Blood and Dust

by D McEntire

  Blood and Dust

  D. McEntire

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  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000."

  Cover Artist: Reese Dante

  Editor: Alison Todd

  Blood and Dust © 2010 D. McEntire

  ISBN # 978-1-920468-15-6

  All rights reserved.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  SILVER PUBLISHING

  http://www.silverpublishing.info

  CHAPTER ONE

  Texas, 1865.

  Furry ears stood at attention, listening. Bri inched forward, going unnoticed until the snap of a twig beneath her foot echoed among the trees. Her quarry bolted, disappearing into the thick foliage and taking with it her spirit.

  "Dang it all," she cursed, then jerked in surprise at her vulgar language. Unconsciously, her hand flew up to cover her mouth. The memory no one could have heard her outburst came crushing down upon her; she was alone.

  Bri slumped to the ground in despair. Late evening now, she'd been hunting since the sun set low enough for her to leave the cave she had called home for the last two weeks. Exhaustion threatened to overtake her. Empty handed, the painful squeeze of her stomach served as a reminder of how long she had been without food.

  The lack of food held more danger than just an aching emptiness in her gut. Bri feared going much longer without what she needed would drive her insane. An unstable vampire was a dangerous vampire. She closed her eyes while her mind raced with panic. As it were, one unstable vampire already stalked the area. In her mind, that was one too many.

  A distant sound caught her attention. Bri stiffened. Holding her breath she prayed her imagination wasn't the cause. She waited for the noise to reach her again. The thundering of hooves and braying of cattle slowly grew in intensity, closing in on her location. Bri felt a tinge of relief. Though she normally ate regular food, she knew blood alone would hold her awhile.

  Bri's stomach growled again.

  An image of biting one of the foul beasts and drinking its blood to satisfy her hunger made her gag, but her stomach was too empty to retch. Taking a deep breath Bri steeled her resolve, telling herself if she didn't do this she would go mad. The fear of hurting some human held her in a state of anxiety each time she failed to capture prey.

  Finding the cattle, Bri watched the men on horses slow the beasts to a stop and marveled at their skill. She waited in the shadows until the humans made camp and the longhorns were settled for the night. Gathering her control and courage, she set out to do what she dreaded.

  Bri crept along the grass and shrubs adjacent to the cattle, intent on her hunt, until she noticed a yellow and orange flickering light. The sway of tree branches popped it in and out of view. Men's voices murmured along the breeze. The aroma of food hit her -- a siren's call to her stomach.

  The snort of a horse and the creak of leather froze her in her tracks. Peering over the tall grass, she set eyes on a rider watching over the part of the herd closest to her.

  After a few moments, the man walked his horse further down the line of longhorns. Bri felt the blood return to her head. She moved forward again, though she didn't have the slightest idea what she was going to do once she got there.

  * * * *

  The smell of coffee had Brody McAllister's legs traveling of their own accord in the direction of the camp. His muscles ached from the long ride and he was ready to settle for the night and rest his dusty eyes.

  On reaching the fire he stretched his long legs where he stood and released a groan. After being on the trail several weeks, they were finally close to Fort Worth -- the town where most drivers stopped for a short rest before heading north across the Red River and into Indian Territory.

  The trips seemed to get longer and harder every time, Brody thought with a mental sigh as he dusted off his hat and then ran a hand over the back of his sweat covered neck. He often wondered if the rough job caused his father seemed to age so quickly -- as if the man's body had given out long before his mind started to tire.

  With a long exhale, he shoved his hat back on his head to cover his grimy hair and accepted a cup of coffee from Frank's outstretched hand.

  "Sit." Frank's voice was raspy, and Brody knew the roughness to not be from age alone; dust played a good part in it today. Full-blooded Cherokee, the man spoke in drawn out, liquid tones which sounded to Brody almost like a song.

  Brody thanked him and sat on the other side of the thick log Frank occupied. He glanced over at the man, who was now the same age as his father before he left this world. Frank was also a friend and confidant.

  Brody thought of how long Frank had been a part of the family. The man helped raise him, and taught him the ways of ranching, cattle driving, hunting, and tracking when his father had been too busy to do so.

  "You think we'll make good time to Fort Worth?" Brody asked after taking a sip of his coffee, and trying not to wince at the bitter taste.

  Frank sipped his own coffee and nodded. "Yep."

  Brody smiled over the rim of his cup at how Frank didn't say much in the way of words. Most of the time his answers were riddles, which aggravated the tar out of Brody because it meant he had to pay attention to each word in order to understand the whole meaning -- what was said as well as what was not said.

