Yellowstone Run

by David Robbins

  “What can I do?” Achilles asked eagerly.

  “Get a fire going,” Blade ordered.

  “Won’t those scavengers see the smoke?”

  “If they come to investigate, we’ll sic Hickok on them,” Blade proposed.

  “I hope they do,” the gunman said. “I’m rarin’ for some real action.”

  Geronimo looked at him. “Real action? What do you call the buffalo stampede and the grizzly?”

  “Appetizers.”

  Eagle Feather stared intently at Hickok. “Forgive me if I’m out of line, but I couldn’t help but notice that you seem to like to kill.”

  “Killin’ is part of the job. Nothin’ more, nothin’ less.”

  “Do you view being a Warrior as a mere job?”

  “What would you call it?” Hickok rejoined, and continued before the Flathead could speak. “Being a Warrior is no different or better than being a Tiller or a Weaver. Oh, we have a little more responsibility because we’re safeguarding lives, not crops, but when you get down to the nitty-gritty.

  Warriors kill for a livin’. We spend hours and hours practicing with our weapons just so we can wipe out the bad guys when the time comes to slap leather. We’re trained killers.” He glanced at Achilles. “If you start glorifying this job, you’ll lose your perspective.”

  “My initial impression of you was clearly wrong,” Eagle Feather said respectfully. “You might well be a killer, but you also possess much wisdom. The Family must regard you very highly, as my own people revere anyone who is a deep thinker and a seeker of truth.”

  For a few seconds Hickok appeared to be trying to catch flies in his mouth. He straightened, blinked, and glanced imperiously at Geronimo.

  “Deep thinker, huh?”

  Geronimo closed his eyes and bowed his head. “I’m doomed. I’ll never hear the end of this.”

  “Did I say something wrong?” Eagle Feather asked.

  Hickok chuckled. “Nope. As a matter of fact, I can see now why the Flatheads control Montana and the Blackfeet don’t.”

  “But the Blackfeet left Montana,” Eagle Feather noted.

  “That’s just their excuse,” Hickok stated. He walked toward the buck, casting a haughty gaze at Geronimo. “Coming, mental midget?”

  Geronimo looked at the Flathead. “Thanks heaps. What did I ever do to you?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I might as well find the nearest cliff and jump off,” Geronimo muttered, turning away. “He’ll be unbearable for at least six months.”

  “Let’s go, peasant,” Hickok called out.

  “Make that a year,” Geronimo amended, moving away as if stepping to the guillotine.

  Eagle Feather faced the giant. “What did I do?”

  “Nothing much, except give Hickok enough ammunition to last him a long time,” Blade responded.

  Perplexed, Eagle Feather glanced at the man in the red cloak. “Do you understand what is going on?”

  Achilles sighed. “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “Would you explain it to me?”

  “Were you ever five years old?”

  “Of course. Everyone was.”

  Achilles pointed at Hickok and Geronimo. “So are they.”

  “Oh.”

  Smiling, Achilles pivoted and went to stretch, staring toward the river.

  He checked his movement and grasped the Bullpup in both hands.

  “Company is coming!” he announced.

  Rapidly nearing the hill at a gallop was a white horse bearing a rider, a raven-tressed woman who unexpectedly shouted at the top of her lungs, “Help me! Or they’ll kill me!”

  Accenting her plea, four men appeared several hundred yards away, riding hard to overtake her.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Fan out!” Blade ordered, moving to the rim. “Cover her.”

  Hickok and Geronimo moved to the giant’s right, Achilles and Eagle Feather to his left.

  “Do you want me to take out those cow chips after her?” the gunfighter asked.

  “Not until I give the word,” Blade responded, watching the woman. He seemed to recall seeing her earlier with Harmon’s band. She rode expertly, her body hugging the horse as it raced for the hill, her waist-length hair streaming in the wind.

  The four men were gaining, but only slightly.

  In moments the white horse reached the slope and the woman goaded her mount upward. She was wearing a ragged brown shirt, torn jeans, and moccasins. “Don’t shoot!” she cried nervously, eyeing their weapons.

