Preacher was on the first shift. He sat on a rock twenty feet down the slope from the camp. Dog lay on the ground beside him, the big cur’s head resting on his extended paws.
Two hours had gone by since the rest of the group had turned in for the night. The camp was quiet except for an occasional burst of snoring. All of Preacher’s senses were keenly alert, radiating out from him into the night.
When trouble came, it was from the opposite side of camp. A man shouted. The sound was full of fear. An instant later, the boom of a musket followed the cry.
Preacher was on his feet instantly, swinging around with his Sharps in his hands, ready to fire. Dog was up beside him, leaning forward and growling.
“Dog, stay,” Preacher ordered. He didn’t go charging up the hill to see what was happening. The Blackfeet could be tricky devils. They might feint an attack at one place, only to launch their main assault elsewhere.
Besides, Jamie was up there. He would see what was going on—and deal with it.
In the camp, before the shout was more than a second old, Jamie rolled out of his blankets and came up on his feet with the Walker Colt gripped in his right fist, fully awake in the blink of an eye.
A musket roared as an orange spurt of flame gushed from the muzzle.
“A bear!” yelled the guard who had raised the alarm. “Look out! It’s a bear!”
Jamie knew that was possible. Bears occasionally came into human camps in search of food. At this time of year, with winter coming on, they were even more likely to do so, as instinct drove them to pack on the fat before their long hibernation.
He charged across the camp in the direction of the yelling and the shot. He wished the guard hadn’t gotten so trigger-happy. The sound of that musket going off might travel for a long distance, echoing through the mountain valleys. It was inevitable that the Blackfeet would know the party of white men had entered their hunting grounds, but Jamie would have been all right with postponing that discovery for as long as possible.
A running figure suddenly loomed up right in front of him, coming toward him out of the shadows. Jamie’s reflexes made him dart aside to avoid a collision. For a big man, he was very nimble and got out of the way in time.
The shape flashed past, and even though Jamie flung out a hand and tried to grab the runner, whoever it was had too much speed. Jamie’s grab found only empty air.
He called, “Hey! Stop!”, but the runner never slowed down. He dashed across the camp, and as he passed the embers of the fire, enough of a glow remained to reveal a dark, hairy coat on the fast-moving figure. It was only a split-second glimpse, and then whoever—or whatever—the thing was, it was safely back in the shadows and headed toward the place where Preacher had taken up his guard post.
Jamie shouted, “Preacher! Coming your way!”
Down the slope, Preacher heard that, so he was ready. Or at least, he thought he was.
But he wasn’t prepared for a shape to come flying through the air at him like some gigantic bird. It must have leaped from the top of the slope, and that huge bound carried it all the way to where Preacher stood.
Not knowing what was going on, he didn’t want to shoot and tried to twist out of the way, but the thing slammed into his left shoulder and bowled him over. He tripped over Dog and fell on top of the big cur. With uncharacteristic awkwardness on both of their parts, their legs tangled and it took Preacher a couple of seconds to get back on his feet.
In that time, the escaping figure was gone, vanished into the night like a phantom.
Jamie charged down the hill. “Preacher, are you all right?”
“Yeah, just a mite discombobulated . . . and embarrassed. That was just about the fastest critter I ever saw. What in blazes was it?”
“I’m not sure, but it wasn’t a bear, like that fella was yelling about. From what I saw, it was pretty skinny. And it sure didn’t run like a bear. Like you said, it was mighty fast.”
Several men came down the hill toward them, led by Colonel Sutton. Roscoe Lomax was close behind the colonel.
Sutton called, “Jamie? Preacher?”
“Right here, Colonel,” Jamie answered.
“Is anyone hurt?”
“We’re fine. How about the men in the camp?”
“Lieutenant Curry is checking on everyone now, but my impression is that no one was injured. What in the world happened?”
“We’re not sure,” Jamie said. “I want to talk to the fella who raised the ruckus to start with.”
Preacher glanced down at the big cur, who stood beside him growling. “Dog wants to go after that varmint. Reckon I ought to let him?”
