Slocum 394 : Slocum and the Fool's Errand (9781101545980) (16 page)

Slocum pivoted to get the best angle possible, but it wasn't his shot that caused the big wolf to yelp in pain. Cha'to twisted his head around and snarled while gnawing at the arrow that had been shot into his right flank. From about twenty yards away, Flying Spear shouted to one of the other archers, who'd kept their distance so they could pick their shots. More arrows hissed through the air, most of which skidded against the ground while one clipped Cha'to's hind leg.

Instead of moving slower or retreating, Cha'to snarled with even more ferocity as he turned to charge at Flying Spear. The Apache archers held their ground while notching arrows into their bows. Slocum took the opportunity to holster his Schofield and pull the Winchester from the boot in his saddle. The moment he felt the weight of the rifle in his hands, he knew it was loaded. Part of his mind was cursing for not having checked the weapon during the rush away from camp, but the rest was dedicated to the task of lining up a shot and taking it.

Once again, Cha'to surprised his human opponents by sharply turning away from them instead of committing to a wild attack. The brown and gray wolf raced toward the rest of the pack that was tussling with the Apache. Blood sprayed from the wounds in its leg and flank, which wasn't nearly enough to divert his attention from bringing the humans down.

“Stay back and shoot any of them that come at you,” Slocum said to Jack.

“I ain't about to just sit here and let you do the work!”

“Then do what you please,” Slocum shouted as he rode around to get a better angle on the wolves. “Just stay the hell out of our way!” He didn't ride for long before picking a spot and coming to a halt. Every second that passed without him taking a shot felt like an eternity and men were paying with their blood. Several Apache yelped in pain while others raised their voices in sharp battle cries. Both of those sounds blended together until it was difficult to figure out which men were in need of help and which were on the offensive. Drawing a long breath, Slocum steeled his nerves so he could push through the chaos and find his shot.

The smallest of the wolves leapt at Snake Catcher. He crouched while bringing his tomahawk up in a quick arc that caught the wolf's underbelly. The lean animal had yet to touch the ground again before Snake Catcher's tomahawk was snapped up and brought around again to open a wide gash along the side of the wolf's neck. The smallest of the pack was wiry and had plenty of spirit. Despite the nasty wound it had just gotten, it still seemed ready to put up a fight. Slocum snuffed the fire in that one's eyes by placing a single shot from his Winchester into the wolf's chest. The animal took another step and then crumpled, to be set upon by more tomahawk-wielding Apache.

At that moment, the gray wolf broke away from the group. Between the animals and Indians attacking each other, it was all Slocum could do to keep from firing at anything on two legs. When the gray wolf bolted, two Apache chased after it. One threw his tomahawk, but only managed to gouge the animal across its shoulder blade. As if sensing the Apache was without a weapon, the gray wolf stopped and turned around to face him with its teeth bared. Although the Apache tried to hop to one side in an erratic change of direction, he wasn't able to outsmart the wolf. It clawed at the ground and spoke in a series of haggard barks rivaling the Apache's war cry. One of the hunter's feet skidded on a patch of gravel, sending him to the ground and the wolf wasted no time before pouncing on him.

There were other Apache in the vicinity, but none were able to dissuade the wolf once it had fresh blood splashing on its tongue. The weaponless Apache screamed more in a rage than in pain, but was ripped apart all the same. Two more warriors descended on the wolf, driving spears and tomahawks into its torso. Even as the ground beneath the wolf became slick with blood, the animal continued to fight. One of the Apache staggered away, clutching a rough gash in his arm before the gray wolf finally stopped moving.

When Slocum spotted Cha'to again, the flat-nosed wolf had closed in on one of the archers that had crept just a bit too close to the rest of the hunters. An arrow was lodged in the wolf's side, which did nothing to keep it from clamping its jaws around the Apache's hip and bringing the man down with a few powerful twists of its head. To his credit, the archer didn't panic even as his own blood spilled onto the desert floor. Instead, he grabbed the arrow he'd been trying to notch and jabbed it repeatedly into Cha'to's side. That only stoked the wolf's fire as he buried his snout beneath the Apache's chin.

