Blood Trail (11 page)

Council Bluffs had grown even more since Clint's last stop there. Despite the fact that the wagon trains had stopped coming, the town had prospered. He entered what he remembered as a trading post and found himself standing inside a huge general store.

He waited his turn before speaking to the clerk, an older man with a neat gray mustache.

“Wagon train?” the man said to him. “You're about ten years late, ain'tcha?”

“Just some folks who decided to go west as a family,” Clint said.

“Well, they're sure welcome to shop here,” the man said. He stuck out his hand. “Wade Miller.”

“Clint Adams,” Clint said, shaking the man's hand.

“What's the Gunsmith doin' working as a wagon master?” Miller asked.

“Just fell into it,” Clint said. “I'll tell my people to come in, you can work up one big bill. Okay?”

“However you wanna do it.”

“Can you tell me how the river's running?”

“From what I hear, you're gonna have to float 'em,” Miller said. “It's runnin' high.”

“What happened to Harry Lester?” Clint asked.

“Sold the place to me,” Miller said. “Just around when the wagons stopped coming. He didn't see the future, but I did, and I started expanding.”

“Good for you,” Clint said. “One last question.”

“Go ahead.”

“Who's the local law?”

“Jasper.”

“What jasper?” Clint asked.

“No, that's his name,” Miller said. “Sheriff Robert Jasper.”

“What's he like?”

“Like a fish outta water,” Miller said.

“Wrong man for the job?”

“You'll see.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Clint left and headed for the sheriff's office, which he had spotted right across the street.

* * *

Clint entered the sheriff's office, which looked and smelled like a newly built structure.

The man behind the desk wore a tie, a jacket, and what looked like a brand-new hat. Beneath the hat was a face that looked as new as the building. If he was thirty yet, it wasn't by much.

“Sheriff Jasper?” Clint asked.

“I am Robert Jasper,” the man said, “although I prefer to go by Reverend.” He stood up. He was tall and slender, and he wasn't wearing a gun.

“Reverend?”

“That's my true calling,” he said.

“But you're the sheriff?”

“The town has no church,” he said. “Until I can have one built, this office and badge will have to be my pulpit. What can I do for you, sir?”

Clint understood what the storekeeper had meant. A preacher had no business wearing a badge.

“My name is Clint Adams.”

“Yes?”

This was one of the few times Clint had waited for a reaction to his name. He got none.

“I'm here with a train of ten wagons, just a few families heading west.”

“Are you the wagon master?”

“I am.”

“Well, please tell your members we don't want any trouble while they're here. As long as they know that, I have no trouble with you being here.”

“I'm glad to hear that,” Clint said. “I just wanted to check in with you.”

“I appreciate the thought, sir.”

“Sure thing,” Clint said. “Have a good day.”

He left the office, feeling he had done what he was supposed to do. It wasn't his problem if the town sheriff didn't know who he was.

* * *

Clint stopped in at the first saloon he saw.

“Small wagon train just on the outside of town,” Hal Wilkins told his friend, Teddy Luther.

“So?”

“So they got women.”

“We got women in town,” Luther said.

“They got new women,” Wilkins said. “And some young ones.”

“Young?”

Wilkins nodded.

“How young?”

“Pretty young.”

“Well,” Luther said, “maybe we should just make 'em feel welcome.”

“That's what I was thinkin'.”

Sarah Talbot stopped in the dress shop with several of the ladies from the train, including Bella. She had seen Bella talking to Clint as they traveled, at mealtimes, and she wanted to know what was going on. So far, she had not been able to lure Clint into her wagon, or even away from the camp. He felt she was too young, but she knew that if she kept working on him, she could convince him otherwise.

She did not need Bella Holstein getting in the way.

“That's nice,” she said to Bella, who was looking at a bolt of blue cloth.

“I was thinking of making a dress out of it.”

“I'll bet Clint will like it.”

“Who?”

“Clint Adams,” Sarah said. “Weren't you thinking of him when you decided to make this dress?”

“What an odd thing to say, child,” Bella replied. “Whatever are you talking about?”

“Don't you think he's interested in you?” Sarah asked.

“I have given no thought to such a thing,” Bella said. “Why would you say that?”

“I have seen the two of you talking . . .”

“I talk to all of the men on the train, girl,” Bella said. “But I am a married woman.”

“You are a widow.”

“Nevertheless,” Bella said, “I have given Mr. Adams no more thought than his position as our new wagon master.”

“I see,” Sarah said. “I am sorry I mentioned it, then.”

She moved away and left the older woman to her bolt of blue cloth. She was very happy with the result of her little subterfuge.

