Slocum 420 (12 page)

The ride to Fall Pass wasn't a long one. The three of them made it there in just over an hour, even with the detour they'd taken. According to what Rob Ploughman had told Slocum shortly after he'd brought the wounded men back to the mill, he'd found them along Fall Pass less than a quarter mile from the spot where it met up with the trail that led into Bennsonn. It didn't take a tracker to find that spot since there were still plenty of broken tree branches, trampled bushes, and shreds of clothing scattered on the ground.

After dismounting, Darryl approached a spot along the side of the trail where the dirt had been disturbed and stained by enough blood to leave its mark on the earth. He squatted down, touched the ground with his fingertips, and then turned his gaze to the nearby bushes. “Looks like a damn parade came through that tangle of brush,” he said. “Them wounded men probably crawled through there and something else crawled out along with 'em before turning around and heading straight back into the woods.”

“You two are the hunters,” Slocum said. “I know when to step aside and let a man do his work.”

The brothers looked at each other as if they were expecting some sort of resistance from Slocum on that subject. Then, with a shrug, they both tethered their horses to a tree and started rummaging through their saddlebags. From what Slocum could tell, the items they'd taken from the trunk in the clearing weren't anything special. Darryl and Merle each equipped themselves with hunting knives and firearms ranging from shotguns to rifles. Slocum could tell by the way they handled those things that they weren't just weapons, however. They were
their
weapons.

Any man tended to work better with tools that felt more familiar in his hands. When it came to a gun or knife, things that a man used to defend his very life, even the smallest elements could make a difference. Slocum knew all too well that a shot could be fired a hair quicker if he was more familiar with the weight, balance, and performance of the gun in his hand. A knife was similar in many respects. There were also elements that some might count as superstitions when it came to weapons that had been with him for many years. Whether a pistol or knife could be considered a lucky charm, believing as such could give a man an edge in a fight by making him less hesitant to make a move.

Once the brothers had armed themselves, they headed into the woods. Darryl was much steadier on his feet, not seeming to feel even the slightest impairment from the previous night's drinking. If the swill in that mason jar truly set him straight in that respect, the detour had been more than worth the effort.

“You gonna follow along or do you want to stay with the horses while me and Darryl take a look around?” Merle asked.

“I'll let you two work,” Slocum said. “But I'm not just going to hang back and watch the horses. I'll ride further along the trail and see what I can see. Let's meet back here in a few hours.”

“Take all the time you need,” Darryl said with a dismissing wave. “Or don't come back at all.”

“A few hours,” Merle said. “We'll put together what we each found and find a way to hunt this killer.”

Slocum nodded and flicked his reins to get his horse moving. Darryl and Merle both ventured into the surrounding woods, disappearing almost immediately as if they'd been born and raised somewhere among those trees.

Slocum wasn't so concerned with covering ground as he was with simply getting a feel for his surroundings. He'd heard of Fall Pass before mention of the beast, but hadn't actually traveled it since he'd been in Bennsonn. There were trees encroaching on all sides and ruts in the ground from what must have been fairly consistent trips back and forth with heavily laden wagons. It was no wonder there were so many frightening stories about that stretch of road. Slocum could only imagine how dark it got once there was no sunlight trying to pierce the upper layers of leaves or the sounds that could be heard from all the insects and animals living beneath the green roof.

After riding less than a hundred yards down the trail, Slocum pulled back on his reins to bring his horse to a stop. He then dismounted and walked to the edge of the trail, where he could stand with his back to the section of trees where Darryl and Merle were most likely hunting. Once there, he did exactly what he'd specifically told the two brothers that he would not do. Slocum stayed put and watched his horse.

Slocum had gotten a hunch as to the best strategy for crossing paths with the killer again. If the beast was an animal, then the Beasley brothers truly were best suited to find it and Slocum should just stand back to let the hunters go about their job.

If the thing that had attacked those two men was a man, then there were other things to consider. After crossing paths with the beast at that stream, Slocum already knew he and the other two were being watched. It was simply too big of a coincidence for him to have crossed paths so soon with the very thing they'd been hunting. Most likely, the road from the mill itself was being watched and the three horses had been spotted soon after putting Bennsonn behind them.

The idea for Slocum to wander off on his own and wait idly came when he'd watched the two brothers prepare all those guns and knives for their venture into the woods. He had no doubt they knew how to hunt, but going after a man was much different than going after an animal. Things took another turn completely if the man knew he was being hunted.

After less than an hour of waiting, Slocum felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. The peculiar feeling that he was being watched had saved his skin too many times for him to start ignoring it now. He listened intently for anything that was out of place. What he heard wasn't much, but it was enough to cause him to pivot around on the balls of his feet while drawing the Remington from its holster at his side.

At first, he thought his instincts had led him astray. Such a thing was uncommon, but not unheard of. Slocum's eyes quickly found some branches that had been disturbed and a shadow that didn't seem to belong between a few waist-high bushes.

“Come on out of there,” he said while pointing his gun at the vague shape. “I know you've been following us, so show yourself or I start shooting.”

The shape was only slightly shorter than the bushes in which it sought refuge. Since its edges blended in with the surrounding foliage so well, it was difficult for Slocum to pick out where the shape ended and where the bushes began. What caught his attention even more was the smell drifting through the air. It was fainter than it had been when he and Merle had been jumped near that stream, but putrid enough to be recognizable.

“All right, then,” Slocum warned as he thumbed back the Remington's hammer. “I'll just put you down and have a look at the carcass when I drag it out into the open.”

The voice that emerged from that shadow wasn't at all what Slocum had been expecting. It was meek and grating as it said, “It weren't s'posed to happen.”

“What wasn't supposed to happen?”

