Savage Journey

by Neil Hunter

  Good men to work with. Good land and cattle. A home. Could a man ask for more? No, he thought . . . except maybe a woman to share it with. The good and bad times. The full times, the lonely times. Every man needs someone to share his laughter and to fill the hollow places inside him. What use was there in building a dream, if there was no one to share it with? No children to inherit it and carry it on? A man had to make his mark before he goes, or what was the use of life? Kennick had spent nights thinking about it. Maybe when he was done with this job, he could go home and do something about making his life complete.

  Thinking about the ranch made him rest easier. Home. It was a word that brought a warm feeling—and a yearning to be there. Luke Kennick rolled over on the cot and let sleep take him home.

  Chapter Five

  ‘This map covers the area from here to the Brazos. You know the country, Luke. Pick your own route.’

  Broughton spread the map on the top of his desk. He glanced up as Sergeant O’Hara stepped into the office, closing the door quietly.

  ‘You sent for me, sir?’

  ‘Luke wants your advice, Bren,’ Broughton said. He’d known O’Hara for fifteen years and trusted him more than his entire staff.

  ‘Bren, look.’ Kennick drew a line across the map with his finger. ‘Fort Cameron here. The Brazos here. Between them nearly three hundred and fifty miles of rough, dry country, swarming with Comanche and Kiowa. Can two men get across without being bothered?’

  O’Hara glanced at Broughton, then back at Kennick. He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. ‘Luke, ask me if a man could put out the fires of Hell with a handful of sand and I’ll maybe give you an answer. But don’t ask me whether it’s possible to do the impossible . . . though I’ll tell you how to try.’

  He stabbed a thick finger at the map. ‘First off, Luke, you can forget all known trails. Those we’ve made, and those Indian trails you’ve traveled. Then you can forget every water hole in existence. Where there’s water, you’ll find people, and you leave tracks that can be followed. Forget about towns, settlements, even isolated homesteads, ranches, way stations. When you’ve put aside everything connected with civilization—and Indians—you’re ready to pick your route.’

  ‘And that leaves me this area.’ Kennick circled the spot with his finger. ‘And it’s as near as a man’ll get to Hell, while he’s still above ground.’

  ‘It’s real bad country, Luke. Hardly ever visited.’

  ‘I’m counting on that.’

  ‘At the pace you’ll have to travel it’ll take you a week to get through, Luke. Think you can last that long? Kicking Bear’ll need watching every minute. Turn your back or close your eyes and he’ll be at you.’

  ‘He won’t be offered any chance like that, Bren, don’t you worry.’ Kennick glanced across at Broughton. ‘I hope this works out, Colonel, for all our sakes.”

  ‘If it can be done, Luke, I know you’ll do it,’ Broughton said. He sat down behind his desk and lit his pipe.

  Kennick turned to O’Hara. ‘Bren, do me a favor.’

  ‘Anything, lad.’

  ‘Pick me three good mounts—two for riding and a packhorse.’

  O’Hara nodded. ‘Will do, me boy.’

  Kennick waited until O’Hara had left the office, then he turned back to Broughton, and found the colonel watching him. Kennick sat down.

  ‘Why me, sir?’ he asked.

  Broughton took the pipe out of his mouth, smiled wryly at Kennick.

  ‘I was wondering when you’d get around to asking me that, Luke.’

  ‘You still read me like a book.’

  ‘Part of my job, Luke. And as to why I sent for you, that’s easily answered. I needed a man I could trust. One who knows the country as well as the Indians.’

  ‘There must be men on the fort who could do the job as well as I could. Better.’

  Broughton shook his head. ‘I wanted you to have the first crack. You deserve that chance,’ he said meaningly.

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘It won’t be easy, Luke. I could be wrong, doing what I am. I hope not, for your sake. But we need to get Kicking Bear away from here. And he needs to stand trial for what he’s done. Putting him on trial could be used to show the Comanches how wrong they are to listen to him. Right now, a few of the older Comanches are on the verge of signing for peace. Showing Kicking Bear up as a fanatic who is getting all their young men killed off for nothing, might get those Comanches to sign a lot faster. It’s a gamble that might not come off, but it’s worth taking the chance.’

