Savage Journey

by Neil Hunter

  ‘It’s not the first time it’s happened,’ Kennick said coldly. ‘And it won’t be the last as long as there are people heading West.’

  ‘Well, at least Nathan Reese won’t do it to anyone else,’ Jeannie said. Her voice shook slightly. ‘He came right out with it one day. He drew a gun and made us hand over all our money. He would have gotten away with it, if Mary hadn’t rushed him. He—he shot her. Just like that. But it gave Sue and me time to reach him. We were angry and frightened. We struggled with him and somehow his gun went off. The bullet made a horrible hole in his chest. He died at my feet.

  ‘We tried to help Mary but she died. And then we found that the horses had run off. That left us nothing but what we stood up in. No food or water. We didn’t even know which way to go. So we just began to walk, praying we’d find water or people. I was lucky. I found you. Sue-Ann wasn’t so lucky. The sun did something to her. It was terrible. She began to imagine all kinds of things, that it was raining and things like that. Then she said she could see a wide shining river, and she was going to have a cool bath.’

  Jeannie Bahlin shivered and stared off into the distance, remembering. ‘She tore off all her clothes and began to run. I tried to stop her, but she was frantic. She fought me off and began to run. I lost sight of her. I gathered up her clothes and just kept walking. I found her two hours later. She was half buried in the sand. She must have thought it was water. Her mouth and nose were full of it. I dressed her and buried her as best I could. Then I just kept on walking. I’m not sure how long it was. Two maybe three days.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’

  Kennick put down his mug.

  ‘You had a rough time, Jeannie. I’m sorry about your friends.’

  ‘Thank you, Luke.’ She looked across at him. ‘All those stories about the hardships of frontier life seemed so far away in Layersville. Back there, the people don’t really believe it’s so bad. I didn’t imagine anything like it myself when we set out. But you soon learn differently on a hard wagon seat. And you can’t get any harder lesson than seeing your two closest friends die in the middle of the desert. One from a bullet and one going mad. It’s like Layersville never existed at all.’

  She closed her eyes a moment, then opened them and looked at Kennick.

  ‘I have to talk,’ she said simply. ‘I’d go mad myself if I didn’t. It was so quiet out there.’

  ‘That silence has caused many a man to lose his—’ Kennick broke off, swore inwardly. ‘Maybe we ought to talk about something else.’

  ‘Are you in the Army, Luke?’

  It was Kennick’s turn to be reminded of past things that he would rather forget.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I used to be. I quit. Now I’ve got a ranch up in Wyoming.’

  ‘Wyoming? Then what are you doing here?’

  ‘Doing a job for a friend,’ he said. And for eight dead men, he thought.

  Jeannie noticed his reluctance to tell any more. She didn’t press him, and Kennick was grateful.

  ‘Have I delayed you, Luke?’

  ‘Not overly. My horses needed a rest. So did I.’

  ‘I’m ready to go when you say. I’ll try not to be a bother.’

  ‘You won’t,’ he said. She heard the tenderness in his voice, and in spite of herself she blushed. But it pleased her. She began to feel like a woman again.

  Kennick went over to the horses. He would have to rearrange the supplies now. Share them out between the two other mounts. Kicking Bear could ride the packhorse. The Comanche would sit the packhorse better, there being no saddle. Kennick glanced over his shoulder. Jeannie was on her knees, scrubbing out the mugs and plates with handfuls of sand. Her time on the trail had not been wasted; she had learned fast. Maybe her presence would be a help. But Kennick still wished she wasn’t with him. Now he had two to watch out for. It would make things that much more tricky.

  He dragged off his hat and brushed at his dusty hair. Was a man put on Earth just to spend his time trying to sort through all the problems life seemed to be always producing? It seemed that way to Luke Kennick right then. But, he supposed wryly, if there were no problems, a man would get to wishing for something to happen.

  He shoved his hat back on and walked across to Jeannie Bahlin. ‘Obliged for the help,’ he said, indicating the stacked utensils.

  Jeannie smiled. ‘Least I could do.’ Then: ‘Luke, do you think we’ll run into any Indians?’

