Blood Trail

by J. R. Roberts

  Soon other people began to rise. Women went to the fires to prepare the morning meal.

  As Clint walked to one of the fires, Gerhardt turned to him and said, “He’s gone. Left during the night.”

  “Who? Talbot?”

  “No,” Gerhardt said, “Captain Parker. He left, took his horse and some supplies. The coward has run.”

  “And the guide?”

  “Him, too,” Gerhardt said. “We are on our own.”

  “Don’t worry,” Clint said. “You’ll get where you’re going. Where is Talbot? And the sheriff?”

  “They are around somewhere,” Gerhardt said.

  “And Sarah?”

  “She has not come out of her wagon yet.”

  But at that moment she did, and came running to the fire.

  “I am sorry,” she said. “I overslept. I will start the morning meal.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Clint said.

  “Where’s my father?” she asked.

  Clint was about to say he didn’t know when Talbot came walking up to the fire.

  “Here he is.”

  “Good morning, Papa.”

  “Good morning, Sarah. Where is breakfast?”

  “I am about to start it,” she said. “Are you hungry?”

  “Starving.”

  She smiled and set about preparing the meal.

  Talbot took Clint’s elbow and walked him a few feet away.

  “What is it?”

  “I had the feeling last night that we were being watched,” Talbot said.

  “So did I,” Clint said. “Sarah felt the same way.”

  “Yes,” Talbot said, nodding, “she has what you and I have.”

  “And what’s that?” Clint asked.

  “The instinct.”

  “And what does the instinct tell you?”

  “Just so much,” Talbot said. “For the rest I had to go and have a look.”

  “And?”

  “I found tracks out there in the brush,” he said. “He was watching us, possibly all night.”

  “And now?”

  “No,” Talbot said, “not now, not in the daylight.”

  “What do you suggest?” Clint asked.

  “The same thing I suggested last night,” Talbot said. “That the sheriff accompany the wagons while you and I hunt.”

  “Well, you’ll have to make that suggestion to the sheriff,” Clint said. “I think he’ll have something to say about that.”

  “I shall do so, at breakfast,” Talbot said.

  They turned and walked back to the fire.

  * * *

  “I can’t do that,” Sheriff Bullet said.

  “Why not?” Talbot asked.

  They were seated around the fire, eating the bacon and beans Sarah had prepared for their morning meal.

  “Well, for one thing,” Bullet said, “I’m the sheriff of my county. Technically, I can’t leave it. Not and have any authority. I need to catch the killer before it gets too far away.”

  “But you’re already out of the county,” Clint pointed out.

  “I know the sheriff of this county,” Bullet said. “We’ve worked together before. He’ll vouch for me. But I’m not going to be able to go further.”

  “So what do you suggest?” Clint asked.

  “Let Talbot here go with the wagon, and his people,” Bullet said. “You and I can go hunting.”

  “But Talbot’s the hunter,” Clint pointed out, “and the tracker.”

  Bullet considered that for a moment.

  “Well . . . you could go with the wagons, while I hunt with Talbot.”

  “I would prefer to hunt with Mr. Adams,” Talbot said quietly but firmly.

  “Why?” Bullet asked.

  “He and I are the same.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “We have the same instincts,” Talbot said. “We would keep each other alive.”

  “And I couldn’t do that?”

  Talbot didn’t answer.

  “Okay, but damn it,” Bullet said, “there’s got to be another way.”

  “There is,” Clint said.

  “What’s that?”

  “You go back to Effingham and resume your job,” Clint told him.

  “And you?”

  “Talbot and I will travel with the wagons,” Clint said. “If it’s true that the killer is following this train, you won’t have any further trouble.”

  “But you will.”

  “When Talbot and I have taken care of the situation, I’ll telegraph you and let you know that your murder has been solved.”

  “That doesn’t—that doesn’t sound right.”

  “But it’s the only way,” Clint said.

  Sheriff Bullet chewed his food and considered Clint’s words.

  “It makes sense,” Talbot said.

  “I know, damn it!” Bullet said. He looked at Clint. “I got you messed up in this. It doesn’t feel right leaving you to handle it.”

  “Don’t worry, Ray,” Clint said. “If I wanted out, I’d ride out. Believe me.”

  “Yes,” Bullet said, “yes, all right. It does seem the only solution. I’ll head back to town after breakfast. But you have to keep me informed and let me know when you catch the killer.”

  “I will,” Clint promised.

  “And,” Bullet said, “you have to tell me what the hell it is!”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Bullet rode out and headed back to Effingham.

  Clint turned to Talbot, Gerhardt, Mueller, and the other members of the wagon train.

  “So,” he asked, “where are we headed?”

  “Nevada,” Gerhardt said. “We bought some property there. There is enough for all of us to settle on.”

  “You have paperwork?” Clint asked. He’d known of a lot of Easterners who had bought property in the West, only to find out upon their arrival that they’d been swindled. Either the seller never owned the property, or it was barren land that could not be worked.

