TROOPER JERRY DAVIS dragged his long leathers to his chest and stared in disbelief at the massive forest which stood directly before him. Contrary to what the mysterious Uriah Moon had imagined the shaken cavalryman had done, Davis was not drowning his sorrows in either of Apache Springs saloons. He had witnessed the wholesale slaughter of gunmen at close quarters and his mind had snapped. Unlike his fellow troopers, Davis was not a seasoned soldier. The gruesome sight which he had somehow survived had cut deeply into his very soul.
The soldier had seen death at its most horrific and wanted to run away as far as his mount could take him. The enlisted man was sick to his boots after the sight of so many men being ripped to shreds by bullets. Bullets which chose no sides in the brief but lethal battle which the intrepid Uriah Moon had led him and his fellow troopers into.
Trooper Davis’s mind could not comprehend the sight which had forever branded itself into his mind. As the sudden realization of the fact that not only the gunmen had paid the ultimate price during the short but lethal fight, his comrades were also torn to ribbons by the gunfight.
Escorting the covered wagon with its precious cargo had seemed to be a simple task yet he had not willingly volunteered for the duty. That had been the decision of Colonel Ambrose Moon in Fort Hook.
Yet during the previous few days Davis had been subjected to the sight of death on a scale which was more than his mind could handle.
As soon as the gun smoke had cleared after the shooting had ceased, he had grabbed his horse and ridden it hard and fast. The trooper had wanted to put as much distance between himself and the horrors that still plagued his mind.
The lathered up horse needed rest but its master was too afraid to stop and tend to the pitiful animal. Davis imagined that death would soon come looking for him to reunite him with his fallen friends.
The forest looked ominous.
The trooper rubbed the dust from his face and looked in all directions as though he expected the Grim Reaper to suddenly appear and cut him down.
It is said that terror only exists in the fertile imagination of cowards, yet in truth it is everywhere. It is part of every man’s mind. Most of the time it lies dormant but often it awakens and grips the very souls of normally rational men.
Jerry Davis had always been prone to fear things which others simply dismissed. He had enlisted in the cavalry like so many others because it seemed a simple option. Yet he had never been cut out for such a dangerous venture.
For nearly two years he had managed to survive within the army but then he had been sent to the notorious Fort Hook. Even there he had somehow hidden his fear from all those who surrounded him until the fateful day colonel had picked him alongside his fellow troopers, Doyle, Smith and Wood to escort the females to Cougar’s Bluff.
Trooper Davis’s fragile mind had not been able to cope with the bodies which had quickly accumulated as the daunting Uriah Moon led them from one terrifying scene to another.
When all of Davis’s fellow troopers had fallen prey to the indiscriminate bullets of their unknown enemies, he found himself exposed.
Exposed to the eyes of those who would see his cowardly yellow streak glaring at them. It had been simple for the trooper to ride away without Moon or the young cowboy noticing.
The trooper had not stopped until now.
The forest itself seemed like something created by the Devil himself to the cowardly Davis. It loomed before and over him like some sort of dark entity which knew that there was no other path away from the slain bodies which the trooper was determined to flee from. There was no other route apart from heading into the trees and attempting to discover a trail which might lead him to safety.
For the umpteenth time the trooper cast his eyes to either side in a vain hope that he might see another trail but there was none. The forest appeared to stretch into infinity to both sides of his weary horse.
There was nothing but trees.
So many damn trees, he silently cursed. Nature itself had built a wall to block his path. A wall of tall dark lumber which stood in the way of the deserting soldier.
Davis sat astride his horse and wondered what perils might be waiting for him within its enormous heart. Yet as he cast his attention over his shoulder at the distant Apache Springs, he knew that he had to keep heading away from that jewel of depravity.
Davis felt that he had no choice.
He had to keep going. He had to keep putting distance between himself and the place where he had witnessed the deaths of so many men for fear of adding his own name to the crimson tally of death. The image of the bloody sand the slaughtered which littered it, still dominated his thoughts.
Terror was everywhere.
It lurked with drooling fangs in each corner of his fearful mind. It grew no less frightening as it clutched at his innards and twisted its grip.
The forest was big and dark but it held no more trepidation to the trooper than the sickening memories of what he had left behind him back in the streets of Apache Springs. All the trooper wanted was to find a boulder and hide beneath it until time itself stopped.
Davis took a swig of water and then screwed the stopper back on to his canteen. He hung it from his saddle horn and tapped his spurs.
Reluctantly the horse responded and slowly made its way into the trees. No sooner had the trooper steered his mount into the forest than he felt a drastic drop in temperature.
Trooper Davis fearfully rode on. Whatever lay within the countless trees could not be worse than what he had already experienced, he kept telling himself.
He was wrong.