“Them fellers,” the shadow said. As a breath was drawn, it made a very familiar wheezing sound. “They weren't s'posed to die.”

“You mean those two men that were left on the side of the road.”

“Them and the other one.”

Slocum thought for a moment and quickly came up with the name he'd been after. “Abner Woodley,” he said. “The man who drove the cart carrying the other two back into town mentioned someone else had been with those two when he found them. His name was Abner Woodley.”

“I don't know no names.”

“So you're telling me he's dead?”

The shadow moved forward an inch or two, which was just enough for Slocum to get a partial look at a dirty face covered by a tangled mess of leaves. Dirt was encrusted into a beard that was matted down in some places and practically exploding from his chin in others. “That ain't what I said. I said it weren't supposed to die . . . that they . . . weren't s'posed to die.”

“One of them is probably dead by now,” Slocum said as he tried to make out more of what was in front of him. “Another should pull through. Where's the third man? The one who was with the other two.”

“He gone.”

“Why don't you show yourself?”

The thing that took a few hesitant steps from the bushes was a man, but just barely. He hunched forward and took slow, shuffling movements as if every muscle in his body was required to move him a few inches. The more Slocum saw of him, the less certain he was of what he was looking at. The man's face was wide, round, and covered in so much dirt that it was hard to distinguish it from the whiskers of his thick, bushy beard. His shoulders were wide as well and covered in thick layers of fur. Furs were also wrapped around his feet by lengths of rope to form crude boots. Pointing at Slocum with his left hand, he kept his right tucked away beneath the fur pelts stitched together to form something of a cloak.

“You tell them others I ain't done nothin' wrong,” the man-thing said.

“Were you the one who attacked those men?” Slocum asked. When an answer wasn't forthcoming, he added, “You sure smell like the one I was chasing earlier.”

“I came for supper.”

“You mean the deer?”

The man nodded. “Three deer. Two big. One little. I wanted to collect 'em and skin 'em.”

“That's all you were up to? You sure you weren't watching the road leading from town out to Fall Pass?”

The man's face scrunched into an expression showing vague hints of recognition. “I gotta watch that road. Horses been comin' out more and more. I had to warn 'em.”

“Warn who?”

“Thems in that town!” the man said with mounting urgency. “This here is the beast's woods! Ain't no room for more!”

“Did you try to tell the others?” Slocum asked as he inched closer to the strange man.

“I told 'em. I told 'em. I
told 'em!
” As he shouted that last set of words, the man brought his right arm out from where he'd been hiding it. Like every other part of him, that arm was filthy and covered in patches of fur. His fist was caked in mud, and the first thing to catch Slocum's attention when that fist was shaken at him was the set of three long gleaming claws protruding from the man's hand. “Them others had to tell the rest!”

“Tell them what?” Slocum asked in a voice he tried to keep calm.

“I told 'em what needed to be said! I wrote it on their faces,” the man said while swiping the air with the three claws. “I carved it into them's backs and fronts and arms and legs!” With every word that came out of his mouth, the filthy man became louder, shakier, and somehow larger. He'd shuffled from the bushes like a cripple, but when he straightened up and extended his arms and legs, he seemed to almost double in size.

“Tell me your name,” Slocum said. His intention was to try and defuse the man before he worked himself into a lather. Under the circumstances, and with the other man literally shaking in anticipation of spilling blood, the feeble request was the best Slocum could manage.

Suddenly, the man stopped his ranting. His eyes were wide as saucers set within his face and his mouth hung open like a crooked chasm partly filled with rotten teeth. He wheeled around, slicing the air with his claws while putting his back to Slocum. Before Slocum could take advantage of the situation, the man lunged toward the bushes and was gone as quickly as if the woods themselves had swallowed him whole.

Slocum reminded himself about how quickly the wild man had moved through the woods earlier that day and how easily he'd gotten the drop on him. “God damn it,” he growled while charging through the bushes in the wild man's wake.

Certainly there was a chance that the man could get the drop on him again, but Slocum knew all too well that the man could also get away from him just as quickly. Being in the filthy predator's familiar territory wasn't a consideration because the entirety of the woods was surely his stomping ground. The only way to maintain any semblance of control in the hunt was to remain on the offensive. The alternative was to let the wild man go to take another swipe at him later. Better to charge into the fight head-on than be bushwhacked when his back was turned.

Slocum's worries about being attacked the moment he came through the bushes were laid to rest when he cleared the foliage to find no trace of the other man. Since a few simple words had somehow lit the wild man's fuse and he didn't have any other cards to play, Slocum shouted into the woods, “Who are you? I asked your name!”

Surprisingly enough, he got an answer.

“I ain't no name!”

The response didn't make much sense, but it gave Slocum a direction in which to run. Gripping his Remington and holding it at the ready, he hurried through the woods as quickly as he dared. It was a tricky thing to navigate the rugged, unfamiliar terrain. As he continued to run, Slocum eventually heard the sounds he'd been hoping for.

The snapping of branches and pounding of feet were far away at first, but closed in awfully quick.

“That you, Slocum?” Merle shouted from deeper within the woods.

“I found our killer!” Slocum shouted. “Circle around and cut him off!”

“I ain't no killer!” the wild man hollered. “I'm a damn killer, is what I is!” It seemed the more he tried to speak, the less sense he made. Even so, that didn't hamper his ability to rush through the woods. As the trees and brush grew thicker, he found ways to pull even farther away from Slocum.

The first time Slocum found a clearer path through the trees, he pumped his legs even harder to try and build up some more speed as he cut around to come at the fleeing wild man from a different angle. Instead of gaining any ground, he lost some while losing sight of the wild man.

“I think I see ya!” Merle shouted.

“He's getting away!” Slocum replied.