  “Stop, bitch!” bellowed one of the quartet pursuing her.

  The woman reined up less than three yards from the bare-chested giant and. leaped to the ground. “You’ve got to help me!” she stated, her green eyes pleading with him. “They’ll kill me if they take me back.”

  “Who are you?” Blade demanded.

  “Priscilla. Priscilla Wendling.”

  “Aren’t you one of Harmon’s band?”

  “No. Yes. Well, I was, but only because they forced me to stay with them,” Priscilla said, glancing fearfully at the four men. “Please don’t let them take me!”

  Blade hesitated, studying her closely, speculating on whether her plea was genuine or a ruse. Finally he nodded. “Get behind us.”

  “Thank God!” Priscilla blurted out, and hurried onto the summit.

  “Howdy, ma’am,” Hickok said.

  The four riders slowed, advancing cautiously, each man carrying a firearm, a rifle, or a revolver. In the lead rode a thin man attired in a green shirt and black pants. His head had been shaved bald and a golden earring hung from his left ear.

  “I’ll explain everything if you’ll just save me from them,” Priscilla promised, moving behind the giant.

  “They’re not taking you anywhere,” Blade assured her, his flinty gaze on the quartet. He waited until they were starting up the slope before, taking a pace forward. “That’s far enough!” he warned.

  The four men stopped, and the man sporting the earring brandished a rifle. “This doesn’t concern you, chump.”

  “It does now.”

  “Are you the one called Blade?”

  “I am.”

  “Listen, man. Harmon told us that he doesn’t want any trouble with you. But that chick is ours and she’s going back with us.”

  “She’s yours?”

  “Yeah, She’s Harmon’s squeeze. She was supposed to ride to the river and fill her canteen with water, but she kept going. Tricky bitch. Now we’ve got to take her to Harmon.”

  “She’s not going with you,” Blade stated.

  Earring scowled and glanced at his companions, then glared up at the giant. “You don’t know what you’re doing, man.”

  “I know perfectly well what I’m doing.”

  “Harmon ain’t going to like this.”

  Blade smiled. “I don’t care whether Harmon likes it or not. The woman is staying with us. If Harmon wants to see her, he can come here.”

  Earring had both his hands on his rifle. “What if we just take her sorry ass?”

  “You can try.”

  For a few seconds Earring sat motionless on his horse, apparently weighing the odds. He shrugged and started to turn his mount. “She’s Harmon’s squeeze. He can come get her.”

  “Smart move,” Blade said.

  The three other riders went to leave.

  Blade lowered the Commando barrel, thinking he had intimidated the scavengers, expecting them to ride off to notify their leader. He watched them, though, vigilant just in case, and it was well he did because Earring suddenly twisted in the saddle and swept the rifle up.

  Someone else was faster.

  Hickok’s Henry cracked, the shot striking Earring in the middle of the forehead and knocking the scavenger to the ground. The gunman shifted to cover the other three. “Do you want one of these pills?” he taunted them.

  None of them moved.

  “Go tell Harmon how things are now,” Blade directed. “
Tell him we’ll be waiting.” He pointed at the body. “And take that piece of garbage with you.”

  The trio swiftly dismounted and draped Earring over his saddle, then climbed on their own animals and rode to the southeast, dust swirls rising behind them.

  “Those clowns will be back,” Hickok predicted.

  Blade turned and stared at Priscilla Wendling. “Let’s hear your story.”

  “What do you want to know?” she responded nervously.

  “Everything. Let’s start with where you’re from.”

  “Vernal, Utah.”

  The Warrior’s forehead creased, his curiosity aroused. “We’ve heard that the Mormons took over Utah after the war,” he mentioned.

  “They did. Lock, stock, and barrel. No one enters or leaves the state without the permission of bishops or the First President. But the Mormon Army patrols can’t be everywhere, and the borders are constantly raided by scavengers. Harmon and his band hit Vernal eight years ago and kidnapped me. I’ve been with them ever since.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  “So you’ve been with them since you were about fourteen?”

