The Son of Earp Box Set - Books 1-3

by Chuck Buda

  He quickly glanced right to follow the progress of Hannigan and Thomas. The men had reached the mark and were poised for his signal. The Indian seemed to have slowed down now that he had a full belly. He sucked the bones for scraps of meat. Danvers checked the left flank as Jepson and Murphy got close to their mark.

  Now he had to choose the right moment for the maneuver. Depending on what the Indian was doing when he gave the signal, Danvers would send one team in. The Indian would more than likely balk in the opposite direction at which time Danvers would signal in the other team. The four men would cordon off most of the escape routes. The Indian would then fall right into his trap by coming his way. Or he would have to fight through the enclosing net. The savage may be strong enough to take on two men, but four would be a huge feat. And if he got his own hands dirty, well then, Danvers liked his chances even better. He quietly thanked the Lord again for this chance to end the hunt smoothly. If he could just keep his men from getting too busted up then he would be happy.

  The Sheriff’s eyes grew wide when he watched the Indian move. Could this really be happening? Of all the possibilities he had imagined when planning this hunt, he never would have guessed he would be seeing what he was this very second. The red man was taking off his clothes. He stripped down to his raw nature and began wading in the stream. Danvers wanted to laugh out loud at his good fortune but contained himself. Just barely. This would be the break they needed. With the Indian as naked as a jaybird, no weapons within reach, he was a dead goner. There would be no way for him to react upon seeing the men charge him. By the time he could get up the bank and gather his belongings or reach for a knife or something, he would be surrounded by men. This could not have gone any better. Danvers praised God above.

  The Indian dunked himself under the icy waters of the stream. The sheriff waved his hat to his left, sending in Jepson and Murphy first. He had anticipated sending the other two first but the Indian had his back to the men downstream so they would be able to move within range much quicker before detection. This improved their chances. Jepson caught the signal and tapped Murphy on the shoulder. The two men drew their pistols and ran toward the Indian’s location, keeping low as they went.

  Sheriff Danvers scratched his dark curly hair and smiled at this unexpected fortune. He watched as his men got within fifty yards or so and then he waved his hat at Hannigan and Thomas. Both men moved quickly down the hill, Hannigan with his lever-action rifle and Thomas with a pistol in hand. The sheriff placed his hat on his head and began his own trek down the hill toward the stream. He bent forward to stay out of sight as long as he could. They had the savage surrounded and it would all work out, just like it was supposed to. Sheriff Danvers made a reputation for bringing justice down upon those who failed to abide by the laws. His perfect record on posse’s would remain intact, further cementing the legend of his authority.

  As he ran down the slope, Sheriff Danvers pictured returning home to his wife, Laurie, and his dog, Shooter. He saw the streets lined with cheering townsfolk as he marched to the jail with his prisoner in shackles. There would be clapping and rounds of drinks at the saloon, none of which he would enjoy. But his men would soak in the glory of a successful bounty. The Mayor would issue a proclamation with his annoying, bushy white mustache dancing over his chubby lips. It would be well deserved for a job well done.

  He fixed his eyes on the Indian as he dunked himself under the water again. His legs moved faster while he was free to stand taller in his gait. Danvers pulled the six shooter from his holster. The Indian broke the surface of the water, looking right at him as he came down the hill. The look on his face told Danvers that the surprise attack had worked.

  Chapter 37

  Crouching Bear felt full. The fish he caught wasn’t large, but after eating next to nothing over the last day or two, it seemed like a big meal. He was more satisfied and his nervousness had faded. As he cupped some water to his lips to wash the food down, the cool silkiness of the water dripped through his fingers. He wished he could swim in the crisp waters and further soothe his restless soul. The fields were empty so he jumped at the chance to enjoy himself for a moment.

  He removed the leather jacket and then slid the dungarees down around his ankles. Crouching Bear lifted each foot separately to shake the pants off. He walked right into the stream without regard for the drastic temperature change. It felt so refreshing. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt free. What was it about floating in water that made a man lose himself? Lying back, he kicked his feet gently as the icy water ran between his toes. The feeling of cleanliness was a luxury men on the plains did not enjoy often. Being landlocked for the most part, the lands were unforgiving. Dry and hot. But this was like walking in the clouds.

  Crouching Bear sunk under the current. The water flowing gently at his chest and moving his manhood freely between his legs. He stretched his arms out to the side to catch the push of the current heading downstream. It reminded him of his childhood when the boys would roughhouse in the waters on hunting trips. The men would let the boys play in the streams to forget the failed hunts. If they couldn’t bring meats and furs back to the village then they would have play time. With animal meat, there would be no time for delay. The party would have to get the meat cleaned and back to the village for curing.

  As he came up, the sun warmed his face. Rivulets of water poured down his cheeks. He gulped some water and spit it out in a flume like he did as a boy. The water also shot out the side of his mouth through the bullet wound. He didn’t care. A smile spread across his face. His curse was almost forgotten. For the moment, Crouching Bear was happy. He sunk under the water again.

