Blood Trail

by J. R. Roberts

  “About a week,” Clint said, “with no trouble.”

  “What are the chances of that?” he asked.

  “We have some wounds to lick,” Clint said, “and so does . . . well, it.” He was still thinking of two killers, wanting to say “them,” but he was traveling with people who believed differently.

  “Do you really think so?”

  “It won’t follow us into Council Bluffs,” Clint said. “It’s too populated.”

  He didn’t know if that was true, though, since he still wasn’t sure what they were dealing with. But he was trying to put Gerhardt at ease.

  “Breakfast is ready,” Bella announced.

  “Get yourself something to eat,” Clint said. “We’re going to get started soon.”

  “Yes, all right.”

  As Gerhardt went to the fire, Talbot came up to Clint and said, “I saw you talking with Bella. She’s a fine woman.”

  “She seems very nice.”

  “She’d make a good wife for someone.”

  “I’m not looking for a wife, Frederick,” Clint said. “Besides, she’s just recently widowed, isn’t she?”

  “That does not matter,” Talbot said. “She needs a man, and her son needs a father.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “I’m afraid I’m not available for either job.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Stop trying to be a matchmaker and get yourself some breakfast,” Clint said. “I’m going to ride today, so you can go back to driving your own wagon.”

  “As you wish.”

  Talbot went to the fire. Clint noticed that breakfast was cooking on the other fires, as well, so he walked over to one of those. No point in asking for a different kind of trouble.

  * * *

  After breakfast they cleaned up, doused the fires, and readied the wagons. Clint felt fairly sure they’d be all right until Council Bluffs. It remained to be seen if they’d be pursued across the river. If they were, then he and Talbot—and the others—would have to come up with some kind of plan of action to deal with the danger. Maybe if they all went out hunting, they’d be able to track it down. The man or the beast. Maybe catching one would be catching the other, even if they were separate entities.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  A week later they pulled into Council Bluffs. There had been no further attacks, although Talbot and Clint remained as alert as ever. Neither of them really believed that the danger had passed.

  “We should be safe in town, shouldn’t we?” Clint asked the night before their arrival. He had not told Talbot that this was what he had told Gerhardt.

  “Not necessarily,” Talbot said. “Werewolves—even vampires—have been known to strike at a large population.”

  “Really?”

  Talbot nodded. “They have their pick, don’t they?”

  “But you said you think the thing is following the train,” Clint said.

  “That doesn’t mean it won’t take advantage of a large population to satisfy its blood lust.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “that would have been too good to be true anyway.”

  “Yes.”

  They stopped their wagons just outside of town and stepped down.

  “We’ll need to outfit here for the rest of the trip,” Clint explained. “Also for the crossing.”

  “How will we do that?” Gerhardt asked. “Is it shallow enough to ride across?”

  “That’s what I’ll have to find out,” Clint said. “If not, we’ll have to take the wheels off and float them across.”

  “Float?” another man asked.

  “Don’t worry,” Clint said. “I’ll show you how.”

  “Can we go to town?” Bella asked. “I would like to do some shopping that does not have to do with supplies.”

  “Yes,” Clint said, “you can all go to town if you want. Just stay in a group. If you see a café you want to eat in, go ahead. Get all the comforts out of your system here, because once we cross the river, comforts will be scarce.”

  The women became excited, as did the children. The men were anxious to find a saloon.

  “Don’t get too drunk,” Clint warned them, “and don’t get in trouble with the law. If you end up in jail, I’m not waiting for you to get out. We’ll move on.”

  All of the men nodded their understanding and the entire party made their way into town.

  “This must have been very difficult when the wagon trains were longer,” Talbot said.

  “Just imagine a hundred wagons instead of ten,” Clint said.

  “That many?”

  “And more.”

  “Will we really leave if one of the men is put in jail?” Talbot asked.

  “Probably not,” Clint said, “but I want the men to keep that in mind when they’re drinking. Where’s Sarah?”

  “She went into town with the women.”

  “Good.”

  “I know my daughter can be headstrong,” Talbot said. “Just give her time, Clint.”

  Clint wasn’t sure what Talbot was talking about, but he decided not to pursue it.

  “Are you going to town?” Talbot asked.

  “I am,” Clint said. “I have to find out how the river’s running, send a telegram to Effingham, and talk to the local law.”

  “Why will you talk to the law?”

  “I do that whenever I come into a town,” Clint said.

  “Every time?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “It must be difficult for you.”

  “Sometimes it is.”

  “And what about the telegram?”

  “I want Ray Bullet to know we made it this far,” Clint said. “I also want to know that things are all right back there.”

  “Why would they not be?” Talbot asked. “The creature at least followed us away from there.”

  “Maybe it went back,” Clint said. “Or maybe there’s more than the one we know about.”

  “I hope not,” Talbot said. “They would not be able to deal with it.”

