Fear Weaver (11 page)

Something rustled in the trees.

Whirling, Ryker raised his rifle. He strained his eyes until they were fit to pop out of his head. Finally he stepped back and grinned at his silliness. He was letting every little thing spook him.

“Damn me, anyway.” Ryker sat back down. In all his years in the wild he rarely had an attack of the
spooks. After he lost his ear he was a wreck for a while, but that—

Ryker caught movement in the trees, a pale form moving almost too swiftly for the eye to follow. He snatched up his rifle again and stood. The sorrel was staring in the same direction, so it wasn’t his imagination. Something
was
out there.

More rustling brought a nicker from the sorrel.

Ryker glimpsed another pale streak. There were two of them, and they were circling his camp. He broke out in a cold sweat. Wedging his rifle to his shoulder, he thumbed back the hammer. The
click
was reassuring. Whatever was out there, let them show themselves and he would blow them to hell. One thing he never was squeamish about was killing.

Then one of the things uttered a low sound, a sound unlike any Ryker ever heard. Part growl, part laugh, it seemed to come from both an animal throat and a human throat at the same time.

Ryker’s mouth went dry. He wished one of the things would come out where he could see it. They weren’t Indians, that was for sure. No Indian ever made a sound like
that
. He remembered tales he’d heard of ghosts and haunts and ghouls, tales he’d always dismissed as nonsense. But what if they weren’t?

On both sides of the clearing pale shapes suddenly flitted between trees. Ryker swung his rifle toward one and then the other, but he couldn’t quite make out what they were. He held his fire, wanting a clear shot.

Then the thing to his right stopped and stood stock-still, staring back at him. It stood on two legs.

“Who the hell are you?” Ryker demanded. “What do you want?”

The one on the other side stepped into sight, but well back from the firelight.

“Damn you! Say something!”

Ryker smothered an impulse to shoot. Let them come closer. They would find out they weren’t lead-proof.

The one on the right gave vent to another low growling laugh.

Ryker couldn’t make sense of their antics. They weren’t trying to hurt him. All they were doing was standing there. Almost as if they wanted to draw his attention. But the only reason for them to do that was to distract him.

From behind him came a stealthy scrape.

Ryker spun. He saw the third pale form clearly; it was coiled a yard away about to spring. Shock slowed his reflexes. He pointed his rifle, but the thing leaped and smashed the barrel aside as the rifle went off. Then it was on him, ripping and rending. He fell back, as much from horror as the blows. He was aware the other two were bounding toward him, and he desperately clawed for his pistols.

The things were incredibly quick. They were on him before he could squeeze off a shot. He fell with them on top. Blood was everywhere. His blood. A maw ringed with teeth swooped toward his throat.

Edwin Ryker screamed.

Nate King came up off the bench as if hurled by invisible hands. He was at the window in three bounds. Parting the red curtains, he peered out into the night, the domino in his hand forgotten.

“What on earth?” Aunt Aggie said. She, Anora and Tyne were still at the table, dominoes spread in front of them.

“Didn’t you hear that?”

“Hear what, Mr. King?” Tyne asked.

A shot, Nate was about to say, but didn’t. It might worry them. “I’m not sure,” he hedged.

Aunt Aggie’s elbow brushed his. “You can tell me,” she whispered.

Before Nate could answer, they both heard something else. Faint and far off, it wavered on the wind like the ululating howl of a wolf. Only it wasn’t a howl. It was a scream, a very human scream, a scream of terror.

“God in heaven!” Aunt Aggie breathed. “Who could that be?”

Nate had an idea, but he stayed silent.

“Should we go investigate? Maybe we can help.”

“By the time we got there, it would be too late.”
Besides which, Nate wasn’t about to go rushing off in the dark.

“What are you two listening to?” Tyne asked.

Nate closed the curtains. Aggie spared him having to lie by lying herself. “A coyote, child. A harmless coyote. Let’s get on with our game, shall we? Your mother will want to tuck you in soon. It’s getting late.”

Erleen and Peter were over by the fireplace, conversing in low tones. Fitch and Harper were sitting on their blankets playing cards. Philberta was asleep. She tossed and turned a lot, and from time to time she mumbled unintelligibly.

