Davey Crockett 6
Page 16
“I want the two of you to wait right here.”
“Shouldn’t we stay together?” Heather responded uneasily.
“I can get in and out quicker alone.” Davy did not elaborate on why that might be necessary. Giving her the lead rope, he trotted to the flank of the hill situated farthest to the southeast. Winding in among them, he drew rein when close enough to the spring to overhear conversation—had there been any. An eerie stillness hung heavy over the land.
Dismounting, Davy advanced on foot. The spring was tranquil, its surface shimmering with sunshine. Flavius and the Texians were gone, and there was no sign they had been there in days. Charred coals were all that was left of the fire.
Tracks there were plenty of. Moccasin tracks crisscrossed the area, many more than a few hunters would have made. The conclusion was obvious: The Comanches had been searching for his friends.
Running to the horse, Davy swung onto the saddle and commenced a search of his own. So jumbled were the prints that it took more than an hour for him to sort out which direction Flavius and the rest had gone. To the east. But after traveling almost to the open prairie, he was baffled to find that the tracks vanished into thin air.
He had to rove back and forth for a quarter of an hour before he solved the mystery. Tiny telltale brush marks were the key. Someone, evidently using a shirt or other garment, had wiped out every boot print from that point on.
Davy had to go well out onto the plain to pick up the trail again. The fugitives had fled to the southeast. There was nothing to indicate the Comanches had gone after them, but it wouldn’t do to take anything for granted. Marking the spot by tearing out a wide circle of grass, he returned to Heather and Becky.
The mother was pacing nervously. Davy explained, then led the pair to the spot, and from there they hurried after Flavius and the others. Soon the tracks adopted a southerly bearing, as they would if the Texians were heading home.
Nightfall caught them in the open. Davy allowed a small fire but shielded it with their saddles. Eager to be off, he was up before sunrise. Heather grumbled and Becky was as slow as molasses, but presently they were under way.
Noon came and went. It was the middle of the afternoon when Davy set eyes on a sight that chilled his blood. A large flock of vultures circled ahead. “Stay here,” he told his companions.
“Not on your life,” Heather replied.
Davy did not deem it wise to expose Becky to a possible slaughter, but he did not make an issue of it. His fears proved groundless. Instead of bloated human corpses, the buzzards had been attracted by the fresh carcass of a bull buffalo. An old bull, an outcast that had been wandering alone. Scavengers had been at the haunches and hind end, but they had not obliterated cut marks made by several big knives.
“Flavius and the others?” Becky asked.
“They ate and pushed on,” Davy confirmed.
An hour and a half later, as Davy skirted a knoll, the sorrel pricked its ears and nickered. Galloping on around, he spied figures running off. “Wait!” he hollered, just as a rifle cracked and a ball zinged past his cheek.
Flavius Harris lowered Matilda and grinned like a boy who had just been granted his fondest birthday wish. “Davy!” he exclaimed, bursting for joy inside. “It’s really you!” He ran to greet his friend, choosing to forget for the moment that he had nearly killed him. Frayed nerves were to blame, thanks to little sleep and the ever-present threat of being discovered by the Comanches.
Heather reined up alongside Davy and scanned the grass.
She beamed when Farley Tanner appeared. If there was any doubt as to how close they had grown, it was dispelled by the passionate embrace they shared.
Taylor clasped the Irishman’s hand warmly. “Kerr?”
Davy shook his head.
“Too bad. He was never one to walk the straight and narrow, but I never figured he’d go as far as he did.” The older Texian sighed. “I can’t help feeling partly to blame. He’d still be alive if we hadn’t asked him to come along.”
“If a man is meant to drown, he’ll drown in a desert.” Flavius gave his partner a hug, then smacked Davy’s broad back. “It’s over at last! Now we can light a shuck for the Mississippi. We’ll go to where we cached our canoes and make for St. Louis. Another month or so, it’s on to Tennessee. Elizabeth and Matilda will be tickled to see us. Why, I reckon—”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Davy interrupted. Breaking the bad news did not sit well with him. “We can’t head for the Mississippi just yet.”
A terrible sensation washed over Flavius, like that he had when he nearly drowned in Baxter’s Creek back home. “Why in blazes can’t we?” he squeaked.
“There aren’t enough horses to go around. Only five, and there are eight of us.”
“So? We’ll walk,” Flavius said, knowing it was ridiculous but grasping at straws.
“Becky too?”
“Just one horse. That’s all we need. Heather and her can ride double. The two of us will go on foot. It’ll take us most of the summer, but we’ll get there.”
“No.”
“God in heaven. Don’t, Davy. Please.”
“It’s the right thing to do.”
A lump formed in Flavius’s throat and he bowed his head, overcome by grief so potent he could not bear it. Time after time his hopes had been raised. Time after time they had been dashed. He wanted to scream, to rant, to rail, to beat Davy senseless. Affection waged war with disappointment. Devotion battled despair. In the end, he said weakly, “What do you want to do?”
“Stay together, ride double, switch horses whenever one tires. That way none will go lame on us, and we can make good time.” Davy put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, but Flavius pulled away. “We’ll help the Texians reach San Antonio safely, rest up a spell, then head for the States.”
Taylor chimed in, saying, “Cheer up, friend. It will only take a week to ten days to get there. You’ll love San Antonio. Everyone is right friendly. And you’ll be the toast of the town for having helped rescue Marcy.”
“I’d rather be home.” Forlorn as could be, Flavius walked off to be by himself. But footsteps followed him, and he was denied the luxury.
“I’m sorry. Truly, deeply sorry.”
“I know.”
“If there were any other way, I’d do it.”
“Quit making excuses. You have that damnable Crockett motto to live up to. But if you ask me, that damn saying is a curse. Mark my words. One of these days you’ll rue the day your pa told it to you.”
“Always be sure you’re right, then go ahead.” Davy stepped in front of Flavius and extended his hand. “Are we still friends?”
“Need you ask?” Flavius clasped it. “We don’t always see eye to eye. I don’t always agree with your highfalutin morals. But we’ve always been pards and we always will be.”
Davy Crockett smiled. It was on to Texas. He would see new country, meet new people, have new experiences. Life was grand.
DAVY CROCKETT
By David Robbins
The Series to date:
HOMECOMING
SIOUX SLAUGHTER
BLOOD HUNT
MISSISSIPPI MAYHEM
BLOOD RAGE
COMANCHE COUNTRY
DAVY CROCKETT 6
COMANCHE COUNTRY
By David Robbins Writing as David Thompson
First Published by Leisure Books in 1997
Copyright © 1997, 2017 by David Robbins
First Smashwords Edition: March 2017
Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information or storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
Cover © 2017
by Ed Martin
This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book
Series Editor: Ben Bridges
Published by Arrangement with the Author.
You’ve reached the last page.
But the adventure doesn’t end here …
Join us for more first-class, action-packed books.
Regular updates feature on our website and blog
The Adventures continue…
Issuing new and classic fiction from Yesterday and Today!
More on David Robbins