CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A rosy tinge enveloped the eastern horizon and radiated upward and outward, heralding the arrival of a new day, the signal for the sparrows and starlings and other birds in Yellowstone to greet the dawn in their own inimitable manner, by chirping and singing in a boisterous avian chorus.
Blade sat on the east side of the fire, staring at the low flames and the burning embers, and inhaled deeply. Morning at last! He’d been unable to catch a wink of sleep alt night. How could he doze off when the creatures might return? How could he take even a short nap when Hickok and Geronimo were in danger of losing their lives, if they hadn’t already? Not to mention Priscilla and Eagle Feather. The thought of the Mormon woman prompted him to glance to his right.
Achilles hadn’t slept either. He’d spent all night walking around the rim of the hill. Around and around and around. Now he was moving along the north edge, his visage downcast, dragging his heels.
“Are you ready?” Blade asked.
“Finally,” Achilles responded, halting and stretching. “Yes I’m ready I can’t wait to catch the things that took Priscilla.”
“And the others,” Blade noted dryly.
“Of course. I want to rescue them too.”
“I’m happy to hear it,” Blade said. He stood and surveyed the countryside. To the south, a quarter of a mile distant, were four large animals. Buffaloes, he assumed, until he look a closer look and distinguished the distinctive outlines and flowing tails of a godsend.
“Horses!”
“Where?” Achilles inquired, hurrying over.
Blade pointed. “Go get them while I check for tracks.”
“On my way,” Achilles replied, running off.
The giant stood watching the novice jog down the slope, then turned and stepped to the north rim. He slowly proceeded westward around the outer circumference, intently examining the ground for prints.
Unfortunately, grass covered almost every square inch of earth, minimizing the possibility of discovering an impression. He deduced that the things had departed either to the north, west, or south because he and Achilles had been to the east and hadn’t spied the creatures leaving with their burdens. Of course, the things could have slipped past unseen.
Blade paused. Another factor to consider was the direction of travel the mutations had been taking before the attack last night. The creatures had been bearing in a south-southeasterly direction, and they might still be on the same course.
Might.
Then again, they might not.
Perturbed, he reached a point due west of the smoldering fire and noticed a saucerlike depression of dirt at the base of the hilt. What could have happened to the grass? He wondered, and ran toward the depression.
He vaguely recalled reading that buffaloes often formed dusty wallows in which they rolled and rubbed repeatedly. This must be one.
The depression was ten feet in width, and the earth had been churned into clods by the constant tramping of heavy hoofs.
Blade halted next to the wallow, noting the scores of hoof-prints in the dirt and around the border. He knelt and scrutinized the earth for different prints. If the creatures had fled in this direction, they might not have noticed the wallow in the dark. Or they might not have viewed the leaving of tracks as anything to become worried about. In any event, if he could find just one clear print he’d know which way they went.
He found five.
They were all along the north side of the wallow, crossing from east to west, blending into the buffalo prints so well he didn’t notice them at first.
Five prominent toes were the giveaway, and he moved around the border and squatted to examine the footprints.
How grotesque.
Blade had done a fair amount of hunting and tracking in his lifetime, and never had he beheld the like. They appeared to be a cross between a human print and a bear track, which fit the description supplied by Star and Iron Wolf.
The Bear People.
The bastards.
He stood and walked back up the slope, debating his next move and trying to rationalize the intent of the creatures. Why were the things now heading westward after traveling southward for so many miles? Were they trying to throw off any pursuit? Did the things intend to double back later? What was his best option? Go west? Or go south?
Blade came to the crest and stopped. Tracking the mutations promised to be a difficult and arduous task. It would entail scouring every foot of exposed earth en route on the off chance one of the creatures had goofed and left a print. Such a procedure would be wearisome and time-consuming, and time was a commodity they were short on.
But what choice did they have?
He moved to the fire and stared idly at the last of the flames, chiding himself for his performance. He should never have divided his forces! If only that woman hadn’t screamed…
The woman!
Milly Odum!
Blade gazed to the southeast. He’d forgotten all about her in the heat of events, What if she was lying down there, injured? Or what if she had escaped the creatures and was now hiding in the general area? Should he ride to the scavenger camp before heading out after his friends, Eagle Feather, and Priscilla?
What was he thinking?
The plain where the buffaloes had been slain must be three or four miles distant. Precious time would be consumed in the ride there and back. He had to be practical. The odds that Odum had escaped the mutations was virtually nil. The creatures had undoubtedly captured her, as well. So venturing to the camp would serve no useful purpose.
Still, what if he was wrong?
Blade shook his head, his lips tightening. He had to be firm. He had to weigh which course of action would achieve the greatest good. Giving chase to the mutations must be his paramount priority. If it later developed that he’d been in error, then he could indulge in self-recrimination. Personal failings were best reflected in the mirror of one’s own soul in private. The faint sound of drumming hoofs reached his ears.
He hastened to the south rim and saw Achilles galloping toward the hill astride a brown stallion, the red cloak streaming in the wind, leading another horse, a black gelding, by the reins. Eager to get underway, he jogged to meet the younger man halfway.
“The other two ran off,” Achilles announced as he drew nearer. “I assumed you didn’t want me to waste time trying to catch them.”
“You were right,” Blade stated.
“With the horses we should overtake the mutations quickly,” Achilles declared optimistically.
“Unless they can run as fast as a horse,” Blade noted, and slowed to a walk.”
Achilles reined up and scowled. “I never thought of that. Some mutants are quite fleet of foot.”
“Let’s hope these are part turtle,” Blade quipped. He the stallion and took the reins from Achilles.
“Surely we can catch them by nightfall.”
“We’ll do our best,” Blade said, and swung onto the black horse. He glanced at the hill, remembering the Flathead’s Winchester, and decided against retrieving the rifle. There wasn’t time. “Let’s go,” he directed, and rode to the west.
“Did you find their tracks?” Achilles inquired hopefully.
Blade nodded. “If you’re up to it, I don’t intend to stop except for nature breaks. No food, no rest until our fellow Warriors and Eagle Feather are safe and sound.”
“And Priscilla. Don’t forget about her.”
“Did I neglect to mention her name?” Blade said, suppressing a grin.
“Sorry about that. Now let’s ride.” He led the way to the wallow, then swung westward. They crossed the field and entered a strip of woods, their eyes riveted to the ground, constantly seeking footprints. Beyond the woods lay a narrow plain, which they traversed in short order. The land began to slope gradually upward, and they found themselves ascending hills thick with pines and fallen timbers. The hills blended into a mountain range.