Keech understood the foreboding. This whole territory had a foul temper about it, like a rotten child with a toothache. His travels with Pa Abner had never taken him into Kansas, but Pa had sometimes spoken of it as a dangerous place, a harsh region of wildfires and tornadoes and open spaces that could rob a lonely horseman of his sanity.
The trio approached a dense wall of twisted brush and thistle. A narrow fox run meandered through the tangle, and Keech suggested they use it as a shortcut back to camp.
As they plodded in single file down the critter path, Keech’s mind couldn’t help spiraling to thoughts of Bonfire Crossing, the Osage encampment where Pa Abner and his Enforcer chums had taken the Oath of Memory, the mysterious ritual that had caused them to forget the Char Stone’s hiding place. Pa’s clues on how to find this Crossing had been rather vague—Ride west, he had said, follow the rivers, the bending trees—but there were dozens of rivers in Kansas Territory, and Keech had never seen a “bending tree” in his life.
“Blackwood, we got company!”
Every rambling thought fell away at Cutter’s voice, and Keech snapped to attention.
A Morgan horse with a black mane stood in the distance. A brown hairy monster sat on its saddle. The beast and the horse lingered on a short hill thinly covered in snow.
“What in blue tarnation?” John Wesley muttered.
Cutter clenched his reins. “Am I seeing things, or is a bear riding that horse?”
Keech squinted at the terrible rider. It was no monster; the figure on the hill wore a heavy coat made from the pelts of a brown bear. The bear’s open maw wrapped around the rider’s head, its fangs encircling the stranger’s face.
“Stay ready,” Keech said, sizing up the clearing, the forest, their potential escape. “If he pulls a gun, split east and west.”
The stranger rode forward a few steps, revealing himself to be a middle-aged man. He raised a large gloved hand in greeting. Keech returned the gesture, keeping a sharp eye on the fellow’s other hand.
“We shouldn’t stop,” John Wesley mumbled.
“We best learn his purpose. We don’t want a stranger to our backs if he has ill intentions.”
“You’re the leader, Lost Cause,” Cutter said. “You talk to him.”
“Who said I’m the leader?” Keech asked. Nat Embry was the top dog in their crew, and Keech wanted to keep it that way. He had already gotten his brother Sam killed; he didn’t want to carry the responsibility of any more lives.
From across the distance, the stranger announced, “Pleasant day, boys!”
Frowning, Keech called back, “Good day, sir.”
“A rabble of young fellers in the deep woods,” the horseman mused. “Musta run away from yer chores, eh?”
“We’re just out hunting.”
“Ride closer!” the stranger called. “A life of shootin’ prairie hens done spoilt my ears.”
“He’s baiting us,” Cutter said.
“Yeah, he wants a look at our getup,” John Wesley added.
“I know.” But Keech prodded Felix forward a few steps anyway and said to the man, “Okay, we’re closer. Now kindly state your purpose, mister.”
The grizzled horseman grinned, revealing chipped teeth. He wore a heavy brown beard that matched his bear pelt, and his eyelids drooped lazily in the sunlight. One of his hands gripped a yellow paper, rolled into a loose tube. He didn’t appear to be armed—though he could have been hiding any manner of weapon inside his barbaric pelt.
“I’m a hunter, young feller. Go by the name of Sunrise Albert, on account that I rise like the sun and spread my joy ’cross the world.” The man chortled. “You’ve heard of me, I’m sure.”
“Sorry, Sunrise, we never have,” Keech said.
The horseman grunted his disappointment. “That baffles me. I’m well known in these parts.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” Keech said. “What brings you out today?”
“Just collectin’ for a feller named Friendly. Surely you’ve heard of Friendly Williams.”
“No, sir.”
“You ain’t never heard of him, neither? He oversees the trade affairs from Atchison all the way down to Wisdom.”
Keech nearly reeled when he heard the name of the town. Wisdom was the place that Sheriff Bose Turner told them might hold clues to Bonfire Crossing’s whereabouts. Turner had said the lawman there, a fellow by the name of Strahan, knew the Osage folks in the region and might be able to help guide them in the right direction. “This town, Wisdom. How far is it?”