  ‘You put it well,’ Kennick said.

  ‘Do you buy it?’ Broughton asked.

  ‘It makes sense, even though it’s not foolproof.’

  ‘Luke, I guess I played dirty trick sending for you. But I thought I was doing the right thing.’

  Kennick smiled. ‘Maybe you were.’

  Broughton pushed up from his chair, walked over to the window and stared out across the dark parade ground.

  ‘I heard about your run-in with Griff McBride. You want me to get him out of the way until you’re gone?’

  ‘No. Griff’s angling for a showdown. It’s something that can’t be avoided. I’ll face it when it comes.’

  Broughton turned and faced him. ‘Hate can warp even the best of men. And a man like McBride—’ the colonel shrugged. ‘You’ve got a dangerous enemy.’

  Kennick got up and crossed over to the door. ‘I’ll go get my gear ready.’

  ‘Get anything you want, Luke. I’ve given orders to that effect.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘You’ll leave at dawn. I’ve set up a patrol for you. You and Kicking Bear will be in uniform. The patrol will take you out until you decide to drop off. Then it’s up to you.’

  Outside, on the porch of the headquarters building, Kennick stood for a moment breathing in the cool night air. It was a soft, clear night. The sky glowed with stars and an almost full moon. Funny, he thought, how a man always takes special notice of the things around him at a time like this. A time when he may lose his chance at life.

  What had Broughton said? He’d got the best man for the job. Being the best man on this job wasn’t enough. Kennick needed more on his side. Luck? What he wanted right now was a miracle. Trouble was, miracles had always been scarce around Texas.

  Chapter Six

  The patrol consisted of eleven troopers with O’Hara in command. It was still dark, and the air had a sharp chill that bit at the men preparing their gear and mounts. Somewhere across the parade ground a bugle wailed a lonely call into the gloom.

  Luke Kennick, in a trooper’s uniform, came out of Company Headquarters. Before him walked Kicking Bear, also in uniform, his arms and hands tied tightly at his sides. The Comanche walked stiffly, his head high, as Kennick led him to the waiting horses. Kicking Bear was hoisted into the saddle and his feet shoved into the stirrups. Then his ankles were tied to the stirrup irons with rawhide strips.

  Colonel Broughton stepped outside. Kennick went over to him.

  ‘All right, Luke?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Nice to see you in uniform again, Luke.’ Broughton smiled.

  ‘You never give up, Colonel.’

  ‘Not when it means something to me.’

  Kennick couldn’t see Broughton’s face clearly in the dim light, but there was no mistaking the genuine feeling in his voice.

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Good luck, Luke.’ Broughton put out his hand. ‘Keep your eyes on that Indian. He’s smart. And deadly.’

  Kennick pulled on his gloves. ‘I plan to watch him real close. I don’t like the idea of dying any more than the next man. I have a lot of years left yet, and I intend to live them out.’

  Broughton followed Kennick out on to the parade ground, watched him mount up.

  ‘Lead out, Bren,’ Kennick called.

  The patrol moved out at O’Hara’s command. Kennick looped the reins of Kicking Bear’s horse over his sa
ddle.

  ‘Luke!’

  Kennick glanced down at Colonel Broughton’s shadow, dappled face. He imagined he could see concern there.

  ‘Take care, Luke.’

  ‘I figure to, Colonel.’

  The patrol moved slowly across the parade ground and out through the gates. Sounds were clear and sharp in the pre-dawn stillness. Out beyond the fort the land stretched flatly into the gloomy distance, vanishing into purple darkness on the horizon. The gates closed behind them, and inside the fort the bugle sounded again. The sound faded and they were alone on the flats, cut off from the fort by the darkness. The men were silent as they rode and their breath hung white in the frost-chilled air.

  Kennick hunched his shoulders against the cold. He checked the reins tied to his saddle, then glanced across at Kicking Bear. The Indian stared straight ahead, his high-cheeked face hard and hawk like. Something made the Comanche turn. Kennick felt the full force of Kicking Bear’s hate as the Indian scowled at him. The thin lips drew back in a silent snarl, then Kicking Bear spat at Kennick.

  ‘You will never reach the river, white,’ the Comanche hissed.

