Blood Trail (3 page)

Clint and Bullet led Frederick Talbot to the place where the body had been found. The blood had soaked into the ground. There was a clean space in the middle, where the body had been removed.

“There you go,” Bullet said. “Have a look.”

Frederick Talbot dismounted and walked over to the spot. He crouched down, reached out with his hand, but didn't actually touch the ground.

“I see one boot print,” Talbot said.

“Yeah,” Bullet said, “we saw that. But why aren't there more?”

Talbot stood up, started to walk around.

“Here!” he said.

Clint and Bullet dismounted and walked over to where Talbot was standing.

“Where?” Bullet asked.

“Look close.”

Clint was looking for an imprint in the ground. But he saw what Talbot was pointing at. It was a footprint in blood. And it was from an animal.

“I see it,” he said.

“Where?” Bullet asked anxiously.

“There,” Talbot said, crouching down and pointing. “Right there.”

“What kind of track is that?” he asked, squinting. “A wolf?”

“If it is,” Clint said, “it's a big one.”

“A really big one,” Bullet said.

Clint looked at Talbot.

“What about it? A wolf?”

“Could be,” Talbot said.

Clint had the feeling the man was holding something back.

“I'll look for more,” Talbot said, and walked off.

“What the hell—” Bullet said, staring at the print.

“He knows more than what he's saying,” Clint commented.

“Like what?”

“I don't know.”

“Think he knows who the killer is?”

“I don't know,” Clint said. “It's just . . . something.”

“Let's ask 'im,” Bullet said.

“Let's wait 'til he's finished,” Clint said. “See what he tells us.”

“Okay,” Bullet said, “but keep an eye on him.”

* * *

They watched and waited while Talbot studied the entire area in a twenty-foot radius. Finally, he came back to them.

“I see two sets of tracks,” he said, “man and beast.”

“So there was a man,” Bullet said, “with the animal?”

“The man might have been your victim,” Talbot said. “I suggest you check the bottoms of his boots for blood.”

“What else did you find?” Clint asked.

“I have told you—”

“No,” Clint said, “there's something else.”

Talbot studied the two of them, then said, “All right. Come with me.”

They followed him until they were about twenty-five feet away.

“There.” He pointed.

“What the hell—” Clint said.

“What is it?” Bullet asked. “Why can't I see what you fellas see?”

Clint leaned over and pointed, saying, “There.”

Bullet saw another footprint, that of a man, in blood. Only this one was . . . a bare foot.

They rode back to town, taking Frederick Talbot with them. First they stopped at the undertaker's.

“More questions?” Zeke Taylor asked.

“We just need to look at the soles of the victim's boots,” Bullet said, “and his feet.”

“Feet?”

“Bare feet,” Clint said.

“All right,” Taylor said. “He and his clothes are still where they were before.”

They went into the back, taking Talbot with them. While they examined the boots, and the bottoms of the man's feet, Talbot studied the body.

“Blood on his boots,” Bullet said.

“But none on his bare feet,” Clint said. “Plus, the bare footprint we saw was larger than his foot.”

Clint and Bullet turned to Talbot.

“What do you see, Mr. Talbot?” Clint asked. “Have you seen anything like this before?”

Talbot turned to them and stared. For a moment Clint thought he wasn't going to answer.

“I have seen this,” Talbot said, “in my country.”

“What country is that?” Clint asked.

“Romania.”

“Okay,” Bullet said, “let's go to my office and talk.”

* * *

At the sheriff's office, Bullet made coffee, and when they all had a cup, they sat down to talk.

“All right, Mr. Talbot,” Bullet said. “When you saw this in your country . . . what were the circumstances?”

Talbot didn't answer right away.

“What did this?” Clint asked. “In your country, I mean.”

“It was . . . a wolf.”

“A wolf?” Clint asked. “With a print that big?”

“It was not . . . a normal wolf.”

“You have abnormal wolves in your country?” Bullet asked.

“Yes,” Talbot said. “Bigger. Different.”

“Well,” Bullet said, “that may be, but we don't have those kinds of wolves in this country.”

Talbot shrugged and said, “I am only telling you what I saw.”

Clint and Bullet exchanged a glance, and then Clint asked, “Tell me something, Mr. Talbot.”

“Yes?”

