Blood Trail (10 page)

Clint wondered if the killer or killers would follow them wherever they went. What if they stayed behind when the train left the state? Whose responsibility would they become then?

He was jostled from his reverie when Sarah put her hands on him from behind.

“Are you all right?” she asked, her voice close to his ear. “How is your shoulder?”

“It's fine,” he said, aware of her hands on his neck, his back, then gently touching his shoulder.

“I'll take a look at it again when we stop,” she promised him.

“Sarah,” Clint said, “I think we should talk.”

“Wait.”

She climbed out from the back of the wagon to sit next to him on the bench. Sitting that way, they were pressed tightly together, hip to hip.

“All right,” she said, “what do you want to talk about?”

“You.”

“What about me?” she asked. “Do you like me?”

“Well, of course I like you,” he said. “I think you're a lovely girl.”

“Thank you.”

“But I think you might have the wrong idea about . . .”

“About what?”

“Well . . . us.”

“Is there an us?” she asked.

“That's just it,” he said. “There can't be.”

“Because of my father?”

“Well, that's one good reason,” Clint said, “but more than that is your age.”

“I am seventeen,” she said, “soon to be eighteen.”

“Exactly,” he said. “I'm a lot older than you.”

“I don't care,” she said. “I have a woman's needs.”

“Well, that might be true,” he said, “but I'm not the person to see to them.”

“I disagree,” she said, closing her hand on his left thigh. “I think you are. I think we are meant to be lovers.”

“Sarah—”

“I am sorry,” she said, “but that's how I feel.”

“No, I mean, here comes your father.”

She jerked her hand away from his leg as her father rode up on them.

“It looks clear ahead,” Talbot announced.

“Good,” Clint said. “We'll take a break in a short while.”

“There's a clearing about a mile up ahead, near a water hole.”

“Sounds perfect,” Clint said. “Lead the way, Frederick.”

* * *

When they reached the clearing, Clint reined in the team and waved at the others to do the same. He stepped down, mounted Eclipse, and rode back to tell each of the wagons, “We're going to take a break and water the horses. Any of you who want water can step down and get it.”

Since quite a few of them took advantage of the stop, they stayed longer than expected.

Clint rode Eclipse to the back of the column and stared out over the expanse of ground they'd left behind. They'd be crossing the border into Iowa soon, their next goal being Council Bluffs. There they'd have to cross the Missouri River in order to continue. In the old days it took wagon trains many days to cross. In many cases they had to remove the wheels and float the wagons across. There was a lot of personal property at the bottom of the river, along with some bodies. It would not take this train very long, but everyone would have to do what they were told so that they could make it across safely.

But safety had to do with a lot more than just crossing the river. Was there a killer or killers behind them, either following or pursuing?

Clint heard a horse, turned, and saw Talbot ride up alongside him.

“Everyone is filling their barrels,” he said. “They want to know if we will be stopping here for the night.”

“That'll take some time,” Clint said, looking at the sky. “But we still have plenty of daylight. We can travel for another few hours.”

“They are worried—you know—about . . .”

“Yes, I know,” Clint said. “We'll find a place to camp in the open, so nothing can sneak up on us. That should give everyone the chance to get a good night's sleep.”

“And us?”

“What about us?”

“Should we ride back and search?”

“Not in the dark, Frederick,” Clint said. “I know you can get around in the dark, but I don't think last night was a huge success, do you?”

“No,” Talbot said, “you are probably right.”

“We need time to lick our wounds,” Clint said, “and I'm not talking about physical wounds.”

“I understand,” Talbot said. “I will tell them we will be moving on.”

“Okay.”

Talbot turned and rode away. Clint continued to look behind them.

They drove for three more hours and then Clint called the column to a halt. They camped as he had said, in the open, picketed their horses, and built their fires. Everyone seemed at ease while they were able to see around them, but as darkness fell, nervousness kicked in. Many felt they might as well have been in the center of a forest for all they could see.

“Let's set the watches by fours again,” Clint said. “We'll keep that up all the way.”

“All right,” Talbot said.

When supper was ready, Clint sat at a fire with Talbot and Sarah. There were two other fires, but he could see that the remaining members of the train had decided to avoid him and the Talbots—or just him. Either they were afraid to be near them, or they were simply putting distance between themselves and his newfound authority.

“Let me ask you something,” Clint said to Talbot. He decided to discuss their situation in front of Sarah. She had a right to know what was going on.

“Yes?” Talbot asked.

“I know what a wolf would do,” Clint said. “It would follow us as long as we were the only source of food. If, somewhere along the way, he came across another source—maybe easier prey—he'd take it. So I would not expect a wolf to follow us all the way to Council Bluffs. And if it did, we would probably leave it behind when we crossed the river.”

“I understand.”