It was tough for Slocum to watch as the Indian's throat was ripped out, but he kept his eye on his target while gazing along the top of the Winchester. He fired a shot that knocked the big wolf off its balance and another that sent it rolling onto its side. Cha'to yelped in pain as the arrows embedded in its body were jammed in even deeper between the earth and its own weight.

A sharp cry from Snake Catcher drew Slocum's attention toward the Apache leader and two of his warriors. The black wolf was still on its feet and ran at Snake Catcher without an ounce of fear to slow its progress. “Damn it,” Slocum growled as he levered in a fresh round. That action was necessary, but wasted the precious time needed to fire a shot to keep Snake Catcher from being mauled. The black wolf's paws thumped against the Apache's chest, knocking him over with ease. Two of the other warriors closed in, but were about two steps too far away to get to their leader in time. A shot cracked through the air, clipping the wolf's ear and snapping its attention to the man who'd fired it.

Jack sat in his saddle, still holding his smoking pistol and gaping slack-jawed at the black wolf he'd just angered. When the wolf began charging at him, he looked ready to throw his gun at it and ride for the hills. Not necessarily the closest hills. Any hills.

The wolf's coat was bloodied, but its wounds only made it move faster as it bolted toward its attacker. Even though Slocum knew he could fire a quick shot, he doubted he could hit the erratically moving canine. The wolf wouldn't even take notice of a shot that didn't bring it down, so Slocum avoided wasting any ammunition and rode to a better spot. Jack snapped his reins and got his horse moving fast enough to keep from catching the brunt of the wolf's attack. The beast's claws scraped against the horse's hindquarter and its teeth ripped into its flesh, causing the black gelding to buck and lash out with its rear legs. One hoof came within an inch of the wolf's temple, but the other hit it squarely in the chest to knock it back.

Slocum brought his Winchester to his shoulder and took his time aiming. Although he wasn't delaying just to watch Jack squirm, he had to admit that was an amusing bonus. He pulled his trigger and shot the wolf through the center of its body. The impact sent it skidding as a pair of arrows sailed in to scrape against the ground where it had been. When the wolf came to a stop, it scrambled to its feet and started to snarl before one more arrow dug into its neck.

Looking back for the source of the volley, Slocum found Flying Spear and one of his archers hastily notching another set of arrows. They kept their bows, backs, and shoulders steady so as not to lose their trajectory while reloading. Their arms moved swiftly to notch their arrows, draw them back, and send them through the air before reaching back for another one.

The arrows whistled toward their mark. Most of them thumped solidly into the wolf's flesh, and only one from each archer snapped against the ground. Although it seemed like overkill, Slocum lined up a shot and sent a bullet through the black wolf's head.

Only one animal remained and it wasn't inclined to run. Finding it was easy, since Snake Catcher and three of his warriors had moved in to surround it. Cha'to barked, snarled, and snapped angrily at the Apache. When one of the warriors took half a step toward the wolf, another came in from the opposite side, but Cha'to didn't take the bait. The wolf barely flinched toward the first warrior and reared up to twist its arrow-studded body around toward the second.

Because he didn't have a clear shot, Slocum rode toward the party. He could only watch as the Apache warrior was knocked down and brutally mauled. The Indian screamed as the wolf's snarls took on a wet, muffled quality. The rest of the warriors closed in until Slocum could see nothing more than a mass of struggling bodies.

He arrived and swung down from his saddle, tossing the Winchester so he could hastily draw his Schofield. Another Apache was tossed aside, but scrambled to get back to his feet to join the fray. Slocum waded in to find Snake Catcher clinging to the wolf's back with both arms wrapped around its neck. At first, it looked as if the Apache leader was struggling to hang on. Then Slocum saw the purpose in his movements as well as the short, curved knife in Snake Catcher's right hand.

Snake Catcher's face was twisted into a vicious mask as he drove the little blade into Cha'to again and again. The wolf continued to struggle, but was distracted by other Apache hunters, who continued to poke and jab at him with spears and knives. Finally, the wolf let out a piercing cry as one of Snake Catcher's blows dug in deeper than the rest. Snake Catcher's blade was completely embedded within the beast, so he gripped the handle tightly and dragged it up toward the animal's throat.