* * *

Wilkins and Luther knew the women had gone into the dress shop. Where else would a bunch of women go when they first arrived in town?

“Whoa,” Luther said, “lookee there.”

“See, I told you,” Wilkins said. “Ain't she young?”

“She's young and fresh,” Luther said, “and pretty.”

“And she looks bored,” Wilkins said. “Don't she look bored, Teddy?”

“She sure do look bored,” Luther said.

“I think we should make her feel welcome in Council Bluffs,” Wilkins said, “and let her know there's lots to do.”

“I agree.”

They stepped off the boardwalk and started across.

* * *

Sarah saw the two men crossing the street and knew what was going to happen. She had been through this many times before. It was too bad Clint was not around. She took a quick look up and down the street, did not see any of the men from the wagon. The ladies were all still inside the store.

Maybe she could still turn this to her advantage.

* * *

Clint found two of the men from the train in the saloon, standing at the bar. It took him a moment but their names came to him—Leipzig and Heinemann.

They were drinking beer so he joined them, and offered to buy them another round.

“That is very kind,” Heinemann said.
“Danke
.
”

When they all had fresh beers in front of them, Clint asked, “Have you gents been to the general store yet? I've started an account for the train.”

“We were going to have one beer,” Leipzig said, “and then go over there.”

“That is good to know,” Heinemann said.

“Tell any of the other men if you see them,” Clint said.

“We will tell them.”

They sipped their beers. Clint had nothing left to say to them, and they didn't seem to have any desire to talk further with him. As it became awkward, Clint said, “Well, I'm going to have a seat and finish my beer. I'll see you later.”

Both men nodded and thanked him again for the second beer.

Clint sat down and sipped his beer. The two men drank down the rest of theirs and quickly left the saloon. While he worked on his beer, no one else from the train came in. The locals paid him little attention. And he doubted he'd run into the local lawman in the saloon, not when the sheriff was actually a reverend.

He finished his beer and stood up. Briefly, he considered a second, then decided against it. He decided to go down to the river and take a look at it himself.

As he stepped out onto the boardwalk, he stopped to look around. He saw none of the men from the train. Neither did he see any of the women, although if he knew women, they were going into as many clothing shops as Council Bluffs had.

He stepped down into the street, crossed over, and headed for the river.

Sarah was nice to the two men.

It was easy. They were young, under thirty, and certainly did not think of her as a child. They wanted to show her the town, so she did not refuse. In fact, she linked her arms through theirs and went along with them very willingly.

“I have been traveling so long with old men,” she told them.

“Well, we ain't old,” Wilkins said.

“We sure ain't,” Luther said.

“You certainly are not,” she said. “You are young, strong, handsome men.”

Wilkins and Luther exchanged a look and a wink over Sarah's head, which they thought she could not see.

But she did see, and she also saw who was going into the saloon just ahead of them.

“What is that?” she asked.

“What?” Wilkins asked.

“That,” she said, pointing.

“Oh,” Luther said, “that ain't nothing but an alley that runs along next to the saloon.”

“Can we go in there?” she asked.

“There ain't nothin' in there,” Wilkins said. “In fact, don't even any light get in there. It's dark as night.”

“Well,” she said, “that will make it even nicer.”

It finally dawned on the two thick young men what she was getting at.

“Oooh,” Wilkins said, “the dark alley.”

“Yeah,” Luther said, “we can go in the alley.”

“There's an opening at the other end, too,” Luther said. “We could go behind the saloon.”

“I think the alley sounds very nice,” Sarah said, “don't you?”

“We sure do!”

The three of them crossed the street and entered the alley.

* * *

The killer had followed the girl.

First he could smell her, then saw her. When she linked arms with the two men, he wasn't worried. These two were no danger to him.

When she and the two men got to the alley, the killer knew he could get there from the other end. He quickly crossed the street, went around to the back of the building on the other side of the alley from the saloon.

* * *

Sarah saw how right the men were. The rooftops of the two buildings hung over the alley, cutting of all light. This was perfect. She only hoped Clint would be able to hear her when she screamed.

“Where are you, little lady?” Wilkins said in a low voice.

“Come on, sweetie,” Luther said, “don't hide.”

“I am right here,” she said, flattening herself against the wall.

She felt one of the men go past her. There were shafts of light from the front and back of the building, but suddenly the light from the rear was blocked out.

Something else had entered the alley.

Sarah was suddenly frightened. This might not have been such a good idea, after all.

“Come on, darlin',” Wilkins said. He reached out and encountered her arm. His hand closed over it.