“Now tell me about the animals you hunt,” Clint said. “Is any of that true?”

Talbot tossed a look Sarah's way.

“Tell him, Papa,” she said.

“Yes,” Talbot agreed. “In my country this creature would not be pursuing us as a source of nourishment. It would have something else in mind.”

“Like what?”

“Either vengeance,” Talbot said, “or simple blood lust.”

“Vengeance?”

“Against those who hunt their kind,” Talbot said.

“And the blood lust?”

Talbot shrugged.

“They simply crave it, from the very first time they taste it.”

“Well,” Clint said, “we do have animals who, once they've tasted human flesh, can't get enough.”

“So if you are asking me if it—they—will follow us to Council Bluffs and beyond, I would say . . . yes.”

“That's what I was asking you,” Clint said. “Thank you for answering me truthfully.”

They ate the rest of their meal in solemn silence.

* * *

Clint and Talbot took the first watch along with two of the other men. They saved Gerhardt for the second watch.

Clint took the tail end of the column, while Talbot took the front, near his own wagon. Clint felt safer from Sarah's advances that way. She was a beautiful, healthy young woman and he didn't know how long he'd be able to resist her. He was, after all, only human, and he loved women of all ages, sizes, and colors. But he'd never be able to explain that to her father. So he decided to keep his distance. In the morning he'd tell Talbot to switch places with him and drive his own wagon. Clint was going to be back on horseback, leading the column.

But his secure feeling quickly vanished as Sarah came walking up to him, carrying a cup of coffee. Her hair was down and long, hanging past her shoulders, and her skin was impossibly smooth and pale. In spite of a day of traveling, she smelled fresh.

“I thought you could use this,” she said.

“Thank you.”

He accepted the cup from her. She folded her arms and stood next to him.

“It's very dark,” she said.

“Yes, we could use some moonlight.”

She looked up at the sky.

“There are a lot of stars, though.”

“Sarah.”

“Yes?”

“I seem to remember reading something about werewolves and the full moon. But we haven't had a full moon for a while.”

“You would have to ask my father,” she said. “I try not to think of those things. But there are other creatures than just werewolves.”

“Vampires, you mean?”

She nodded.

“Yes, but aren't they also only supposed to come out at night?” Clint was trying to remember what he had read specifically. And was it fiction, or fact?

Sarah rubbed her arms, as if cold even though it was a mild night.

“I don't want to talk about this.” She turned and walked away.

Clint decided to address these matters with Talbot in the morning.

Thankfully, the night went by uneventfully. Clint had a good night's sleep—well, half a night—and rolled out from beneath the wagon feeling hungry. He could smell both coffee and bacon.

He approached one of the fires, where a fine-looking woman in her forties was cooking.

“Good morning,” he said.

She turned and looked at him, startled. She had a pretty face, only lightly lined by the years.

“I'm sorry,” he said, “I didn't mean to frighten you.”

“I am being silly,” she said. “Good morning, Mr. Adams.”

“You have me at a disadvantage.”

She stared at him, not comprehending what he meant.

“You know my name, but I don't know yours.”

“Oh,” she said, “I am Bella.”

“Bella. Are you traveling with your husband?”

“I was,” she said, “but he died soon after the trip started. Fever.”

“I'm sorry.”

She shrugged and said, “It was many months ago. And it was just like him to force me into this trip, and then to leave me soon after it started.”

“You didn't want to come west?”

“I was happy with the life we had,” she said, “but he . . . oh, I should not be speaking ill of the dead. Here.” She handed him a cup of coffee.

“Thank you,” he said, accepting it gratefully. “Are you traveling alone now?”

“I have my son,” she said. “He is ten years old. Yes, I know, I look too old to have a ten-year-old. We married late, and had only the one child.”

“I would never have said you look too old to have a ten-year-old.”

“You are kind. Breakfast will be ready soon.”

“Thanks.”

She turned her attention back to her task and he turned as Gerhardt, who had been on watch, came walking up to him.

“Quiet?” he asked.

“Too quiet,” Gerhardt said. “I admit I jumped at even the smallest sound.”

“At least you were alert.”

“Yes,” Gerhardt said, “perhaps too alert.”

“You can never be too alert,” Clint told him.

“I suppose not,” Gerhardt said. “How long will it take to get to Council Bluffs?”

“About a week,” Clint said, “with no trouble.”

“What are the chances of that?” he asked.

“We have some wounds to lick,” Clint said, “and so does . . . well, it.” He was still thinking of two killers, wanting to say “them,” but he was traveling with people who believed differently.

“Do you really think so?”

“It won't follow us into Council Bluffs,” Clint said. “It's too populated.”

He didn't know if that was true, though, since he still wasn't sure what they were dealing with. But he was trying to put Gerhardt at ease.

“Breakfast is ready,” Bella announced.