Nate reclaimed his seat. He matched a six with a six, and folded his arms across his chest to await his next turn. Behind him, propped against the wall within easy reach, was his Hawken. He tried not to think of the shot and the scream, but they echoed again and again in his mind.

“Are you all right, Mr. King?” Anora asked.

“Never better.” Nate swapped glances with Aggie.

Tyne was deciding which domino to play. “I want to hear more about your daughter.”

“She’s a lot like you,” Nate said. But it wasn’t entirely true. Evelyn had an inner strength the Wood-row girls lacked. They were sweet and kind and polite, but if put to the test, if confronted by a hungry bear or a hostile, they were apt to run where his daughter was more likely to put a bullet into whatever or whoever was out to do her harm.

“Does she like dolls? I have four. One I like a lot, but Mother wouldn’t let me bring it. She said it would only get lost or dirty and I could go without until we get home. But I miss it. The doll’s name is Mindy”

“When Evelyn was little her mother made a Sho-shone doll for her,” Nate revealed.

All three looked at him.

“Indians have dolls?” Anora said.

“Why wouldn’t they? Girls are the same whether they are red or white, and girls like to play with dolls and dress them up and pretend they are people.”

A shadow fell across the table and Erleen announced, “Time to end your game. I have let you stay up past your bedtime as it is.”

“But no one has won yet,” Anora said. “Can’t we stay up another half an hour?”

“No.”

“Fifteen minutes?”

“Anora Woodrow, you will put away those dominoes and get ready for bed, and I do not want to hear another word out of you. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“The wash basin is on the counter. You can change in the pantry.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Aggie began gathering up the dominoes. “Leave these for me,” she told the girls.

Nate slid his across the table. “Care for a cup of coffee?”

“This late? I wouldn’t sleep a wink.”

The pot on the stove was half full. Nate poured and went back to the table. The family was preparing for bed. The girls were as cute as buttons in their long nightdresses. Tyne’s was pink, Anora’s blue. Erleen had them kneel and say their prayers, then pulled their blankets up to their chins and pecked each on the forehead.

Fitch and Harper stopped their card game and turned in.

Nate figured it wouldn’t be long before the parents and Agatha chased sleep, but all three joined him at the table. “Something on your minds?”

Erleen coughed. “First off, we want to thank you for staying. Mr. Ryker was a terrible disappointment.”

“But he was right. It
is
dangerous here. Every minute you stay, you put your lives at risk.”

Peter scowled. “It can’t be helped. I care for my brother and his boys. I need to know what happened to them.”

“They are long dead by now,” Nate said bluntly.

“Possibly. Even probably. But we won’t know for sure until we find them or their remains.”

“You’re asking the impossible.”

“My wife and I have talked it over and we are in agreement. We intend to scour the valley from one end to the other.”

“You might not find anything.”

“Unless someone buried them there will be bones, at the very least. The remains could reveal their fate.”

“And if we don’t find anything?” Nate asked. “How long are you willing to put your family in peril before you decide enough is enough and return to civilization?”

“We have given ourselves a week. If we haven’t found Sully or the boys by then, we will pack up and head for Bent’s Fort. You are welcome to accompany us.”

“I’ll see you as far as the foothills,” Nate offered. That should be near enough. At the trading post they could hire another guide to see them across the prairie to the Mississippi.

“Your Shoshone friends will wonder what has become of you,” Aunt Aggie said.

Just then, Philberta commenced to toss about and mutter in her sleep, her hands clenching and un-clenching.

“The poor dear,” Erleen commiserated. “She’s suffered terribly. It’s a wonder she is still alive.”

“One of us must stay with her at all times while the rest are off searching,” Peter said.

Nate set down his cup. “The only ones who will do any searching are you and me.”

“I beg your pardon? My sons are perfectly capable of lending a hand. And my wife and Agatha have volunteered to help.”

“The more of us who search,” Aunt Aggie said, “the sooner we can be done and on our way.”

“No.”

“You overstep yourself, Mr. King,” Peter said. “I appreciate your concern for our welfare, but it is my brother who has gone missing, my nephews who have vanished. I have the final say.”

Nate sighed.

