The gunfighter focused on his best friend. “Well, this is another fine mess you’ve gotten me into.”
“Me?” Geronimo responded. “What did I do?”
“You dozed off on guard duty and let these critters conk you on the noggin’.”
“I was wide awake, I’ll have you know.”
Hickok grinned. “Oh, really? And what happened to those great Injun senses and reflexes I keep hearin’ about?”
“They took me by surprise,” Geronimo said lamely while testing the leather thongs binding his wrists.
“I recollect you tellin’ me that no one can sneak up on an Indian,” Hickok said, and smirked.
“You misunderstood.”
“I did?”
“Yeah. I meant no white man.”
“Is that a fact? At least I got off a few shots. What did you do? Breathe on them?”
Priscilla leaned toward them, glaring. “How can you two joke at a time like this?” she demanded angrily. “We’ve been captured by mutants!”
“No foolin’?” Hickok responded.
“Where are they?” Eagle Feather interjected.
“Who?” the gunfighter asked.
“My wife and sons. I don’t see them,” Eagle Feather stated, his emotional anguish transparent.
“The creatures might have your family elsewhere,” Geronimo said.
“I pray they do,” Eagle Feather said.
Priscilla pulled her knees up to her chest, then rolled onto her shins.
“You’ve got to get us out of here,” she told the gunman.
Hickok snickered. “Yeah. Right. I’ll sprout wings and fly all of us out.”
“There must be something you can do!”
A brittle laugh came from off to the left. “There’s nothing any of you can do,” a surly voice declared. “The sooner you accept your fate, the better.”
Hickok twisted, his eyes narrowing.
Three of the creatures were strolling toward the captives. The mutation in the lead, the tallest of them all, bore a jagged scar on the right side of his face, from the corner of his eyes to the tip of his pronounced chin. The scar distinguished him from his comrades, and so did the tomahawk he clutched in his huge right hand. His fingernails, like all those of the Bear People, were over an inch long and slightly curved.
“Talkin’ bears,” Hickok quipped. “Now I’ve seen everything.”
The trio halted, and the apparent leader placed his hands on his stout hips and glowered at the gunfighter.
“My name is Longat. I’m the head of our Breed.”
“My condolences,” Hickok cracked.
“Have your fun while you can,” the creature named Longat stated.
“We’ll save you for last so we can watch you suffer.”
“What are you?” Priscilla asked. “Why have you done this to us?”
Longat glanced at the creature on the left and grinned. “Humans, eh?”
“They’re pathetic,” growled the second mutation.
“If I had my Colts I’d show you pathetic, you turkey,” Hickok stated.
“What’s your name?” Longat queried.
“Hickok.”
“Keep flapping your gums, Hickok, and I’ll gut you right here,” Longat vowed, and looked at the Mormon woman. “Can’t you figure out what we are?”
“You’re mutations.”
“How perceptive,” Longat said.
All three creatures laughed.
“What do you intend to do with us?” Priscilla asked.
“Do you really want to know?”
“Yes.”
Longat grinned, a malevolent expression devoid of mirth. “I’d rather keep you in suspense. It’s more fun that way.”
“Where are you from?” Hickok asked.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” the mutation retorted.
Eagle Feather bent toward the leader. “Where’s my family? What have you done with my wife and sons?”
“Your family?” Longat repeated quizzically. He studied the Flathead for a bit, then nodded. “I remember you. You’re the one we almost crushed in the rock slide. You’re the husband of Morning Dew and those two brats.”
Fury contorted the Flathead’s countenance and he endeavored to rise, pushing upward with his tied hands. His injured left thigh, stiff and sore after so many hours of being held still, buckled and he fell onto his hands and elbows.
“Your concern for your loved ones is touching,” Longat stated, his words reeking with contempt, “Where are they?” Eagle Feather shouted, crimson flushing his features.
“Have a care, human. Control yourself or you’ll never learn their whereabouts.”
Eagle Feather rose on his knees, heedless of the warning. “Where are my wife and sons?” he shouted.
Like a striking rattler, displaying astounding speed, Longat swiftly stepped forward and backhanded the Flathead across the mouth, knocking Eagle Feather onto the grass. “Fool! We are the masters here.
Mouth off again and I’ll take you next.”
Glaring up at the mutation, Eagle Feather wiped the back of his hands over his cracked, bloody lips.
“Take him where?” Hickok asked.
“Nowhere.”
“But you just said—” Hickok began.
“I know what I said,” Longat snapped. “And you’ll comprehend the truth soon enough.”
“I can hardly wait.”
The head of the Breed looked at the timid brunette. “What’s your name?” he demanded.
The woman stared blankly at the creature but did not utter a sound.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Longat said. “What’s your name?”
“It’s Milly Odum,” Priscilla answered. “Can’t you see that she’s too scared to think straight? Why don’t you leave her alone?”
Longat took a pace and grabbed Odum by the hair. She winced and cowered, trembling uncontrollably. “Yes. You’re healthy. You’ll do.”
“What are you going to do with her?” Priscilla questioned, irate at Odum’s treatment. “She hasn’t done anything to you.”
“And she never will,” Longat stated. He released Odum and started to stalk off with the other two creatures in tow.
“Hold it!” Geronimo finally spoke up.
Longat halted and glanced back. “What now, human?”
“That’s my tomahawk you’re carrying.”
“Really?” Longat hefted the weapon, admiring the craftsmanship. “And I neglected to thank you for your gift. How careless.” He laughed and walked away.
“I can’t wait to plug that hombre,” Hickok commented.
“You’ll have to wait your turn,” Geronimo said.
Priscilla glanced from Warrior to Warrior. “What’s our next move?
How can we escape from these monsters?”
“Beats me,” Hickok replied.
“You’re supposed to be the expert,” Priscilla stated. “Is that all you can say?”
“For the time being.”
“Some tough guy you are.”
“What do you want from me, lady? The leather holdin’ our wrists is too strong to break. And even if I could, what chance would I have against all these critters when I’m unarmed?”
“Hey, look,” Geronimo said, and nodded at the opposite side of the clearing.
Hickok swung around.
The mutations had placed three of their own, all evidently dead, near the far trees. All three were lying on their backs with their hands neatly folded on their stomachs.
“I didn’t realize I killed so many,” Hickok said.
“How do you know that you were responsible?” Geronimo inquired.
“It certainly wasn’t you, pard. You were in dreamland, as I recollect.”
“Rub it in, why don’t you?”