Jumlin's Spawn Read Online Free PDF Page A

exsanguine buffalo. Clipped to it was a
graphic veterinarian's report on the condition of the carcasses.
Charming.
    After what might have been forty-five minutes, the
driver's door to the Range Rover popped open. Oliver, wearing a
weird combination of brown dungarees and a red ball cap, ascended
sleekly and easily into the driver's seat. He looked around to
Elfie, huddled in the backseat with her studies.
    “Anything interesting?” Oliver asked.
    She waved the list at him. “This is one hell of a lot
of dead buffalo.”
    Oliver nodded.  “It‘s escalating.”
    Elfie shook her head.  “It’s increasing.”
    “It’s turkey vultures,” Yancey added, suddenly
climbing into the passenger seat.
    Elfie frowned in thought. “Not unless buzzards have
started leaving carrion behind.”
    Yancey shrugged a little.  “I’m a cop,
remember?  I‘m a skeptic.”
     “I’m a scientist, remember? So am I,” Elfie
said. “You said our first stop is Wolfram Ten Bears?”
    Yancey opened a map on the dashboard as Oliver
started the engine. “Yeah, he's an elder. But we call him Billy
Jack. Believe me, you'll see why.”
     
    ****
     
    She saw why.
    He drove an old wheezing motorcycle out to greet them
as their jeep rolled through the wide park gate.  He wore a
scruffy old leather jacket that damn near matched the color of his
leathery old face. 
    “That's the elder?” Elfie asked incredulously.
    “You were expecting a war bonnet and a peace pipe?”
Yancey asked, tossing a grin her way.
    “I'm from Rapid City, remember? Of course not. I just
wasn't expecting...him.”
    When the elder dismounted the motorcycle, he yanked
off the old gloves that jibed with his jacket and almost matched
his face. As he walked up to the jeep, they didn't leave the
vehicle, and he didn’t extend a hand to Yancey. He just glared at
them with eyes that looked locked and loaded. 
    “Yancey Crow Wolf, where you been keeping yourself?”
the old guy asked Yancey through stained teeth.  He stared
hard over at Elfie in the backseat. “These your friends?”
    Yancey blocked his view of her while he popped open
the side door.  “Yeah, she’s Elfie Hardesty, and he’s Oliver
Ryan. Hop in the jeep. It's more comfortable than your old
camper.”
    Elfie felt grateful to be in the rear seat. The old
man's conception of personal hygiene seemed startlingly different
from hers. He turned around to stare hard at her again with
egg-yellow eyes, probably cataracts, until Yancey climbed over the
console to yank the old man around so that he faced his
direction.
    “Okay, let's hear it,” Yancey said.
    Ten Bears looked back at him. “You asked me to dance,
Yancey.  You lead, I follow. Ask your questions.”
    “Okay,” Yancey said. “I need you to tell me all the
stuff you're supposed to tell me in as short a time as possible.
About the Angel Caves and the Jumlin vampire crap.”
    “First,” the old man said, “you tell me what you
believe.”
    “I don't believe in anything,” Yancey said.
    “You don't believe in Jumlin, you mean?” the old man
asked.
    “No, I don't believe in anything I can't see, hear,
touch, taste or smell. Not our gods, not European gods. I'm an
atheist. And I certainly don't believe in Jumlin and any kind of
backward, superstitious mysticism. But, I have promised my
grandmother and the elders I would speak to you.”
    “At least you listen to your grandmother,” the old
man said. “If the locals had listened to the Indians about the
mouse fever, the Hantavirus wouldn’t have killed so many. Indian
myths told them all about the mouse fever that came after the big
rains.”
     “The Hantavirus was identified by science,”
Yancey said.  “Jumlin is a fairy tale.  You can’t compare
the two.”
    Oliver turned around in his seat. “Mr. Ten Bears, I'm
an anthropologist. I have more time for mythology than my rude
friend here. Just tell us the Jumlin story, and we'll be on our
way.”
    The old man nodded toward