Jon Reskind - Caesar conquers book III

Again she started forward and stopped at his warning growl, the raging flame in his glowing, amberish eyes undeniable!

"Something's wrong, Jean!" Carol gasped. "Look at his eyes!"

"I-I know… almost as if he were filled with hatred… for us…!" the young blonde wife incredulously choked. "B-But why? He… he must know we couldn't help what they were doing to us… doesn't he…?"

"God almighty!" Carol hissed. "I don't know, Jean… I don't know! L-Let's try to put our clothes on. M-Maybe, he'll calm down by then…"

It was the supple brunette's first naked move toward her things that raised the next warning growl from the huge animal, freezing her into motionlessness. A second growl to the grey, wolfish beast brought the latter up behind Carol, while Caesar did the same to Jean, both animals nudging their wet noses against the girl's naked backs until the pair of young wives climbed unsteadily onto their feet. Then, Caesar moved in front of them to lead the way, while the grey one remained behind them.

"He-He wants us to follow him!" Jean reasoned, looking toward her friend.

"W-Without our clothes?" Carol questioned, a little tremor of fear rippling over her as the wolfish beast behind them gave off a menacing growl.

Jean caught hold of her naked friend's hand, persuasively tugging it as she began to move forward, confident that her animal-lover would never, never harm her, no matter what. "Come on, Carol. It's what he wants us to do… follow him. Come on…!"

"Oh… oh God!" the willowy brunette shivered, seeing for the first time the small-mouthed opening off the main cave that Caesar was moving toward. "Good Lord, Jean! Wh-Where is he taking us… and why, without our clothes…?"

What skill Mark Blakely had in wild country had been taught him by his dead father. All the same, he thought, as he angrily berated Link Morgan to himself, any boy-scout could have seen where the police chief had left the others and headed toward the ravine that eventually led to Red-Heart Hill… the very area the big man suggested they by-pass! Why…?

Christ! Was it possible? An ambush, maybe? Hell, he'd shamed him before his friends, just as his father had… but even a cut-throat of Morgan's caliber wasn't so stupid as to think he could get away with a second time… was he…? Yeah… he'd been that raging mad back at the inn… still it hardly seemed feasible…

"What do you think he's up to, Mark?" Steve questioned from a few yards behind. "Frankly, I don't like it! That bastard would kill you as quick as he'd buy you a drink!"

"Quicker, maybe," Mark replied, his keen eyes ever alert to the vantage points above and ahead of them. "Better keep your rifle handy. It pays in this country."

"Shit, I don't know anything about this damned thing," the red-bearded writer said, looking down at the weapon cradled in his crooked arm, as if it were some frightening thing that might explode all by itself any second. "I'd be better off with a sling-shot."

Mark quietly laughed, welcoming the tension-breaking remark. "All the same, buddy, better keep it handy," he advised as something ahead moved, catching his keen eye. "Wait!" he hissed, reining up.

"What is it?" Steve half-whispered.

"Not sure… but it looks like a horse… Morgan's horse!" Mark said. "Come on! Let's take a look!"

It took Mark only a matter of a minute or better to determine that the animal was, in fact, the police chief's mount, and a quick examination of the saddle-bag produced the broken-down rifle, an uneasy feeling squirming through him at the find…

"Look here, Mark! Foot-prints digging into the bank and going upward!" Steve called. "At least, that's what they look like to me…"

The young deputy sheriff went over to examine them. No question but what they were footprints, all right… but those of more than one person… more like three…!

"What do you make of it?" the writer questioned.

"Let's go up and find out," Mark replied. "This is the back-end of Red-Heart, and hollowed out with a maze of caves and tunnels, one leading into another! Used to fool around here when I was a kid. You know… I figured this to be a perfect place for the wild-pack to hole-up right from the beginning… Better keep that rifle ready, Steve. Do the best you can with it, and stay close. Unless I miss my guess, there's a cave entrance right up there…!"

Steve couldn't resist hauling out paper and pencil and making a few fast notes before following his friend, clawing his way up the steep embankment. Shit, the young writer thought, the situations he got himself into just to get a story…

"I was right!" Mark hissed back at him. "There's a cave here. Move as quietly as you can and don't talk once we're inside. The sound reverberates!"

Steve nodded, clumsily fumbling with the rifle as Mark reached out and hauled him upright onto the narrow ledge. Then, with a finger-over-lips gesture, the deputy moved inside, almost immediately stopping and lifting his nose in the air. Steve did the same… Christ, there was no question! Pot! He'd smelled enough of it to know that odor anywhere…!

Mark was silently pointing toward what looked like flickering light around the bend ahead, and his friend nodded, a sensation of excitement rippling through him. Fuck! What a story this was going to make…!

To the young deputy sheriff moving in trained stealth, the entire picture had taken on a specific meaning, having to do with the drug situation Crescent Valley had been confronted with for too long! But as he rounded the arch in the cave where the illumination and heavier marijuana smoke were coming from, his rifle at ready, he was totally unprepared for the sight he saw!

"Christ almighty!" he choked out at the lifeless form of Link Morgan sprawled on the earthen floor! Quickly he moved forward, dropping to his knees to listen at the big man's stilled chest!

"W-Well?" Steve managed. "Is he…?"

Mark let off a heavy sigh. Then, he nodded. "He is, all right… and you can see how… his throat!"

"Goddamn!" Steve blurted, moving closer, completely ignoring what the deputy was looking at… Morgan's genitals totally exposed from his open pants-front but unharmed. "The wild-pack, Mark? Did they do it, you think…?"

"I-I don't know what to think!" the young deputy sheriff answered as Steve turned to see him on his haunches amongst the three soiled mattresses, examining what looked like clothing… woman's clothing! "These… these look like… but, but they can't be, of course…!"

Steve had already squatted beside his friend, staring at a white blouse with sun-flower designs… the exact replica of one he had paid a seamstress to make for Carol on her birthday! Hesitantly, he picked it up, examining it closer. Suddenly, he blurted: "This is Carol's! Shit, Mark! No question! This is Carol's blouse!"

"God almighty!" Mark choked. "I thought these things looked like Jean's… and if you're sure that's Carol's, there's no question…!"

"Christ, Mark! What's going on? Morgan dead, his throat ripped out, the girls' clothes…?" the red-bearded writer gasped, clutching the deputy's tensed arm.

"I-I don't know, Steve… but we better find out in a hurry!" Mark said, bolting to his feet. "Whatever it is, the girls are involved… and so, I'm afraid, is that Goddamned Caesar and his wild pack…!"

Jean had no way of knowing how far they had nakedly followed her animal-lover along the darkened tunnels, turn-offs, and ever-climbing way! Nor did she have any idea in God's world where he was leading them, but she would have followed him, regardless. Several times, in the near-ink darkness, she stumbled, once falling onto her knees, Carol, close behind her, helping her to her feet again.