Suddenly, Sam sensed that his life was not supposed to end this way. He wouldn’t let it. He had someone he must live for. His heart swelled. His love for Catherine so strong, he had to defy death.
He had denied death before, numerous times.
He would not die today either. He had to get back to her, to go on loving her for the rest of his days. He spotted a large shrub and hurried toward it, forcing the sharp pain in his leg to retreat deep inside of him. Instead, he filled his mind with images of Catherine, and his heart filled with hope. He limped toward the bush, dragging his throbbing leg behind him.
“Big Ben, you dumb ass, you shot Frank!” Sam heard one of the buffalo hunters yell to the other, as they yanked their horses to a stop around Foley’s corpse.
He saw the three hunters look down at the pathetic remains of what used to be their leader. Big Ben spit at Foley’s feet and said, “Looks like there wasn’t much left of him anyway.”
Sam shook his head in disgust, sure the callous hunters felt neither grief nor regret. Killing and death had been so much a part of their lives for so long they almost certainly could not even feel the loss of one of their own.
“Pick up that whip. I’ll use it to kill that big fellow. I’ll teach him to whip one of us,” Big Ben shouted.
One of the three dismounted, picked up the whip, and handed it up to Big Ben.
The hunters took off heading in Sam’s direction, their horses’ hooves kicking big clumps of dirt onto their leader’s body as they lunged to a full gallop.
Sam hoped it would be the only burial Foley would get.
Hidden by the large bush that just covered his big body, Sam took aim with his rifle and fired, hitting the one closest to him in the center of the man’s chest. As the hunter fell from his horse and crashed to the ground, Sam noticed the man’s shorn scalp. When he’d cut that hair off, he had warned the fellow not to bother them again. The man should have listened.
The other two hunters wrenched their mounts to a stop and struggled to control their now skittish horses twisting in circles.
Sam hastily resumed hopping toward better cover, reloading the rifle as he went. He glanced back at the two and didn’t notice the rotting log hidden by grass. He tripped and fell on his wounded leg. Pain blasted through his thigh as the slash ripped further open and the gash on the back of his head shot searing heat through his skull. He clutched his leg trying to hold the wound together and gritted his teeth at the severe ache in his head. Blood began to seep from his leg again.
That was it. He could go no further.
He saw the two hunters heading toward him again. He plucked both pistols from his belt. He would have to make a stand right here in the open. Well, by God, he would give them a fight.
Sam fired, but unsteady on his wounded leg and feeling light-headed from the loss of blood, only grazed the side of one man’s arm. He fired the second pistol. He stared disbelieving through the powder’s smoke. He had missed twice, and he never missed.
Until now. Why now, Lord?
As the two men continued to bear down on him, he glanced at the pistols in his hands. His hands and the weapons shook. His wounds were taking their toll on his body.
He stuck the weapons in his belt and pulled his knife. The grip felt good in his hands. Power seemed to flow into him from the blade, giving him courage and renewed strength.
The two remaining buffalo hunters dragged their horses to a stop in front of him, both wearing mocking grins and smelling of death. Big Ben held the whip.
He could see their malevolent intentions in their evil darkened eyes.
They would torture him.
Sam defiantly stepped forward. He brandished the big knife, and teeth bared, he glared viciously from one to the other. He would give these two only one chance. “You both need to surrender yourselves to the law,” he warned. “If you don’t, you’ll surely die today.”
Both men guffawed, and then Big Ben declared, “You’re the one who is going to die today. I’m going to enjoy whipping you to death. Drop that knife or Lucas here will shoot you in the other leg.”
Sam wanted to throw the knife at Big Ben, but realized as soon as he did the other man, evidently named Lucas, would shoot him. “No, I’m rather fond of this knife. I think I’ll keep it.”
Big Ben put the whip over his saddle horn and lifted his long heavy gun into the crook of his arm for support. However, his horse and the other man’s horse would not settle, making it impossible for either one to aim accurately.
The other man drew his pistol and fired at Sam anyway.
