, but did not hurry. The gunslinger knew they would not begin tracking them until daylight, giving them some time. He walked the horse only so far before he fell back, clearing their tracks from behind. He took a thick stick and pushed around the edges of the hoof prints filling them in with mud, following up with another stick branched out with oak leaves at the ends. A back and forth sweeping motion blended their tracks with the rest of the wet forest floor.

Hunter knew a good tracker would be able to read the ground and continue to follow. His purpose in this was merely to slow them down 'til they reached the knee-deep water of the swamp. They reached the edge of the watery bog as the sun was threatening to rise. Hunter walked the horse through the water, sensing the woman's eyes upon him. Forty feet in and a half-mile to the south of their destination, Hunter mounted the horse behind her, and turned to the northwest.

Their pursuers would eventually find where they had entered the water, but from there they would have to guess in which direction they had fled. The men would be forced to turn back, split up, or wander in the swamps searching aimlessly for days.

Neither the woman nor Hunter had spoken since their departure from Montgomery's stilt home. Her silence and cooperation surprised him a little. He figured right, that she was not staying with Montgomery freely, but he hadn't expected her to come with him so willingly.

The rays of the sun were pushing up over the horizon when the overdue conversation was begun by her.

"Where are you taking me?"

"I have some friends waiting for us on a hammock a few miles from here. They will lead you north, away from this place."

"What if I refuse to go? Hunter James Dolin."

She was still wearing her undergarments and he noticed for the first time that their bodies were rubbing close together; her smell was maddening.

"I would say you don't have a choice," replied Hunter sternly. "Seeing how you know my name, maybe you should tell me yours, ma'am."

"My name is Lilith."

Hunter stopped Zeke in his watery tracks and tried to look her over by leaning back from his hindmost position.

She turned to him, clearly noting the shock and confusion on his face. "That's the name Richard gave me – my birth name is Helen, Helen Beckum."

"He made you change your name to," Hunter paused for a moment and then continued, "Lilith?"

"If you know Montgomery, which I have a feeling you do, you know I did not have much choice."

Hunter continued to move Zeke along through the shin high water and knee-high swamp grass. There were a dozen hammocks in sight, spread out for miles in many directions. They turned north and headed for the limestone island of palm trees where Jebediah and Walt were waiting.

"Who was Lilith?" asked Helen, out of nowhere.

"She was my woman – I rescued her from Montgomery, but I could not save her."

"What happened to her?

There was a cry from the sky as a bald eagle soared overhead; a mullet could be seen in its talons. The gunslinger waited for the bird to fly away and become quiet before he answered,

"He killed her with extreme prejudice."

"So now you have taken me," Helen said plainly. "Do you aim to kill me?"

"Why would you think that?" asked Hunter.

"For revenge," she said.

"You feel that I am vengeful?"

"You reek of it."

Hunter stopped Zeke once again.

Helen tensed, waiting for a blade to pierce her side; but it didn't come, much to her relief.

"My intentions are to rescue you," he replied. "No – that's wrong, I mean to save you."

Hunter pulled the reins, changing the Appaloosa's direction toward a medium-sized island that was just one of many strewn across the marshy lands. He dug his heels into Zeke's body, pushing him harder. "Yah, yah," he yelled, making it clear to her he was done talking.

* * * * *

Bodie, Birdie boy, and eight other heavily armed men began their search at daybreak following the tracks the gunslinger left behind. The horses were fresh; Bodie was in front as the lead tracker and he positioned Birdie in the center of the single file convoy, figuring it to be the safest place for the boy. One man ambushing ten men was unheard of, but Bodie would not put it past the half-breed to try.

Over the last few years, the gunslinger had become a legend in these parts. The stories told of a gun-slinging savage that stood seven-feet tall, killed one hundred men, and then burned an entire city to the ground while avoiding capture from the United States Army and every bounty hunter north, south, east, and west of the Mississippi. The legend was exaggerated, but Bodie knew not by much.

If they could only kill this Hunter James Dolin, with the Civil War winding down and clearing the passages, Bodie and Birdie could take their money owed and move away from the danger of such men as Richard Montgomery.