It was a lethal display of courage and tenacity that Slocum had rarely seen before. No matter how much devastation had been inflicted upon him or his men, Snake Catcher attacked the wolf from point-blank range. In its final moments, the animal seemed vaguely confused that it was unable to bring the Apache down. Even after the short blade opened the wolf's jugular, the beast continued to fight.

Slocum stood nearby with his pistol at the ready. “Get away from it,” he said. “I'll finish it off.”

But Snake Catcher hung on until the last bit of fight left Cha'to's body. The rage that had been on his face slowly melted into grim satisfaction. “No,” he said while shoving the carcass away. His own warriors knew better than to help him to his feet despite the many cuts and gouges on his limbs and torso. Once he was standing, Snake Catcher gazed down at the wolf as its struggles dwindled down to a twitching back leg. “Let him die in his own time. He has fought well enough to earn that much.”

“To hell with that!” Jack shouted as he tumbled from his saddle in a sloppy dismount. “Just make sure he don't get away!”

“He's not going anywhere,” Slocum said.

Stepping up close so he could speak to Slocum alone, Jack snarled loud enough for the others to hear him anyway. “Then let's look for a den around here.”

Slocum looked over at Snake Catcher and received a nod. When the two white men mounted their horses and rode away, none of the Apache moved to stop them.

Slocum couldn't decide if Jack had a knack for sniffing out wolf dens or if he was just somehow connected to the beast that had made off with his fingers, but they did find a promising hole at the base of some rocks gathered around the base of an old tree. There was barely enough space for an animal the size of Cha'to to get in, which meant Jack had to wriggle around inside with half his legs hanging outside. When he shouted for Slocum to pull him out, his hand was coated in scat and his face had acquired a fresh layer of scrapes.

“Nothin',” Jack sighed. “But it looked like those things weren't in there for very long.”

“Have you done a lot of hunting?”

“Not really. Just common sense.” Holding up his rancid left hand, he explained, “There wasn't enough in there for me to think that—”

Slocum stopped him and walked back to his horse. “Don't need to hear the whole story. If you're done here, so am I.”

“I am. Now we gotta track them Apache back to their real camp. Think you're up to that?”

Slocum had already found a spot on the horizon and nodded in that direction so Jack could see the pair of lean silhouettes watching them from afar. He couldn't be certain who it was, but he would have placed a good-sized bet that one of those figures was Flying Spear. “I don't think we'll have to do any more tracking today.”

Since his eyes had become accustomed to the shadows within the wolf's den, it took Jack an extra couple of seconds to spot them. When he did, he mumbled to himself and climbed onto his horse's back.

As he rode toward the ridge, Slocum waved at the figures to let them know he'd spotted them. To his surprise, one of the figures waved back.

“I don't like this,” Jack said.

“What would you prefer? A few arrows flying in our direction?”

“No, but them Injuns only wanted some extra firepower along for that hunt. What the hell could they want now?”

“One good way to find out,” Slocum said.

“I'd rather track them on our own.”

“Right. Great idea. They're already watching us now, so we'll just mosey some other way until they lose interest. Then, we'll track them back to their camp, sneak in, and help ourselves to their prize catch.”

Jack winced, but tried to play it off. “It's a thought.”

“You ever try to sneak up on an Apache?”

“No.”

“You'd have better luck holding your hand in front of that wolf's mouth and asking politely for it to cough up your fingers.”

“No need to be crude,” Jack scowled.

Slocum snapped his reins and chuckled, “That's a hell of a thing coming from a man with wolf dung under his fingernails.”

Jack didn't even try to defend himself. Instead, he wiped his hand across the front of his shirt and urged his gelding to catch up to Slocum's stallion.

Less than two minutes into their ride, the figures disappeared from the ridge and showed up again at a spot on lower ground, waiting idly as if they had been there all day long. Flying Spear and one of the other archers still wore the blood on their faces that had been put there during their fight with Cha'to. Before Slocum could close the gap between them, the Apache turned to the southwest and tapped their knees against their animals' sides.