The Valley of the Wendigo (11 page)
Read The Valley of the Wendigo Online
Authors: J. R. Roberts
“I know.”
“Then why do you think he's here?”
“Keller doesn't do anythin' without a reason.”
“And what do you think his reason is this time?”
“There's only one reason I can think he would've come back,” Dekker said.
“And what's that? Or do I have to guess?”
Dekker looked at Payne and said, “Clint Adams.”
THIRTY-ONE
They were all seated around the fire. Clint realized this had to be his and Dakota's last night in the canyon. They couldn't go on without more provisions. He would have thought the same was true of Fiddler, but the old Cree hunter seemed to be doing much better than the two of them, despite his fall.
As they'd collected wood for the fire earlier, Dakota had said, “I don't believe he could've fallen from that height and not gotten killed, or hurt.”
“Maybe he landed on some brush,” Clint said. “Maybe it broke his fall.”
“And maybe he really does have some magic,” she said.
Clint didn't have an answer for that.
He and Dakota were chewing beef jerky and taking small sips of water. Fiddler had one swallow of water, and that was it.
“I am used to going without food and water for long periods of time,” he told them. “It is what I must do to be able to continue to hunt.”
“We'll have to go back in the morning,” Clint said.
“I understand.”
“We have to find another way into the canyon,” he said. “So we can bring horses and provisions.”
“You do that, and I will continue to look.”
Clint figured Fiddler wanted to get them out of the wayâprobably to get Dakota out of harm's way.
“Fiddler, wouldn't it be better to look outside the canyon than in?” he asked. “I mean, that's where this thing is doing its killing, right?”
“It would be impossible,” Fiddler said, “to kill it while it is killing. I have to find it at rest.”
“That would be at night,” Clint said. “How are you going to find it at night?”
“Early morning would be good enough,” Fiddler said. “At first light is the best time.”
“And what if it finds you?” Dakota asked.
“That is just as good.”
“Clint, we have to stay,” she said.
“I don't know about you, Dakota, but I'm hungry, and I need more than the sips of water we've been taking. We have to go and get supplies, but we can come back.”
Dakota turned and looked at Fiddler.
“Come with us, Fiddler,” she said. “We'll all come back.”
“I will be fine here, child,” he told her. “I will be here when you get back.”
“Alive?” she asked.
“Very much alive,” he promised.
“You'd better be.”
Later, while Dakota slept and Fiddler was supposed to be on watch, Clint came and sat with him at the fire.
“You are not weary?” the Cree asked.
“Weary to my bones, Fiddler,” Clint said. “I just wanted to talk to you while Dakota was asleep.”
“What about?”
“The Wendigo.”
“Why?”
“I like to know about what I'm hunting for,” Clint said. “The more I know, the better chance I have.”
“That is not the case, here.”
“Why not?”
“You have no chance,” Fiddler said, “and neither does she.”
“Why not?”
“You do not have the magic.”
“Your medicine bag?”
Fiddler took the bag into his hand.
“This is my medicine, not my magic,” he said. “The magic is here.” He touched his chest. “Inside. The medicine bag helps me to focus it. You do not have either.”
“And you really do think this is a mythical beast called the Wendigo?”
Fiddler looked at him and shook his head.
“You have even less than no chance if you do not believe,” he said.
“Well,” Clint said, “I have to admit you have a point there.”
“You have seen what it can do?” Fiddler asked.
“Yes,” Clint said. “We went to the camp that was attacked last night, found the two men . . . dismembered.”
“And still you do not believe?”
“It's . . . hard.”
“I will tell you what is even harder.”
“What's that?”
“Killin' somethin' you do not believe in.”
THIRTY-TWO
In the morning, Clint and Dakota left Fiddler to find another way up the rock wall.
“If I didn't have such an open mind,” Clint said to her, as they walked away, “I might think that he was crazy. Just a little.”
“A little?”
After they had walked for a while, she turned and looked back, shielding her eyes.
“I'd say he's a lot crazy,” she said.
Clint turned and looked.
“Is thatâ”
“Yup,” she said, “he's scalin' the wall . . . again.”
In the afternoon, they made their way out of the canyon. It didn't take them as long walking back because they weren't trying to follow a trail. When they came out, the horses were all still standing there.
“We'll have to water them before we ride them too long,” Clint said.
“Are we goin' back to town?” she asked.
“No,” Clint said. “We have supplies in our saddlebags. Fiddler's got some on his horses. We'll take from him what we can carry, and then start looking for another way into the canyon.
“Do you think there's another way?” she asked.
“We can probably work our way to the top,” he said. “You can get in from there.”
“But a way to get in with the horses?”
“That's what I'm hoping for.”
They raided Fiddler's horses, found that there wasn't much on the packhorse they could use. They did get some beef jerky from his saddlebags, as well as some coffee.
“We should leave some of it here, in case he comes back out this way,” Clint said.
“He needs very little,” she said.
"Still ...”
They left some coffee and food in the saddlebags of Horse.
“Too bad we can't water his horses,” Clint said.
“We can give them what's in our canteen,” she offered. “I can find us more water.”
Clint thought it over, then decided to go ahead. Using his hat, they gave water first to Horse and then to the pack animal. That left them with very little at the bottom of one of their canteens.
“We'll have to find water first thing,” she said. “The horses need it, and we can fill our canteens.”
“Okay,” he said as they mounted up. “Lead the way.”
That afternoon, Dekker found Keller sitting at a table in the saloon.
