Bone Deep, page 13
part #2 of The Legend of Andrew Rufus Series
Andrew smiled and grabbed his saddle. It was almost dark, but the snow was glowing so brightly Andrew was sure Widow Maker would be able to see where he was going. He mounted and tucked his feet, waiting for Widow Maker's customary display of kicking and bucking, but Widow Maker just pranced in place.
"Let's go," Andrew whispered, and they rode quietly out of the camp. Andrew breathed deeply; the night air was so crisp it almost burned his lungs. "Run, Widow Maker," he urged. "Run!"
Widow Maker's strides widened, and soon he was moving so fast, it felt like they were flying. Andrew couldn't even feel Widow Maker's hooves touching the ground, and the trees flew past in a flurry of white. It was no wonder Widow Maker was Pecos's favorite horse. He was the ultimate horse; the horse all the other horses wished they could be.
They rode and rode, the forest stretching all around them. Suddenly Widow Maker broke from the trees and galloped up the side of a huge snow covered hill, skidding to a stop at the top. A sheltered bowl with a large lake lay beneath them. A sliver of moon hung in the sky, glinting off the surface of the ice, and the ice twinkled like stars.
Wow! It's incredible! Andrew felt like he could see forever. He gazed at the stars and the twinkly lake and watched the moon travel slowly across the sky. He heard an owl call and the swish of wings as something flew overhead, and he grimaced. But he immediately wished he hadn't, because his face hurt like hell.
He touched his jaw gently. He hadn't expected Doyle to rip into him like that. It had made him angry, but he knew Doyle was right. He didn't know how to fight. He didn't really know anything. He was doing the best he could just to not get killed. But part of being Pecos was not holding back, not being afraid, and doing stupid things because it was what needed done. And like it or not, right now, he was Pecos.
Once again he wondered why he was here. Who was it who thought he should be here? Do you really think the Grey Shaman's not involved? he asked Pecos. Don't seem his style. He's usually pretty pointed 'bout what he's had a hand in. Andrew nodded.
What about the second voice I heard in my dream? It was calm and warm. Like sunlight and… I don't know… warm, perfectly cooked biscuits covered in honey. I've never heard it before. Better head back. It's late, and you don't want Doyle to come lookin' for you. Andrew shuddered at that thought and nudged Widow Maker around.
They ran back just as fast, and Andrew felt as if he'd been given wings and taken flight. When they reached camp, he rubbed Widow Maker down and went to the shelter. The others were already asleep, but Andrew saw Doyle's eyes pop open and follow him. "Night, Doyle," he whispered. Doyle didn't respond.
Andrew's dreams were full of blood. Billy, the boy from the first town, ran through streets of ash screaming "Help! Help!" as the wolves nipped at his heels. Andrew tried to help him, but he couldn't mount Dewmint because she was dying, bleeding out into the snow.
"Wake up, boy!" A hand shook Andrew's shoulder, and Andrew blinked wildly. "You're dreaming," Joe said. Andrew sat up, rubbing his eyes, and Joe looked at him with concern. "You alright?"
Andrew shook his head, trying to clear the image of Dewmint from his mind. "I hate sleep," he muttered.
"Why?"
Andrew's mind was still sleep clouded so he didn't think first, just spoke. "I can't escape. Every single night, something's killing me or killing you or Doyle or Charlie. But at least when I wake up, I know it was just a dream." Andrew rubbed his hands over his face, feeling the full weight of his fears. "But now I dream of Dewmint. Every time I fall asleep, she's there. And she's dead. And then I wake up…" he closed his eyes. "I wake up, and she's still dead."
After a moment Joe said gruffly, "It'll get easier."
"Will it? Do I want it to? Should it?" Andrew asked him searchingly.
"You'll be alright, boy," Joe said, patting Andrew's shoulder awkwardly and leaving the shelter.
Andrew shrugged. Rule number two. It ain't like that, boy. Joe just don't know what to say. If he did, he'd say it. Yeah, well, it's just… I wish… I know.
Chapter 14
Andrew inhaled sharply as he stood to leave the shelter. His ribs felt like they'd been pummeled with a baseball bat. Doyle's got a hard right. No kidding. He stumbled outside, stretched like always, and mumbled "thanks" when Charlie handed him a plate of food.
"You look like hell," Doyle said cheerfully.