  Hearing that voice reminded Luke of the taunting challenge that had been hurled that unforgettable day of the massacre. His stomach jerked sickeningly. Before his eyes flashed that sun-streaked scene of horror. Again he saw the jerking bodies of the men of his patrol as the Indians’ rifles had slammed round after round into them. Again he saw the dead men, sprawling puppet-like on the ground while the thirsty land drank their blood . . . The scene faded.

  It was dark again and there was only the hate-filled face of Kicking Bear before Kennick’s eyes. He knew then that he had to make it to the river. There was no choice at all. Kicking Bear had to pay. And Luke Kennick meant to see that he did. In full.

  They rode through dawn and into the new day. Mid-morning they halted. O’Hara reined in his sweating, dust-coated horse alongside Kennick’s.

  ‘You all right?’ he asked.

  Luke nodded. He squinted up at the sun. ‘Be a hot one,’ he said.

  ‘How’s his nibs?’ O’Hara asked, glancing over at Kicking Bear.

  ‘Keeping his nose in the air and his mouth shut.’

  The Comanche had remained grimly silent since he’d made his threat. It suited Kennick. The less exchanges he had with the Indian the better, he decided.

  O’Hara wiped sweat and dust from his red face. ‘In another hour or so, we’ll halt again. It’ll be in amongst the rocks at the foot of a mesa. Plenty of cover for you to drop off. I’ll take the patrol off to the south. You give us time to get clear, then head northeast when you’re ready. After that, you’re on your own.’

  Kennick opened his canteen and took a short swallow. He held up the canteen to Kicking Bear, but the Indian turned his head away.

  ‘He’ll maybe change his mind when his tongue feels a foot thick,’ O’Hara said.

  ‘He can suit himself. I’m not going to beg him to drink,’ Kennick said.

  ‘All right, me hot, tired, darlin’ boys!’ O’Hara yelled. ‘Stir yourselves and try to look like cavalry, for Christ’s sake.’

  He rode to the head of the column and led out. Dust swirled up from under the horses and hung in a choking cloud about the riders. It got into the hair and eyes and mouth, leaving the men irritable and uncomfortable.

  A sudden thought hit Kennick. Had Griff McBride heard about the escort? Did he know Kennick had left the fort? Would he follow? Kennick shrugged the questions aside. He had enough to contend with. But he’d keep an eye on his back trail from now on. If McBride did come after him, he wanted to be ready, so he could give him all the trouble he wanted. Hard and fast.

  Kennick flicked sweat from his face. He found he was thinking about the ranch again. In his mind he could see the green acres of cool sweet grass. I must have been crazy to leave that for this, he thought. What the hell am I doing in the middle of Texas, dressed like a soldier, when I could be home riding herd on my cattle and not a kill-crazy Comanche? In the same instant, he told himself the answer for the hundredth time since he’d left the fort.

  Noon found them halted at the base of the mesa. The jumbled rocks didn’t throw much shade, and it was still hot. A fire was lit and coffee brewed.

  Kennick and a trooper got Kicking Bear off his horse. The Comanche was seated against a rock and his feet were tied securely. Kennick made no move to release Kicking Bear’s hands. He was starting off the way he intended to carry on. He offered Kicking Bear water again. Again it was refused.

  O’Hara joined Kennick and they sat aside from the others. Kennick accepted the mug of coffee O’Hara had brought him. They drank in silence for a while.

  ‘I’ll rest up until dark and then move out,’ Kennick said.

  ‘Be a good moon tonight,’ O’Hara said. He toyed awkwardly with his mug, and Kennick realized he was trying to say something.

  ‘Wish me luck, Bren,’ Kennick said lightly.

  That I do, lad. Only, I got more to say, boy. You and me been good mates. We’ve been through a lot and always come out on top. Don’t change the old ways, Luke.’

  ‘Bren, I’ve got too much to lose to go down. I’ve got a ranch to build. And some damned fine friends. I’m a lucky man, Bren, and I don’t intend to become unlucky.’

  ‘Easy enough to say. You mind how you go,’ O’Hara said gruffly. ‘You hear?’

  ‘I hear, Bren. And thanks for the thought.’

