Savage Journey

by Neil Hunter

  ‘Food’s ready.’ She kept her face in the shadows. He thought: Oh hell, I probably upset her, stalkin’ off like I did.

  ‘I’m a hungry man,’ he said, picking up two tin plates. Jeannie spooned the beans out. Then she filled two mugs with hot black coffee.

  ‘What about the Indian?’ she asked.

  Kennick went across to Kicking Bear and held out his plate. The Comanche raised his head. Kennick could see his eyes shining in the darkness.

  ‘I want none of the white’s food,’ Kicking Bear said.

  ‘Starving yourself won’t do you no good. We’re not going to be out here long enough for you to fade away. By the time we reach the Brazos, you’ll be hungry and thirsty, but you’ll be alive.’

  ‘I would not give your food to the dogs of my village.’

  The Comanche spat.

  Kennick turned away and rejoined Jeannie.

  ‘He doesn’t want any. In fact,’ he grinned, ‘he was downright insulting about your cooking. But I’m not going to argue. He only has to be alive when we reach the river.’

  ‘Does he hate us that much?’

  ‘In his eyes we’re about the lowest form of life ever to walk the land. He’s set himself up as a messenger of the Spirits, who’s been given the job of driving the whites from the sacred Comanche lands. He’s bound and determined to do it, and he doesn’t care how he goes about it. Kicking Bear is the worst of his kind. A fanatic. He has a goal to reach and nothing must stand in his way. He has visions of returning the land to how it was before we came. Trouble is, he’s fighting for a lost cause. There are too many whites here now who have put down roots that go deep. They have towns and forts and railroads. The Comanche has very little. The buffalo have gone and the land has been fenced and tilled, the trees cut down. The Comanche are few, now, to what they were. This fighting is only cutting down their numbers even more. That’s part of the reason why bringing Kicking Bear to trial is so important. Many of the older Comanche leaders have begun to realize that making peace is the best way out of this mess. We’ve got to have something to give that argument a boost.’

  ‘And that something will be Kicking Bear?’

  Kennick nodded. He put down his empty plate and picked up his cup

  ‘Putting him on trial might just do the trick. If he’s shown up as a kill-crazy madman who’ll only get the Comanche wiped out, the chiefs might be convinced to talk the war fever out of their braves.’

  ‘Do you think it will work?’

  ‘It’s a calculated risk. But what have we got to lose? Whether it gets the result we hope or not, we’ll still have Kicking Bear out of the way.’

  ‘Despite all the bad feeling against the Indians, I somehow feel sorry for them in some ways.’

  ‘Don’t get me wrong. I don’t hate Indians. In fact, I have a lot of admiration for them. But they’re the enemy. Truth is, the Indians have had the worst end of a lot of bad deals. No wonder they’re leery of trusting us. There have been too many promises, too many treaties broken. A lot of ignorance and prejudice—on both sides.’

  ‘And now it’s all boiled up into hate and confusion,’ Jeannie said.

  Kennick threw out his coffee dregs and poured himself a second cup.

  ‘Let me hear about your ranch, Luke,’ Jeannie asked, after a short silence.

  He warmed at the words. Here was something he could talk about without getting a bad feeling.

  ‘It’s nothing to speak of yet,’ he said. ‘But I’ve got plans.’

  Jeannie smiled. ‘I’ve never even seen a ranch. I wouldn’t know what to look for.’

  ‘You ride out of Laramie, along the stage road. It takes just over an hour. Then you turn off the road and go across country. The ranch lies in a wide basin. There’s plenty of grass and water close by. When I built the house, I left two big trees in the yard. Give plenty of shade over the front of the house in summer, block off some of the wind in winter. Next to the house is the barn and a couple of outbuildings. Later, I plan to build a bunkhouse and then add on to the house.’

  He stopped then, realizing he’d been going at it a bit strong.

  ‘I didn’t mean to give you a lecture,’ he said with a grin.

  ‘I’m interested. It sounds like a wonderful place. I’d like to see it sometime, Luke.’

  He glanced at her. She smiled at him gently. ‘I mean that, Luke.’

  ‘I’d be proud to have you there,’ he said.