“Let go!” she said, suddenly panicked and anxious to get out. She could hear the heavy breathing, and feel the hot, fetid breath.

“Come on, honey,” Wilkins said, “don't play no games with us.”

“Let go! Let go!” she shouted at him. “It's here, don't you see it? Don't you feel it?”

“What are you talkin' about?” Wilkins asked. “Hey, Luther, where are—”

“What the hell—” Luther suddenly said, and then he was screaming.

And Sarah screamed . . .

* * *

Clint heard the first and the second screams, even from down the block. He turned quickly, but couldn't see anything. Other people on the street were looking around, and then somebody shouted, “In the alley!”

Clint ran back toward that voice, and yelled, “Which alley?”

“There, next to the saloon.”

Clint saw it, and ran toward it just as the man staggered out. At least, he thought it was a man. The figure was covered with blood. One arm was dangling from his shoulder by a string. The eyes staring out from beneath a mask of blood were wide with shock.

And then there was another bloodcurdling scream from inside the alley.

Clint drew his gun and raced into the darkness.

* * *

Frederick Talbot heard the third scream as it echoed through the streets. He drew his silver bullet pistol from his belt and started running.

The alley was totally dark. And totally silent, except for the harsh, labored breathing of somebody.

“Sarah?”

After a few seconds she said in a whisper, “Clint? Is that you?”

“Where are you?”

“Here.”

He reached his hand out, encountered her hand as she also reached out. She grabbed his hand and pulled him close.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Y-Yes,” she said, “b-but it was here. The men . . .”

“I saw a man,” Clint said, “he's lying in the street.”

“There was another man. H-He's still in here.”

Clint didn't know if she was referring to the man, or what killed them.

“Stay here,” he told her. “Roll yourself up into a small ball and wait. Don't move.”

“A-All right.”

He moved deeper into the alley.

* * *

Talbot came running up on the scene as people gathered in front of the alley. On the ground was the bloody mass of a man. It wasn't hard to figure out what had killed him.

“Where are they?” Talbot asked.

“In the alley,” somebody said.

Another voice said, “Don't go in there.”

“There's already a man with a gun in there.”

Talbot ignored the crowd and entered the darkness of the alley, hoping that the “man with a gun” was Clint Adams.

* * *

Sarah had her arms wrapped around her knees, and her knees drawn up to her chest, making herself as small as she possibly could.

“Clint?” she heard a man's voice call.

“Papa?” she said.

“Sarah,” Talbot said. “Where are you?”

“Here, Papa, here,” she said. “Right here.”

He found her and put his arms around her.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, Papa, but Clint . . . he's here.”

“He can take care of himself,” Talbot said. “I am going to get you out of here. Come on.”

He pulled her to her feet and walked her out of the alley. She squinted against the sun, then saw the man on the ground surrounded by a crowd. She could not tell from looking at him whether it was Wilkins or Luther.

“Stay with these people,” Talbot told her. “I am going back in.”

“Be careful, Papa!”

* * *

Clint almost tripped over the second man. The toe of his boot struck the body, and he crouched down to feel. His hand came away warm with blood. The man was undoubtedly dead.

Up ahead of him he saw the other end of the alley, with a shaft of sunlight coming through. Cautiously, his gun held out ahead of him, he moved toward it. As he reached the shaft of light, he looked down and saw the tracks. Animal tracks. Wolf tracks.

The wolf had come into town, after all. That was unusual behavior for a wolf. A normal wolf.

He followed the tracks out of the alley, around behind the saloon. There he saw not only wolf tracks, but the footprints of a man.

He heard someone behind him, turned, and saw Talbot step into the light.

“Sarah?” Clint asked.

“She is fine,” Talbot said. “I took her out of the alley.”

“Good. Look here.”

“See,” Talbot said. “Two sets of prints.”

“The man is wearing boots this time,” Clint said.

“Both sets of prints lay over all the others back here,” Talbot said.

“So they're together,” Clint said. “A man and a wolf?”

“That is what it looks like,” Talbot admitted.

“But you still don't buy it, huh?” Clint asked.

“As with you,” Talbot said, “I shall keep an open mind.”

Well, Clint thought, at least that was something.

“We need to follow these tracks,” Talbot said. “This is the first attack in full daylight, and we have time to track them.”

“What about Sarah?”

“We will make sure she is safe, and then begin tracking,” Talbot said.

“Agreed.”

They retraced their steps back through the alley, came out into the sun with the crowd around them. Sarah was there, looking worried. She rushed into Talbot's arms.

“Does someone want to tell me what's going on?” Sheriff Reverend Jasper asked.