“Can you track this thing?”

“The animal?” Talbot asked. “Or the man?”

“Both,” Bullet said.

“I could,” the man said, “but . . .”

“But what?”

“I must travel with the others,” Talbot said. “My daughter . . .”

“Don't worry,” Clint said. “After you track it, and we catch it, we can get you back to the wagons. Back to your daughter.”

“You do not understand,” Talbot said. “I cannot leave my daughter there alone. She needs me to be there to protect her.”

“But she's not alone,” the sheriff said. “There are other people there. And the captain.”

Talbot shook his head and said, “The captain is in charge there . . . and he is the one I need to protect my daughter from.”

Sarah saw the flap of her wagon open and then Captain Sean Parker stuck his head inside.

“You gonna stay in there all night?” he asked.

“I promised my father,” she said, “I would stay with the wagon until he returned.”

“Well,” the older man said, “okay. I could come in there with you.”

“No!” Sarah said. “That will not be necessary. I—I will be fine.”

“Aw, come on, Sarah,” Parker said. He leaned in so he could touch the smooth skin of her arm. “I just want to be nice to you. I want to keep you safe.”

She pulled her arm away and said, “I appreciate that, I really do.”

Parker grinned and was about to climb into her wagon when someone said from behind him, “Don't do that!”

Sarah knew the voice. It was young Carl Gerhardt, who she knew was in love with her. He reminded her of Vlad, the boy she'd left behind at home in Romania. He loved her, too.

Captain Parker paused, then backed off and turned to face the boy.

“Take it easy, son,” he said. “I was checking to make sure she's all right.”

“She is fine,” Carl said. “I have come to bring her to our fire.”

“Good idea,” Parker said.

He walked away, and Carl appeared at her tent flap.

“
Are
you all right?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, “yes, I am all right. Thank you, Carl.”

“Come,” he said, “Papa says you should come to our fire and wait for your father.”

“Yes, all right,” she said. He helped her out of the wagon.

“You will be safe with us,” Carl said.

“I know that, Carl,” she said. “Thank you.”

“You must stay away from Captain Parker,” Carl said. “He is not a good man.”

“He is the captain,” she said as they walked. “Everyone depends on him.”

“That does not give him the right to . . . to bother you,” Carl said. He was a strapping young man of twenty, and it was his size that had no doubt caused the captain to back down.

But she was still afraid he would hurt Carl somehow.

“I will stay away from him,” she said.

“Yes,” Carl said, “but will he stay away from you?”

“We will see.”

* * *

“What if we could make sure your daughter is safe?” Bullet said.

“How?” Talbot asked.

“Well, we could bring her to town, have someone watch over her,” Bullet said.

“We would have to leave the wagon train,” Talbot said. “Leave the others.”

“You could catch up, once it was all over,” Clint said.

“Perhaps,” Talbot said.

“Maybe you should go back to the train and discuss it with the others,” Clint suggested. “I'm sure they'd all like to help solve this murder.”

“When were you planning to leave?” Bullet asked.

“I believe the captain said we would leave tomorrow morning,” Talbot said.

“Is it the captain's decision?” Clint asked. “Solely?”

“He is the captain,” Talbot said. “Usually he makes those decisions.”

“What's this about protecting your daughter from him?” Bullet asked.

Talbot seemed reluctant to answer.

“Come on, Mr. Talbot,” Clint said. “We can't help you if you don't talk to us.”

“I believe the captain . . . likes my daughter.”

“Likes her?” Bullet asked.

“Lusts after her,” the man said.

“How old is she?” Clint asked.

“Seventeen.”

“Parker looks like he's in his forties,” Clint said.

“Much too old for your daughter,” Bullet said. “What's her name?”

“Sarah.”

“Has she complained about his attention?”

“Yes, she has.”

“Well,” Clint said, “maybe it would help if I had a talk with the captain. I could get him to leave her alone.”

“You would do that?”

“Sure,” Clint said. He looked at Bullet. “Why don't we all ride back to the camp and talk about it.”

“Actually, I'm gonna stay around here,” Bullet said. “I want to see if anyone in town can identify the dead man.”

“That would be helpful,” Clint said. “Come on, Talbot. Let's see what we can do about the captain, and about making you feel better about helping us.”