“Get yourself something to eat,” Clint said. “We're going to get started soon.”

“Yes, all right.”

As Gerhardt went to the fire, Talbot came up to Clint and said, “I saw you talking with Bella. She's a fine woman.”

“She seems very nice.”

“She'd make a good wife for someone.”

“I'm not looking for a wife, Frederick,” Clint said. “Besides, she's just recently widowed, isn't she?”

“That does not matter,” Talbot said. “She needs a man, and her son needs a father.”

“Well,” Clint said, “I'm afraid I'm not available for either job.”

“Too bad.”

“Stop trying to be a matchmaker and get yourself some breakfast,” Clint said. “I'm going to ride today, so you can go back to driving your own wagon.”

“As you wish.”

Talbot went to the fire. Clint noticed that breakfast was cooking on the other fires, as well, so he walked over to one of those. No point in asking for a different kind of trouble.

* * *

After breakfast they cleaned up, doused the fires, and readied the wagons. Clint felt fairly sure they'd be all right until Council Bluffs. It remained to be seen if they'd be pursued across the river. If they were, then he and Talbot—and the others—would have to come up with some kind of plan of action to deal with the danger. Maybe if they all went out hunting, they'd be able to track it down. The man or the beast. Maybe catching one would be catching the other, even if they were separate entities.

A week later they pulled into Council Bluffs. There had been no further attacks, although Talbot and Clint remained as alert as ever. Neither of them really believed that the danger had passed.

“We should be safe in town, shouldn't we?” Clint asked the night before their arrival. He had not told Talbot that this was what he had told Gerhardt.

“Not necessarily,” Talbot said. “Werewolves—even vampires—have been known to strike at a large population.”

“Really?”

Talbot nodded. “They have their pick, don't they?”

“But you said you think the thing is following the train,” Clint said.

“That doesn't mean it won't take advantage of a large population to satisfy its blood lust.”

“Well,” Clint said, “that would have been too good to be true anyway.”

“Yes.”

They stopped their wagons just outside of town and stepped down.

“We'll need to outfit here for the rest of the trip,” Clint explained. “Also for the crossing.”

“How will we do that?” Gerhardt asked. “Is it shallow enough to ride across?”

“That's what I'll have to find out,” Clint said. “If not, we'll have to take the wheels off and float them across.”

“Float?” another man asked.

“Don't worry,” Clint said. “I'll show you how.”

“Can we go to town?” Bella asked. “I would like to do some shopping that does not have to do with supplies.”

“Yes,” Clint said, “you can all go to town if you want. Just stay in a group. If you see a café you want to eat in, go ahead. Get all the comforts out of your system here, because once we cross the river, comforts will be scarce.”

The women became excited, as did the children. The men were anxious to find a saloon.

“Don't get too drunk,” Clint warned them, “and don't get in trouble with the law. If you end up in jail, I'm not waiting for you to get out. We'll move on.”

All of the men nodded their understanding and the entire party made their way into town.

“This must have been very difficult when the wagon trains were longer,” Talbot said.

“Just imagine a hundred wagons instead of ten,” Clint said.

“That many?”

“And more.”

“Will we really leave if one of the men is put in jail?” Talbot asked.

“Probably not,” Clint said, “but I want the men to keep that in mind when they're drinking. Where's Sarah?”

“She went into town with the women.”

“Good.”

“I know my daughter can be headstrong,” Talbot said. “Just give her time, Clint.”

Clint wasn't sure what Talbot was talking about, but he decided not to pursue it.

“Are you going to town?” Talbot asked.

“I am,” Clint said. “I have to find out how the river's running, send a telegram to Effingham, and talk to the local law.”

“Why will you talk to the law?”

“I do that whenever I come into a town,” Clint said.

“Every time?”

“Pretty much.”

“It must be difficult for you.”

“Sometimes it is.”

“And what about the telegram?”

“I want Ray Bullet to know we made it this far,” Clint said. “I also want to know that things are all right back there.”

“Why would they not be?” Talbot asked. “The creature at least followed us away from there.”

“Maybe it went back,” Clint said. “Or maybe there's more than the one we know about.”

“I hope not,” Talbot said. “They would not be able to deal with it.”

“I think they'd figure it out,” Clint said.

“I doubt it.”

“Well,” Clint said, “we'll know soon enough. You going into town?”

“Yes.”

“Let's walk together.”

“Can we leave the wagons?”

“Sure,” Clint said. “There are a few people still here, aren't there?”

“Yes.”

“These people are used to having wagons around,” Clint said. “They won't bother anything.”

In past years, of course, there was lots of thievery when wagons were left unguarded, but just as predators left the boomtowns when the mines dried up, once the wagon trains pretty much stopped coming, the thieves moved on.

“We should be fine,” Clint said.