  “Yes,” Priscilla answered sadly.

  “And this is the first chance you’ve had to escape?” Blade asked skeptically.

  Priscilla astutely perceived the implication. “Don’t think I haven’t wanted to get away! Do you really believe I like to have Harmon pawing me practically every night?” She paused, her countenance mirroring her inner torment. “That bastard rarely lets me out of his sight, and even then he always has someone watching me. The band hides out in remote areas like Yellowstone when they’re not conducting raids. Anyone unfortunate enough to run into Harmon usually winds up dead.”

  “I reckon we have the proof we need,” Hickok said, interrupting harshly.

  “Proof?” Priscilla responded.

  “Never mind,” Blade said. “Go on.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “I suppose I could have snuck away during the night, but we’re hundreds of miles from Vernal, and with all the wild animals, mutations, and degenerates roaming the countryside, I doubt I could make it on my own.”

  Blade digested the information inscrutably. Her tale was plausible. If Harmon had enshrined her as his favorite, the bastard undoubtedly would have kept a hawkish eye on her.

  And he knew from bitter experience the horrific dangers populating the wilderness areas and rampant in the Outlands. He’d barely survived his own sojourns into the barbaric realms where bestial might made right, so he couldn’t fault her judgment in not wanting to travel to Utah alone.

  “I thought for sure that all of you were goners when Harmon spotted you,” Priscilla related. “I was shocked when he let you live. No one has ever made him back down before.”

  “Do you have relatives living in Vernal?” Blade inquired.

  “I did,” Priscilla replied, and pursued her lips. “My mom and dad were killed by Harmon’s bunch. I had an uncle and an aunt living in Vernal, but I don’t know if they’re still there.” She gazed wistfully to the south. “If I was courageous, I would have committed suicide long ago.”

  “Don’t talk like that. It’s a lot easier to give up when the going gets rough than it is to face your difficulties head-on and persevere,” Blade said. “You did what you had to do under the circumstances.”

  “Sometimes I wonder.”

  “As you pointed out, the odds of your successfully returning to Utah by yourself were almost nil. You might have attempted to find another inhabited town, but you would have been in the same fix. Other than killing Harmon in his sleep, your options were limited.”

  “I thought about killing the son of a bitch every night. I’d lie there, looking at him, and imagine myself slitting his throat. But I knew those cruds with him would torture me to death if I touched a hair on his head.

  If I’d tried to slip away, they would have trailed me to the ends of the earth.”

  Achilles unexpectedly walked over to her and performed a stately bow.

  “We haven’t been formally introduced, Ms. Wendling. I’m Achilles, and I’d be honored if you would accept my services in your behalf.”

  “Your services?”

  “Yes. Allow me to serve as your protector until such time as you are safety delivered to Vernal.”

  Priscilla gazed intently at the muscular man in the red cloak. “Are you serious?”

  “Never more so,” Achilles assured her. “The indignities you’ve been forced to bear demand that justice be administered, and I’m just the man to see that justice is done.”

  “Modest, isn’t he?” Geronimo quipped.

  “Well, thank you, Achilles,” Priscilla said. “I’m flattered. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be in the company of a true gentleman.”

  Hickok snickered. “Oh, brother.”

  “Pay no attention to these Neanderthals,” Achilles advised her. “Perfect manners are not one of their strong suits.”

  “You remind me a lot of my Uncle Hiram,” Priscilla said. “He was a strong, cultured man like yourself. He possessed the largest collection of books in the town, and he was always bringing me volumes to read when I was young.” She paused. “That’s another reason Harmon kept me around.

  I can read.”

  “He can’t?” Blade queried.

  Priscilla shook her head. “He’s as illiterate as a rock.”

  “What a marvelous sense of humor,” Achilles said, smiling broadly.

  “Kiss her feet, why don’t you?” Hickok muttered.

  “The altitude must have gotten to him,” Geronimo speculated.

