Longarm no longer doubted the existence of the creature. He had seen enough now to be convinced. Something was out here in these woods, something the likes of which folks had never run into before. Longarm had always been skeptical of such wild stories in the past, but now he believed.
And whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was a mite scared too.
Chapter 12
Only a fool never experienced fear. Longarm had been scared plenty of times in his life, first as a farm boy in West-by-God Virginia, then as a soldier in the Late Unpleasantness. Once, when he was cowboying after the War, he had gotten caught in front of a stampede on a stormy night. He would never forget the rumble of hooves and the clashing of horns behind him, the noises blending with the roar of thunder and the crackle of lightning, as the crazed herd chased and closed in on him. If he hadn’t had a good pony under him that night, he would have been mashed into the dirt of Indian Territory and left bloody and unrecognizable. As it was, he had been able to race out of the path of the stampede at the last minute, but the memory of that belly-churning, throat-clutching fear would always be with him, living a life of its own there in the back of his mind. Likewise, he had been in plenty of tough scrapes since he’d started riding for the Justice Department. There had been times when he fully expected to die and felt the fear any sane man would feel at that prospect.
But now the sensation crawling along his spine like a woolly-worm was different, and he sort of understood why some folks said the fear of the unknown was the greatest fear of all. Better the devil you know, the old saying said, rather than the one you don’t. Under the circumstances, it was mighty apt.
Longarm, Lord Beechmuir, and Singh followed the tracks of the creature while Thorp returned to the others to lead them in a circle around the horse’s body. Booth did not want his wife to get too close to the slaughtered animal. Helene had already seen enough to upset her. They all rendezvoused on the far side of the gully and pushed on north.
A mile farther on, the trail turned back toward the river. The tracks led all the way to a section of bank that had collapsed so that it sloped gently down to the streambed. Longarm reined in and followed the prints with his eyes. They led across the sand to the channel of the Brazos, then disappeared.
“The beast must have gone there to drink after its meal,” Booth said.
“But he didn’t turn around and come back,” grunted Thorp. “We’d be able to see the tracks.” From his saddlebags he took a pair of field glasses like the ones Longarm had wished he’d had earlier. Thorp scanned the far side of the river for a few moments, then shook his head. “I don’t see any tracks leaving the water on the other side. The thing must have waded upstream or downstream a ways before it came out.”
“Reckon he was trying to throw off anybody following him?” Longarm asked.
“Is the creature that intelligent?” Lord Beechmuir put in.
Thorp shrugged. “Who knows how smart the bastard is? Maybe it just wandered off, or could be it’s got enough animal cunning to be careful about leaving a trail. Maybe it’s as smart as a man.”
Longarm didn’t think that was very likely, but regardless of the Brazos Devil’s motivation, the trail was lost for the time being.
“We’re going to have to split up,” Longarm said. “That’s the only way we can cover both directions of the river.”
Thorp and Lord Beechmuir nodded, but Helene spoke up with an objection. “Is it safe for us to be separated like that with such a creature on the loose?”
“Now you understand why I didn’t want you to come,” said Booth. “I didn’t want to put you at risk. However, we have little choice in the matter. Benjamin, you and I will go downstream, and Marshal Long can go upstream. You’ll come with me, of course, Helene.”
Helene’s mouth tightened. “What if I don’t want to?”
“See here!” Lord Beechmuir’s eyes narrowed angrily. “I’ll have no arguing. I want you to be safe, my dear, so naturally you’ll accompany my party.”
With a determined shake of her head, Helene edged her horse closer to Longarm’s. His mouth tightened as he saw what she was doing. She said, “I’ll be perfectly safe with Marshal Long.”
“I’ll not hear of it,” Booth declared.
“Hold on,” Longarm said. “There’s no need to wrangle about this, your lordship. Lady Beechmuir ought to go with you and Mr. Thorp.” He pointed with his thumb at Singh and Ghote. “I’ll take these fellas. Mr. Thorp’s riders can split up, one with each bunch.”
“No!” Helene objected. “Singh, you go with Lord Beechmuir and Mr. Thorp. Randamar can accompany Marshal Long and myself.”
Booth tugged on his Vandyke, evidently a habit he had when he was angry. “I don’t like this. I don’t like it a damned bit.”
Thorp said, “While we’re arguing, that monster’s getting farther and farther away. We won’t be apart for too long. Each group will ride along the river for two miles, then come back. If any of you spot the beast’s tracks before then, fire two shots in the air, and the others will come to you. I’m sure Lady Beechmuir will be safe with Marshal Long, your lordship. One of your men and one of mine will be with them too.”
Booth took a deep breath and blew it out. “Very well. I agree that we’re wasting time. Come along, Benjamin.” He turned his horse and started back toward the south. Thorp, Singh, and one of Thorp’s men fell in with him.
Helene gave Longarm a self-satisfied smile. “It appears that you and I are a team, Marshal. Shall we go?”
Longarm tried not to cuss under his breath. It was bad enough to be out here looking for an escaped prisoner and a varmint that could rip up a horse like that, but to be saddled with a proddy, horny Englishwoman under these circumstances was even worse. He was just glad that the separation would last only a little while; then Helene would be back with her husband and Lord Beechmuir could worry about her.
“All right,” he said, not allowing his voice to reveal what he was feeling. “Let’s go.”
The channel of the river wandered back and forth across the wide streambed. Longarm sent Randamar Ghote and the Rocking T rider, whose name was Benson, across to the eastern side of the Brazos, while he and Helene Booth rode along the western edge of the stream. All four of them remained in the streambed itself, watching closely for tracks leaving the water.
As he rode, Longarm thought about a book he had once read by James Fenimore Cooper. Cooper’s hero Natty Bumppo had been in a situation sort of like this, and he had solved the problem by diverting the stream so that he could see the tracks his quarry had left underneath the water—as if such tracks wouldn’t have been washed away long before ol’ Leatherstocking ever came along to look for them. It just went to show that people didn’t always know what they were writing about, but Longarm supposed that was all right as long as they spun a good yarn.
“Do you think we’ll find Mr. Thorp’s poor wife still alive, Marshal?” Helene asked, breaking into Longarm’s thoughts.
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Hard to say, ma’am. I never ran up against anything like this before. After what I’ve heard about the things the Brazos Devil’s done in the past … and after seeing what happened to that poor horse …” He left the sentence unfinished, letting Helene draw her own grim conclusions.
“Yes, it was dreadful, wasn’t it? Still, I’m sure John will be able to find the beast and kill it. Despite his other failings, he is quite a hunter.” Helene paused, then went on. “I really am sorry about shooting at you earlier. I had no idea-“
“That’s all right, your ladyship. No need to apologize again.”
“Perhaps not, but I’m quite distraught about it. I wish there were some way in which I could … make it up to you, so to speak.”