  ‘Not if I can help it. That’s one of the reasons I took this route. It’s right off all the trails, away from everyone and everything.’

  ‘Does Kicking Bear’s tribe know he’s been captured?’

  ‘They’ll know by now. I’m only hoping they don’t know where to look.’

  ‘But they will be looking?’

  Kennick nodded, and saw the shiver that went through her.

  ‘I can’t help but remember all the things I’ve heard about what Indians do to anyone they capture.’

  ‘I won’t say they’re not true, but it’s something we’ll face if it comes.’

  Jeannie bit her lip, then gave a quick smile, accepting his word without question. ‘Oh well,’ she said. ‘Now, what about putting these away.’

  He showed her where to put the utensils. Then she helped him to distribute the gear and supplies among the three horses. Kennick put the water bags and canteen on the horses he and Jeannie would be riding. He rummaged in one of the saddlebags and pulled out a spare shirt and a pair of faded Levis.

  ‘You’d better get rid of those clothes and put these on. You’ll find them a lot more comfortable for riding.’

  Jeannie gave him a quick smile, took the pants and shirt, and walked behind a stand of jumbled rocks.

  Kennick got Kicking Bear to his feet and led him to the waiting horses. When the Indian had mounted up, Kennick tied his feet again.

  He walked to the top of the slope and had another look round. Then he strode back to the horses and gave them another check over. Satisfied, he searched out his makings and rolled himself a smoke. He lit it and drew deeply. But it tasted flat and sour, and he threw it into the sand and ground it beneath his heel. He realized then that he was feeling irritable, tense, and he tried to shake the feeling off. He had a long way to go yet. No sense in getting edgy before he’d even got halfway.

  ‘Should I bring these with me or bury them?’

  Kennick’s head jerked around. Jeannie Bahlin stood a few feet away, holding her blouse, petticoat, and skirt.

  ‘Better bury them,’ he said.

  At the base of a rock, she dug a shallow hole with the heel of her riding boot, dumped her clothes in and then filled in the hole. She wiped away the boot marks, then joined Kennick, who was waiting by the horses.

  ‘For all your being a big man, you certainly are slim,’ she said, patting her hips. The Levis fit her snugly from waist to calf, outlining her firm, curved legs and flat stomach. And Kennick had to admit that the thin shirt had not been made with a woman in mind. It was almost embarrassingly tight over her thrusting breasts. ‘But I’m not complaining,’ she added. ‘They’re fine.’

  Kennick showed her the horse she was to ride. He waited until she was in the saddle, then mounted himself.

  ‘Jeannie, I want you to keep on my left side at all times, unless I tell you different. No matter what happens, don’t get between Kicking Bear and me. In fact, keep right away from him. Understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, and Kennick knew he wouldn’t have to tell her again.

  Just before they moved off, he handed her the spare gun belt he always carried in his bedroll.

  ‘I hope you won’t have any need to use it, but you’re entitled to defend yourself.’

  She took the belt and strapped it around her slim waist, feeling acutely self-conscious as the dragging weight pressed against her thigh.

  ‘Can you use a gun?’ he asked.

  ‘I can draw back the hammer and pull the trigger. I don’t know about hitting anything though.’


  ‘If you ever need to shoot, just point it like it was your finger. And don’t be alarmed at the noise or the kickback.’

  They rode out, Kennick guiding them deeper into the empty land of sun and sand and silence.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Damn it, Griff, don’t argue. I tell you Kennick’s met up with somebody. Somebody on foot. And now he’s got that somebody riding with him.’

  Beecher stood up. He pulled off his hat and wiped his sweating face. He was angry at Griff McBride’s stubbornness.

  ‘Seems queer though,’ Griff muttered. He was hot and tired and thirsty, and now he was confused. ‘Who in hell could he meet out here?’

  ‘I’ll ask him when we find him,’ Beecher said sarcastically, the heat telling on him too.

  ‘Goddam,’ Griff swore.

  He followed the clear line of tracks that led on out into the wasteland beyond where they had halted. No matter who it was Kennick had met, it made no damned difference to Griff McBride. Griff nodded absently. I’m comin’, you bastard. Griff’s on your trail and he ain’t quittin’ no how.