“You're not here for the bounty,” Dekker said.
“What makes you say that?” Keller asked, looking up at the lawman.
“If you were, you'd be out searching.”
“You ain't much of a hunter, are you, Sheriff?”
“Whataya mean?”
“I'm waitin' for the next one or two amateur hunters to be killed,” Keller said. “That's where I'll start lookin', at the site of the most recent kill.”
“That's cold-blooded.”
“That's huntin'. You want a drink?”
“Not with you.”
“Suit yourself.”
“I'm thinkin' you're here for another reason.”
“And what would that be?”
“Reputation.”
“Whose?”
“Clint Adams's.”
“The Gunsmith? Is he in town?”
“You know he was,” Dekker said. “Now he's out there, hunting for the Wendigo.”
Keller laughed.
“What's so funny?”
“They got you really believin' there's somethin' out there called a Windy-go?”
“Well, somethin's out there killin' people.”
“An animal,” Keller said, “pure and simple.”
“Not simple,” Dekker said. “There's nothin' simple about this.”
“So,” Keller said, sitting back in his chair, “Clint Adams is in town, huh?”
THIRTY-THREE
Dakota found a water source fairly quickly, a creek that was running clear. The horses drank while Clint filled both canteens and handed one to her.
“I wonder if that old man made it to the top?” she said.
“He wasn't going to the top, just to the cave,” Clint reminded her.
“I'm just wonderin' if he fell again,” she said. “If he'd even survive another fall.”
“Well, apparently he can't be killed, can he?”
She shook her head.
“I guess I never believed it until I saw it with my own eyes.”
“But we didn't see it,” Clint said. “We didn't see him land, did we?”
“We saw him fall.”
“Did we? Was that really him?”
“Who else could it have been?”
“I don't know,” Clint said. “I just can't fully accept that he fell from that wall and didn't suffer even a scratch.”
“The medicine bag.”
“What about it?”
“Some people say it helps the wearer heal.”
“Heal?” Clint asked. “He didn't have time to heal. No, he didn't have a scratch on him.”
“Unbelievable, either way,” she said.
They placed their canteens on their saddles, led the horses away from the water before they could gorge themselves.
“Where to?” she asked.
“You're asking me?” he said. “I'm not in charge here.”
“I don't know what to do, Clint,” she said. “I don't want to be in charge anymore.”
“Dakota . . . I think maybe we should go back.”
“To town?”
He nodded.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I know I don't want to do that. I want to try to get back to Fiddler.”
“Not in charge, huh?” he asked. “You know what you want to do, Dakota. That's being in charge.”
“All right,” she said. “So we just keep on lookin' for another way in.”
“We keep looking.”
She stared at him and smiled.
“You knew that, right? That's why you said we should go back. You knew I wouldn't do it.”
“I figured.”
She shook her head.
“Looks like you already know me better than I know myself.” She sniffed herself then and smiled. “Looks like that bath is finally startin' ta wear off.”
Keller thought he could do a double while he was in town. Collect the bounty on whatever this animal was that was terrorizing everyone, and take the name “Keller the Hunter”. Soon, he'd be Keller, the man who killed the Gunsmith.
He'd had no idea when he rode into town that Clint Adams was anywhere in the area. He was going to have to thank the sheriff for the information. Maybe buy him a drink. Yeah, that was it, he'd buy the lawman a drink.
“Hey,” somebody shouted into the saloon, “they just brought in another body!”
Keller smiled. Time to go to work.
Sheriff Dekker stepped out into the street to meet the man who was leading a second horse with a body slung over it.
“What happened?”
The man just stared at him, glassy-eyed.
“What's goin' on?” Keller asked.
“Make yerself useful, Keller,” Dekker said, moving to the second horse. “Drag that poor bastard off his horse and get him over to Doc's.”
“Sure, Sheriff,” Keller said. “Always glad to help.”
As a crowd gathered, Dekker untied the ropes holding the body on the second horse, then pulled back the blanket it was wrapped in. He exposed the face, which had been torn open by claws.
“Win-dee-go,” somebody whispered.
“Looks more like the work of a cougar,” Dekker said, covering the face. He turned, picked somebody out. “Dusty, take this fella over to the undertaker's place.”
“Sure, Sheriff.”
Dekker turned, saw Keller leading the other man away on foot, toward Doc's. Keller was also talking to the man, probably getting whatever information he could. That was fine with Dekker. If Keller killed or got killed, both would work for him.
THIRTY-FOUR
Clint and Dakota found another camp that had been hit. There was blood everywhere, but no bodies. Dakota walked around, studying the ground, and decided she knew what had happened.
“The camp got hit and somebody survived, took the other body or bodies away on another horse. One other body, I think. Looks like two horses.”
“This thing is hitting once a night now.” Clint noted. “We're getting up in the double figures for dead bodies.”
“It's got to be stopped,” she said. “We've got to get back to Fiddler, Clint.”
“Let's keep riding,” Clint said. “If there's another way into that canyon . . .”
“And if there's not?” she asked.
“Then we just have to hope that Fiddler is the one who comes out of there alive.”
“Hope?” she asked. “Or pray?”
“Let's do both . . .”
Keller came out of the doctor's office, saw Dekker waiting for him.
“You goin' out?” Dekker asked.
“Yep, right now.”
“I'm comin' with you.”
“Why?”
“Because I've been sittin' around here long enough,” Dekker said. “I may not be able to kill some magical beast, but maybe I can get the cougar that killed this man and the one yesterday.”
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