David Robbins - Yellowstone Run

“You never know,” Blade responded, his tone totally lacking conviction.

“If I ask you a question, will you promise me not to laugh?”

Surprised by the query, Blade looked at the novice. “What’s your question?”

“Why is it that all I can think of today is Priscilla? I mean, I hardly know the woman. We talked for a few hours. That’s all. And yet I can’t seem to get her out of my mind. I keep hearing the silken music of her voice and the cheery sparkle of her laugh. And when I close my eyes, I see every chiseled contour of her radiant beauty. Why?”

“You missed your calling,” Blade said, the corners of his mouth curling upward.

“What?”

“You should be a poet.”

“I’m serious, Blade.”

“And so am I,” the giant replied, and sighed. “Do you want the truth?”

“I would, expect nothing less from you.”

“You’re in love.”

Achilles snorted. “I hardly know the woman,” he reiterated skeptically.

“Tell that to your hormones.”

The man in the red cloak digested the news for half a minute. “Do you feel the same way about Jenny?”

Blade smiled happily. “Yeah. Which astounds me sometimes.”

“Why?”

“After all these years, even after having a son, I still love her as much as I did when we were first married,” Blade said. He chuckled. “Correction. I love her even more. When a relationship is based in love and nurtured by wisdom, the affection is bound to grow.”

“You sound like Plato.”

“Who do you think told it to me?”

“I wonder if she feels the same way about me,” Achilles remarked.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you mere. With a woman there’s no telling.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Men and women are two distinct varieties of the same species. We’re flip sides of the same coin. Although we can love one another and become as close as it’s possible for human beings to be, complete comprehension between a man and a woman is impossible. We’re essentially different from women, Achilles, and anyone who tells you otherwise doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Achilles stared at the giant. “Are those Plato’s words?”

“They’re mine,” Blade said. “Don’t get me wrong. I love Jenny with all my heart and soul, and I flatter myself that I know her better than anyone else does. But I still can’t predict her every thought and word, and I doubt I’ll ever be able to do so. That’s part of the mystique of romance.”

“What about those who claim that men and women are basically the same except for their sex organs?”

“They’re morons. In every part of our being, in our personalities, our minds, and our bodies, we’re different from women. Live with one for a while and you’ll see what I mean.

“I hope I do, one day.”

Blade stared ahead at the pass, a defile averaging ten yards in width and 20 feet in height, its walls composed of smooth, solid rock. He leaned forward and peered at the soil, seeking tracks. He entered the pass first, engrossed in scrutinizing the dirt, wondering if the Bear People would continue to the west on the opposite side of the mountain range. He was grateful the creatures were in such a hurry. Otherwise, he’d have to worry about the possibility of an ambush.

As it turned out, be should have worried anyway.

Blade realized his error the next moment when he heard a feral snarl from overhead and glanced up in lime to see a bestial form hurtling toward him.

The sun was just rising above the eastern horizon when Hickok obtained his first clear look at his abductors. He’d been carried for hours, the creatures covering mile after mile, over hills and mountains and along a winding valley, and he’d expected them to keep going during the day. At dawn, however, they moved into, a stand of trees until they arrived at a spacious clearing, and the next thing Hickok knew, he was being unceremoniously deposited on the ground. He landed on his back, grunting from the discomfort, and glanced around.

Geronimo, Eagle Feather, Priscilla Wendling, and another woman were being dumped to the turf a few feet away.

Hickok stared at the creatures doing the dumping, the short hairs at the base of his neck prickling. He automatically reached for his Colts, groping from holster to holster, forgetting the guns were gone.

The Bear People, as the Flatheads referred to the mutations, did indeed possess an unnatural combination of human and bearlike trails. There were 37 of the creatures walking around, all adults, the majority males.

They stood between six and six and a half feet tall and weighed in the neighborhood of 210 pounds. Their shoulders were wide, their bodies endowed with rippling muscles, their legs perpetually bowlegged, and they walked with an odd, stooped-over posture. Bedraggled black hair hung to their shoulders and covered their shoulders, upper arms, abdomens, and legs. In contrast, their faces and upper chest were pale and hairless.

And what visages! Low, sloping foreheads were rimmed by beetle brows that protruded above dark eyes. The nostrils were long and rounded, much like the nostrils on bears, and their cheeks were concave. Pointed teeth glistened when they opened their thick-lipped mouths.

Other than deer-hide loin-clothes and skimpy tops covering the pendulous breasts of the females, they were naked.

Hickok struggled to a sitting position and glanced at his companions.

Geronimo was also sitting up. Priscilla lay on her right side, gawking at the mutations. Eagle Feather was intently scanning the clearing. The other woman, a brunette wearing beige slacks and a green blouse, had fallen to her knees and appeared to be too terrified to move.

The gunfighter focused on his best friend. “Well, this is another fine mess you’ve gotten me into.”

“Me?” Geronimo responded. “What did I do?”

“You dozed off on guard duty and let these critters conk you on the noggin’.”

“I was wide awake, I’ll have you know.”

Hickok grinned. “Oh, really? And what happened to those great Injun senses and reflexes I keep hearin’ about?”

“They took me by surprise,” Geronimo said lamely while testing the leather thongs binding his wrists.

“I recollect you tellin’ me that no one can sneak up on an Indian,” Hickok said, and smirked.

“You misunderstood.”

“I did?”

“Yeah. I meant no white man.”

“Is that a fact? At least I got off a few shots. What did you do? Breathe on them?”

Priscilla leaned toward them, glaring. “How can you two joke at a time like this?” she demanded angrily. “We’ve been captured by mutants!”

“No foolin’?” Hickok responded.

“Where are they?” Eagle Feather interjected.

“Who?” the gunfighter asked.

“My wife and sons. I don’t see them,” Eagle Feather stated, his emotional anguish transparent.

“The creatures might have your family elsewhere,” Geronimo said.

“I pray they do,” Eagle Feather said.

Priscilla pulled her knees up to her chest, then rolled onto her shins.

“You’ve got to get us out of here,” she told the gunman.

Hickok snickered. “Yeah. Right. I’ll sprout wings and fly all of us out.”

“There must be something you can do!”

A brittle laugh came from off to the left. “There’s nothing any of you can do,” a surly voice declared. “The sooner you accept your fate, the better.”

Hickok twisted, his eyes narrowing.

Three of the creatures were strolling toward the captives. The mutation in the lead, the tallest of them all, bore a jagged scar on the right side of his face, from the corner of his eyes to the tip of his pronounced chin. The scar distinguished him from his comrades, and so did the tomahawk he clutched in his huge right hand. His fingernails, like all those of the Bear People, were over an inch long and slightly curved.