  When he rose from under water, Crouching Bear saw a man running down the hill toward the stream. The man had a black hat with long curly hair, and a gun in his hand. Crouching Bear knew he was with the posse from town. He turned to head to the shore. As he spun two more men were heading down stream, coming his way. All three men were within shooting distance. He swam as fast as he could to the bank of the stream. He reached the shore and clawed his way up the bank, turning the dirt to mud. Out of his peripheral vision, Crouching Bear noticed two more men coming up stream. He was surrounded. There would be no way out of this mess unless he fought his way out. His anger at being caught off guard spiraled up his spine.

  The men shouted for him to surrender. But his rage flared deep within his belly. The sounds of his bones stretching, cracking with transformation startled the approaching posse. He felt millions of hairs sprouting through his pores. Claws extended from the pads on his paws. Crouching Bear became the beast once again. He stood on his hind legs and roared at the two men coming down stream. The man with the pistol filled his britches, the bear picking up the overwhelming odor. The one with the rifle stopped and took aim. Crouching Bear approached the shooter as he cocked the lever. The man fired a shot which just grazed the chest hairs under his heart. Crouching Bear swung an enormous paw and lopped the head clean off the shoulders. The headless body still clutched the rifle as it tipped over.

  A bullet struck Crouching Bear in the back, spraying blood. He lunged forward, landing on the man with all the droppings in his pants. Crouching Bear clamped down on his face and tore the skin straight up. The man howled in anguish as he grasped at what used to be on the front of his head. The terrifying shrieks scorched Crouching Bear’s ears. He bit down on the man’s throat, flooding his maw with gushing blood. The man died instantly.

  Another shot missed him and he turned on all fours. The two men heading up stream were firing bullets from their pistols. The man with the red hair knelt on one knee. The taller of the two stood and fired. Crouching Bear charged the men as bullets continued to rip through the air on either side of him. The tall man kept pulling his trigger but no more bullets came. He had fired all his rounds and did not stick around to reload. He threw the handgun at the bear and ran for his life, screaming at the top of his lungs. Crouching Bear kept charging the knee
ling man. As he got closer he noticed how ruby red the man’s hair was. His eyes were cold. He laughed as he kept firing, holding his ground. Crouching Bear landed on top of the red-haired one. Thrashing and scratching, the bear dug deep grooves into the man’s chest and stomach. He pulled intestines out with his powerful jaws, filling his mouth with many tasty fluids.

  The bear looked left, up the rise and watched the black hat man stare in horror. His pistol remained at his side as he watched his friend get eaten alive. The blood-soaked shrieks gurgled as the man drowned in his own liquids. Crouching Bear taunted the black hat man, howling in his direction, chunks of skin flying from his open mouth. The black hat man was visibly shaken. His lips quivered through his thick beard. Another roar sent the black hat man scrambling back up the hill. Without a sound, the man ran and leapt his way to the crest.

  Crouching Bear let loose a victorious scream which thundered through the valley. The echo sounded louder when it traveled back to his ears. He ate heartily, filling his belly with more meat than he needed. He was insatiable, not letting anything go to waste.

  Crouching Bear thought to himself as he chewed his food. He was completely himself now in the bear’s body. It was he who invoked the anger. It was he who killed the men. It was he who ate the flesh of a fellow human being. The bear no longer controlled him. He was in control of the beast. As one body. One spirit. One monster.

  Chapter 38

  Dust blew into his mouth along with a winged insect. James gagged and spit the bug out. He retrieved his canteen and swished water to clean his mouth. As he put the canteen back in his bag, he noticed two riders coming his way from the west. James could see that they were coming fast and he wondered if he should take cover or wait to question them about signs of Crouching Bear.

  The riders got closer and James saw that it was Sheriff Danvers and Mr. Jepson. He figured they were on posse but he was confused why it was just the two of them. Why were they headed back toward town? Why were they riding so fast? A posse searching for a man would surely ride a little slower to look for signs. James sat back in his saddle and awaited the men as they came up to him.

  “Ho.” Sheriff Danvers reined in his horse and pulled alongside James. Mr. Jepson took longer to slow his horse down. James got the feeling that Jepson didn’t intend to stop at all but then thought better about it.

  “What are you doing here, James?” The sheriff looked like a man in panic. Something about his face appeared aged or worried. James couldn’t figure it out but he sensed something was wrong.

  “Uh, well, I want to find Crouching Bear. Before he hurts more people.”

  Jepson screamed a string of obscenities and almost indiscernible babble. James tried to follow along but it only added to his confusion.

  “Shut yer damn mouth.” Sheriff Danvers showed frustration with Jepson. “Son, ain’t no way you are going to stop that Indian. You’ll be killed. He just slaughtered my men a few miles back.” The sheriff caught himself from choking up, his eyes red and watered. “That Indian became a bear. Right before our very eyes.” He rubbed his beard. “I can’t even explain what it was.” He was clearly shaken.

  James felt sorry that he knew more about the curse than the folks from town. He was afraid of the sheriff’s reaction but he owed the man an explanation.

