Through Darkest America

else.

With the night, a million stars filled the sky and the real cold set in. Howie pulled his blankets tight around him and tried to sleep. It wouldn’t be long before someone’d come by and kick him awake. Pardo had two-thirds of the forty-odd riders doing sentry duty on horseback in a wide circle around the camp. He hadn’t said so, but it was plain enough he was more than a little concerned about Monroe and his troopers. They were out there somewhere—everybody knew that. The only question was when they’d try to take the guns. If they had good sense, they’d make their run before Pardo’s riders met up with strong Rebel forces.

It was something to think about, and Howie figured every man in camp was wishing he was back in Roundtree, or damn near anywhere else.

Near sunup, he climbed off his horse and crawled half frozen back in his blankets. He was asleep as soon as he hit the ground; it was only minutes later that the scream brought him up straight again. He grabbed his weapons, certain the troopers were upon them.

A dozen riders had bunched up around the far corner of the building and someone had pulled a torch from the fire. A man named Kelsey was on the ground. His eyes were near coming out of their sockets with fear and sweat was pouring like fresh rain down his face. Four men held him down and tried to stop the screaming, while another did something to his head.

The whole side of Kelsey’s face was blood-red and swollen, and Howie could see ugly wounds where something had punctured the skin again and again.

In moments, Kelsey was dead, a white foam of spittle ringing his open mouth. The riders covered him quickly, and crowded ’round to take a look at what had done it.

Howie was horrified. Someone had killed the thing, but it still writhed and squirmed blindly across the ground—a long, terrible creature with no legs at all, and big around as his arm. Someone said it was a snick and that they’d seen two or three in the mountains before.

God help us, thought Howie. Horses, rabuts, and now snicks. He’d liked it a lot better when there was only one kind of animal around.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Hacker and Pardo nearly had it out before breakfast. Howie was sure they’d have killed each other if Klu and some of the Rebel soldiers hadn’t stepped in to pull them apart. The two kept their distance the rest of the day— Hacker riding point, and Pardo sticking close to his pack horses.

Everyone in the column had seen it coming. Hacker was storming mad over the way Pardo had pulled out of Roundtree, making a show for the town. And no one blamed him much, either. As Hacker put it, it was a damn fool thing to do. And though he didn’t care one way or the other whether Pardo got his own people killed, he didn’t figure on losing his whole troop over another man’s ignorance. That was when Pardo went for him, pale eyes flashing and a big grin spreading his features. Klu wrestled the knife from him before he could sink it half a foot in Hacker’s big belly.

Looking at Pardo’s face, you could swear the man had lost his senses. Howie knew better than that. The only time Pardo went plumb crazy was when he wanted to, and for a good reason. If he’d figured on sticking Hacker, Hacker’d be kicking up sand right then instead of setting his mount and sulking.

So why hadn’t they seen through the rest of the business, Howie wondered? He could have kicked himself for not thinking. Pardo never did anything without a reason—and he sure as hell wasn’t crazy. If he’d let everyone in town know he was carrying that big shipment of arms to the Rebels—why, that was exactly what he’d intended to do!

Why, though? Where was the sense in it? That was something Howie couldn’t figure. The whole thing sent shivers up the back of his neck. He hadn’t forgotten his last trip with Pardo…

The column made camp early, long before the sun was down. Pardo picked a spot where weathered spires of red sandstone capped a small rise in the land. It offered good cover, and was high enough so that the riders had a distinct - advantage over any intruders. They could walk the horses up easy, but an attacking force would have to leave their mounts behind and fight on foot over open ground. Even Hacker had no quarrel with the site.

Every man in the column, for that matter, breathed a sigh of relief. Most had figured the Loyalists would hit them sometime during the day and, if they had to fight, they preferred to do it from good cover. A man dragging ass over the flat tableland on a horse was pretty hard to miss with a rifle.

Before the evening fires were lit, the rumor spread through the camp that they’d be meeting the main Rebel forces early the next day. And if that was true, wouldn’t Monroe have scouts out like everyone else—and know the Rebels were there? If he did, he’d sure try to take the arms while he had a smaller foe to face—and that meant tonight.

“You figure they’ll come?” Howie asked Harlie.

“Hmmmph.” Harlie nodded through a mouthful of dried meat. “They’ll come. Ain’t much question ’bout that.”

“If they’re out there,” said Howie.

“Oh, they’re out there, all right,” Harlie assured him. He gave Howie a crooked grin. “Some or soldier probably got you in his sights right now, boy.”

Howie made a face. “How come the scouts ain’t seen anything, then? There’s nothing out there but flat, and you can look ’bout a thousand miles everywhere.”

Harlie studied the lone bite of beans left on his plate. “0l’ Kelsey didn’t see that snick, neither. But it seen him.” He shook his head. “Ain’t no use wishin’ for what isn’t goin’ to

be. They’re out there, and they’re goin’ to hit us—because they got to.”

Howie figured he was right, but it just didn’t make sense, everyone settin’ around eating and talking and knowing what was going to happen. They ought to be doin’ something, shouldn’t they? The more he learned about war and fighting, the less he understood.

He had his own reason for risking his neck out in the middle of nowhere. He’d promised himself a long time ago he wouldn’t get far from Pardo until things were settled between them. But what about Harlie, and the rest of the riders? And Hacker’s troops, for that matter. Some of them wouldn’t be coming back from this business. They all knew that, and thought about it plenty, but they went right on putting their necks in a noose for a day’s pay and rations. Even if they came through all right they wouldn’t gain much. The Rebels would just go on fighting somewhere else until they got themselves killed or all shot up, and the riders would keep making money for Pardo, or someone else who didn’t care whether they lived or died. Why, Howie wondered? Maybe they had reasons for doing what they did, same as he did. But what they were, he sure couldn’t figure.

All the fires were out by the time the sun dropped through low clouds in the west. The Loyalists might know where they were, but there was no use in making targets. A few men slept, but most huddled in small groups against the cold. Both Pardo’s men and the Rebels kept to themselves. They had no quarrel with each other, but there was bad blood between their leaders, and you didn’t get real friendly with a man you might be fighting later. That seemed like a damn fool idea to Howie, when they all had plenty on their hands with the Loyalists. But as Harlie or someone at supper had pointed out, “even if Monroe ain’t climbing our backs ’fore morning, what you figure is goin’ to happen when we meet the rest of Hacker’s troops? There’s twenty-four of us, and about twenty of them if I’m countin’ right. There’s no trouble in a match like that. But what about tomorrow, when the odds ain’t so good? You figure Hacker’s goin’ to worry about paying for those guns—when he’s got maybe a hundred or so troopers to back him? Hell no, he ain’t!”

No one could think of a good answer for that, and it didn’t make sleeping any easier thinking about maybe getting through one fight before morning, so you could take on the Rebels by noon.

“That’s plain silly, is what it is,” said Kari. They stood together out of the wind. The high spires of rock looming above looked like dark fingers against the night.

“You don’t like Pardo much,” she said flatly.

He looked at her. “What’s that got to do with anything. No, I don’t like Pardo at all. If…”