The ball flew past Sam’s head, narrowly missing his ear.
He gave the shooter a withering stare and brandished his knife at both of them. With every blade stroke slicing through the air, it felt like he formed a barrier between himself and the buffalo hunters, as though the blade held the ability to hold back evil. He had always believed his knife held special powers. Now he knew it.
Both buffalo hunters obviously recognized the huge knife. Sam could almost see them recalling the image of a screaming Foley with the blade protruding from their leader’s arm. Their faces reflected hesitation and then alarm as they both stared, nearly transfixed, at the lethal weapon.
Then curses rolled out of Big Ben’s mouth as he tried again to aim his rifle, pointing it more at the knife than at Sam.
Sam stared up into the darkness of the huge weapon’s barrel. He had to stay out of its path or he would die. He quickly shifted left, then right, then shuffled back, staying one step ahead of Big Ben’s aim, waiting for a chance to launch his knife. The blade had to hit Big Ben with perfect timing to prevent the man from pulling the trigger and shooting him.
Off to the side, astride his horse, Lucas waited for Big Ben to make the kill.
Suddenly, the massive hunter’s focus shifted away. Something had caught the man’s eye.
As Big Ben’s horse saw it too, the mount jerked and lurched, making aiming the weapon impossible. The nervous mount raised his head and whinnied.
Lucas quickly started to reload his pistol.
Sam followed Big Ben’s gaze and then he saw them too. Their horses raced wide open across the same meadow through which he had just chased Foley.
Awestruck at the sight of the threesome, Sam’s mouth hung open, and hope filled him.
Like a huge angry beast a horse, Bear’s long arm stuck straight up, holding his Kentucky rifle like a spear. His hairy-face fierce, Bear yelled a Scottish war cry, a part of his heritage learned from his grandfather. The vicious roar could make the blood of even the stoutest enemy run cold, but it gave Scottish warriors courage.
And it gave Sam hope. The battle cry fortified his heart as nothing else could have.
William, who rode beside Bear, looked like a horseback god of justice. His blonde hair had come loose, the wind blowing it behind him like the mane of his horse. His countenance held the cold determination of a noble marble statue as he thundered toward Sam.
John rode out in front, slightly ahead of William and Bear, his pistol drawn and aimed at the two hunters. Surprisingly, John’s face showed the will to kill and confident courage. It made Sam proud of John in a way he had never felt before. John’s weapon pointed directly at Big Ben.
William drew his pistol and pointed it in the direction of the other man, but neither John nor William were quite within pistol range.
Sam watched Bear maneuver just west of John and William’s path, no doubt to fire his rifle without the two being in his line of sight. Firing a rifle on a running horse was tricky, to say the least.
He glanced back at the two hunters. Big Ben had dismounted and now held his rifle against his shoulder. The man raised the weapon’s muzzle to the approaching men, taking aim.
“No!” Sam screamed. He prepared to throw his knife at Big Ben, but the other hunter and his horse were in the way, nearly on top of him. He sidestepped to avoid being trampled. He tried to hobble around the horse, but the man turned his m
ount, this time deliberately trying to trample him.
He didn’t want to use his knife on this man; he needed it for the one pointing the rifle. He limped to the side of Lucas’ horse trying to get around the animal. But the hunter turned the horse toward him, blocking his view of Big Ben.
Frantic, he glared back toward John. Fire John, fire, his mind pleaded, knowing it would be a wasted shot. John was still out of range.
Then he saw Bear aiming. “Shoot Bear, for mercy’s sake, shoot!” Sam screamed.
Lucas shifted and Sam could now see Big Ben. He instantly raised his blade.
The terrible sound of Big Ben’s rifle firing next to him burst through Sam’s ears in a horrifying flash of realization.
In the next split second, Sam’s eyes shifted to John. His brother flew backward off his horse.
Bear fired and Sam released his knife, but with perfect timing, Big Ben bent his knees and hunched over. The ball sailed by the hunter’s side followed by the knife slicing the air just above the stooped man.
