“White brother, am I?” Wesley said, and raising his Kentucky, he shot High-backed Wolf in the face.
For a few seconds the other two Otoes were frozen with shock. Then the other warrior snatched at his quiver, but he had just started to draw an arrow out when several rifles thundered at once and he was jolted backward by the impact of multiple slugs.
The woman put the back of her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with terror, and wheeled to flee. She only managed a couple of steps before Olan brought his horse up next to her and brought the stock of his rifle crashing down.
“God in heaven!” Harrod exclaimed. “What the hell did you do that for? I told you they were friendly.”
Wesley stared at the blood oozing from the hole below High-backed Wolf’s right eye. “Get this straight, old man. I’m not anyone’s brother unless they’re white.” Leaning his Kentucky against his leg, Wesley uncapped his powder horn. “I can’t abide the lower races.”
“Lower?”
“The red race. The black race. The yellow race. You name it.” Wesley poured powder into his palm. “Why do you think I do what I do?”
“I figured it was for the money. Or maybe you were one of those who likes the thrill of the hunt.”
“There’s that. But the main reason I became a slave hunter is because I can’t stand blacks. I can’t stand how they look. I can’t stand how they talk. I can’t stand their stink. If it were up to me, I’d wipe out every damn darkie.”
Olan chuckled. “A man after my own heart.”
“I didn’t know,” Harrod said.
“Now you do. From here on out, every redskin we come across I’ll kill, unless there are too many of them.”
“I see. And these slaves we’re after? The Worth family? Do you plan to kill them, too?”
“Be sensible. The bounty is for dead or alive, but it’s a lot more for alive. That’s how I’ll take them back so long as they don’t give me cause to curl up their toes.”
“I see,” Harrod said again. He nodded at the woman, who had groaned and was stirring. “What about her?”
“She’s Olan’s to do with as he pleases.”
Olan licked his thin lips. “Now this is the kind of job I like. Kleist, fetch some water from the river so we can bring her around. Cranston, Bromley, climb down and hold her arms and legs. She’s apt to claw and kick.”
Harrod gigged his horse toward the other side of the clearing.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Wesley wanted to know.
“I’d rather not watch.”
Olan scowled. “What is this, old man? Don’t tell me you’re some kind of Injun lover?”
“I don’t give any more of a hoot about red skin than I do about white,” Harrod said. “But I do give a hoot about females. I can’t stand to see them abused. It’s the one thing I’ll not abide.”
“Well, I’ll be,” Olan said.
Cranston laughed and shook his head. “It takes all kinds, doesn’t it?” He trained his rifle on the frontiersman’s back. “I ought to blow you to hell, you old goat.”
“We need him,” Wesley said.
“But you heard,” Cranston objected. “He’s got a soft spot. Me, I lost my grandpa and an uncle to red vermin, and I’d as soon shoot anyone who sides with them.”
Wesley raised his Kentucky. “I don’t make a habit of repeating myself, boy. Harrod is not to be touched. I have a special use for him.”
Cranston hesitated, and then saw that Trumbo had pointed his rifle at him, too. Shrugging, he said, “What ever you say, Mister. You’re paying us. But I should think you’d agree with me, hating Injuns and blacks like you do.”
“There’s a time and a place, boy. We have to know when to keep our hate in and when to let it out.” Wesley nodded at Harrod. “You can go on ahead if you want but don’t go far.”
The frontiersman jabbed his heels into his horse. He rode several hundred yards and drew rein on a grassy bank overlooking a pool. Climbing down, he sat with his legs dangling over the side and stared at the water.
After a few moments hooves thudded, and Harrod pushed to his feet. He didn’t hide his surprise. “I reckoned you would stay and take part.”
“Not me,” Wesley said, alighting with agile grace. “Her kind don’t appeal to me.”
“Your partner, Trumbo?”
“He’s not as particular.”
Harrod gnawed his lower lip until he couldn’t hold in what he wanted to say. “Mind if I ask you a question?”
“Only if you don’t mind if I don’t answer.”
“Fair enough.” Harrod sat back down. “These blacks we’re after, the Worth family.”
“What about them.”
“You told me they’re runaway slaves, but you never told me
“You heard true,” Wesley confirmed.
“Then why are these Worths heading west? Why try and reach the Rockies when it makes more sense for them to do the same as other runaway slaves?”
Wesley puffed a speck of dust from his rifle. “They’re not running for their freedom. They’re running for their lives.”
“Care to explain?”
Squatting, Wesley balanced his rifle across his knees and regarded the flowing water. “These Worths did the worst thing slaves can do: They killed their master.”
“Does that happen often?”
“Hardly ever. They worked on a plantation run by Frederick Sullivan and his two sons, Brent and Justin. Brent took a shine to Randa Worth and her pa went and murdered him.”
“I see.”
“You say that a lot,” Wesley said.
Harrod gnawed on his lower lip some more. “Mind if I ask you another question?”
“Damned if you ain’t the most curious son of a bitch I ever ran across. What now?”
“You made mention of some people who are helping the Worths. Who are they? And what do we do when we catch them?”
“The Worths are being helped by a mountain man and his squaw. It was them who killed the man I worked for, a gent known as Catfish, the best slave hunter there ever was. They’ll pay for that. They’ll pay in blood. But first I intend for them to suffer. I want to hear them beg for their lives before I snuff out their wicks.”
“I see.”
“You only think you do.”
“This mountain man and his wife—do you happen to know their names?”
“Nate and Winona King.”
Chapter Two
The girl was young and black and full of life. She had on a store-bought dress, the first store-bought dress she ever owned. If it were up to her she would keep it locked in a trunk and put it on only for special occasions. But