“I’m sure Dog could track him,” Jamie said, “but why don’t we wait until morning so we can see what we’re doing?”
“That’s a good idea, I reckon.” Preacher’s tone of voice made it clear that he was a little disappointed not to take up the chase right away.
Jamie had a point, though. Pursuing some unknown creature into the darkness wasn’t a really good idea. He looked at Preacher and asked, “You all right to finish out your shift on guard duty?”
“Me? Hell, I’m fine as frog hair. That thing knocked me down for a minute but didn’t do no real damage.”
“All right. Colonel, let’s go see if we can find out something about our mysterious visitor.”
Chapter 28
The dragoon who had raised the alarm and taken a wild shot at the strange creature was a young private named Charles Ferguson.
“Private Ferguson, tell us what happened,” Colonel Sutton ordered a few minutes later as he, Jamie, and Lieutenant Curry stood near what was left of the fire.
“I . . . I don’t really know, Colonel. I was standing guard, as ordered, when I thought I heard something slip past me. I was worried that somebody had gotten into the camp who didn’t belong here, so I moved up the hill and had a look around. That’s when I saw . . . something . . . rooting around in our supplies. I figured it was an animal and I could scare it off . . . but when I took a step toward the thing, it . . . it turned around and snarled at me. That’s when I decided it was a bear, and I . . . well, I guess it spooked me. I let out a yell . . . I suppose you know what happened after that, sir.”
“Yes, I do,” Sutton replied. “You should have been more alert to begin with, Private Ferguson, and not allowed the intruder to get past you.”
The dragoon hung his head in shame. “Yes, sir, I know. I’m sorry.”
Jamie said, “Sorry doesn’t count for much when you’re pulling guard duty, son.” His tone softened slightly as he went on. “Did you ever get a good look at whatever it was?”
“No, sir. But I could tell it was hairy, and it . . . growled at me . . . so I figured it had to be a bear.”
“Have you ever seen a bear?”
“No, sir. Not close up. Or . . . well, not at all, if I’m telling the truth.”
“Take my word for it, son, bears are a lot bigger than that thing, whatever it was. They don’t usually run on two legs like that, either. Bears are a lot faster than you might think they would be, to look at them, but they run best on four legs, not two.”
Sutton asked, “Could what you saw have been a man?”
“No, sir, Colonel,” Ferguson answered emphatically. “Not with hair like that all over its body.”
“All right, Private. Has somebody already replaced you on your guard shift?”
“Yes, sir. Lieutenant Curry told Private Jeffries to take over for me.”
“Very well. Go turn in and get some rest.”
“Thank you, sir.” Ferguson started to turn away, then paused and added, “I’m really sorry I didn’t do my duty, Colonel.”
“Well, learn a lesson from what’s happened, Private . . . and from whatever the lieutenant decides will be your punishment.”
Ferguson swallowed hard and said, “Yes, sir.”
When the young dragoon had moved off to his bedroll, Sutton said to Jamie, “What do you make of it? You’r
e certain the intruder couldn’t have been a bear or some other wild animal?”
“It wasn’t a bear. I’m sure of that,” Jamie replied. “And Preacher agreed with me that from what we saw, it didn’t look like any other animal we’ve ever encountered. But it could still be an animal, I suppose. Preacher and I haven’t run into everything that lives out here, I don’t imagine.”
“But there probably aren’t very many beasts you haven’t seen.” Sutton paused, and Jamie could tell the colonel was pondering the situation. “Do you think we should go after whatever it was, in the morning?”
“The baron was already upset about staying here for a while and letting Preacher do some scouting.” Jamie chuckled, but there wasn’t much genuine humor in the sound. “He’ll really be mad if Preacher and Dog go off hunting some sort of critter instead of Blackfeet.”
“I don’t really care how our Prussian guest feels about it,” Sutton said. “On the other hand . . . our visitor didn’t try to harm anyone, and it seemed more interested in pilfering food than anything else. I think perhaps we should do a better job of securing our supplies and carry on as planned.” The colonel shrugged. “The way the creature fled, it seemed to be terrified. It probably won’t come back.”