Still crouched low, Big Ben wrenched his horse around hard, mounted, and took off. The other man quickly followed as William, finally within range, fired his pistol. The shot blew Lucas’ hat off his head.
William flew off his still stopping horse and knelt next to John.
Stunned, Sam forced himself to take first one and then another step toward John, knowing that Big Ben had blown his brother’s heart apart.
He did not die today.
But John had.
Chapter 31
Bear and William crouched next to John’s body as Sam limped up.
All three could tell that John’s wound was mortal. Their brother’s eyes now stared at something only he could see.
Sam’s throat constricted with misery. His heart, that had so recently found life again, seemed to be dying of sorrow.
When he felt a single tear drip down his face, his fists balled with the urge to kill. He swiped the tear away with a knuckle. “Get me John’s horse,” he ordered, choking back the angry screams welling up in his chest. “And pick up my knife.”
Bear remounted his horse and went to retrieve John’s mount and the blade.
Sam tried to kneel next to John, but could not bend his leg. Instead, he stood by John, fighting back hot tears as he gazed at the blood pouring from the heinous wound in his brother’s chest.
“My God John, what are you doing here?” he asked, half-expecting John to answer.
William, who cradled their brother’s lifeless head in his hands, answered for John. “He thought you were in trouble. He wanted to do his part.”
As Bear rode off, he screamed the same war cry they’d heard only moments ago. This time though, the cry held an edge of anguish, and instead of giving Sam hope, it prepared him for battle.
Bear returned quickly, pulling John’s horse. “Are ye sure you can ride?” Bear questioned, looking at Sam’s leg.
Sam glanced up. Big tears moistened Bear’s disheartened face.
“Help me up,” Sam said, his voice cracking.
William stood and held the horse’s bridle and bit to keep it still, while Bear reached down and hauled Sam onto the mount.
“You’re in no condition to ride. Let me go,” William tried.
“What needs doing is not a job for a man of the law,” Sam avowed.
“At least let me wrap that leg,” William offered.
“All right, but hurry, damn it,” he grumbled through clenched teeth.
William took off his coat, gently laid it over John’s head, and then pulled off his linen shirt, while Sam reloaded his pistols and Kentucky rifle. Bear was doing the same.
Sam tied the reins of John’s horse together, knowing he might soon have to fight with both hands.
“What happened?” William asked Sam. “Stephen wouldn’t explain. He just waved us on toward you and told us to hurry.”
As William tied the shirt over the wound on his leg, Sam explained, “Foley shot Catherine, but she’ll make it, thank God. He and his brother ambushed us and stole Alex. Stephen showed up and I borrowed George to pursue. I shot Foley’s brother and then went after Foley. During our battle, Foley stabbed me and killed George.” He heard Bear gasp. “The other buffalo hunters shot Foley when they were aiming for me,” he said, gathering the reins in his hand. “William, you and Stephen get Catherine to the doctor. Better yet, bring him to our camp. You’ll need the supply wagon to fetch her and…John.” He swallowed hard, trying to squelch the bitter bile rising from his stomach. “Be sure she’s well cared for.”
“I’ll take care of them,” William said, choking back emotions as he finished tying his linen shirt tightly around Sam’s thigh, tucking the shirt’s sleeves in near the wound.
“We’ll get them, John,” Sam promised, looking down at his dead brother before he kicked the horse.
Sam and Bear rode side by side, their horses in a nearly matching rhythm, running at a full gallop. Sam knew their minds were also in perfect rhythm. They had to find the two buffalo hunters and kill them. They would show no mercy—these men were past that now. Their ration of mercy spent on John’s death.
“Are ye all right?” Bear yelled, slowing his horse and looking at Sam. “Ye’ve lost a lot of blood.”
Sam nodded woodenly, but he was far more concerned about his state of mind. His heart, fractured in his chest, was near bursting with grief. His mind, consumed by an overwhelming need for vengeance, struggled to think clearly. He needed to regain control—to think like a warrior and prepare his mind and body for battle.