  “I think they’d figure it out,” Clint said.

  “I doubt it.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “we’ll know soon enough. You going into town?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s walk together.”

  “Can we leave the wagons?”

  “Sure,” Clint said. “There are a few people still here, aren’t there?”

  “Yes.”

  “These people are used to having wagons around,” Clint said. “They won’t bother anything.”

  In past years, of course, there was lots of thievery when wagons were left unguarded, but just as predators left the boomtowns when the mines dried up, once the wagon trains pretty much stopped coming, the thieves moved on.

  “We should be fine,” Clint said.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Council Bluffs had grown even more since Clint’s last stop there. Despite the fact that the wagon trains had stopped coming, the town had prospered. He entered what he remembered as a trading post and found himself standing inside a huge general store.

  He waited his turn before speaking to the clerk, an older man with a neat gray mustache.

  “Wagon train?” the man said to him. “You’re about ten years late, ain’tcha?”

  “Just some folks who decided to go west as a family,” Clint said.

  “Well, they’re sure welcome to shop here,” the man said. He stuck out his hand. “Wade Miller.”

  “Clint Adams,” Clint said, shaking the man’s hand.

  “What’s the Gunsmith doin’ working as a wagon master?” Miller asked.

  “Just fell into it,” Clint said. “I’ll tell my people to come in, you can work up one big bill. Okay?”

  “However you wanna do it.”

  “C
an you tell me how the river’s running?”

  “From what I hear, you’re gonna have to float ’em,” Miller said. “It’s runnin’ high.”

  “What happened to Harry Lester?” Clint asked.

  “Sold the place to me,” Miller said. “Just around when the wagons stopped coming. He didn’t see the future, but I did, and I started expanding.”

  “Good for you,” Clint said. “One last question.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Who’s the local law?”

  “Jasper.”

  “What jasper?” Clint asked.

  “No, that’s his name,” Miller said. “Sheriff Robert Jasper.”

  “What’s he like?”

  “Like a fish outta water,” Miller said.

  “Wrong man for the job?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “Anytime.”

  Clint left and headed for the sheriff’s office, which he had spotted right across the street.

  * * *

  Clint entered the sheriff’s office, which looked and smelled like a newly built structure.

  The man behind the desk wore a tie, a jacket, and what looked like a brand-new hat. Beneath the hat was a face that looked as new as the building. If he was thirty yet, it wasn’t by much.

  “Sheriff Jasper?” Clint asked.

  “I am Robert Jasper,” the man said, “although I prefer to go by Reverend.” He stood up. He was tall and slender, and he wasn’t wearing a gun.

  “Reverend?”

  “That’s my true calling,” he said.

  “But you’re the sheriff?”

  “The town has no church,” he said. “Until I can have one built, this office and badge will have to be my pulpit. What can I do for you, sir?”

  Clint understood what the storekeeper had meant. A preacher had no business wearing a badge.

  “My name is Clint Adams.”

  “Yes?”

  This was one of the few times Clint had waited for a reaction to his name. He got none.

  “I’m here with a train of ten wagons, just a few families heading west.”

  “Are you the wagon master?”

  “I am.”

  “Well, please tell your members we don’t want any trouble while they’re here. As long as they know that, I have no trouble with you being here.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Clint said. “I just wanted to check in with you.”

  “I appreciate the thought, sir.”

  “Sure thing,” Clint said. “Have a good day.”

  He left the office, feeling he had done what he was supposed to do. It wasn’t his problem if the town sheriff didn’t know who he was.

  * * *

  Clint stopped in at the first saloon he saw.

  “Small wagon train just on the outside of town,” Hal Wilkins told his friend, Teddy Luther.

  “So?”

  “So they got women.”

  “We got women in town,” Luther said.

  “They got new women,” Wilkins said. “And some young ones.”

  “Young?”

  Wilkins nodded.

  “How young?”

  “Pretty young.”

  “Well,” Luther said, “maybe we should just make ’em feel welcome.”

  “That’s what I was thinkin’.”

  FORTY

  Sarah Talbot stopped in the dress shop with several of the ladies from the train, including Bella. She had seen Bella talking to Clint as they traveled, at mealtimes, and she wanted to know what was going on. So far, she had not been able to lure Clint into her wagon, or even away from the camp. He felt she was too young, but she knew that if she kept working on him, she could convince him otherwise.

  She did not need Bella Holstein getting in the way.

  “That’s nice,” she said to Bella, who was looking at a bolt of blue cloth.

  “I was thinking of making a dress out of it.”

  “I’ll bet Clint will like it.”

  “Who?”

  “Clint Adams,” Sarah said. “Weren’t you thinking of him when you decided to make this dress?”

  “What an odd thing to say, child,” Bella replied. “Whatever are you talking about?”