Talbot nodded, and they left the sheriff's office.

As Clint and Talbot rode out to the camp, Clint tried to learn more about the man.

“What did you do in your country?”

“I was a hunter.”

“What kind of hunter?” Clint asked. “I mean, we have different kinds of hunters in this country. Animal hunters, manhunters—”

“Manhunters?” Talbot asked.

“Bounty hunters,” Clint said.

“No,” he said, shaking his head, “no, I was not a bounty hunter. Not really.”

“Then what?”

“It is difficult to explain,” Talbot said. “I would have to . . . show you.”

“Show me how?”

“We can talk about that another time,” Talbot said as they approached the wagon train camp. “I will have to . . . show you something.”

“All right,” Clint said. “Let's finish with this first.”

* * *

As they rode up to camp, Sarah saw her father and ran to him.

“Papa!”

As he dismounted, he took her into his arms.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“I am fine,” he said. “How are you?”

“I am good,” she said. “Carl has been looking after me. He and his father made me sit by their fire.”

Talbot knew he'd have to thank Gerhardt for that. The man knew that Captain Parker was lusting after Sarah, and that Talbot did not want to say anything to the others. He was afraid if Parker found out, he would leave them stranded. He would probably take the guide with him, since it was he who had recommended him.

“That is good,” Talbot said, holding her at arm's length.

“Are you back?” she asked. “Are we ready to move on?”

“Not yet, my dear,” he said. “They want me to help them.”

“Help them? How?”

“They want me to track their . . . killer.”

“But why?” she asked. “Why should you help?”

“Because,” he said, lowering his voice, “I know what the killer is.”

Her eyes widened.

“Oh, no!”

“Yes.”

“Here?” she asked. “In this country?”

He nodded.

“Were we . . . followed?”

“That is possible,” he said. “If we were, if we brought this killer here, you can see why I must help them.”

“But what about . . . the others?” she asked. “Will we have to leave them?”

“For a time, perhaps.”

“But how—”

“Mr. Adams is here to help.”

“What can he do?”

“He is a famous man in this country,” Talbot said. “He will talk to the captain—”

“Papa—”

“Don't worry,” he said. “Don't worry. It will be all right.”

“Welcome back, Talbot,” Captain Parker said.

“Captain,” Talbot said, putting his arm protectively around Sarah.

“And Adams,” Parker said. “What brings you back?”

“Actually,” Clint said, “we're asking Mr. Talbot for a little more help, and it might make it necessary for him to leave the train for a time.”

“Leave?” Parker frowned. “Do you expect us to wait for him?”

“No,” Clint said, “we figure he can catch up.”

“Well,” Parker said, “if his daughter stays with us, we'll be sure to keep her safe.”

“I wanted to talk to you about that,” Clint said, putting his arm around the captain's shoulders. “Let's take a walk.”

As Clint and Parker walked away, Gerhardt came over to Talbot.

“What is happening?” he asked. “What about this murder?”

“I think I will have to help them hunt the killer down,” Talbot said.

Gerhardt's eyes widened.

“Is it . . .”

“It looks like,” Talbot said. He explained about the wounds on the body and the tracks in the ground and the blood.

“Is it possible?” Gerhardt asked.

“I will have to find out.”

“Why you, Papa?” Sarah asked.

“Because it may be my fault the killer is in this country, Sarah,” Talbot said.

“But . . . you don't have your kit. You left it at home . . . or did you?”

Talbot looked at Gerhardt, who looked away.

“Didn't you?”

“No,” he said, “no, I did not. I have it with me.”

“Papa!” she said, stepping away from him. “But you promised.”

“Sarah—”

“You said you would not hunt again,” she went on. “You promised.”

“I am sorry,” he said, with a shrug, “I am a hunter. It is what I do.”

“Sarah,” Gerhardt said, “it is your papa's responsibility.”

“Is it?” she demanded. “Even after it was his hunting that caused my momma to be killed?”

She turned and stormed away.

“Frederick,” Gerhardt said, “if you leave the train . . .”

“I can take her with me and leave her in town,” Talbot said, “or I can let her go with you. I will catch up later, when it is over.”

“If you leave her with us,” Gerhardt said, “we will keep her safe or die.”

Talbot knew that.

But he was also afraid of that.