  As Brody swallowed another sip of coffee he watched a bedraggled, dust-covered Eli, the sixteen year old son of one of the hands, carry a bucket of water to the cook. A corner of Brody's mouth tipped up. Seeing Eli scurry about the camp doing whatever he was told brought memories of himself at the same age, on the trail with his father. He'd done it all: wrangled horses, drove the wagons, and even ate dirt everyday with the rest of the hands on drag. It didn't matter how far behind the herd you rode, when you rode drag you were responsible for pulling up the rear and keeping the longhorns moving forward. You breathed and ate dust and dirt every minute of the day.

  A pang of loss squeezed his chest with the thought of his father. The man had been gone from his life a little over a year now.

  The noises around the campfire brought Brody out of his memories. He scanned the camp and took in the sight of his men. In a couple of years most of the long haul would no longer be necessary. With the railroad making its way into these parts, the herd would be driven to the depot planned for Fort Worth where the cattle would then be loaded onto the train and carted off to the highest bidder. No longer would there be a need for them to drive the beasts through Oklahoma and into Kansas themselves.<
br />
  The thought of giving up the long cattle drives brought a sense of relief, but it also brought a bit of sorrow. He'd been on this trail every year since turning fourteen, proving his worth to his father.

  "Aw, shit!"

  His attention caught by the not so muffled curses spewed by Cookie, Brody turned in the direction of the chow wagon to see the cook shaking his hand. The man waved it in the air several times, then stopped and shoved his fingers into his mouth.

  Chuckling at the sight, Brody stood and wandered over to the Dutch oven by the campfire. "Hell, Cookie. I think I'd rather have my biscuits without your burned skin in 'em, if'n you don't mind."

  Cookie glared, still sucking on the two fingers he held in his mouth, as he raised his other hand to wipe sweat off of his forehead. "Bewy fuwy," he said around the digits in his mouth.

  Still laughing, Brody turned and strode to his saddle and bedroll, which he'd placed next to one of the wagons. After surveying the area around the camp he carried them off to what seemed to be a good resting spot. Dropping his saddle, it hit the ground with a thud and a clink. Brody knelt and rummaged inside his saddle bags for soap, a wash cloth, a toothbrush, and tooth powder. Finding his comb in the bottom, he pulled it out as well.

  Finally having what he needed to feel somewhat like a civilized person again, Brody headed for the creek.

  * * * *

  Bri reached the edge of the trees; beyond it lay the open area of the men's camp. To one side she saw a covered wagon and heard the clang of pots and pans. Men sat around the fire, talking, laughing, and eating. Watching them enjoy their meal was torture. Her mouth watered and pain surged through her stomach as the aroma of their dinner wafted to her nose.

  Something sweet and familiar struck her. Fresh baked bread.

  Bri almost groaned aloud before the cook caught her attention: he was walking in her direction. To keep from being discovered, she held herself perfectly still.

  The man neared, stopped in front a saddle on the ground, and carefully placed a tin next to a cup, balancing both atop the saddle's seat before returning to the pot steaming over the fire.

  Bri took in the sight of what lay on the tin. Her eyes widened. Sprawled on the metal lay a heaping pile of stew. A large piece of bread rested on top, and she could actually see the edges of the bread soak up the liquid of the stew.

  The food called to her and she wanted it; now. Making another assessment of the proximity of the men to the saddle -- mere feet from where she hid -- she eased forward, crouching so low her stomach brushed the ground. She could do this, she told herself. She must, or she would crumble into nothing and blow away with the wind.

  Almost there .

  The unmistakable click of a gun close to the back of her head made her freeze and suck in a breath.

  "Don't move." The command was spoken in a low, stern voice. "Put your hands up where I can see them."

  Bri couldn't breathe, and she didn't know what to do. Finally, unable to hold her breath any longer, she exhaled slowly. Trying to achieve normal breathing again, she inhaled through her nose. The scent threw her off-guard: leather, musk, and man. Her heart pounded mercilessly in her chest. She was caught and knew nothing about the man standing behind her, or his intentions. Mayhap she should just explain her own intentions and he'd let her go, she thought in an effort to calm her racing mind.

  "Please. I only want food. I mean no harm." She couldn't keep the tremble out of her voice.

  "I reckon we can spare some eats, lest you be a sneak thief. Stand up and turn around slow like."

  He will discover I'm not a man. The thought brought another wave of panic. She hadn't seen any women at the camp; a lone woman with a group of men was not only improper, it was dangerous . . . for her.

  Bri mentally berated herself for having made the mistake of trying for the stew. Her mind raced as she considered what would be needed to get out of this situation as quickly as possible.

  * * * *

  Brody waited while the man in front of him raised his hands so he was sure a piece with a steel barrel wasn't hidden, waiting to put a hole through him.

  As he'd been heading off to the creek, movement in the shadows caught his attention. He'd waited several moments until the shadowed figure had moved forward, toward camp.