Andrew couldn't believe rule number five actually worked. Told ya. "What can I say," Andrew said with a slight grin. "I fell down some stairs." The others looked at him in confusion. "It's just something you say when you've been beat up, but you don't wanna admit it," he explained. "You know?" Charlie shook his head. "Never mind; it's a modern thing I guess."
Andrew ate his food in silence. He was so sick of cold food and freezing rocks and no coffee and cold feet and just cold. And he was sick of everything being so serious and glum. These fire wolves are really starting to tick me off, he thought sullenly.
"You guys wanna hear a joke?" he asked, hoping to lighten the mood.
Joe grinned, "Sure."
"Okay, knock, knock." They stared at him, waiting. "You're supposed to say 'who's there?' Let's try again. Knock, knock."
Finally Joe said, "Who's there?"
"Banana." Nothing. "Now you say, 'Banana who?'."
"This is a joke?" Doyle asked.
"Just do it."
"Banana who?" Joe said.
"Knock, knock?"
"Who's there?"
"Banana."
"Banana who?"
Doyle was starting to look annoyed, but Andrew kept going. "Knock, knock."
Joe raised an eyebrow. "Who's there?"
"Orange."
"Orange who?"
"Orange you glad I didn't say banana?" Andrew burst out laughing. That's the stupidest damn thing I've ever heard. In all my life. Stupidest. Oh, come on; it's funny! No, it ain't. Doyle shook his head in disgust, but Joe was grinning slightly.
"Orange you glad I didn't say banana?" Charlie repeated. He seemed to think it over for a minute, but then he started to chuckle. Soon he was laughing with Andrew.
You shouldn't tell jokes. Hey! That could be rule number six! Cowboys don't laugh at jokes. Oh, we laugh at jokes, boy; that joke just ain't funny. Think about it; it'll grow on you. 'Sides, Charlie likes it. What's Charlie know? According to you, just about everything. Pecos snorted.
Andrew stood. "Let's get this over with."
Doyle grabbed his shoulder. "You 'member what I said?"
"Yes, no touching the wolves." Doyle narrowed his eyes. "Seriously, Doyle. I get it. I won't touch the wolves." Doyle nodded and walked towards the cliff.
Why would I even wanna touch the wolves? Andrew thought. It burns like hell! I hate touching them. Doyle's got a screw loose if he thinks I enjoy it or something. Boy… I know; Doyle cares, blah blah blah.
Charlie was hooking the horses together as Andrew approached Widow Maker. "Charlie needs the horses to help him push the snow off the cliff. Would you help too?" Widow Maker shook his head. "Come on, you're three times as strong as the other horses." Widow Maker snorted angrily. "I'm sorry; I meant to say twenty times as strong, maybe even a hundred."
Widow Maker turned away. "You don't want me to get burned up by fire wolves, do you?" Widow Maker shrugged. "What's that supposed to mean? And I even took you out running last night!" Widow Maker swished his tail, hitting Andrew in the face. "Fine, be that way! Charlie didn't want your help anyway. I was just asking to be nice!"
Andrew stomped off to join the others, but stopped when he saw Widow Maker following him. "Scat, Widow Maker. If you're not gonna help, you'll just be in the way." Widow Maker kicked out his heels and trounced off.
"You and that horse are somethin' else," Doyle said.
Andrew made a sound of disgust. "I thought we were finally getting somewhere. But he's a stubborn pain in my ass." Maybe you should just treat him like a horse. He ain't people, you know. Ha! Tell that to him.
Charlie got the horses in place, and Doyle cleared out a place for the fire right under the middle of the cliff face. Then he took a deep breath, lit the tinder on fire, and moved back to stand with Joe and Andrew.
Andrew held his breath. He hoped they had killed all the wolves at the river, but part of him knew they hadn't. For a moment, nothing happened; the fire burned just like a normal fire. Then a lone wolf stepped from the flames. It looked around carefully, as if it were checking to make sure they hadn't set another trap. It walked forward several steps, then it must have decided it was safe, because suddenly several more wolves leaped from the fire.
"Now Charlie!" Andrew shouted.
He, Doyle, and Joe started cracking their whips, trying to keep the wolves penned against the cliff face. The wolves jumped and howled every time a whip hit home. Some of them exploded, but others just yelped in pain. Andrew stopped trying to count how many wolves came through the fire; he just hoped the snow dropped soon, otherwise they were going to have a nasty fight on their hands. Doyle flipped one wolf into the others, and several wolves erupted into ash, but more and more wolves stepped from the fire to replace them.
