Soul Catcher (46 page)

^{Cain tried to work out how he'd play this. Just like in a poker game, he always tried figuring out what would happen, who was holding what, who would make the first move, who was bluffing, who he had to pay attention to. He decided he would shoot the one named Bell first because he seemed to pose the greatest danger. After that, he'd go for the leader, who, he'd noticed, did everything with his left hand. Even though he had two pistols, his left hand was still holding the deer leg, and he'd have to drop that first to go for his gun. The old man would be easy. What gave Cain some pause, though, was the red-haired man in the woods. There was no telling where he was and what he'd do when the shooting commenced.}

^{Cain watched as Clayton tossed the uneaten portion of the leg bone into the fire and let his hand drop down toward his thigh.}

^{"Don't move it any closer, friend," Cain warned him.}

^{"Why not?"}

^{"Because I'd have to kill you."}

^{The man laughed, exposing his broken, snaggle teeth. "I don't know if you noticed, but you are outnumbered four to one," he said.}

^{"I told you, my friends will be back any minute."}

^{"We've been on your trail for the past two days, and we know the other three left a while back to hunt the runaway."}

^{"Which they ain't agonna find," said Bell cryptically.}

^{"So it's just you, friend," Clayton offered.}

^{Cain nodded, knowing that his bluff had been called, and it was time to show what he was holding.}

^{"Well, chew on this, friend," Cain said. "No matter what happens, I'll be sure to kill you."}

^{"Is that a fact?"}

^{"It is."}

^{The man nodded thoughtfully. "Nobody has to get hurt. Let us have the girl and we'll be on our way."}

^{"That's not going to happen."}

^{The other men exchanged knowing looks. Cain saw something grow cold and hard in the man's dark eyes. Clayton swallowed hard, as if he were trying to swallow a stone. At first, Cain thought it was fear, the fear of knowing he was about to die. He'd seen that look before in men's eyes. A sort of dreadful anticipation, where the breath tastes of carded wool, and the belly and balls contract in preparation for the inevitable end. He'd felt it himself that day at Buena Vista, waiting to die. And there'd been a few times since, when he could taste his end. But this time he realized too late his mistake, that it wasn't fear at all that he saw in the man's eyes.}

^{"Behind you, Cain!" Rosetta cried.}

^{Drawing his gun, Cain spun around. A split second before the cudgel the man wielded came crashing down on him, just missing his head but smashing into his left shoulder, Cain fired. The bullet struck the red-haired man just below the nose and went crashing on through his brain and out the back of his skull, before lodging in a birch tree behind him. The wounded man stood there for a moment staring down at Cain in utter surprise, spitting teeth and fragments of bone, trying to curse, but his mouth was filled with blood, and the only sound that slipped out was a wet-sounding gurgle. The man was dead already, but his body was too stubborn to give in to the notion yet.}

^{Cain spun back around just as a bullet bit viperlike into his side, bringing scalding nausea with it. He managed to cock his gun and take aim at the leader when another round smashed into his skull just above his left temple, setting off a fierce clanging in his head. He shuddered and his eyesight failed him as he fell down in darkness.}

^{Chapter 16.}

^{F
rom the sulfuric-scented gloom came a deep-bellied growl followed by the savage scraping of teeth on bone. The air around him hung heavy with the stench of ash and excrement, blood and burnt flesh.
Hell
was the thought that impressed itself on his slowly returning consciousness. He figured he'd died and gone there. The gnashing of teeth and the sweet stink of burning flesh suggested he had crossed the river Styx and entered the realm of shades, and when he opened his eyes what he saw only seemed to confirm his impression. In the predawn murkiness, he was able to make out a pair of large, hairy beasts just a few feet away, fighting over the remnants of what appeared to be a limb. With their jaws locked on it, they pulled in opposite directions, contending fiercely over the nearly fleshless appendage. They snarled and shook their heads back and forth, their shoulders and haunches tensed. Looking beyond them, he saw a third gnawing on the remains of a slender carcass that lay in the ashes of a fire. And, from behind him, he heard the jaws of yet another. Lying on his left side, Cain turned his head slightly to look back over his shoulder. There he was met with the most gruesome of scenes. Some sort of grayish hound had its muzzle buried deep in the belly of a dead man. When it withdrew, from its bloody jaws hung a string of glistening entrails. His head rapidly clearing, Cain realized that it wasn't hell after all, and that the creatures were merely a pack of wild dogs, no doubt lured by the smell of a meal.}

^{Cain's movement brought him suddenly to the attention of the dogs. The two fighting stopped and stared at him. One of them, a long-haired black mongrel with a bad case of the mange, dropped the bone and turned squarely on Cain, its head lowered between its thin, pointy shoulders. It growled at him, baring its fangs. They all stood there for a moment, confused and frightened by this meal come suddenly to life. The other dog of the fighting pair, some sort of black-and-white terrier with stumpy legs sticking out of a rotund body, took a couple of cautious steps toward Cain, its ears flattened against its narrow head. Cain reached for his revolver but found his holster empty. The other dogs, emboldened by the terrier's lead, slowly advanced on Cain, moving with the tentativeness of a group of school-yard bullies not completely sure of their advantage.}

^{"Ha!" he screamed at them, waving his right hand about. But his cry had little effect. They continued closing in. The black mongrel circled to his left, as if to outflank him while the dog to his rear held his ground, like a dutiful soldier having been given orders to cut off the enemy's path of retreat.}

^{"Go, you bloody bastards," he cried again, but they continued to close in on him.}