  Beecher was prowling around, as was his nature, searching the ground with his sharp eyes. It took a good man to hide anything from him. And this time was no exception. He dropped to his knees at the base of a rock and dug into the sand with his stubby fingers.

  ‘Hey! Hey, goddamit to hell, look here!’

  Griff turned as Beecher rose to his feet, holding, of all things, a woman’s blouse and skirt and petticoat at shoulder-height.

  ‘A goddam female.’ Beecher grinned. Sweat dribbled from his chin.

  Griff snatched the things from Beecher and threw them aside. ‘So, don’t go crazy. You seen a woman before, ain’t you?’

  Beecher’s face hardened suddenly.

  ‘Griff, you quit rawhidin’ me. Take your gripe out on Kennick, not me. You try and remember—I’m with you.’

  McBride brushed the words aside with a vague wave of his hand and muttered, ‘So let’s move out then. You wanna stand an’ talk all day?’

  Beecher swore under his breath. He turned back to his horse. As he passed the discarded clothing, he stooped and picked up the petticoat, tucking it under his gun belt so the garment trailed behind him.

  Griff stood for a while, staring out across the land. He knew Kennick was out there somewhere. Up ahead in that sprawling spread of rock and sand and heat. He rubbed his jaw. Suddenly, he was remembering that last day he’d seen Hal. It had been the first time Hal had been out on a full patrol since he’d joined up, six months before. The kid had been bursting with pride, sitting his mount stiff-backed like a general. Griff had watched the patrol move out, had returned Hal’s nod as the boy had ridden by him. He had watched the patrol out through the fort gates. And it had ended there. He hadn’t seen Hal again. Alive or dead.

  It had been a time of confusion when the survivors had returned. And Kennick had been one of those survivors. It had maddened Griff to see him ride in, alive, not even wounded. It was wrong. It should have been that bastard Luke Kennick lying out there dead, not Hal McBride—a raw, twenty year-old kid who’d never even had a chance at life. Dead because of a son-of-a-bitch lieutenant like Kennick. Griff’s hate had erupted at the inquiry when Kennick had been cleared. It had brought Griff to his feet as Kennick was leaving the inquiry room. Griff’s accusations had echoed around that hot, stuffy room. Kennick had paused for a moment, then he strode swiftly away, leaving Griff standing alone.

  It hadn’t ended there for Griff though. Grief, anger and hate eating at him, he’d drowned himself in raw whiskey, and thoughts of revenge. It had been a bad time. When he came out of it, he found Kennick had outsmarted him. He had thrown up his commission and had ridden out. No one knew where he had gone. Griff’s attempts to find him led him along cold trails—to more bottles of whiskey.

  It had been like that for a long time. Griff drank when he was able to hold a bottle, and spent a lot of hazy hours trying to locate Kennick. Then, like nothing had ever happened, Kennick had come riding in through the gates of Fort Cameron, straight into Griff’s hands. But he had nearly slipped out again. Griff had only just managed to prevent that.

  Revenge. Out here was where it should happen. This was a fitting place. He would leave Kennick the same way Kennick had left Hal.

  ‘C’mon, Griff!’ Beecher yelled. ‘You wanted to move out fast.’

  Griff moved to his horse and mounted up. He glanced at Beecher. ‘Your gut still hurt?’

  The breed nodded. ‘Like hell.’

  ‘Quit hollerin’ so much an’ you might give it a chance to heal up,’ Griff said shortly. He turned his horse’s head and moved off.

  Bo, silent and expressionless, fell in behind Griff. Beecher sat for a moment, staring at Griff’s back. Then he spat, and spurred his horse forward in a flurry of dust.

  With sundown came fresh problems to be worked out. Problems like the chill rapidly sweeping away the day’s warmth. And the need of a place to camp. With full dark suddenly upon them, Kennick was forced to call a halt.

  He had not been thinking ahead, searching out a good spot to make camp. This should have been done while it was still light. Now, he was forced to dismount and lead the horses through the blackness. His worry about being followed had claimed most of his attention. It had made him neglect what should have been done.