The huge wall of snow suddenly broke from the top of the cliff and plummeted down into the middle of the cinder wolves. Hissing and sizzling, smoke and ash filled the air. Andrew stepped back, waiting for the air to clear, and yelped in surprise when several smoking wolves jumped through the black smoke, flames flowing from their backs. They landed with snarls right in front of Andrew, paws burning through the snow. Andrew stepped quickly backward, raising his whip overhead and cracking it into the nearest wolf. It exploded, but the others rushed forward.
Andrew tried to wrap one's paw like Doyle had, but he couldn't, and before he could pull his whip back, the wolves were right on top of him. "Crap," he hissed, scrambling backwards. He wasn't sure he was fast enough to get all of them on his own. But he'd have to be because Doyle and Joe were still near the cliff face, fighting wolves of their own.
He snapped his whip out frantically, trying to hold them back. There was a rock right behind him, and the wolves were in front of him. He had nowhere to go. He was trapped. A wolf hunched down to jump, and Andrew cracked his whip at it but missed. Just as the wolf leaped toward him, Andrew heard an angry snort and saw Widow Maker galloping towards him.
"Widow Maker! No! DON'T!!!" Andrew screamed in panic, thinking of Dewmint, thinking of her torn and bloody sides. Andrew dodged the leaping wolf, firing several shots into the wolf nearest Widow Maker, but the bullets didn't even faze it.
Widow Maker reared, spinning in the air, and on his way down, he kicked out with his back hooves, nailing the wolf in the head. Flames plumed into the air, and the wolf exploded in a cloud of ash. A wolf crashed into Andrew from behind, but Andrew rolled away quickly, grabbing his knife and throwing it towards the wolf's head. The knife sunk deep into its eye, and the wolf vanished leaving a shadow of ash on the snow. Andrew quickly turned to deal with the final wolf, only to see Widow Maker's hooves crash down on its back, smashing it into cinders.
"Good job, boy!" Andrew exclaimed, and Widow Maker tossed his head proudly. Andrew looked towards the cliff just in time to see Doyle dust a wolf with a well-aimed whip blow, and one of Charlie's arrows pierce the last one, pinning it to the snow and obliterating it. Ash covered the ground making everything grey. Andrew looked around slowly, sighing in relief when he didn't see any more wolves. They had won again, and he hadn't even gotten burned.
"How many would you say came out this time?" Andrew asked as he joined Doyle and Joe.
"Hard to say," Doyle replied. "There were at least thirty before Charlie dropped the snow, and I'd say the snow took out fifteen or so. Joe?"
"Sounds about right. They were careful this time. They learned from before."
Which means… "They have some sort of collective consciousness!" Andrew exclaimed. What? "I mean, whatever one wolf sees, all the other wolves see. Even though we killed all the wolves last time, the other wolves knew what happened."
Charlie slid down the side of the cliff and joined them before Doyle or Joe had a chance to respond. We've gotta find the alpha. It's the only way. "Pecos says we need to find the alpha, their leader. Do you have any idea how to do that, Charlie?"
"There ain't no way to track the wolves, but I can find 'em. I just need time."
He's the only one who can find 'em, so we wait. There's no point in goin' on like we have been. We'll just keep fightin', and the wolves'll keep comin'. We gotta kill the alpha. Maybe we got them all. Should we check to make sure there's still more? Could.
"Doyle, can we start another fire? To see if there're still more? Be ready to douse it."
Doyle nodded and began to set up a small fire. The four of them stood around it, Joe holding a coffee pot full of snow, and Doyle lit the tinder. The smoke coughed, and the fire sputtered. For a second nothing happened, but then it started to grow and grow and suddenly fiery eyes formed.
"Douse it!" Andrew yelled, kicking snow into the flames. Joe dumped his snow, and the fire fizzled out, eyes and all. Tell Charlie to get a move on. Andrew turned to Charlie. "Pecos says to head out."
Charlie nodded, walked back to camp, slung his saddle bag over his back, and headed off into the forest. "Hey, you want me to come with you?" Andrew called.
"No," Charlie said, disappearing between the trees.
"I wish he hadn't gone off on his own," Andrew said frowning.
"He knows what he's doin'," Doyle said.