  “We do,” Gerhardt said.

  “Maybe you’ll let me have a look?”

  “Of course. I’ll get it.”

  Gerhardt went to his wagon.

  “Can we really make it?” Mueller asked. “Without Captain Parker, and the guide, and . . . a killer following us?”

  “We will make it,” Talbot said.

  “I’ll see to it,” Clint said. “I was ready to leave Effingham and head west anyway. I’ll get you all where you’re going.”

  Talbot turned to the people and said, “Get your wagons ready to go.”

  The people—thirty men, women, and children—dispersed to get themselves ready to travel.

  Talbot turned to Clint.

  “I am very grateful,” he said. “I would not hold it against you if you rode off with the sheriff.”

  “It’s true that Bullet got me involved,” Clint said, “but I’m in it now for the long haul. I don’t want to see anyone else get killed.”

  “And you are curious, eh?” Talbot asked. “About who or what this killer is?”

  “I have to admit,” Clint said, “I do want to see who the killer is.”

  “You will,” Talbot said.

  Gerhardt came walking up, carrying some papers.

  “Here they are.”

  Clint perused the papers. They looked like legitimate deeds, but of course it all depended on whether or not the seller had been legitimate. At the bottom of each page were half a dozen signatures.

  “These wagons represent ten families who left Pennsylvania together,” Gerhardt explained, accepting the papers back.

  “They look okay,” Clint said, “but I guess we’ll find out for sure when we get there. You better get your wagon ready t
o travel, Mr. Gerhardt.”

  “Yes.”

  The man hurried back to his wagon. Clint walked over to Eclipse and saddled him, then saddled Talbot’s horse for him.

  Talbot came over and said, “I will ride in the wagon with Sarah for a while.”

  “Okay,” Clint said, “I’ll tie your saddle mount to the back of your wagon.”

  Clint saw Talbot’s gun tucked into his belt.

  “I’m glad to see you’re carrying your pistol,” Clint said. “Fully loaded with silver bullets?”

  “Yes,” Talbot said, touching the gun. “I want to be ready. I have a mold to make other bullets. I can make some for your gun, if you like.”

  “That’s okay,” Clint said. “I’m not buying into the whole silver bullet thing . . . not yet.”

  “I wish you would,” Talbot said, “but I understand.”

  “Thanks for that.”

  “No, thank you,” Talbot said.

  “For what?”

  “For not thinking I am a crazy man,” the Romanian said. “For not telling the sheriff that I am crazy. For not walking away when you had the chance.”

  “Listen,” Clint said, “you might just be crazy, Talbot, but I still think you’re the best bet to catch this . . . killer.”

  “In that case,” Talbot said, “I think perhaps you should start to call me Frederick.”

  “Okay,” Clint said, “and you call me Clint.”

  The two men shook hands, as if meeting for the first time.

  “I better take the lead,” Clint said. “You go and get aboard your wagon.”

  “Yes.”

  “Who is in the lead wagon?”

  “Gerhardt.”

  “Okay,” Clint said. “Let’s get rolling.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  The wagon train started west again with Clint Adams in the lead. He had now gone from unofficial deputy to unofficial wagon master. Once again he’d stepped into other people’s business and come away with the burden of seeing that things went right. He now had to not only find and stop a killer, but see that these people got to Nevada, where they may or may not have had a legitimate claim to some land.

  They had all put their lives in his hands—or into the hands of him and Frederick Talbot.

  And maybe he’d put his life into the hands of a crazy man. That remained to be seen, as well.

  * * *

  Frederick Talbot held the reins of his team loosely in his hands. His daughter, Sarah, sat next to him, holding tightly to his arm. She was so glad he was back, and he knew it. He was trying to put her mind at rest for the time being before he and Clint went out again, hunting. He knew that would upset her once more, but he was the only one who had a chance to catch and kill the monster, and he had a better chance with Clint’s help. He just wished Clint had allowed him to make some silver bullets for his gun.

  “Papa?”

  “Yes, Sarah?”

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “Just the new life we’re going to have in Nevada, Sarah,” he lied. “That’s all.”

  * * *

  The killer watched as the wagon train pulled out. There was a new leader, and he was the dangerous one. The killer sensed that. There were only two in this group who were hunters. The rest were just prey.

  His prey.

  * * *

  They traveled the day without incident, and then Clint called them to a halt.

  “We’ll camp here,” he told Gerhardt, and then rode back to tell the others.

  Once they had stopped and secured their stock and their wagons, Clint gathered them together.

  “I only want two fires, and I want them close together,” Clint said. “No one is to leave camp alone. Only in twos. And keep your children close.”

  “I hear a stream nearby,” one of the women said. “We need water.”

  “Two of the men will go and get it,” Clint said. “Make sure you’re both armed.”

  Everyone agreed. They built two fires and the women started to prepare the meal.