  She had leaned forward to put down her empty mug. For a moment, he was very aware of her exciting closeness, the elusive strand of silken hair falling forward, the full breasts straining against the thin shirt. He averted his gaze as she straightened. Kennick pushed to his feet. ‘I’ll get you a blanket.’

  He crossed to where the saddles lay and undid the double blanket roll. He shook one blanket free and carried it across to Kicking Bear. The Comanche raised his head as Kennick neared him. Kennick didn’t speak. He simply draped the blanket around the Indian’s naked shoulders and walked away.

  Jeannie had busied herself cleaning the cooking gear. She stacked the things in a pile as Kennick put out the fire. He gave her two of the blankets. Draping the remaining blanket around his shoulders, he settled down with his back to the rock, facing Kicking Bear across an open fifteen feet of ground.

  ‘Aren’t you going to sleep?’Jeannie asked.

  ‘Don’t worry about me. You get down and rest. You need it’

  ‘But you can’t sit there all night.’

  ‘Goodnight, Jeannie.’

  She picked up the blankets, wrapped them around herself, and stretched out on the ground.

  ‘Goodnight, Luke.’ Her voice came out of the gloom, soft, gentle.

  Kennick smiled briefly. He pulled his blanket tighter around him. It was going to get colder yet. Idly, he wondered if there were any others camped out beneath the stars this night.

  Far behind on Kennick’s back trail, Griff McBride, Joe Beecher and Bo McBride rode slowly through the dark night. They had many hours to make up and rest was far down on their list of requirements.

  Griff McBride wanted to get to Kennick soon, before they got too close to the Brazos. There was always the chance that Kennick might make a run for it when he saw who was trailing him. Then, leave it too late and they might meet up with a cavalry detail. That was the one thing Griff didn’t want. He planned to settle up with Kennick out here where it was empty and lonely, where there would be no one to see. Result: no proof as to who had done it, no witnesses. There would be a lot of guessing, a heap of finger-pointing, but that would be all. He wouldn’t wait around for any questions to be asked.

  Joe Beecher rode in pained silenced. He broke out into a fresh sweat each time his horse jogged him, sending breath-catching pain searing through him. He began to wonder just how bad he was hurt. Something must have been hurt inside him when Kennick kneed him. Beecher steeled himself against the pain and concentrated on the ride that lay ahead. He wanted to meet up with Kennick real bad.

  Beecher was a man who disliked being bested. And he didn’t forget it when he was. His original reason for joining up with Griff had become secondary now. He had a personal score to settle with Kennick, and he wasn’t going to waste time. Come the first sure chance, he would gun Kennick down. The hell with what Griff wanted.

  Too, Beecher had a desire to get a look at the woman Kennick had picked up. She intrigued him. He wanted to know who she was and what she was doing out here. He dropped a hand to the petticoat tucked under his belt. Somehow he felt sure the woman was young and a good-looker. Somehow, he knew.

  Bo McBride brought up the rear of the group. The pain in his hurt face had eased some now, though it was still sore to touch. Bo wished he was back at Fort Cameron. Or better still in some town where there were lights and people and drink. He didn’t like this trip. This was bad country. Too many things could happen. It was too easy to die out here. Bo wasn’t ready to die yet. He was only here because of Griff.

 
; Bo knew Griff was a sick man, and sick men needed looking after. Sure, Griff thought he was doing the right thing. Maybe he was. But Bo wasn’t so sure. Since this had all started, Griff had become a changed man. He was mean and moody, and he drank too much. Bo wasn’t too smart, and he knew his limitations. But he worked out that if something made a man sick like Griff, maybe, then, it wasn’t a right thing. The more Bo thought on it, the surer he was that he had it figured right. But he didn’t say anything to Griff, because he knew it wouldn’t do any good.

  They rode in silence these three. Each with his own thoughts, his own desires. Each keeping them to himself, as was the way of men in this wild, cruel country.

  They stopped once, just after midnight, to water the horses and take a drink themselves. Then they mounted up and rode on again.

  Their way took them into unmapped territory as desolate as can be. Dawn slowly washed the skyline, and they were able to make out what lay ahead as the deep shadows fell away and ghostly formations took on solid shape again.