“About a day’s ride southwest, as the crow flies. ’Course, the crows in these parts been actin’ mighty peculiar the past few days.”
The stranger was surely referring to the Reverend Rose’s unnatural messenger crows, those dark agents of the sky that had followed the young riders all over Missouri. Since entering Kansas Territory a week ago, the gang hadn’t seen any trace of the crows. Yet Keech felt sure they were somewhere up there, watching from a safe distance. Spying for the Reverend.
Keech’s fingers crept to his chest, seeking the familiar crescent of metal through the fabric of his coat. Tucked inside his shirt rested Pa’s silver pendant, the quarter-moon object that Pa had called “sacred.” The magical amulets killed thralls and kept the monster crows at bay.
Keech called to the stranger. “What exactly are you out collecting?”
Merrily, the tracker unrolled the yellow paper. The boys leaned forward in their saddles to read the contents. When Keech realized what he was seeing, a mixture of anger and sorrow squeezed his heart.
The paper was a government poster. A drawing at the top depicted what appeared to be a boy, silhouetted as if he were a mere shadow, running with a bindle over his shoulder. The proclamation printed below the image read:
$300 REWARD!
FOR 1 RUNAWAY
ANSWERS TO OSCAR
HEIGHT: 5 FEET 2 INCHES
WEIGHT: 95 POUNDS
13 YEARS OF AGE, SLENDER BUILD
LAST SEEN WEARING A BROWN SHIRT,
GRAY PANTS, BLACK HAT, AND BLUE SACK COAT
STOLE:
1 FOOD BASKET, 1 PAIR OF BOOTS
DELIVER TO
FRIENDLY WILLIAMS
WISDOM, KS
Sunrise Albert was hunting a person.
Keech wanted to rip the paper to pieces. He glanced at his trailmates. Cutter’s face twisted in disgust, while John Wesley hung his head.
Pa Abner had not spoken often about slavery, but when he did, he would shake with rage. He had settled the Home for Lost Causes near Big Timber because the folks in that area held to a higher belief, namely that all people were equal in the eyes of their maker, regardless of skin color. Big Timber even boasted a sign at the outskirts of the settlement that declared A FREE TOWN FOR ONE AND ALL. SLAVERS NOT WELCOME! The people there weren’t perfect, but at least they refused to allow hateful men to live among them.
A malicious grin spread across Sunrise Albert’s face, giving Keech the impression that a bear was smiling at him. “Y’all should notice that the reward is three hun’ert dollars. That’s Friendly’s generosity. I’d split it fifty-fifty if’n you kids helped me.”
“No one’s crossed our path,” said John Wesley.
With a tug of the reins, Keech edged Felix toward the western trees, a route that would skirt around the clearing past Sunrise.
The tracker tapped the poster. “Y’all certain ya can’t help?”
“We’re certain,” Keech said. He considered adding that they would never turn over another human being to a hunter, no matter the price. He wanted to cuss the man out, but they weren’t equipped for a gunfight, which such words would surely earn them.
“That’s a shame,” Sunrise said, stuffing the yellow poster back under his bear pelt. The approaching north wind picked up and rustled the coat’s dingy fur.
“Amigos, we better go,” Cutter said.
The boys started toward the western trees.
They d
idn’t get far before Sunrise called out, “Stop right there!”
Keech’s breath hitched when he saw a pistol in the tracker’s hand. Sunrise must have pulled the sidearm when he tucked away the poster. A foolish oversight, to miss such an obvious draw. Pa Abner had always taught Keech that clever movement of the hands could dupe careless eyes.
“I believe we got unfinished business.”
Keech swiveled Felix back around. Cutter drew his long blade as he turned his own mount. Fifty paces lay between them and Sunrise, far enough that a pistol shot was no sure success. But the man could still hit a pony without the need for much accuracy.
“Mister, we’re only hunting squirrels,” Keech insisted.
“A storyteller, I see.”
“We’re just riding through,” John Wesley said. “Let us pass.”
John’s words fell away when Sunrise thumbed back the side hammer of his pistol. “Or what? Tell me somethin’ useful, boys, or I’ll fling a lead ball.”
