Another bull was hurtling at us, and I could see that we weren’t going to make it, so I threw myself on top of Tavis in an attempt to shield him. He screamed again as my weight hit him, and I felt one of the hooves graze across the back of my head, the heavy, warm breath of the animal blowing down on us.
I lay there for a second more and then holstered my Colt, figuring it was about as useful as a peashooter in a shooting gallery, and pushed off again, this time grabbing Tavis by the front of his jacket. It was about then that I heard the truck start up and the billowing exhaust blew back at us from the twin tailpipes.
Lurching after it, my hand glanced off the tailgate, and I could see the card dealer lying in the bed, and the woman in the cab screamed, “Deke, don’t!”
There were two people in the truck—the man whom I assumed was named Deke spinning the steering wheel, and the woman whom I believed to be Roberta Payne staring back at us with a look of horror on her face.
I slipped to the ground, the reverse lights flickered on for a second, but then the thing peeled out in the same direction it had been heading, spinning snow in my face and ice on all the rest of me.
Spotting a copse of evergreens to my left, I dragged the kid and pushed some of the branches away so that we could get close to the trunks and shelter ourselves from the charging herd that surrounded us.
I settled him on the ground but felt the branches cave in as one of the animals must’ve come a little too close to the tree. “Get the hell out of here, there’s only room for two!” I fell backward onto Tavis, turned, and kicked at the thing to keep it away. The buffalo yanked its head around, stripping the branches in a cloud of needles that peppered the two of us, and I thought for some reason that maybe he might respond to a cattle call, so I started yelling, “Yaaaaaaah, yaaaaaaah—get out of here! Yaaaaaaah, yaaaaaaah!”
The bull, obviously having been herded in the State Park Roundup, recognized the call and immediately turned his big head and bounded away.
I sat there, stunned that my ploy had worked, and then rolled over, taking the flashlight from Tavis’s duty belt to study him. He looked pale. “How are you doing, troop?”
He didn’t say anything, but he wheezed and his chin trembled.
I rolled him to the right and could see the wound in his side, the blood saturating the bottom of his jacket. “This is going to hurt, but I’m only going to have to do it once.” I unzipped his coat and then trussed him up using my bandana as a bandage to quell the blood loss. “You all right?”
He nodded.
“I’ve got to go out there and look for Henry, okay?” He nodded again. “I won’t leave you, but I’ve got to make sure he’s all right and bring him back here if he isn’t.” I glanced down at the kid with blood all over him. “We’ll take you to the hospital over in Custer and get you squared away. You’ll be okay.”
He nodded again but still didn’t say anything.
I stood and became aware of something warm and slick on the side of my head. I reached up and felt the spot where the buffalo must have kicked me and noticed blood on my glove that must have been dripping from the wound on my neck. I reset my hat, wiped my glove on my pants, and pushed through the evergreen canopy out into the open.
It was the middle of the night, and I was surrounded by buffalo in a blizzard with a stuck cruiser and as far as I knew no available cover for miles around—good going, Sheriff.
I trudged in the direction where the truck had been, pretty sure that the Bear must’ve been close to the thing when everything had all gone to hell.
The buffalo appeared to have calmed down as I found the spot where the truck had been sitting. I bent and picked up the kid’s Glock and then glanced around but could see no sign of my friend. A sense of dread began overtaking me—what if he was out here, unconscious or hurt and unable to call out, what if he’d been killed?
“Walt.”
I turned with the flashlight and the .40 and could see the outline of what looked like a giant crow, the long black wings attempting to wrap close to his body, but ruffled and twisting ever so slightly in the wind. “You all right?”
He grew closer, and I could see that he was moving with a little trouble. “As well as can be expected—who was the idiot that fired first?”
“I assume it was the man named Deke—the woman in the truck yelled his name when they took off.”
He nodded as he drew up next to me, and I noticed he held his side with one hand.
“You’re hurt?”
“My back. I was attempting to negotiate my way around a particularly cantankerous bull when the shot went off. I got out of the way, but his horn caught my coat and we went for a ride.”
“You should’ve done my imitation.”
“There was not much time for interpretive dance.” He grunted a laugh but then regretted it. He poked a finger at my neck, where a little blood had saturated the sheepskin. “You are hit?”
“Not bad, but it grazed me and got the kid.”
He pursed his lips. “Where is he?”
“Under a tree over here—shot through a few ribs it looks like, but he’s breathing okay, so it didn’t get his lungs.” We both stood there, looking at our boots. “His legs work, and you can get him back to the cruiser. I would imagine that the South Dakota Highway Patrol will already be there and they might have information on this Willie character, but also make sure they check out Roberta Payne and the mystery man, Deke.”
“And what are you going to do?” I was still looking at my boots as he studied me. “You have no supplies, no gear, not even the proper footwear.”
“I’ll take the duty belt off Tavis, and you can take this.” I handed him the Glock. “I’m just going to follow them. They’ll probably come out on a road, and I’ll be waiting for a ride, but if they get stuck or wreck that thing . . .” I reached out with my left and gently laid a hand on his shoulder. “That kid is hurt, and somebody’s going to have to get him out of here.”
He made a face. “I can track better than you with my eyes closed.”
“I think I can follow a pickup truck; besides, you’re hurt.”
He cocked his head, studying first my neck and then the blood on the side of my face. “So are you.”
My arm was aching, which must have been some sort of reaction to the bullet that had grazed my neck, and so was my head, but I decided to withhold those thoughts. “Not as bad as you, and anyway, it’s my job.”
He looked at the tracks leading toward the ridge and handed me his cell phone. “You need to be careful, this is an unpredictable situation—the worst kind.”
I gestured weakly toward the tree where Tavis was hidden. “Get him some help, and I’ll call you when I find anything.”
He shook his head. “Where, exactly, is Vic?”
I converted my grimace into a clearing of my throat. “Room two thirteen at the Franklin Hotel, right across from the casino. I’m betting she’s asleep,” I added. “You can have my bed.”
“What if she is in it?”
“Then you get the sofa and Dog.” I started toward the trees and was already weary at the thought of traipsing through the snowbanks all night. “C’mon, I’ll help you with him.” I paused and looked at him. “When you get back to the cruiser, radio Emil Fredriksen—as soon as he finds out one of his own caught a bullet, he’s going to want this Deke fellow’s head, and other portions of his anatomy, I’m thinking.”
—
My head was giving my neck a run for its money as I adjusted Tavis’s duty belt to the first hole, took a deep breath, and studied the tire tracks, the only thing visible in the whiteout. As I’d suspected, they had followed the ridge and skirted the tree line before heading down a slight incline that flattened and opened up into an expanse of white.