“That’s fine with me, Colonel.” What Sutton had decided made sense, thought Jamie. But for some reason, he had a hunch they hadn’t seen the last of that hairy thing.
* * *
The next morning, Dog wanted to take up the trail of the nocturnal intruder. Sitting where Preacher had encountered the thing the night before, Dog whined softly as he peered off into the distance.
“I know, old son,” Preacher told the big cur, “but we got other chores to take care of today. Come on, let’s see if we can find us some Blackfeet.”
Dog abandoned the other goal with reluctance, but he wasn’t going to disobey an order from his human trail partner. They left the camp heading west, deeper into the mountains. After they had gone a mile or so, they would swing south and make a large circle around the hill where the rest of the party was camped.
There was nothing Preacher loved more than being up in the high country on a hunt. He moved quietly, with all senses alert, not missing anything that went on around him.
The same was true of Dog. He ranged ahead of Preacher, but not with the same exuberant bounds that he demonstrated when they were out on the trail, just traveling rather than searching. He was as much of a phantom as the mountain man, drifting silently through the landscape, the great shaggy head swinging slowly from side to side as he searched for any sign of their enemies.
The cool, cloudy morning was thick with overcast but held no real promise of rain or snow, only dank gloom. Undisturbed by the almost supernaturally quiet man and dog, the wildlife was plentiful. Preacher saw deer, elk, moose, rabbits, and squirrels. Although many feathered creatures had already flown south for the winter, birds sang in some of the trees. Higher in the sky, eagles and hawks soared on wind currents.
Preacher didn’t see any bears. Like Jamie, he was convinced that whatever had sneaked into their camp the night before wasn’t a bear. He’d never seen a bear that could leap like that and fly through the air.
The two searchers had made their turn to the south to begin their big circle when Dog stopped abruptly. He lifted his head. His ears pricked forward. Preacher could tell the big cur had caught an intriguing scent.
“What is it you smell, big fella?” Preacher whispered. “Blackfoot . . . or somethin’ you recognize from last night?” He sniffed the air. Nothing out of the ordinary, only the familiar tang of evergreens mixed with the rich aroma of the earth. But he knew Dog’s nose was a lot more sensitive than his. “Be quiet about it, Dog, but . . . trail.”
The command sent Dog padding away through some brush. Preacher followed, making as little noise as he could. After a few moments, they came to a narrow game trail that twisted up a slope toward a tree-covered ridge.
They hadn’t quite reached the top when something crashed through the thick undergrowth between the trees. Instinct brought the Sharps to Preacher’s shoulder, but he held off on squeezing the trigger. He didn’t like not knowing what he was shooting at. “Dog, hunt!” he snapped.
Dog took off, twisting through the brush and quickly disappearing. Preacher was able to track the chase by sound. Dog didn’t make much noise, but whatever he was pursuing was making quite a racket and didn’t care about being quiet.
Neither did Preacher. He pushed through the brush. Some of it caught and clawed at his thick buckskins, but he ignored that and pressed on.
The trail led down the far side of the ridge. The brush wasn’t quite as thick where the ground leveled out again. As Preacher hurried down the slope, he caught glimpses of something running upright, like a man, but the creature’s hairy pelt actually looked like a bear’s.
Was it possible there was such a beast as a half-man, half-bear? The idea seemed unnatural and repugnant to Preacher, but he had seen some mighty strange things in his life, strange enough that he hated to say anything was absolutely impossible.
He also had a few flashing looks at Dog pursuing the whatever-it-was through the brush. Dog was closing in. Preacher reached the bottom of the slope and couldn’t see either of them anymore, but pushed on in the direction they had gone.
He heard Dog yelp, and his heart slugged hard in his chest. That varmint had better not have hurt Dog, he thought. He’d skin that funny-looking hide right off of it.