  They moved through the cold darkness at a slow pace. The slightest sound was magnified many times, echoing about them it seemed for long minutes. In the dark they stumbled and slipped on the uneven ground. Kennick’s eyes ached from staring into the deep gloom ahead.

  During the whole time Jeannie was at his side, leading her horse. She kept up with him without faltering, never once complaining.

  Finally the pale light of the moon broke through, showing them their position. Up ahead, Kennick made out the dark bulk of a field of boulders. He led the way across moon-silvered sand and rock and brought them deep in among the towering rocks.

  With Jeannie’s help, he tethered the horses and fed them some oats from the small supply he carried. Leaving Jeannie to unsaddle, Kennick got Kicking Bear down and led him into a sandy clearing a few yards from the horses. He set the Comanche down and retied his ankles. Then he freed the Indian’s arms and hands. Kennick drew his gun, thumbed back the hammer and leveled the gun at Kicking Bear’s head.

  ‘One wrong move and I’ll shoot your head right off,’ he said matter-of-factly.

  ‘I hear you, Kennick, and this time I heed your words. But my time will come,’ Kicking Bear replied. He massaged his numb wrists and arms.

  Kennick allowed him ten minutes, then retied the Comanche. Jeannie came across from where they’d left the horses. She carried blankets and the cooking gear.

  ‘Will we be able to have a fire?’

  Kennick nodded. ‘I’ll light one over there,’ he said, indicating a spot under a rock overhang that cleared the ground by a good five feet.

  ‘Why there?’

  He smiled at the question. The overhang will keep the light from reflecting into the sky. An uncovered fire can be seen for miles at night out here, just by the reflected glow.’

  Jeannie put the blankets and things on the ground. ‘I’m learning,’ she said.

  From his gear, Kennick pulled out a tied bundle of wood chips. Knowing there was little to serve for fuel out here, he had come prepared. His wood was carefully selected and would make a good heating fire without smoke. Placing his wood beneath the overhang he fished out the oilskin-wrapped matches he carried. By the time Jeannie joined him, carrying the coffee pot and a pan of beans, he had a small fire glowing red-hot. Jeannie watched intently while he arranged half a dozen stones around the fire, then stood the coffee pot and pan over the flames.

  ‘Give it twenty minutes and we’ll be dining in style,’ he said.

  She smiled. ‘Luke, you would make someone a good husband.’

  He turned his head toward her. In the orange glow from the fire she
saw the expression in his gray eyes. She’d had enough emptiness in her own life to be able to recognize loneliness when she saw it. And she saw it now, in this tall, lean, quiet man. She saw it, and her heart went out to him. In that brief moment, she learned a lot about Luke Kennick.

  Abruptly he pushed to his feet and stepped silently away into the gloom beyond the fire.

  Kennick checked out the horses, and once more tested Kicking Bear’s bonds. Satisfied, he crossed to where the saddles lay and picked up his rifle. He paced around the camp area, peering into the deep shadows. For what? he asked himself. And answered, crossly: Anything, damn it, anything.

  He finally admitted to himself that Jeannie’s remark had jolted him. Unknowingly, she had put her pretty thumb right on him and pinned him down. She had been with him less than a day and had already figured what made him tick. Damned female intuition, he thought.

  Suddenly, he realized he was grinning into the darkness. He chuckled softly. Sooner or later a man gets cornered by a woman. When that happens, he might just as well give up peaceable like. He’d heard that said by someone, somewhere, a long time back. In his case it wasn’t exactly true, but it bore thinking about. Jeannie Bahlin was a fine woman. A woman any man would feel proud to have belong to him. She was the sort of woman who—Kennick checked himself, thinking: Easy, friend, don’t get moonstruck. You got enough to stew about without getting involved with any of that Wait until it’s all over and Kicking Bear is off your hands. Then is the time. Maybe.

  He headed back to the fire, first making another circuit of the camp. Jeannie glanced up as he approached.

  ‘All peaceful,’ Kennick said, squatting down.