  The morning light showed them more of the seemingly endless rock and sand. But up ahead lay a vast field of boulders that seemed to spread for a couple of miles in every direction.

  Griff reined in. He stared at the boulder field. Then he got down off his horse and began to search the ground. After a time, he crouched in the sand beside a faint line of tracks that led in toward the boulders. He stood and glanced over at Beecher.

  ‘He’s in there,’ Griff said tiredly.

  Beecher nodded. ‘Could be.’

  Griff gave a croaking chuckle. ‘He’s in there all right, Joe. I know it. We got the bastard,’ he said softly. ‘We got him.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Surprisingly, Kennick didn’t feel tired after his long night of watchfulness. As daylight exposed the small, camp area, he stood and stretched his stiff body. It wouldn’t be like this every time. A man can go just so long without sleep. He would have to get some rest sometime.

  He glanced across at Kicking Bear. The Comanche still slept. The Indian was conserving his energy, making the most of the chance to rest. Kennick cautioned himself to keep alert. No telling what the Indian might get up to.

  He walked across to the horses and spent a few minutes giving them water and oats from the small supply. That was something else he would have to keep a close eye on.

  Crossing to the overhang, Kennick got a fire going. Then he put the coffee on and a pan of beans. A few feet away, Jeannie stirred restlessly. She sat up suddenly, looking wildly about her. Then she saw Kennick and gave a relieved sigh.

  ‘I wondered where I was,’ she said sheepishly.

  ‘All right now?’

  She nodded, smiling gratefully. ‘Am I being a bother?’

  He shook his head, and she noticed how tired he looked. He needed clean clothes and rest and good food. And to be able to be free of all his worries for a while. She was sorry that she had added to them.

  Kennick rubbed his jaw absently. He wished he had time for a shave. Maybe he’d grow him a beard. He chuckled inwardly at the idea.

  ‘Keep an eye on the grub,’ he told Jeannie. I’m just going to have a look around.’

  Jeannie nodded and he moved away. He glanced back and saw that she had slipped the Colt from the holster and placed it close to her hand. She’ll do, he thought.

  He walked across the clearing and came to the spot by which they had entered the place the night before. Keeping the camp in full view, he hauled himself up on the nearest boulder and lay flat on its already warm top. He followed the imaginary line of his back trail, out beyond the first of the rocks, far back across the barren land. It was, as always, empty.

  Or was it?

  Kennick’s stomach tightened. His breath stuck in his suddenly dry throat. He had seen movement. He prayed he was wrong. No, there it was again. Two moving shapes on the crest of a rise a quarter of a mile back. As he watched, a third shape rose from behind the rise. Three slow-moving shapes which could only be horses and riders.

  Three.

  Griff McBride. Joe Beecher. Bo McBride.

  Who else? It had to be them. Kennick knew it. Knew it as plain as he knew he was sweating. His hunch had been right. He had been followed. All that over-the-shoulder he’d been doing. Deep inside he had known it would come to this. Why hadn’t he taken B rough ton’s offer? The stockade at Cameron would have kept McBride out of the way until Kennick was in a better position to face the problem. Was it that old enemy, pride, again? He began to wonder whether a man could put too much value on a thing like pride. It seemed as if he spent an awful lot of time getting shuck of problems brought on by pride.

  He lay there for a moment and felt a quiet desperation take hold. This he shook off like a dog shakes off water. He had no time to be scared. Too much depended on his coming out of this in one piece. He had Kicking Bear to look out for. And now the girl too. Did he have enough in him to get them through the trouble that lay ahead? Kennick couldn’t answer that. He’d just have to face what came and do what he had to do. A man could do no more.

  Beyond the rocks, the three shapes moved down off the rise and angled slowly towards the boulder field.

  Kennick glanced across the clearing to where Jeannie crouched over the cook fire. He would have to tell her about this. She was going to be involved, so she had a right to know why. He didn’t relish the idea of telling the whole miserable story again. But what choice did he have?

  ‘Jeannie,’ he called urgently, pitching his voice low.

  She looked his way, and he beckoned her to him. She rose, picking up the Colt, and then came across to stand at the base of the rock on which he lay.