  ‘I’ll have your horses put behind them boulders,’ O’Hara said abruptly.

  He got up and threw out coffee dregs. ‘I feel like I’m running out on you, Luke,’ he said gravely, then turned on his heel and marched heavily across to where the rest of the patrol had hunkered down.

  ‘You softhearted bastard,’ Kennick whispered affectionately. ‘Thanks.’

  Chapter Seven

  Luke Kennick watched the dust of the patrol until it finally vanished. When it did, he suddenly felt cut off from the world, alone and friendless. He didn’t dwell on the thought, though. Out here that kind of thinking could lead to a man putting a gun to his head and pulling the trigger.

  He got rid of his uniform and put on his own clothes, and felt that much better. He pulled his gun belt from his saddlebag and buckled it on, tying down the holster to his thigh. Then he sat down and stripped down his Colt, cleaned and checked it, and then reassembled it. He did the same thing with his .44-40 Winchester. He also checked all his gear, making certain the filled canvas water bags were strapped tight on the packhorse. Finally satisfied, he sat down again, rolled and lit a smoke, and settled back to wait for dark. He ignored Kicking Bear’s hard, unwavering stare. He told himself that he was going to have to get used to it, and he might as well start now.

  Off to the west, three men rode beneath the high sun.

  They didn’t hurry their horses. They didn’t need to. Their eyes focused on the empty land ahead. Out there, somewhere, was their quarry. And the three knew there was no need to hurry. The man they were after was alone, and they had all the time in the world to do what they wanted. There was no one to stop them.

  ‘Hold up a minute!’

  Joe Beecher reined in and twisted in the saddle. A couple of yards back, Griff McBride stood beside his horse, tightening the cinch. Beecher swung down to the ground, glad of the chance to rest up. The pain in his groin had returned, brought on by the long hours in the saddle. Kennick had hurt him bad in the fight at the sutler’s, and Beecher was suffering.

  ‘Christ, I could do with some shade,’ he muttered crossly. He reached for one of his canteens, then gingerly squatted on his heels in the thin shadow cast by his horse.

  ‘Plenty of chance for that when we catch up with Kennick,’ Griff told him. He led his mount up to Beecher’s and squatted near him. Bo McBride climbed awkwardly down from his horse and joined them. He didn’t speak, because his face was swollen badly from Kennick’s knee-smash. The blow had broken Bo’s nose and knocked out three teeth, and left h
is lips badly cut. Heat and sweat and dust made the raw flesh excruciatingly sore.

  Griff’s only real hurt had been to his pride. He’d had no idea when he’d braced Kennick that it would turn out the way it had. It hadn’t done his morale any good, only fed his hate and need for vengeance.

  ‘We’ll trail him one more day,’ Griff said. ‘Give him a chance to get right out into the badlands. Then we’ll move in and take him.’

  Beecher nodded. He asked, ‘What we goin’ to do with the Injun?’

  ‘Kicking Bear?’ Griff smiled. ‘Why, we’ll kill him too. Funny thing, I never realized before, that buck is just as much to blame for Hal’s death as Kennick. We’ll finish ’em together. See who quits first’

  Beecher swilled down more water.

  ‘Go easy, Joe. We may not get much more out here,’ Griff warned.

  The breed’s eyes flashed angrily. ‘So you say. Lay off me, Griff, I ain’t feelin’ too bright.’

  ‘Sure kid.’

  Griff pushed to his feet and looked around. Nothing moved in the empty miles that lay ahead. There was only the earth and above the sky, vast and brooding, with a cruel sun.

  A hot, empty land, a wasteland, though there were those who saw in it a savage beauty. But Griff McBride was not one of them. Let the damned Indians keep it, he thought, as he mounted up. All I want is Luke Kennick. Once I’m settled with him, I’m getting out. I’ve had my gutful of Texas.

  He waited for the others to mount up then led out. One thing though, he was thinking, he would always be grateful to Texas for producing soldiers who like to talk over a bottle of cheap whisky. If he hadn’t gotten the story out of the corporal, he’d still be back at the fort wondering where Kennick had got to. But you didn’t slip away fast enough for Griff McBride. No sir, Griff McBride was no man’s fool. Least ways, not full-time.