Bear resumed looking for the tracks of the two horses. The recent rain made it easier for Bear’s experienced eye to quickly find the tracks again and they took off for a second time.
Soon they were only minutes behind the two buffalo hunters. Sam could smell their lingering sour scent in the air.
Bear seemed to catch the scent too, spurring his mount to an even faster run.
Sam’s mind twisted with strange impressions as if he was in a bizarre dream. If he could just get to the killers, he could save John. But for some reason, it seemed too late to save his brother. But his mind wouldn’t stop trying. Again, he fought to make himself think clearly.
“They’ll start slowin’ soon,” Bear shouted, “or they’ll kill their horses.”
“Doubt they’d care,” he yelled back.
Sam prepared himself to kill. He would not yield until the enemy knew defeat. Catherine was right. It was time to end this.
He had no doubt that they were about to engage in a vicious battle, but it would be a war with no victory—John was already dead. No matter how hard his mind tried to deny it, his brother was gone.
“Look,” Bear yelled, as they crested a hill.
Sam saw the two buffalo hunters pull into a copse thick with brush and pines. He had only seconds to make a decision. Should he and Bear find cover now or barrel towards the two men without slowing?
Suddenly sure what he needed to do, he used the reins to push John’s horse to an even faster run.
Bear urged Camel to keep up and the two horses stormed towards the buffalo hunters, the pounding hoof beats reverberating against tree trunks as they wove their way through the thick trees, both riding faster than was safe.
“The one who killed John is mine,” he swore loud enough for Bear to hear.
As they came closer, the atmosphere in the woods, filled with heavy late afternoon air, became darker and smelled of musk and mold.
This was a mistake. They could be riding into an ambush. Even so, there would be no stopping.
It would take God Himself to make him stop now.
William spotted Stephen. Catherine’s horse and Alex stood nearby grazing in the tall grass. He hurried toward his brother, wrenched his mount to a stop, and flung himself off the horse.
Stephen sat on the ground next to Catherine.
William’s voice asked the question with only her name. “Catherine?”
“She’s
wounded, but not gravely. She spoke once when she made Sam take her dagger with him, but then she passed out again. She’s been asleep ever since.”
His mind elsewhere, William had not noticed the dagger on Sam.
“She’s lost considerable blood,” Stephen explained, “but the bleeding has finally stopped.”
William bent down next to both of them. “Whoresons!” he swore, looking at Catherine and dreading what he was about to tell Stephen.
“Where’s your coat and shirt?” Stephen asked.
William peered into Stephen’s face, his eyes burning with unshed tears. “Stephen, John is dead.” William found the words strange—like he spoke the words in a bad dream. He wanted to spit out the bitter taste they left in his mouth. He fought to restrain his grief, but it grabbed ahold of his face, contorting it with his useless struggle to control his emotions.
He watched as Stephen’s eyes darkened and his brother’s face registered his sorrow and shock. “Dead, oh my God, no!” Stephen howled as he stood, fists clenched at his sides. “No, not him. Not him. No!”
William stood and put a hand on Stephen’s shaking shoulder.
“How?” Stephen asked, his voice cracking.
“Two of the hunters were just about to kill Sam. John was riding hard to Sam’s rescue and got ahead of Bear and me. One of them shot John, in the heart, and then they took off.”
“Bloody hell, damn them,” Stephen swore. “I’ll kill them.”
“What about Sam? Is he…?” Catherine asked weakly.
William glanced down and realized she had come awake. He knelt down beside her. “Sam has a leg wound but is otherwise alright. There are only two hunters left. Sam and Bear have gone after them. Don’t worry, they’ll get them.” Moreover, he suspected they would show no mercy.
Catherine closed her eyes again and pressed a fist to her lips. William could tell she was in a great deal of pain.
Stephen threw his hat to the ground in fury.
William watched helplessly as his brother vented his growing rage, repeatedly kicking at the ground.
Romancing the Wilderness: American Wilderness Series Boxed Bundle Books 1 - 3 Page 52