"I guess. Anyway, I need to check Widow Maker; he stomped a couple wolves."
"Did he now?" Doyle said with a wide grin. "Maybe he does like you."
"I wouldn't bet on it," Andrew said with a snort.
"What a good horse you are," Andrew said, when he found Widow Maker. "You saved me; thank you." Widow Maker sniffed. "I get it; you didn't wanna help Charlie because you wanted to make sure I was safe. I'm sorry I was mean to you. I just… I didn't want you to get hurt. And I don't care what anybody says, horses are a man's best friend."
Widow Maker hung his head. "Oh, I don't mean just any horse. You; you're the best horse a guy could have." Widow Maker pranced a bit. "Now, let me check your legs; I wanna make sure you didn't get burned." Widow Maker stood still while Andrew rubbed his legs checking for injuries. He didn't have a scratch or burn on him. "You really are like Pecos, you know?" Andrew scratched behind Widow Maker's ears and grinned at him.
He already loved Widow Maker, and he found that hard to believe. Widow Maker was mean; he was grumpy; he was high-strung and high-spirited and crazy. He was black as darkest night and had demon-red eyes. He was frankly the scariest horse to ever walk the earth, but Andrew loved him. He oozed personality; he was loyal; he was brave. Andrew rubbed his cheek against Widow Maker's cheek.
"You're a good horse," he whispered. Widow Maker whinnied happily. ENOUGH! No huggin'! Andrew's cheeks flamed red, and he rubbed Widow Maker's nose and stepped away.
When he got back to camp, he found the other horses were already munching on oats, Doyle was carving, and Joe was playing his harmonica. "What now guys?" We wait.
"We wait," Doyle said.
"I hate waiting," Andrew grumped. "We never had to wait before. It's cold. And it'd be more fun if we had a fire and some coffee." Man up, boy. It'll give you time to work with your whip. You need the practice. I did pretty good considering. If Widow Maker hadn't showed up, you'd been burnt to a crisp. Again. Andrew sighed. "I guess I'll practice my whip cracking."
"Good idea," Doyle said lazily. "When you're done with that, we'll have another lesson."
"Is it gonna be like yesterday's lesson? 'Cause that one sucked."
Doyle grinned. "Nah."
"I don't believe you," Andrew muttered. Doyle chuckled and went back to his carving.
Andrew spent several hours cracking his whip. Pecos gave him pointers from time to time, and by the time he was finished, the bush he'd been practicing on was decimated and his shoulder burned so badly he could barely move it. Not bad, boy. We might make a cowboy outta you yet. Andrew snorted. You know I've never even touched a cow, right? All in good time. Andrew rolled his eyes.
"What're you making?" Andrew asked as he sat beside Doyle. Doyle held up a carving of Widow Maker pawing the air. "It's incredible! You even made his eyes red!" Andrew exclaimed. "How do you do it?"
Doyle shrugged and blew some dust off the horse's head. "You can keep it," he said, handing it to Andrew.
"Really? Thanks! It's epic! I still have your raven carving. It went back with me along with Joe's watch and the necklace Charlie gave me."
"Ready to fight?"
"Not even a little." Broke rule number two, didn't I? You'll learn. Someday. Maybe.
Doyle slipped his knife in his pocket and stood. "We'll work on your punches," he said. "Hold up your hand." Andrew held up his hand, and Doyle punched it so fast, Andrew almost didn't even see him do it.
"Damn you're fast!"
"You gotta punch from where your hands are," Doyle explained. "When you punch, you drop your shoulder and pull back your hand. It slows you down, and tells your opponent what you're about to do." Doyle demonstrated, and Andrew immediately saw the difference. "Now you try," Doyle said. "Punch me."
Andrew aimed a punch at Doyle's head, but Doyle easily blocked him. "Try again." Doyle blocked Andrew several times. "You're still pullin' back. If I'm comin' at you, first thing you do is put up your hands so you can block me." Doyle showed Andrew how to hold his arms. "Then you strike hard and fast from where your hands are. Even better, strike me in the head with your palm. It's one of the most powerful close-up strikes."
Andrew and Doyle went back and forth for a long time before Doyle slapped him on the back and said, "That's enough for today." They had worked so hard, Andrew was sweating even though it was freezing.
I always knew Doyle was a helluva fighter, but I didn't realize he knew what he was doin'. What? I'm not sure that makes sense. Sure it does. If you say so.
