Hunger on the Chisholm Trail
Page 15
“You were otherwise busy sulking. Didn’t want to ruin your mood.” Jia-Li smiled and rose. She gave him a fond kiss on the cheek. “If it is a boy, we name him Karl Benjamin. If it is a girl, she will be Tracey Rose.”
Karl looked at her with a smile. He felt the tears roll down his cheek. “She would have loved that. And I am honored.”
“Now will you come with us?” Mikhail ducked as Karl threw a boot at him. “Fine. You ornery old cuss. Don’t say I didn’t ask. We are leaving this afternoon. Your cut of the cash from the Post Office safe is here. You change your mind and we will be in San Francisco for a few months as we research land grants and good spots to prospect.”
“Good luck to you. To both of you. I’ll be out by the time the baby is born, I hope. Try not to make a mess of things before I get there.”
***
Tribal Lands, Indian Region
The former nearly sheriff rode slowly over the ridge. Laid out in front of him were the tents of the Tribes. He stopped his horse and stared intently. There was no movement as far as he could see. It wasn’t like them to leave their things unattended like this. He heeled his horse and made his way in. The smell of death was strong, and his horse rolled its eyes in terror as he forced it deeper in. He patted her neck and whistled low into the silence.
“What happened here, girl?”
Blood splattered the hides that whipped about in the wind.
“Looks like a slaughter.”
As he rode, he began to hear the sound of someone digging and he kept on as it grew louder. A lone Indian stood bare chested. Around him were hundreds of graves and, by the look of him, he had dug them all. The Indian turned and stared at him.
“They all take sick?”
The Indian shook his head.
“What happened? Same thing that happened at Duncan?”
The Indian dropped his shovel. “What happened at Duncan?”
“Hell if I know. I rode into town this morning and half the town was ash and the other half abandoned.”
The Indian dropped his head into his hands and gave an anguished scream.
“Mind telling me what the hell is going on?”
River looked up at the man, tears streaming down his face. “We were too late. Too cocky. And everyone died because of it.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Hasse Ola, my friend and brother, did this. The ritual was too late. The taint of his father was too strong.”
“The taint?”
He looked at the stranger with empty eyes. “Wendigo. His father destroyed Duncan. And here Hasse Ola gave in as well. Be wary stranger. Somewhere out there,” he pointed in a circle outward, “at least one Wendigo roams the plains.”
The man stared without understanding then clucked his tongue and heeled his mare. “Damn Savages. Make no sense at all.”
As he rode away, he heard the sounds of digging behind him begin again.
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
M Ennenbach roams the wilderness alone with his trusty six shooter and a horse named Girl. A poet, author and madman; he sings punk rock around the campfire to annoy the monsters. One third of Cerberus, the greatest collective ever assembled. He insists upon world domination.