  Knowing Indians could be anywhere in these parts, and not all were friendly, he'd made his way in the direction of the shadow -- slow and easy. With a single step in retreat to put more space between himself and the man crouched in front of him, Brody barked the order again. "Stand up slowly."

  Brody watched intently as the man stood to his full height, hands still held in the air. From the size of the stranger, Brody figured him to be young. The man spoke in a soft voice, so soft Brody strained his ears to hear the request for food. Though guilt tugged at him at the tremble he noticed in the man's hands, he didn't waver in standing his ground.

  Brody waited for the stranger to turn around and face him.

  The sound of footsteps approaching caught Brody's attention. The disturbance momentarily made him lose focus and remove his gaze from the stranger, but not before he noticed the young man flinch.

  "Brody? Brody, you need any help?"

  Brody recognized Lil' Dave's booming voice moments before the man's large frame came into view. The driver was big enough to hunt bears with a switch, Brody thought with an inward smile.

  Before he could answer the stranger spun around, ducked under his outstretched arm, which held his pistol, and took off at a dead run through the bushes and trees. The speed at which the man moved almost made Brody's jaw drop. In the blink of an eye the stranger faded into the darkness, but not before his hat flew off his head and Brody saw a long, black braid tumble down his back.

  As Lil' Dave stepped through the tree line, Brody walked to where the hat lay on the ground and picked it up.

  "What ya got there, Brody?" Lil' Dave said in his rumbling drawl.

  Brody ignored the question as he stared at the object he held in his hands. Running the past few minutes through his mind, he pictured the young man in his head, making a mental note of the man's build and height. The young man's trembling hands made a mental appearance.

  Damn. That was a woman!

  Brody turned and stalked toward the camp with Lil' Dave on his heels, only halting a moment to retrieve the washing items he'd left on the ground before confronting the stranger. When he reached the campfire, all eyes settle on him before their gazes lowered to the hat he held in his hands.

  "Trouble?" Frank asked, setting down his tin and picking up his cup.

  Brody thought a moment about what to say to his men. He certainly didn't think telling a group of fourteen men, who had been on a long, hard trail for several weeks now, that a lone woman wandered about the area to be a good idea.

  "No. Just some saddle tramp. Said he was lookin' for food but skedaddled like greased lightnin' when he saw Lil' Dave."

  Brody ran a hand over the hat, still deep in thought.

  "Reckon he thought a bear was a comin'," Cookie shouted, which started an eruption of laughter from the men around the fire before Brody raised his hands in a gesture for them to lower their voices lest the herd get spooked by the sudden noise.

  Returning to his saddle and bedroll, Brody saw the tin of food and let out a long breath. His gut insisted the stranger had been a woman. She said she only wanted food, but instead of getting any she bolted out of fear.

  Somewhere out there sat a woman, alone and hungry, and he couldn't help but feel responsible. Perhaps she had children. The thought almost made his stomach lurch. If she had come searching for food to feed her family and hadn't been successful . . .

  Brody fought the urge to sling his food into the fire. What he'd done was a sin to Moses. His fist clenched around the hat and his back teeth rubbed together as his jaw set. He had to find her, but when did he have time? They took to the trail tomorrow. Besides, what in tarnation sort of tale would he spin to excuse stay
ing another day or two, or for slowing their pace when they were so close to Fort Worth and some much needed rest?

  Finally, his mind quieted enough to form an idea. The hat was damp, which told him the woman must have been around the creek at some time, perhaps to bathe. Grabbing his tin and a canteen he headed to the creek, praying his hunch to be right. He planned to leave the items for her in the hopes she'd find them.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Bri's heart thudded in her chest as she ran through the trees, keeping her hands out in front of her in an effort to push aside branches before they tried to take her head off. She'd come perilously close to being caught by a group of men.

  With each step Bri's thoughts turned from anger at herself for thinking she could get away with stealing food, especially with so many people around, to fear at what could have happened. If she'd been taken, how would she shelter herself during the day? How would she explain her skin smoking like her father's pipe when touched by sunlight?

  Reaching the creek, Bri practically collapsed on the ground. Her breath came in quick gasps, more from the scare than the run. Tears formed behind her lashes as she thought about the food -- food she'd been so close to getting. The realization she was going to spend the rest of the night hungry, then wake tomorrow evening with the same gnawing hunger, was almost her undoing.

  Why hadn't she heard the man who'd snuck up behind her? Had she been so lost in wanting food she'd let her guard down? The reality made her feel lightheaded. She had totally lost focus and risked her life.

  Footsteps in the brush silenced her thoughts. Bri pushed herself to her feet and drove her legs forward again, rushing to the trees standing tall behind a group of rocks. As quickly as she could she climbed the nearest one and hid within the leaves, where she remained as still as possible.

  Into the clearing walked a tall, lean man. He carried a tin in one hand and a canteen in the other. The smell hit her like a punch to the gut -- he had food.