  “Perhaps, after this affair has been concluded, you would permit us to escort you to Utah,” Achilles said. “Or you can accompany us to the Home.”

  “Where’s the Home?”

  “Achilles,” Blade stated sternly.

  Startled, the aspiring Warrior looked at the giant. “What did I do?”

  “Whether we escort her to Utah will be my decision,” Blade declared.

  “And information concerning the Home is privileged.”

  “It is?” Achilles responded in surprise.

  “That’s okay,” Priscilla said. “I understand. Blade doesn’t trust me yet.”

  “I don’t know you,” Blade said. “Until I do, the exact location of the Home must be our secret.”

  “Surely you don’t believe she’d betray us,” Achilles said.

  “When you’ve been a Warrior as long as I have, you learn not to trust anyone until they’ve proven themselves to your satisfaction,” Blade observed. “I know her story sounds very convincing, but there’s a remote possibility that she’s a plant, that Harmon sent her up here to learn what she could about us.”

  “I believe her,” Achilles declared firmly.

  “And I’d like to believe her,” Blade replied.

  Eagle Feather abruptly coughed loudly. “There’s one way you can determine if she’s telling the truth,” he said.

  Blade glanced at the Flathead. “How’s that?”

  Eagle Feather nodded to the southeast. “Ask Harmon. Here he comes.”

  Pivoting, Blade spied a group of riders racing toward the Lamar River.

  “Everyone check your weapons,” he ordered, and inspected the Commando, insuring the cocking handle was all the way back.

  “Can we open up as soon as they’re in range?” Hickok asked hopefully.

  “No. We’ll hear what he has to say first.”

  The gunman shook his head and smacked his lips a few times. “You’re gettin’ soft in your old age, pard.”

  “We’re the same age.”

  “Don’t remind me. I’m liable to start sproutin’ gray hairs any day now.”

  Achilles came forward and stood between the giant and the Flathead.

  He gazed at the head Warrior. “I apologize if I overstepped my bounds.”

  “You’re forgiven. Officially you’re not a Warrior yet, so I can�
�t expect you to know all the rules of conduct.”

  “I have so much to learn.”

  “Comes with the territory,” Blade said. “A Warrior’s outlook on life must be different from the attitude most of the Family possesses. We can’t afford to be as trusting, as spiritually loving. It’s all well and good to believe in the Golden Rule, to try and be kind to everyone as the Elders teach us to do. But out here most people are looking out for number one, and if you’re not careful, someone you take into your confidence could stab you in the back. Always be on your guard, both physically and psychologically.”

  “I’ll try my best.”

  Blade saw the riders splash across the river and head toward the hill.

  He knew the trio returning with Earring’s corpse had not had the time to reach the plain where the buffalo were being butchered, and he surmised that Harmon probably had become impatient and met them en route. He held the Commando loosely at his side and waited for the scavengers to arrive.

  This time things would be different.

  This time Harmon wouldn’t leave alive.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The 13 riders, with Harmon in the lead, slowed to a walk at the base of the hill, then came on slowly. Twelve, counting the big man, were men.

  The sole woman, a brunette in a seedy green blouse and beige slacks, hung back, glancing nervously at the summit.

  Blade wanted all of them within a guaranteed kill radius. He let them ride to within 15 yards of the crest, then held his left hand aloft. “Stop right there!” he barked.

  The scavengers reined up.

  “What do you want?” Blade asked with feigned innocence.

  “You know damn well what we want!” Harmon snapped. “Turn over my woman!”

  “She’s not your woman. Never has been.”

  Incipient rage contorted the scavenger’s cruel visage. “Priscilla! Get your ass down here now!”

  “Get stuffed!” she replied arrogantly.

  Harmon leaned forward and glanced at the giant. “Do you think I’m playing a game? If you don’t turn her over, there will be hell to pay.”

  “You’re right about payment being due,” Blade said.

  “What?”

  “Earlier, when I accused you of being a scavenger, you wanted to know where my proof was. Remember?”