“What’s right isn’t always what’s best.”
In his mind’s eye Nate pictured Winona and Evelyn and Zach. “You have convinced me.”
“I have?”
“We’ll head back in the morning.”
“You give your word?”
“If Kuruk wants me, he’ll have to come after me.”
“You’re not as hardheaded as I thought.”
“Maklin?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks.”
Nate smiled and the Texan smiled and their bond of friendship was cemented. But the moment didn’t last.
From out of the dark flew a swarthy warrior. With a fierce yip he swung the tomahawk at the Texan’s head and then he vaulted the flames and threw himself at Nate.
Chapter Fifteen
Nate King hurled his coffee in the Pawnee’s face. It didn’t stop him, but it slowed him for the fraction of an instant Nate needed to dive to one side. The tomahawk cleaved air and the warrior whirled and came at him again.
Scrambling back, Nate dodged a blow to the neck and another to the face. He pushed to his feet, freeing his own tomahawk as he rose. Ducking under a slash that would have taken his head off, he swiped his tomahawk up and in, intending to open the Pawnee from navel to sternum. But the man was incredibly quick and sprang out of reach.
They paused, their eyes locked, taking each other’s measure.
Uttering a war whoop, the warrior attacked again. Nate parried several swift swings and retaliated, but his blow was blocked. They circled, unleashing blow and counterblow. The sharp edge of the Pawnee’s weapon missed Nate’s neck by a whisper. Nate’s next swing opened the Pawnee’s arm.
Again they paused. The warrior crouched and moved his tomahawk in small circles, a mocking grin on his face. Nate waited, balanced on the balls of his feet. He had noticed that when the Pawnee came at him the last two times, the man’s first blow was from right to left. Nate could use that against him.
Once more the warrior attacked. Once more his tomahawk arced from right to left.
Nate was ready. He swept his up and under and nearly severed the warrior’s wrist. Shocked, the warrior swooped his other hand to a knife at his hip, but he didn’t quite have it out of its sheath when Nate did to the man’s neck as he had just done to the wrist.
Avoiding the spurting blood, Nate dashed to Maklin. The Texan was on his belly, his hat off, scarlet matting his hair. Nate sank to a knee and carefully rolled him over, fearing he would find Maklin’s skull had been cleaved like a melon. He smiled in relief. Evidently the flat of the Pawnee’s tomahawk had struck a glancing blow. There was a gash but nothing worse.
The Texan groaned and his eyes opened. “What the hell?”
“It was a Pawnee. He’s dead.”
Maklin winced and looked around and saw the dead warrior. “Good riddance. He damn near did me in.”
“He was in a rush to get at me.” Nate helped the Texan to sit up. “I have some herbs. I’ll bandage you.”
Gingerly touching the gash, Maklin swore. “All I need is some water to wash it clean.” He glared at the one responsible. “I told you it would be one at a time.”
“At least there are only five left.”
“All it takes is one with luck.” Maklin drew a handkerchief from a pocket and pressed it to his head. “Kuruk must figure to wear you down. What do you want to bet he’ll be the last to try you?”
Nate dragged the body out of the firelight and rolled it into a patch of brush. That would have to do. He wasn’t about to go to the time and effort to bury a man who had just tried to kill him.
Maklin was dabbing his wound. “I’ve been thinking. Why not treat them to their own medicine?”
“I’m listening.”
“When we head back they’re bound to follow. We find a spot to wait for them and ambush the bastards like they’ve been ambushing us. Between the two of us we can end it, permanent.”
“It’s me they’re after,” Nate reminded him. “You don’t need to get involved.”
“Like hell I don’t.” Maklin held out his handkerchief, bright red with his blood. “They are out to get me now as much as they are out to get you. So what do you say? Tit for tat?”
The idea appealed to Nate. If they set this up right, the Pawnees would ride into their gun sights and it would be over.
“Then it’s agreed? Good. I’m sick and tired of this cat and mouse. It will be root hog or die.”
Once more Nate slept fitfully. It didn’t help that the night was filled with the howls and roars of the meateaters out to fill their bellies and the screams and shrieks of the host of creatures that didn’t want to fill them. Ordinarily they wouldn’t disturb his slumber. But his frayed nerves were strained by every sound, no matter how slight, and he would wake with a start at each yowl and bleat.
The night seemed to last forever. A pink tinge had yet to color the eastern horizon when Nate decided enough was enough and cast off his blankets. Rekindling the fire, he put coffee on to brew. He needed it to help him stay awake. Dozing in the saddle could prove fatal.
The Texan didn’t stir until a golden crown lent a regal touch to the new day. Sitting up, he yawned and stretched and said matter-of-factly, “You look like hell, hoss.”
“I could use a good night’s sleep,” Nate admitted.
“It won’t be long,” Maklin predicted. “Maybe today we’ll get to surprise your friend Kuruk.”
Nate hoped so. After six cups of coffee and pemmican he was ready to head out. The day was bright and gorgeous as only days in the mountains could be. They retraced their steps across the tableland and came to the wallow where the warrior had attacked Nate.
“The body is gone.” Maklin stated the obvious. “His friend must have carried him off.”
“Something did,” Nate said, and pointed at bits of buckskin and pieces of skin and hair that led off into the high grass.
“A bear, you reckon?”
Nate spied fresh tracks in the dirt. “Wolves. They found it during the night.”
“I didn’t think wolves ate people.”
“Usually no. But if they’re hungry enough or so old they can’t get much to eat and they sniff out fresh blood…” Nate shrugged.
By noon they were in heavy forest. Shadows cloaked the undergrowth. Nate nearly put a crick in his neck from twisting and turning his head so much. He was glad that the next slope had a lot fewer trees. It had boulders, all shapes and sizes, scattered as if tossed by a giant hand.
Maklin was in the lead, his hat pushed back on his head so it didn’t irritate his wound. “I sure do miss Texas. You ever been there?”
“No.”
“You should visit it someday. Most who come never want to leave. It beats Lexington’s Second Eden all hollow.”
Nate couldn’t shake the feeling they were being stalked. He turned to check behind them and saw his shadow and the bay’s and the shadow of a giant boulder they were near—and another shadow seemingly took wing above them. Only it was much larger than any bird and it didn’t have wings.
Nate swung around. He tried to raise the Hawken, but only had it halfway up when a stocky Pawnee slammed into him. The warrior had been on top of the boulder.
The impact tore Nate from the saddle. Steel nicked his shoulder as he slammed onto his back hard enough to jar his marrow. The knife rose and came down again, but he jerked aside and it bit into the dirt instead of his body. Driving his knee up, Nate dislodged his attacker. He still had the Hawken and when the warrior hissed and came at him in a frenzy of bloodlust, he swung with all the power in his shoulders and arms.
At the thunk of wood on bone, the Pawnee collapsed like a limp washcloth.