^{He looked around for a stick or rock, some weapon with which to defend himself, then remembered the pepperbox. He reached down into his boot and, to his utter amazement, found it still there. The blackbirders had overlooked it. He took careful aim at the one closest to him, the black dog, and squeezed the trigger. The gun made only an ineffectual
click.
"Damn," he cried, cursing the crookback, who'd probably used cheap percussion caps. The dog continued slouching toward him, his head now so close Cain could smell the dead-meat odor of its foul breath. He pulled the trigger a second time, and now the gun crackled. The .32 caliber bullet ripped into the dog's muzzle, just below its left eye. The animal sneezed once, as if he'd snorted some pepper, shook its head, then dropped to the ground, its legs splayed outward to the sides.}

^{The others proved, as bullies usually do, to be cowards. They hightailed it, running through the stand of birches, one of them still clutching a piece of bone in its mouth.}

^{When Cain tried to raise himself up, his head commenced to pounding as if several cannons had gone off nearby, and he nearly passed out. He touched his temple, his hand coming away greasy with blood. He could feel a wide gash there, running from the left temple across to the middle of his forehead. But he felt no hole into his skull, and the bone beneath felt solid and unbroken. He guessed that the bullet had just glanced off his skull, though he hardly took this for luck. When he sat up, he felt a pain like a branding iron on his left side, just at the point of his last rib. He'd been hit there as well, he figured. He made a cursory inspection to see if he'd been hit anywhere else. As he leaned forward he was struck by a wave of nausea. He waited until it subsided a little and then rolled over onto his knees, and caught his breath, before slowly trying to stand. He saw the red-haired man lying a few feet away, his mouth gaping open, as if he still had something more to say. His face was covered in blood. His shirt was torn and his belly ripped open, part of his intestines pulled out and lying on his trousers. Beside him lay the cudgel he had intended to knock Cain's brains out with. Cain bent at the waist and vomited a stream of sour bile and last night's undigested venison.}

^{He made his way down to the river, his legs unsteady as those of a brand-new foal, and dropped to his knees. His throat was parched, so he cupped his hands and drank copiously from the briny-tasting water. The nausea returned, making him vomit several more times. When it had passed, he washed his face, trying to rinse the wound on his head. Then he sat on the banks and removed his coat and shirt. The chill of morning made him shiver, bringing goose bumps to his skin. He inspected the wound in his side. It was still oozing blood, not a good sign, but at least the bullet hadn't hit a major artery, or, he hoped, a vital organ. And the color was a bright, clear red, suggesting that it had missed his bowels, which would, he knew, have spelled a slow and painful death. He'd seen men gutshot in the war, and it wasn't a way he preferred to die. He dipped his shirt in the water and cleaned the wound as best he could. It was a relatively small hole, probably from one of the pair of .32 caliber Tranters, he guessed, the concave edges neat and well defined. An entry wound. He felt along his back but couldn't find where the bullet had exited. He stuck his index finger into the wound, moved it around. He could feel where the bullet had struck and broken a rib. When he pressed it, the rib gave way and sent a bright shimmer of pain flashing through him.}

^{"Sweet Jesus," he cried.}

^{He looked in his coat for the flask of laudanum, but it was gone. They'd taken it, too, the bastards.}

^{He stood a little too fast and his head swirled, and he had to wait till the dizziness subsided. When it did, he took his time walking back up to the campsite. He looked around for his saddlebags, hoping for the comfort of his bottle of whiskey or, at least, to find some rags for his wounds, but they were nowhere to be found. Lying on the ground, however, was his copy of Milton. He picked it up and walked over to a nearby pine tree. With his pocketknife he scraped some pine tar off and opened the book and smeared it on a page. It was where the Archangel Michael was engaged in deadly combat with Satan. Cain sat on the ground and ripped the page out and pressed the pine-tar-covered paper to the wound. He'd seen this done before to stanch bleeding. Then, with his knife, he cut his shirt into strips, tied the strips together, and wound them to make a single long cord. He placed a piece of his shirt over the paper, then, over that, tied the cord around his torso to keep the bandage in place. Only when he'd finished his doctoring did he realize he was cold, and he pulled on his coat. He checked for his billfold but wasn't surprised to find that missing, too. They'd taken Hermes, as well as his gun and his blackjack, but he wasn't thinking about any of that right now. What he was thinking about was Rosetta, and how he would go about getting her back. He pushed the pain away and started to work out possibilities, to sift and organize, to fashion a plan. He figured they probably had a half day's lead on him. Plus he didn't have a horse. He slid open the barrels of the pepperbox and checked to make sure he had four shots remaining. Then he snapped it closed and shoved it into the pocket of his trousers.}

^{In the road he knelt and looked for their trail. He was able to spot Hermes's distinctive hoofprint, and he knew someone was riding his horse, as Hermes had a different gait when not being ridden. He figured Rosetta. The trail headed north, and he followed it for a time before losing it near the town amid the many other hoofprints and wagon wheel tracks in the road. He had to backtrack until he picked it up again, as the four riders left the road and cut through some woods toward the northeast. At first, he was stumped at this move but then realized where they were headed. Baltimore again. No doubt to one of the many slave auctions held down near the docks. He'd worked for several of the slave traders in that city, wealthy and powerful men like Austin Woolfolk and Early King, and even for a woman, Hope Hull Slatter, one of the most brutal slaver dealers of them all. They'd purchase Rosetta and put her aboard a slaver bound for the New Orleans market, where she'd spend the rest of her days on some cotton plantation being abused by some new owner. And before that, he knew the three blackbirders would get drunk and have their fun with her. Cain knew all of this.}