The sound the big cur had made had seemed more startled than pained, and Preacher saw why a few moments later as he crashed through more brush and came to a sudden halt. He was standing almost at the edge of a deep ravine a good fifty feet to the bottom, and half that wide.
Dog was at the edge, one paw resting on a narrow tree trunk that spanned the ravine like a bridge. The fallen tree was only a few inches in diameter, little more than a sapling. It barely reached to the ravine’s far side.
Dog looked back over his shoulder at Preacher and whined. From the big cur’s stance and his attitude, it was clear to the mountain man that whatever Dog had been chasing had scampered across that tree trunk and vanished into the trees and brush on the far side.
Preacher could also tell that Dog wanted to continue the pursuit, as he’d been ordered but was smart enough to know that crossing the ravine would be extremely dangerous.
“Dog, stay,” Preacher said quietly. He thought Dog actually looked relieved he wasn’t going to have to venture out onto that skinny little tree trunk. Dog would have done it if Preacher had told him to, of course . . . but he was just as glad not to.
Preacher listened. He couldn’t hear the thing anymore. It had gone to ground somewhere over there, or it was still fleeing but trying to be quiet about it.
Either way, it appeared to have given Preacher the slip again. And that was a feeling he didn’t care for.
Not one damned bit.
Chapter 29
The atmosphere in camp was tense all day while the rest of the expedition waited for Preacher to return from his scouting mission. Although relations between the dragoons and the Prussian soldiers had been rather tense from the beginning, that feeling might have eased over time if given a chance. Soldiers, no matter what their nationality, had certain things in common and sometimes bonded over those things, but the hostility of Baron von Kuhner and Feldwebel Becker toward the Americans kept that from happening.
Knowing Preacher intended to stay close enough to camp that any shots he fired would be audible, Jamie remained alert. He warned Lomax to stay ready to move out in a hurry if there were any indications the mountain man had run into trouble. “Not that Preacher can’t handle just about anything himself. Especially with Dog along.”
“But we wouldn’t want him hoggin’ all the fun, would we?” Lomax asked with a grin.
“That’s right.”
“Don’t worry, MacCallister. I’m champin’ at the bit to get back into action, too, just like you are.”<
br />
Jamie would have denied that he was champing at the bit for action, but there was no point in it. That was exactly how he felt.
However, nothing happened that day.
Preacher walked into camp at dusk that evening with Dog trailing at his heels. “No sign of Stone Bear and his bunch.” He got that out of the way immediately as Jamie, Lomax, Colonel Sutton, Lieutenant Curry, Baron von Kuhner, and several other of the men gathered around him and Dog.
“Are you certain you have even brought us to the right area?” asked von Kuhner.
“You can’t ever guarantee where an Indian might be,” Jamie told him.
“Yeah, they’re plumb notional critters,” Preacher added.
“But I believe there’s a good chance Stone Bear is somewhere in these parts,” Jamie went on. “He should be here. I don’t know what else anybody could go on.”
Von Kuhner said, “Hmmph,” packing a lot of disdain and doubt into the sound.
“That ain’t all, though,” Preacher continued. “I had another run-in with our friend from last night.”
That perked up everyone’s interest.
Colonel Sutton said, “You mean the . . . bear . . . or whatever the creature was?”
“That’s right. Dog caught a whiff of his scent and followed him. We got close enough to chase him for a little spell, but then he got away from us.”
“It’s not often anything gets away from you once you’re on its trail, Preacher,” Jamie said. “How’d that happen?”
Preacher explained about the ravine and the hazardous makeshift bridge spanning it. “I thought about tryin’ to cross it, and if it’d been a matter of life and death, I would have, but I figured if Dog was leery about skitterin’ out on that tree trunk, I ought to be, too. I ain’t sure it would’ve held my weight.”
“But that thing crossed it without any mishaps?” Sutton asked.
“I reckon. I didn’t see it down in the bottom o’ that ravine, and that’s where it would’ve been if it fell. It was a far enough drop that nobody would just get up and walk away from it, especially not that quicklike. Most folks’d break their neck if they fell in there.”
When All Hell Broke Loose Page 18