Bodie had lost his wife and young son to disease many years back. He had wandered through life aimlessly, until he found an orphaned boy barely surviving in the deep woods of the panhandle. Birdie was thirteen then, his parents killed by Indians in the Seminole Indian wars. Bodie took him in as his own and taught him to shoot and survive in the times. Now the boy was seventeen; young, but still a man. Bodie educated him over the years the best he could, the boy had trail smarts more than most. Like most young men his age, Birdie thought he would live forever. As far as Bodie was concerned, it was his job as a stepfather to protect the boy from himself and others.

They followed the gunslinger's trail easily at first, but their progress slowed from his covering of the tracks. Bodie was a veteran in such matters and after some effort was able to continue the pursuit. At one point on the trail, Bodie raised his left arm, bent at the elbow and balling his fingers into a fist, which brought the following men to a halt. He dismounted and, holding on to his horse's reins, he walked slowly, studying the ground at his feet.

"Watch your flank, boys!" shouted Bodie, loud enough for all to hear. "You two watch the front while I'm rootin' down here." said Bodie, to the two men behind him.

The man called Big Joe, directly behind Bodie, pulled his rifle from his saddle-sheath, cocked it, and rested it on his shoulder as he looked intently forward, scanning the trail up ahead. This sent a wave of pulls and clicks of revolvers, shotguns, and rifles through the line of men that ran clear to the last one at the rear. There was a reason Bodie placed Big Joe second in line behind him. Bodie knew from wars past that Joe was a serious man and would watch his back.

"They changed direction here," Bodie said aloud to no one in-particular, from his crouched position. "I feel we're gainin' on um," he said to everyone, "so keep some extra wits about yah."

Climbing back in the saddle, Bodie led his men in their new direction for several miles, until the flow of tracks ran dry – or wet in this case – for they ended at the edge of the marsh that stretched as far as the eye could see, and then some.

"Shit!" exclaimed Bodie.

The men fanned out coming alongside their leader, bringing their horses to the edge of the water. Some of them drank from their canteens; others took the time to light up.

"What the hell we gonna' do now, Bode?" asked Big Joe.

"Well, there's no way to track them in this high water, if he was careful which I have no doubt he was. The grass that parted for their horse has already moved back to normal."

Birdie brought his horse alongside the conversation and shoved a big wad of chaw into his cheek which muffled his speech,

"Where'd they git to, Bodie?"

Bodie had a slightly disgusted look on his face as he stared at tobacco juice running down the boy's bottom lip.

"What?" said Birdie, as he swiped his chin with the cuff of his sleeve.

Bodie looked out over the grassy marsh, ignoring the boy,

"I figure there's three ways they could have gone; they could be headed for the other coast straight through the swamp, but I don't think so... It would take weeks to cross, and this man ain't done here. I don't believe it's in his nature to run, besides he wants Montgomery dead."

"For killing the woman and the boy; right, Bode?" asked Birdie.

Bodie ignored this and continued, "He could have entered the swamp and gone north or south, back-trackin' any wheres. Hell, he could be headed back to the home front while we're out here chasin' our tails."

"I could send two men south and two men north along the bank lookin' for tracks," suggested Big Joe.

"Nah," said Bodie. "It'll be dark soon and two men alone would be as good as dead if they come across him. I figure it's likely fifty-fifty we survive against him with ten of us."

Birdie squawked as if someone made a bad joke, "Come on, Bode, nobody's that good."

Bodie was getting irritated with the boy now, as was suggested in the sound of his voice, "You're not listenin', son. The legend of this half-breed is more truth than not. Git your ass over yonder and git to settin' up camp."

"Yes sir." Birdie knew when Bodie talked in that tone he'd better do as he said or somebody was getting a whooping. He turned his mare around, calling out to the rest of the men, "You heard the man, lets git 'er done."

Big Joe was the only one who stayed behind, he wasn't done talkin'. "The only option left is the hammocks."

"You're right, Joe, I'd bet my left arm he's holdin' up on one of 'em."

"It would take days to search all them out," reasoned Joe.

"That's why you and I are gonna' take shifts tonight with the scope on them there islands, lookin' for firelight or some sign of movement. Maybe, just maybe, we'll git lucky."