Masters came back with the drill and said, “Let’s get him off that thing.” They worked quickly to unscrew the bolts from McParlan’s wrist and ankles. Once they had him freed, they lifted the old man off of the cross and carried him over to the soft dirt. “We need water,” Jem said. He looked up and saw Bug nearby, leaning over the body of his dead destrier. The boy rubbed his hands over the creature’s soft black fur and squeezed his eyes shut to keep tears from spilling out of them.
“Bug!” Jem shouted. “Hey! Quit that. I need you.” The boy wiped his face and looked at Jem. Jem pointed into the ship and said, “Go in there and find me water. Understand?” He tipped his hand to his mouth like he drinking Bug jumped to his feet and took off running.
Mahpiya arrived at the base of the trail and starting digging in his bag, sifting through the powders and roots inside of it. The medicine man’s expression was grave as he kneeled beside McParlan and muttered prayers, waving his hands over the Marshal’s face and heart.
Bug returned with a bottle and Jem poured a small amount of water against McParlan’s cracked lips. The old man stirred slightly.
Mahpiya lifted McParlan’s wrist and inspected the hole. He gave a sharp command to Bug, who took off running again. Mahpiya aimed a crooked finger at Jem’s gun and held out his hand for it. Jem put his hand over his weapon and said, “Hell no. We’ll wait and see what Anna says.”
Osceola squeezed Jem’s shoulder and nodded.
Jem reluctantly removed one of his Defeaters and handed it to Mahpiya. “Don’t shoot him. I mean it. He’s old and ugly and meaner than a grizzly bear, but I like the old coot.”
Mahpiya opened the gun and removed a bullet from the cylinder. He drew a long, curved knife from his belt and stuck the tip into the bullet’s casing, prying until the bullet snapped open. He held the casing over McParlan’s wrist and tapped until a small amount of gunpowder sprinkled into the wound there. Mahpiya did the same over the other injuries and waved for the men to stand back.
Bug raced toward them with a flaming torch of wagon wood. Its bright light flickered and left a long trail of smoke that spiraled up toward the high rock walls above. Mahpiya took the torch and waited for Bug to go stand with the others. He lowered the torch to the hole in McParlan’s wrist and ignited the gunpowder. Flames shot through the wound and out of the hole on the other side of his wrist. Mahpiya set fire to the other wounds, and stepped back.
McParlan hollered and kicked when he realized there were flames erupting from his wrists and feet like rockets. He beat the ground until the flames went out and Jem grabbed him to hold him steady. “Help is on the way, Marshal. Just hold on.”
“No more of your help, goddamn it! At least the other sons of bitches didn’t set me on fire.”
Jem carried a torch around the site, setting fire to any pieces of the creature he found. To his disgust, he saw the tiny mouths on each sucker still moved, and the severed tentacles writhed and curled up as he set them aflame. The main portion of the thing was still attached to Little Willy. Its swollen head pulsated, as if it were still clinging to life despite all of the damage inflicted on it. The bullet hole in the center had clotted with gray pus and Jem drove the flaming torch into the hole, making the creature squeal and shrivel.
Bart Masters walked along the canyon floor kicking any remaining pieces of the thing into the wagon fire. Jem helped him carry the Customs Officers over to the fire and pitch them in. They picked up Little Willy Harpe and were about to do the same when Bug ran over, waving his hands.
Bug bent over Little Willy’s head and grabbed a handful of hair. He started to saw the scalp line with his blade. He worked until the black mass of hair came free in his hand and he held it up with a loud, Beothuk screech. He showed the others his trophy, and both Osceola and Mahpiya raised their fists and returned his call.
Bart and Jem heaved Little Willy into the flames. His body crashed into the boards and his clothing caught fire. Jem watched until his face turned black and there was no other reason to keep looking. Harpe was finished.
A destrier worked its way down the path and Jem saw Anna Willow sitting behind Squawk. Her hands clutched the young man’s waist as the animal lumbered dangerously close to the edge of the steep trail. Squawk laughed at her nervousness and brought the destrier to a stop at the bottom. She took up her medical bag and walked around the fire, but started to run when she saw Jem.
He caught her in his arms, mid-stride. “I’m ok,” he said. “I’m all right.”
Anna stepped back and collected herself. “I thought you were hurt. Who needs me?”
Jem walked her over to where McParlan was lying on a Beothuk blanket. He described the injuries and how Mahpiya had cauterized the wounds. The Marshal looked up and said, “These fools didn’t want to rescue me. They wanted to turn me into a barbeque.”
“Where’s Doctor Halladay?” Anna said. She looked around the canyon and saw a body rolled up tightly inside another Beothuk blanket. “Oh God. Oh no.”
Jem held up his hand and said, “Not now. There’s later for that.”
They fashioned makeshift drag sleds from pieces of metal looted from the Customs ship, one for the Marshal and one for the body of Doctor Halladay. The younger Beothuk navigated the trail carefully to get the sleds up and out of the canyon. The Marshal’s complaining got louder at each bump in the road, but no one minded.
Everyone else started up the trail on foot except Jem, who went into the Customs ship and emerged carrying a jug of fuel in each hand. He splashed fuel around the ship and covered the metal X. He soaked the ground where the rotting remains of Elijah Harpe lay. He formed a ring around the crash site with fuel until it was empty, then tossed both containers onto the ground.
Bart Masters was waiting at the edge of the cliff with his laser in hand. He waited until Jem was high enough on the trail to throw the switch that sent the backpack rumbling to life. Bart picked a spot on the ship and squeezed the trigger, shining a red dot on the fuel lines that sparked as it cut through the steel casing.
The fuel inside the tank ignited and set off waves of flame that engulfed the rear of the ship and shattered the observation windows. The fuel on the ground sparked and flames shot eight feet into the air, racing along the wet trails like fiery horses of the apocalypse. Jem had to shield his eyes from the intense heat. He looked for as long as he could while the valley below was cleansed by flames.
Two men waited in the darkness at the base of the mountain. They sat on their destriers without moving, watching the party descend. Anna Willow leaned past Jem and said, “That’s Billy Jack and Walt. What the hell do they want?”
“We’re not here for trouble,” Billy Jack Elliot said. “Just to talk. It’s time you learned the truth about a few things, Jem.”
“You wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you!” Anna shouted.
“That’s enough out of the women-folk,” Walt Junger said. “What we have to say is only for men. Not for women and not for savages.”
Jem turned to Bart Masters and said, “Take Anna and the Marshal back to camp.”
McParlan sat up in the back of his drag sled and said, “Don’t be stupid, boy. This is a goddamn trap.”
“I agree,” Jem said. “Those two just don’t know it yet.” He walked his destrier over to the Beothuk and said, “You saved our lives back there. Whatever you thought you owed me, we’re settled up now.”
Osceola looked at Mahpiya, who spoke Beothuk to him and pointed at Jem, the canyon, and the werja fangs on Jem’s neck. Osceola looked at Jem in confusion.