  “Don’t you think he’s interested in you?” Sarah asked.

  “I have given no thought to such a thing,” Bella said. “Why would you say that?”

  “I have seen the two of you talking . . .”

  “I talk to all of the men on the train, girl,” Bella said. “But I am a married woman.”

  “You are a widow.”

  “Nevertheless,” Bella said, “I have given Mr. Adams no more thought than his position as our new wagon master.”

  “I see,” Sarah said. “I am sorry I mentioned it, then.”

  She moved away and left the older woman to her bolt of blue cloth. She was very happy with the result of her little subterfuge.

  * * *

  Wilkins and Luther knew the women had gone into the dress shop. Where else would a bunch of women go when they first arrived in town?

  “Whoa,” Luther said, “lookee there.”

  “See, I told you,” Wilkins said. “Ain’t she young?”

  “She’s young and fresh,” Luther said, “and pretty.”

  “And she looks bored,” Wilkins said. “Don’t she look bored, Teddy?”

  “She sure do look bored,” Luther said.

  “I think we should make her feel welcome in Council Bluffs,” Wilkins said, “and let her know there’s lots to do.”

  “I agree.”

  They stepped off the boardwalk and started across.

  * * *

  Sarah saw the two men crossing the street and knew what was going to happen. She had been through this many times before. It was too bad Clint was not around. She took a quick look up and down the street, did not see any of the men from the wagon. The ladies were all still inside the store.

  Maybe she could still turn this to her advantage.

  * * *

  Clint found two of the men from the train in the saloon, standing at the bar. It took him a moment but their names came to him—Leipzig and Heinemann.

  They were drinking beer so he joined them, and offered to buy them another round.

  “That is very kind,” Heinemann said. “Danke.”

  When they all had fresh beers in front of them, Clint asked, “Have you gents been to the general store yet? I’ve started an account for the train.”

  “We were going to have one beer,” Leipzig said, “and then go over there.”

  “That is good to know,” Heinemann said.

  “Tell any of the other men if you see them,” Clint said.

  “We will tell them.”

  They sipped their beers. Clint had nothing left to say to them, and they didn’t seem to have any desire to talk further with him. As it became awkward, Clint said, “Well, I’m going to have a seat and finish my beer. I’ll see you later.”

  Both men nodded and thanked him again for the second beer.

  Clint sat down and sipped his beer. The two men drank down the rest of theirs and quickly left the saloon. While he worked on his beer, no one else from the train came in. The locals paid him little attention. And he doubted he’d run into the local lawman in the saloon, not when the sheriff was actually a reverend.

  He finished his beer and stood up. Briefly, he considered a second, then decided against it. He decided to go down to the river and take a look at it himself.

  As he stepped out onto the boardwalk, he stopped to look around. He saw none of the men from the train. Neither did he see any of the women, although if he knew women, they were going into as many clothing shops as Council Bluffs had.
<
br />   He stepped down into the street, crossed over, and headed for the river.

  FORTY-ONE

  Sarah was nice to the two men.

  It was easy. They were young, under thirty, and certainly did not think of her as a child. They wanted to show her the town, so she did not refuse. In fact, she linked her arms through theirs and went along with them very willingly.

  “I have been traveling so long with old men,” she told them.

  “Well, we ain’t old,” Wilkins said.

  “We sure ain’t,” Luther said.

  “You certainly are not,” she said. “You are young, strong, handsome men.”

  Wilkins and Luther exchanged a look and a wink over Sarah’s head, which they thought she could not see.

  But she did see, and she also saw who was going into the saloon just ahead of them.

  “What is that?” she asked.

  “What?” Wilkins asked.

  “That,” she said, pointing.

  “Oh,” Luther said, “that ain’t nothing but an alley that runs along next to the saloon.”

  “Can we go in there?” she asked.

  “There ain’t nothin’ in there,” Wilkins said. “In fact, don’t even any light get in there. It’s dark as night.”

  “Well,” she said, “that will make it even nicer.”

  It finally dawned on the two thick young men what she was getting at.

  “Oooh,” Wilkins said, “the dark alley.”

  “Yeah,” Luther said, “we can go in the alley.”

  “There’s an opening at the other end, too,” Luther said. “We could go behind the saloon.”

  “I think the alley sounds very nice,” Sarah said, “don’t you?”

  “We sure do!”

  The three of them crossed the street and entered the alley.

  * * *

  The killer had followed the girl.

  First he could smell her, then saw her. When she linked arms with the two men, he wasn’t worried. These two were no danger to him.

  When she and the two men got to the alley, the killer knew he could get there from the other end. He quickly crossed the street, went around to the back of the building on the other side of the alley from the saloon.

  * * *

  Sarah saw how right the men were. The rooftops of the two buildings hung over the alley, cutting of all light. This was perfect. She only hoped Clint would be able to hear her when she screamed.