David Robbins - Yellowstone Run

But not his companions.

Hickok and Iron Wolf were both in the path of the bulls, the gunman on the left, the Flathead on the right. They had mere moments to react.

“No!” Iron Wolf cried, and frantically beaded for the bank.

“Try this!” Hickok shouted, and fired the Henry twice.

Neither buffalo slowed. The bull on the right tilted its broad head and slashed in a vicious arc, its right horn catching the Flathead War Chief squarely in the chest. Iron Wolf screamed as he was impaled, his arms thrashing wildly. The buffalo flipped its head and sent the human sailing into the river.

Hickok was trying to get off a third shot when the second bull struck him. The buffalo whipped its bony forehead upward, striking the gunfighter with the force of a battering ram. Hickok catapulted head over heels through the air and came down within two feet of Blade.

Leaving only Achilles. He was in the path of the bull that had struck Hickok, and he brazenly stood his ground, disregarding the other buffalo entirely. His acute mind worked lightning fast. He knew he couldn’t hope to avoid the beast, not if the bull stayed on its current course. But what if the brute deviated by even a couple of feet? So thinking, he gripped the left border of his red cloak and extended his left arm to the side, flapping the cloak as he did.

The bull took the bait. It swerved at the red object and butted with its forehead in the same manner as it would during the rutting season when contending with rival males for the right to mount a female.

Achilles felt the cloak sway as the buffalo charged by within inches of his body. Water splashed onto his face on his eyes, and for a few seconds the world blurred. He stood stock still, though, until he was satisfied the bull had continued to the south, then wiped his right forearm across his eyes, restoring his vision, and rotated to the left with the intention of aiding Hickok.

Others were already there.

Blade and Geronimo were assisting the sputtering gunman in rising, each supporting Hickok under an arm. Amazingly, the gunfighter had retained his grip on the Henry.

“Is he okay?” Achilles inquired.

“I’m fine!” Hickok responded, then coughed and spat water.

Achilles glanced at the bank, where the herd was beginning to thin out, then hurried to the Flathead.

Floating on his stomach, his arms outspread, Iron Wolf wasn’t moving.

’The water around him had been stained crimson. His M-16 was nowhere in evidence.

“Iron Wolf?” Achilles said, and reached out with his left hand. He gently rolled the War Chief over, and one look served to confirm the worst. A gaping cavity in the center of the Flathead’s chest revealed the ruptured flesh and the punctured heart underneath. Blood still seeped from the hole.

“How is he?” Blade asked.

Achilles looked at the giant and shook his head.

Frowning, Blade watched the last few dozen buffaloes run to the south, and when the final straggler had gone by he nodded at Geronimo and together they conveyed Hickok toward the bank.

“I can do it myself,” the gunman stated.

“Don’t exert yourself until we’ve checked for broken bones,” Blade said.

“You were lucky that bull didn’t snag you on its horns,” Geronimo mentioned.

Hickok glanced at Iron Wolf, his eyes on the crimson-rimmed cavity. “I reckon I was,” he agreed softly.

“Should we bury him?” Geronimo queried.

“We’ll dig a shallow grave,” Blade replied. “Achilles, haul the body out of the water.”

“Right away,” the aspiring Warrior responded, and bent to grab the Flathead by the back of the War Chiefs buckskin shirt.

“Another mission gets off to a flying start,” Blade muttered. “I wish we could have saved him.”

“I thought you took him for a power monger,” Hickok remarked. “If he was, then good riddance.”

“We don’t know for sure that he was,” Blade said. “He might have just been bigoted. By bringing him with us on this run, I’d hoped to uncover his true character, to learn whether he was a threat to Star. Now we’ll never know.”

They came to the bank and stepped from the river, dripping water.

“You know,” Hickok stated as his friends lowered him to the ground, “I’ve probably read every Western in the Family Library, including all the history books on the Old West. I’ve read about buffaloes, all about how the Plains Indians used the buffalo for everything from food to clothing. And I read about how the buffalo hunters killed almost all of the bison off. I always wondered what it would be like to meet one of the contrary critters face to face.” He paused. “Now I know.”

Blade knelt. “How do you feel?”

The gunfighter stretched his back, then probed his right side, feeling his ribs. “I’m a mite banged up and sore as the dickens, but I don’t think any bones are broken.”

“Take it easy for a while.”

“I’m fine, I tell you.”

“That was an order,” Blade said, and stood, gazing to the south at the vanishing herd. A cloud of dust hung in the air over the buffaloes, marking their location.

Achilles deposited the Flathead a few feet away. “How will his death affect the mission?”

“It won’t,” Blade answered. “We’ll still search for the Bear People, or whatever they are, and make certain they never attack another settlement or town.”

“All we have to do is live long enough to find them,” Geronimo commented.

“Stay frosty,” Blade continued. “Those bison were just the beginning.

Yellowstone abounded in wildlife before the war, and I’d guess that the animal populations have increased since then. There undoubtedly are a lot of wolves, mountain lions, and grizzly bears in this region.”

“Grizzlies?” Hickok repeated. “I’ve heard they can be nasty when they want to.”

“Compared to the black bears we’re accustomed to seeing around the Home, grizzlies are gargantuan,” Blade said. “So everyone stay alert at all times.”

Hickok rubbed his chest. “You don’t have to tell me twice. I took enough of a beating to last me a year.”

“I’ll start digging a grave,” Achilles offered, and surveyed the nearby brush for a suitable limb he could use. He spotted a broken limb 40 feet away and went to retrieve it.

“Did you notice how Achilles avoided that bull?” Geronimo asked.

“I saw him,” Blade replied. “That took a lot of courage.”

“He may be the most conceited person I’ve ever known, but he has nerves of steel,” Geronimo conceded.

“What did he do?” Hickok queried. “I didn’t see it.”

“You were busy doing your imitation of a fish,” Geronimo said, and grinned. “A pitiful imitation, I might add.”

“You wouldn’t think my little dip in the river was so ninny if that buffalo had walloped you.”

“Those of us with half a brain know how to avoid a rampaging buffalo.”

“You’ve got that right,” Hickok declared.

“What? That I know how to avoid a buffalo?”

“No. That you’ve got half a brain.”

Blade squinted up at the sun. “We still have six hours of daylight left. After we bury Iron Wolf we’ll head north.”

“When do you expect the Civilized Zone troopers to reach us?”

Geronimo inquired.

“Not for three or four days, at least. Even longer if they have to come all the way from Cheyenne. I doubt they’ll reach us in time to be of any help against the creatures we’re after.”

“We can get the job done by ourselves. We don’t need them,” Hickok said.

“Speak for yourself,” Geronimo replied. “I’d like to have all the help I can get.”

Achilles returned bearing the limb. “This should do nicely,” he said, and set to work, using the thick, jagged end of the branch to scoop out the topsoil.