“My husband has it exactly right,” Erleen parroted. “It’s our family, our responsibility. If you want to help we will be eternally grateful, but it is ours to do.”

Aunt Aggie agreed. “As much as I might like to side with you, Nate, I can’t. Family is family. We must always be there for one another.”

“You’re missing the point.”

“Which is?” Peter asked.

“That all of you could end up like Sully and his sons. Do you really want to bury one another? Do you want to bury Tyne and Anora?”

Erleen puffed out her cheeks like an agitated chipmunk. “That was uncalled for. We love them dearly. The last thing we want is for them to come to harm.
Which is why they will stay at the cabin with an adult to watch over them while the rest of us are off searching.”

“Then do me one favor,” Nate said. “Don’t scatter all over. Hunt in a group. You are less likely to be attacked.”

“Staying together would slow the search,” Peter objected. “We must split up. Work in pairs, say. And everyone will have a gun. That way we will be perfectly safe.”

“Mr. King,” Erleen took up the argument, “we don’t know that Sully and his boys were set upon by hostiles. It could be they were attacked by a wild beast. A grizzly, perhaps. Or a wolverine. I hear they are especially savage. Or maybe Sully and his sons had a mishap. Accidents happen, you know.”

Disgusted, Nate stood and took hold of his rifle. “I need some air.” He closed the front door quietly, then stood letting the cool breeze play over him. Off up the valley an owl hooted, a commonplace call, reassuring in its normalcy.

Nate walked around to the rear of the cabin to check on the horses. The corral was barely big enough to hold them but it had to do. His bay came over to nuzzle him and receive a few pats.

Since the night was moonless, the valley floor was plunged in gloom. The high cliffs blocked out most of the starlight.

Nate groped along the rails until he was at the gate and verified it was tied shut.

All appeared peaceful, but Nate wasn’t fooled. Nowhere was the old saying about appearances being deceiving more appropriate than in the wild. Nothing was ever as it seemed. Tranquil woods might hide painted warriors. The high grass of a
scenic mountain meadow might conceal a crouching cougar. A person must always be on his guard.

Nate turned to retrace his steps. He was almost to the cabin when the undergrowth bordering it crackled. Crouching, Nate sought the source.

Mired in murk, something was moving low to the ground.

Nate tensed. No meat-eater would make so much noise. A porcupine, maybe. Or a small bear.

Suddenly the sound stopped.

Nate imagined the animal had caught his scent. In a few moments it would wander away on its nocturnal rounds. But the night stayed silent save for the owl up the valley and the gurgling of the stream.

Nate had never known a porcupine or a bear to stay still so long. They loved to roam and poke their snouts into everything that interested them. He scoured the ground in his vicinity, but only saw a few downed branches and a log.

The next second the log moved.

Nate sighted down the Hawken. It had to be a man. A man who was stalking him. He fixed the sights on what might be the man’s head.

Then the figure gasped and said something in a tongue Nate didn’t speak but which he was familiar with. Wary of a trick, Nate stayed where he was.

The man crawled closer. Or, rather,
pulled
himself closer, using both of his arms and taking a ragged breath before each pull.

Nate inched forward. The rank smell of blood and urine washed over him. The figure on the ground reached out, and moaned.

Discarding caution, Nate stepped to the man’s side and sank onto a knee. “Do you speak the white
man’s tongue?” When he didn’t get an answer, he switched to his wife’s. “Do you speak Shoshone?”

A hand clutched at his, the skin hot to the touch.

“You are a Blackfoot, aren’t you?” Nate reverted to English again, knowing full well he wouldn’t get a reply. He looked for sign of the others, but the warrior was alone.

Coming to a sudden decision, Nate slipped both arms under the man. It was awkward, carrying the warrior and his rifle, both, but he managed. He worked the latch with his eblows and pushed the door open with his foot. Candlelight splashed over his burden and he nearly recoiled in revulsion.

The warrior was a ruin. His left eye was gone, ripped from the socket, a black cavity all that remained. The right eye was so bloodshot, the white of the eye was red. Scratch or claw marks criss-crossed his face and there were bite marks on his throat. One of those bites had severed a vein, soaking his buckskins with blood. It was a miracle the man was alive.