“Mister, don’t get your back up,” Keech said. “We’re telling the truth.”
“Nah, I been watchin’ you boys. Yer huntin’ somethin’. My gut tells me it’s my bounty. Or maybe you want to hide the boy and whisk him off to—”
Before Sunrise could finish, a deep crack thundered across the forest.
The tracker’s gun hand whipped sideways, and the pistol sprang from his grip. His Morgan reared in surprise, and Sunrise yelped, blood pouring from his gloved hand.
Spinning on their saddles, the boys tracked the source of the gunshot.
Forty yards to the east, a dirty gray hat bobbed over a gooseberry bush. The long black barrel of a plains rifle poked out from the center of the shrub. At first, it appeared the gooseberry bush was wearing the hat and holding the rifle, but then a tall figure pulled the barrel from the shrub and stepped out from his cover.
Nat Embry tipped his hat to the boys, then dropped to one knee to reload his Hawken.
CHAPTER 3
THE BENDING TREE
“You no-good bushwhackers!” Sunrise bellowed, cradling his wounded hand. “I’m a law-abidin’ tracker! I got a certified right to my bounty!”
“Shut up, you low-down snake,” Keech said.
Sunrise used his uninjured hand to seize his horse’s reins. Fighting the spooked animal, he whipped around to the south. He made reckless tracks through the woods, his bearskin coat flapping in the hectic wind. “You’ll pay for this!” He disappeared into the thicket.
Next to Nat, Duck emerged from the trees on Irving, her buckskin Fox Trotter. She was leading her brother’s matching horse, Sally. The girl’s thick woolen coat made her look almost as wide as she was tall.
“We’re sure glad to see you!” John Wesley shouted as Nat and Duck joined them in the clearing. “That was a mighty fine shot. Took the hide right off his knuckles.”
“Thanks,” Nat said, looking proud.
“What brought you out from camp?” Keech asked.
“A spot of trouble,” said Duck. “Three cowpokes in yellow face paint. They was asking after a fugitive boy.”
Nat rested the Hawken over his shoulder. “They thought we was hiding him in one of our tents. They drew on us. Held us at gunpoint while they kicked down the camp.”
“They woulda stole Nat’s rifle,” Duck added, “but he’d tucked it under some shrubs before they got to us.”
Nat turned to John Wesley. “Sorry, John, but they threw your tent and blankets into the fire. I gave them as much mean talk as I could, but the more I spat, the more stuff they burned.”
John Wesley loosed a loud huff of anger. “Why my tent? What’d I ever do?”
Cutter frowned at his friend. “Don’t worry, hermano. Tonight you can squat with me.”
“How’d you get rid of them?” Keech asked.
“They lit out after they was satisfied we weren’t hiding nobody,” Duck said. “Rode off west, and we worried they’d find you three.”
“I reckon one of them did.” Keech hooked a thumb back to where Sunrise had fled.
Freezing wind hissed across his face. Keech shivered and glanced up at the sky. The norther was advancing fast, choking out the day. In less than an hour they would find themselves in a heavy storm. He searched the brewing clouds for signs of the Reverend’s crows, but the varmints were nowhere in sight.
Nat said, “We best get a move on. Wisdom ain’t getting any closer.”
“I vote we find shelter,” Duck said. “The sky’s awful dark, and that wind’s kicking up.”
“The longer we take finding Sheriff Strahan, the more chances we got of running into trouble,” Nat told his sister. “I don’t like the idea of waiting around for those ruffians to come back for revenge.”
“We won’t find Strahan at all if we freeze like a bunch of icicles,” Duck said.
“Maybe if we head for the Kansas River, we’ll spot a place to hole up,” Keech said.
“What about that?” John Wesley pointed through a thin spread of icy woodland to the west. “Looks like maybe there’s a barn down yonder.”
Although dusk was falling quickly and the wind stung his eyes, Keech could make out a dark blockhouse with a triangular roof standing alone in the wilderness. The building jutted like the prow of a sunken ghost ship against the unpromising sky.