  “Who’s going for water?” Clint called out.

  “I am,” Mueller said.

  “I’ll go with you.”

  That seemed to please Mueller. He picked up two buckets and they started to walk.

  “I’ve got to ask you something,” Clint said.

  “What is that?”

  “Do you believe in vampires and werewolves?”

  “Of course not . . .”

  “Well—”

  “But I am from Germany,” Mueller went on. “Those in our group who are from Romania, they believe wholeheartedly. Especially Talbot.”

  “Why Talbot?”

  “Because he has hunted them,” Mueller said.

  “And you believe that?”

  Mueller shrugged. “He says he has not only hunted them, but caught and killed them. Gerhardt supports his stories.”

  “But you have never seen one.”

  “No,” Mueller said, “but that does not mean they do not exist.”

  They reached the stream and Mueller filled the two buckets of water. Clint took one from him and they walked back to camp. He carried the bucket in his left hand, leaving his gun hand free.

  When they reached the camp, Clint went to one of the fires and accepted a cup of coffee from Sarah Talbot.

  “Do you believe my father?”

  “Sarah—”

  “I can understand that you have never seen a vampire or a werewolf,” she said, “but he has. He does not lie.”

  “I don’t think he’s lying,” Clint said.

  “Then you do believe him.”

  “I’m willing to follow him, and back him,” Clint said. “I’m not ready yet to decide to believe in those creatures.”

  “Well,” she said, “I am very grateful that you are here, and that Captain Parker is not.” She reached out, put her hand on his, and looked into his eyes. “We need you.”

  For a moment, as he stared back at her, he did not see the eyes of a child, but of a woman. In fact, the look she gave him was feverish.

  He started to wonder about Captain Parker, and if he might not have been pulled in by those eyes?

  “Thank you for the coffee, Sarah,” he said.

  “Come back,” she said. “The food will be ready very soon.”

  Clint walked away and encountered Frederick Talbot, who also had a cup of coffee.

  “She is very frightened,” Talbot said. “And is being very brave.”

  “Yes,” Clint said, for want of anything else to say. The girl he’d just spoken to did not seem to be very frightened. He was starting to wonder how well Talbot knew his own daughter.

  He looked at Talbot, who had suddenly stood stock-still. Only his eyes were moving.

  “Do you feel it?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “We are being hunted.”

  “I’d much rather be the hunter,” Clint said.

  “So would I. Perhaps that is what we should do,” Talbot said.

  “What are you suggesting?” Clint asked.

  “After everyone else has retired for the night,” Talbot said, “perhaps you and I should go out and do what we do best—hunt.”

  “In the dark?” Clint asked. “Wouldn’t that be playing right into the hands of the killer?”

  “It would be unexpected,” Talbot said, “and do not worry, I have hunted in the dark before.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “I may be agreeing to this, but I hope you don’t mind if I just go ahead and worry a little.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  Clint sat at the fire, drinking coffee and waiting for everyone to finally settle in for the night. They had agreed that Gerhardt and Mueller would take the first watch while he and Talbot went out into th
e dark.

  “Are you sure that is wise?” Gerhardt asked.

  “I’m going along with your buddy Talbot on this, Mr. Gerhardt,” Clint said. “I’m assuming he knows what he’s doing—unless you tell me different.”

  “No, no,” Gerhardt said, “when it comes to hunting a were—when it comes to hunting, Talbot is an expert.”

  “All right,” Clint said. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  Gerhardt and Mueller came up to the fire now, carrying their rifles.

  “We are ready,” Gerhardt said.

  “Keep the whole camp in sight,” Clint said. “But also stay within sight of each other.”

  Both men nodded. Neither of them looked very enthusiastic. Talbot came walking over. Clint noticed his silver bullet gun was tucked into his belt, and he had his canvas bag slung over his shoulder.

  “Are you ready?” he asked Clint.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.” Clint dumped the remnants of his coffee into the fire, wiped the cup off with his fingers, and set it down. “Let’s go.”

  “Good luck.”

  Talbot looked at his friend intently.

  “No matter what you hear, do not leave this camp,” he told him. “Do you understand?”

  “I understand.”

  Talbot looked at Mueller, who said, “Yes.”

  “The lives of these people are in your hands,” Talbot said.

  Both men nodded their understanding.

  As Clint and Talbot got ready to leave the camp, Sarah came running over to them.

  “Please be careful, Papa,” she said.

  “I will,” he promised. “You make sure you stay in camp. And near the fire. And stay with Gerhardt.”

  “I will.”

  As they started to leave, Sarah grabbed Clint’s arm and said, “Be careful.”

  “I’ll watch after him,” he promised.

  “And yourself,” she said, squeezing his arm.

  He hesitated, nodded, and followed Frederick Talbot into the darkness.

  * * *

  They were coming for him.

  Foolish.

  He reached over and wrapped his fingers in fur. Yellow eyes pierced the darkness with a low growl.