  ‘Food’s ready,’ she said.

  Kennick shook his head, put out a hand to haul her up beside him.

  ‘Lie flat,’ he told her.

  She obeyed without question, sensing something was wrong. It showed in his voice, quick jerky movements.

  Kennick said, ‘Look out there. Follow my finger.’

  She did as he said. Seconds later, he heard her sharp intake of breath.

  ‘Who are they?’

  Kennick told her, tersely and simply, without ever once taking his eyes off the three approaching riders. Jeannie lay beside him, listening in silence. She heard him out. When he finished, she remained silent for a long minute.

  The three horsemen had dismounted now. They squatted in the shadow of a high boulder and drank from their canteens.

  ‘Isn’t there any way you can reason with this McBride? Can’t you talk it out?’Jeannie asked then.

  Kennick shook his head. ‘I’ve tried. All it got me was a fight. It’s gone beyond talk. The only way out now is by talking with guns.’

  ‘But it’s so pointless,’ Jeannie protested.

  ‘You and I know that, but try telling Griff McBride. This thing has gone sour on him. It’s turned him into an animal with one aim in life. To kill me. I’ve finally convinced myself of that’

  ‘It sounds so horrible.’

  ‘Out here, Jeannie, a man with a grudge settles it his own way. Law out here is a hell of a lot different than in Layersville. Most times, it’s the gun that settles a score, not a judge and jury. It’s the only way Griff McBride knows. He’s decided I as good as murdered his brother. So he wants revenge. He can’t be reached by talk.’

  ‘They look as though they know we’re in here.’

  ‘Happen they do,’ Kennick drawled. He glanced over his shoulder. Kicking Bear was awake now, sitting erect, watching Kennick closely. He looked out at the three riders again. They had a fire going and were making coffee.

  ‘Luke, what are we going to do?’

  He’d been tossing that question around inside his head. He didn’t know what he was going to do. He hoped he could think of something. Fast. He was beginning to wish that he’d ignored Colonel Broughton’s summons and stayed in Wyoming. Wyoming ... his ranch and home.

  Chapter Twelve

  The sun was well up now and G
riff McBride was sweating.

  He wasn’t moving around, simply sitting in the thin shade of a rock. He flicked away the butt of his third cigarette. His throat felt dry and rough from the smoke, and he wondered why he bothered smoking. He twisted his head round. Where the hell had that breed, Beecher, got to? He’d been gone for a full half hour already.

  Griff shifted position. He wanted to get in and face Kennick. But he’d finally agreed to let Beecher make a scout first. It was wise, he realized. Kennick was a bastard, but he was a tough bastard. Griff knew well enough that Kennick wasn’t going to be easy to take. Therefore, a few precautions might make it easier for them.

  A slight whispering sound to his right made Griff turn about sharply. Joe Beecher gave him a short grin.

  ‘Where you been?’ Griff demanded.

  ‘Up in them rocks. Where the hell do you think? I seen ‘em. No trouble. Kennick’s got the Indian sure enough. And he’s got a woman with him. Real itch-raiser too.’ He laughed at Griff’s sour look. ‘What’s stickin’ in your craw?’

  ‘Nothin’. Nothin’. Goddam, do I got to tell you everything? Just ‘cause you don’t like my face.’

  Beecher shrugged. He searched in his shirt, pulled out a half-smoked thin cigar. Deliberately he made a great play of lighting it and drawing deeply once he had it going.

  Griff, meantime, had crossed to his horse and collected his rifle. He returned, sat down again and pulled off his hat. Then he levered all the shells out of the rifle, dropping them into his upturned hat. There was something almost obscene about the way he then went about cleaning the weapon. Gently stroking, caressing the smooth metal with an oily rag.

  Beecher watched him, eyes slitted, a half-smile on his face.

  Finally, Griff said, ‘You ready?’

  ‘Sure, Griff,’ Beecher said softly. He spat out his cigar and stood. ‘I’m ready.’

  Griff stared at him warily for a minute, then turned away and went over to Bo. Beecher followed slowly.

  ‘We got ’im, Bo,’ Griff was saying. ‘We got ’im.’

  ‘You set on goin’ through with this?’ Bo asked.