  “Crouching Bear was cursed by his tribe elders, sir. He came to our town to escape his tribe. He can’t control it. It is more than anyone can understand, including Crouching Bear.”

  Danvers blinked rapidly. “Nobody knew that. We should have known that.” James looked down in shame as the sheriff yelled at him. “Ain’t no amount of men to take that Indian down. He’s too much for us. We’re heading home and we ain’t coming back. That Indian is gone as far as I’m concerned and I don’t want nothing to do with him.”

  James looked at Jepson who shifted nervously in his saddle every few seconds. He was a holy man but he looked like he had lost faith in any deity that would protect his soul.

  “Now let’s go back to town before that bear creature feeds on us next.”

  “I’m not going back.”

  “What did you say, son?”

  “I’m not going back with you.”

  “Well, why the hell not?”

  James stared into the sheriff’s eyes. “Because I have to put a stop to this. I can’t explain it right now but I must go after him.”

  “Boy, you’re out of your damned mind. That thing tore men apart. He’s going to kill you.”

  “What does it matter? Carson’s mom, George, your men. Nothing can stop him but me.”

  “George?” Danvers lifted the brim of his hat in disbelief. “He killed George too?”

  “George is alive for now. I don’t know if he’ll make it though.”

  Danvers lowered his head, taking in all the information. “If you go after him, son, then you are on your own. I can’t help you. We have no way to fight this...this thing. I’m sorry.”

  James nodded. He had already come to terms with his role in this mess. “I know, sir. I’ll be okay.” His eyes searched the western horizon. “So you say he’s to the west a few miles?”

  Sheriff Danvers nodded. He pointed out several markers for James to look out for on the way. He wished James good luck and said he would see to it that James’ mother and Carson were looked after. The way he said it led James to believe the sheriff had already written him off as a dead man. His gut told him it would probably be true. Then the men rode off as quickly as they had arrived. Jepson continued to babble aloud as they left.

  James felt sick to his stomach. The sheriff was one of the toughest men he knew. Even tougher than George. But he looked broken. James never thought he would ever see the sheriff so vulnerable. So unsure and scared. It rocked him that Danvers and George were defeated by Crouching Bear and yet he had to go forward to face him. Would Crouching Bear listen to James? Would he kill James? Could James really kill him? James had never killed a man before. Now he was faced with killing not only another human being. But a friend.

  In all his fantasies of beating bad guys, not once did it involve killing. He imagined shootouts and fist fights. But nobody died. James realized that life was much more real. The stakes were high and it wasn’t a game. This manhunt was bigger than the news clippings of his father pistol whipping ruffians. This adventure made his father’s exploits seem small. Unimportant. James had embarked on a massive journey. A journey which tore a man’s soul apart. Killing a friend to save the lives of countless folks was epic. Not one choice in the matter was as simple as tossing a drunk out of a saloon. James tried to wrap his mind around this thought.

  James spurred his horse to ride westward. He got the horse into a fast gallop since he knew which direction to go. He wouldn’t have to worry about searching for footprints or human waste. Time was short if he wanted to catch up with Crouching Bear before more damage could be done. He had to take care of this problem for Carson and George and the rest of the townspeople. But most of all, he had to do it for Crouching Bear. He had to save his friend. To do that, he would have to kill him.

  Chapter 39

  Soaring Eagle removed the bandage that covered George’s chest. As he peeled it back, some of the soft scabbing came with it which elicited a fresh spot of blood. George moaned. The old man applied a new poultice and moved beyond the crushed ribs to the forearm. He gently lifted the arm at the wrist, inspecting the paste that filled in the cavernous wound. He patted the paste down to remove any pockets of air that had crept beneath.

  His mind worked hard to find an agreeable excuse for what he had done. But he found no answer. Soaring Eagle wished he could do it all over, knowing then what he knew now.

  When James and George had come to him, he had listened to the story of the curse and he had been swept away by it. His intent had been to help the young man eliminate the curse, and free the Indian from his pain. So he offered to assist with the vision quest. Of course, he knew that once the ceremony took place, the tw
o men would be linked forever. He communicated that much to the boy but he left out one important detail. The fact that one of them would have to die in order for the curse to be lifted. At the time, Soaring Eagle was not connected enough to the boy to worry about events downwind. After meeting with James again, Soaring Eagle felt more affinity to the youngster. He actually cared about the young man and hoped he would survive this battle. But he knew too well that the events he had set in motion were beyond his control.

  What bothered him more was that he now had an affinity for Crouching Bear as well. When he met the man, he helped him, as was his nature. Soaring Eagle had always enjoyed helping others which is what led him to learn about the ways of the spirits and the healing practices. Once he heard Crouching Bear’s side of the tale, he empathized deeply for the loneliness and pain that the man had portrayed. He was a tragic figure, damned either way he turned. It was heart-breaking.

  Soaring Eagle applied a cool compress to George’s forehead. The man’s fever shot up every few hours as his body fought to survive. He didn’t particularly like George but he cared for him anyway. On some level, caring for George was a form of penance for what he did to James. But mostly, Soaring Eagle would have cared for the injured man regardless of James.