The Savage Trail Read Online Free PDF Page B

both heard the reports shortly after the sun had cleared the horizon.
    â€œPistols, I think,” John said.
    â€œHard to tell. So far away,” Ben said.
    Then, they heard two more shots.
    â€œSomething’s up,” Ben said. “And it ain’t good. Nobody I know goes huntin’ with a pistol.”
    â€œTwo shots from the same gun. One was from a smaller caliber. Thirty-eight, maybe.”
    â€œThat third shot did sound a little funny.”
    â€œStay on the quick, Ben.”
    They hadn’t seen a soul on the Cheyenne road all morning. Now it seemed as if there might be trouble ahead.
    A few moments later, a hawk flew down the South Platte, throwing its winged shadow on the hillside. A pair of blackbirdsbroke off and flew back the other way. The hawk scree-screed and veered away from them with just an incline of its wings, banking toward the foothills, its tail lifting and tilting as well.
    John listened, but heard no more shots. Not so much as a hoofbeat or a yell.
    In fact, he thought, it was ominously quiet. A half hour later, he saw something in the distance, an animal of some sort.
    â€œI see it, too,” Ben said, as if reading Savage’s thought.
    â€œIt’s not a deer,” John said, although he was not sure.
    â€œCould be a mulie. Or an elk, maybe.”
    â€œDown this low? Not an elk. Unless something chased it there.”
    â€œHorse?” Ben said.
    â€œMaybe. So much brush up there, it’s hard to tell.”
    They rode closer. It was eerily quiet and John felt uneasy.
    â€œYou ride out on the plain, Ben,” Savage said. “I’ll come up on this flank. Might be a bushwhacker lying in wait up there. It’s just too damned quiet.”
    â€œI’ll make a wide circle,” Ben said.
    The animal had disappeared. Either it was feeding and had lowered its head, or it had lain down, John thought. He crossed the river and urged Gent up the slope. If it was a deer or elk, he reasoned, it would soon catch his wind and bolt out of the brush. If so, he would see it plain. But as Gent scrambled for footing and he tested the wind, the animal became even more enigmatic. Still no sign of it, but he did see the trace of a road higher up, stretching to the top of a hill and beyond.
    He looked down, across the river, and saw Ben cutting his circle. By his reckoning, Ben ought to be coming close to where he would be opposite the place where they had seen the unidentified animal. John cut toward the road, figuring he was above the spot where they had seen the long ears and head of whatever it was on that brushy slope.
    Something made John begin to tighten up inside. Some familiarmemory circled his mind, triggered by the morning sunshine,the smell of steamed dew rising in the air, the aroma of something else he couldn’t quite define. As he approached the animal, it lifted its head and he saw what it was: a mule. But that did not dispel John’s uneasiness. The mule appeared to be tied or in harness. It was out of place, he knew that, and his senses prickled as if ice water had been poured down his back.
    He rode closer, cautious, one hand resting on the stock of his rifle, ready to jerk it from its scabbard. His boots were poised to jab the rowels of his spurs into Gent’s flanks and his left hand gripped the reins, ready to pull the bit tight in his horse’s mouth and twist him into a tight turn away from danger.
    Then John saw a flap of colored material, something pale blue, like chambray, maybe, such as might be part of a man’s shirt. Closer still, and he saw the outline of a wagon, bundles of clothes inside, a lump on the seat, a shining on something black, like hair.
    His stomach knotted up as Gent’s forelegs brought him onto a small knoll above the wagon. There, John saw what he hadn’t been seeing, what he hadn’t wanted to see, and out of the corners of his eyes, a rough, crude road that might have been hacked out by