Part 56 (2/2)

”I know.” She looked rather miserable, herself. ”He's a good old boy. We'll find him.” She squatted by the rifles and commenced to pick at a knot. ”What we'd best do right now, though, is try and hook up with that posse. We ain't got much water. We can go hunting for General come daylight.” She got the knot undone, slipped the rope off the stock of my Winchester, and lifted the rifle up to me.

I took it. She made a sling out of the rope and hung the Henry down her back. Then she stood up and drew her revolver.

”I wish we'd never come up here,” I said, picking up my hat. ”We've lost our horse and most of our water. We're surrounded by rattlesnakes. We're lost. Whittle's likely lurking nearby. Or Apache Sam. Things have gone all to smash.”

Jesse hoisted an eyebrow at me. ”You should've stayed home in London, I reckon.”

I saw her trap and dodged clear of it. ”Not at all. I'm quite glad we're together, you know. I only wish we were together elsewhere.”

”Well, Trev, you play the cards you're dealt. This ain't the best hand, but it's what we've got. Now, let's go and find us that posse.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE.

Ghastly Business Night was near upon us when we came upon the posse. After losing General, we'd gone through the gash in the rocks, found ourselves in a clear area that gave us a view of the mountain peaks, headed that way, circled around some boulders and climbed a slope and squeezed through another tight gap.

We heard some rattlers along the way, but not many. Those we heard stayed out of sight.

As we came out the other side of the gap, we ran into the posse.

There were eight or nine men and about that many horses. They were spread about a clearing in front of the cave entrance.

Alive was one horse, tied to a stand of rocks off to one side.

Alive were also a fair number of buzzards, but they scattered when we showed up. Some perched themselves on rocks and others sailed around overhead, all of them likely hoping we'd leave so they could get back to their meals.

We stood motionless at the edge of the clearing.

”My G.o.d,” Jesse whispered.

Mostly, I felt numb. But part of me stayed alert, and I scanned the area to make sure whoever'd done the ma.s.sacre wasn't in sight.

As one horse had been spared, I judged it likely belonged to the killer. So he was somewhere about. The horse, a pale palomino, was saddled. It glanced our way and took a few steps. When it moved, I heard its shoes on the rocky ground. So it was shod.

”Whittle,” I whispered. ”An Apache wouldn't have shoes on his horse.”

”Unless he stole it off a white man,” Jesse said.

I gazed at the carnage. The gloom of dusk wasn't dark enough to hide much of it.

”Whittle did this,” I said.

I knew for sure, and it had to do with a sight more than the shod horse. The killer had done more than slay the men and horses. He'd mucked about with them.

He'd dismembered a good many of them. The head of a horse had been placed between the legs of a naked man, its mouth on his private parts. All the men were naked. Some had been disemboweled, their entrails strewn about. (The buzzards had likely played a role in that.) Two fellows had been stacked up and arranged in such a way as to suggest they were busy at an unnatural act. The heads of four had been removed and set atop various rocks. The privates had been cut off some of the bodies. The severed arm of one chap had been thrust up the hindquarters of a dead horse.

The clothing and weapons of the dead men were nowhere to be seen. Except for four boots. Those were on the feet of a dead horse.

The atrocities were unspeakably savage, but showed a vile sense of humor.

Only Whittle, I judged, could've committed such acts.

Was he inside the cave? Was he skulking about, sneaking toward us?”

”Let's take cover,” I whispered.

Backing off, we ducked behind a low boulder and leaned forward against it. Jesse slipped the saddlebags off her shoulder. She slung the Henry off her back.

We both c.o.c.ked our rifles and rested them atop the rock, aiming toward the cave entrance.

”You were right about monsters,” Jesse whispered.

”The man's a fiend,” I said.

”But how'd he manage to kill them all all?”

”He's quite clever, really,” I told her. ”And they were here looking for an Indian. He likely tricked them somehow.”

”Maybe he ain't alone.”

”I don't know.” I glanced behind us. Nothing back there except the maze of rocks. So I turned to Jesse and said, ”Whittle by himself is enough to worry about. There's only one horse, though.”

”If he don't know we're here, we can bushwhack him when he goes to ride off.”

I gave Jesse a nod. She b.u.mped me gently with her shoulder.

Soon, night was upon us.

The dark was kind, actually, as it shrouded the scene of the ma.s.sacre. We could still see the dim shapes out there, but not all the ghastly particulars. The buzzards were nowhere in sight. Whittle's horse was a light enough color so we could keep our eyes on it. The mouth of the cave looked like a patch of black in the gray wall of the mountain.

I couldn't figure any way for Whittle to get from the cave to his horse without us spotting him.

The trick was simply to wait him out.

Then shoot him down.

”Keep your eyes open,” Jesse whispered after a spell. She rested her rifle on the boulder, then crept backward. I glanced at her a couple of times to see what she was about. She pulled our bottle from the saddle bag and shook it. ”Thirsty?” she asked.

”We haven't much left.”

She popped the cork and took a few drinks. Holding the bottle out to me, she said, ”Water's no problem. Did you see all the canteens and water bags on them nags out there?”

”They might be empty,” I said, and took the bottle.

”They ain't empty, Trevor.” She sounded a bit annoyed. ”Landsakes, but you worry.”

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