“I don’t think we oughta hole up so near those paw prints,” Cutter said. “I say we ride at least a few miles.”
“What paw prints?” asked Nat.
“A weird critter looks to be prowlin’ the area,” said John Wesley. “Cutter thinks it’s a Shifter from another world.”
Nat looked confused.
“You know, a Shifter.” John grinned. “A man who turns into a bulldog at night and stalks chicken houses.”
“That ain’t what I said!” Cutter barked.
“Fellas, pay attention,” Duck said, snapping her fingers. “That storm’s coming fast. Let’s just go fetch a peek.” She pointed across the distance at the lone building. “If we don’t like the look of it, we’ll move on.”
Nat scratched his cheek. “I reckon it wouldn’t hurt. If that barn looks safe, we’ll let the storm pass, then head to Wisdom.”
“What a bully idea.” Duck smirked, rather sarcastically. “Glad you thought of it.”
By the time they reached the dirt path that led to the structure, just a few minutes of scant light remained of dusk. Holding on to Felix’s cantle, Keech felt a speck of ice tap the tip of his nose. He glanced up at the peevish sky, which had turned the darkest indigo and churned with the oncoming storm. They would awaken the next morning to an ice-covered territory.
“I’ve never seen weather turn this quick in early November,” Keech said.
“The old-timers in Sainte Genevieve always say that when the crows fly low, you best brace for a hard winter,” Nat said.
“Makes sense,” said John Wesley. “We saw plenty of crows.”
Duck held out her hand, palm up to the sky, and a flake of ice drifted down and landed on her finger. “We’re outfitted for cold weather, but we ain’t dressed for a blizzard. Let’s hope we can get into that building.”
As the group traveled, Keech kept glancing over his shoulder, expecting Sunrise Albert and his men to sneak up on the Lost Causes and ambush them. They weren’t out of the clear just yet.
But all thought of Sunrise left his mind when his eyes fell upon a meadow to their left. A strange growth stood in the center, a short distance off the path. At first glance, it looked like two solid trees standing alone in the field, but when he looked closer, he saw it was actually a single white oak tree with a trunk that split at the base. One thick arm stretched straight into the darkening sky. The other ran away from the base for a few feet, then curved sharply upward, forming a distinct shape, like an upside-down letter h.
John Wesley chuckled. “Look at that twisted, old tree. I wonder what happened to make it grow bent like that.”
Hearing that word—bent—made a lightning
bolt of excitement snap through Keech. “Everyone stop!”
Duck yanked on Irving’s reins. “What are you going on about?”
“It’s a bending tree! I’d wager a thousand dollars.”
Nat hauled Sally around in a semicircle. “You mean like your pa said we should find?”
“It has to be,” Keech said, his breath catching into a lump.
“Let’s check it out, but hurry. I don’t feel cozy dawdling in the open,” Nat said.
The horses wheezed bitterly as the young riders directed them off the road and into the meadow. The tall grasses and the sedge were bent sideways here, pushed nearly horizontal by heavy winds and frozen in place by the weather. As the band approached the curious tree, Keech noticed that four white stones surrounded the roots, as if someone had purposely marked off the tree, setting the oak apart from the wilderness. The stones looked smooth and perfectly round, and ice had glazed them.
This is it, Pa, Keech thought. We found it. We found your bending tree. Sliding off Felix, he hurried over to examine the twisted oak. “It looks like the bent arm is pointing to the south.”
Cutter shrugged. “Does that mean we head that way?”
“Maybe so.” Keech reached one of the white stones set a couple of feet from the tree’s base. Each stone was no larger than a kitchen saucer, and two of them had cracked in the middle like eggshells. Nature could not have produced such flawlessly rounded, consistently spaced markers. They had surely been designed to sit around the tree like the points of a compass.
The tree itself lingered over him like an old, leaning man with a warped cane. Now that he was standing here, Keech felt shivers tingle his nerves.
He had no idea how this crooked, old growth was meant to guide them, but he felt that if he crossed into the circular space marked off by the stones, his mind would open up and he would understand how to find Bonfire Crossing.
The Fang of Bonfire Crossing Page 2
