David Robbins - Yellowstone Run

“Talkin’ bears,” Hickok quipped. “Now I’ve seen everything.”

The trio halted, and the apparent leader placed his hands on his stout hips and glowered at the gunfighter.

“My name is Longat. I’m the head of our Breed.”

“My condolences,” Hickok cracked.

“Have your fun while you can,” the creature named Longat stated.

“We’ll save you for last so we can watch you suffer.”

“What are you?” Priscilla asked. “Why have you done this to us?”

Longat glanced at the creature on the left and grinned. “Humans, eh?”

“They’re pathetic,” growled the second mutation.

“If I had my Colts I’d show you pathetic, you turkey,” Hickok stated.

“What’s your name?” Longat queried.

“Hickok.”

“Keep flapping your gums, Hickok, and I’ll gut you right here,” Longat vowed, and looked at the Mormon woman. “Can’t you figure out what we are?”

“You’re mutations.”

“How perceptive,” Longat said.

All three creatures laughed.

“What do you intend to do with us?” Priscilla asked.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes.”

Longat grinned, a malevolent expression devoid of mirth. “I’d rather keep you in suspense. It’s more fun that way.”

“Where are you from?” Hickok asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” the mutation retorted.

Eagle Feather bent toward the leader. “Where’s my family? What have you done with my wife and sons?”

“Your family?” Longat repeated quizzically. He studied the Flathead for a bit, then nodded. “I remember you. You’re the one we almost crushed in the rock slide. You’re the husband of Morning Dew and those two brats.”

Fury contorted the Flathead’s countenance and he endeavored to rise, pushing upward with his tied hands. His injured left thigh, stiff and sore after so many hours of being held still, buckled and he fell onto his hands and elbows.

“Your concern for your loved ones is touching,” Longat stated, his words reeking with contempt, “Where are they?” Eagle Feather shouted, crimson flushing his features.

“Have a care, human. Control yourself or you’ll never learn their whereabouts.”

Eagle Feather rose on his knees, heedless of the warning. “Where are my wife and sons?” he shouted.

Like a striking rattler, displaying astounding speed, Longat swiftly stepped forward and backhanded the Flathead across the mouth, knocking Eagle Feather onto the grass. “Fool! We are the masters here.

Mouth off again and I’ll take you next.”

Glaring up at the mutation, Eagle Feather wiped the back of his hands over his cracked, bloody lips.

“Take him where?” Hickok asked.

“Nowhere.”

“But you just said—” Hickok began.

“I know what I said,” Longat snapped. “And you’ll comprehend the truth soon enough.”

“I can hardly wait.”

The head of the Breed looked at the timid brunette. “What’s your name?” he demanded.

The woman stared blankly at the creature but did not utter a sound.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Longat said. “What’s your name?”

“It’s Milly Odum,” Priscilla answered. “Can’t you see that she’s too scared to think straight? Why don’t you leave her alone?”

Longat took a pace and grabbed Odum by the hair. She winced and cowered, trembling uncontrollably. “Yes. You’re healthy. You’ll do.”

“What are you going to do with her?” Priscilla questioned, irate at Odum’s treatment. “She hasn’t done anything to you.”

“And she never will,” Longat stated. He released Odum and started to stalk off with the other two creatures in tow.

“Hold it!” Geronimo finally spoke up.

Longat halted and glanced back. “What now, human?”

“That’s my tomahawk you’re carrying.”

“Really?” Longat hefted the weapon, admiring the craftsmanship. “And I neglected to thank you for your gift. How careless.” He laughed and walked away.

“I can’t wait to plug that hombre,” Hickok commented.

“You’ll have to wait your turn,” Geronimo said.

Priscilla glanced from Warrior to Warrior. “What’s our next move?

How can we escape from these monsters?”

“Beats me,” Hickok replied.

“You’re supposed to be the expert,” Priscilla stated. “Is that all you can say?”

“For the time being.”

“Some tough guy you are.”

“What do you want from me, lady? The leather holdin’ our wrists is too strong to break. And even if I could, what chance would I have against all these critters when I’m unarmed?”

“Hey, look,” Geronimo said, and nodded at the opposite side of the clearing.

Hickok swung around.

The mutations had placed three of their own, all evidently dead, near the far trees. All three were lying on their backs with their hands neatly folded on their stomachs.

“I didn’t realize I killed so many,” Hickok said.

“How do you know that you were responsible?” Geronimo inquired.

“It certainly wasn’t you, pard. You were in dreamland, as I recollect.”

“Rub it in, why don’t you?”

“Gladly.”

Priscilla made a hissing noise. “You two are so exasperating! Here we are in the clutches of a pack of freaks, and all you two can do is bicker.”

“If you have a plan, I’d love to hear it,” Hickok said.

“Yeah,” Geronimo chimed in. “We’re all ears.”

“I don’t have one at the moment.”

“I figured as much,” Hickok stated. “When you do then you can criticize us.”

“You’re impossible!” Priscilla declared.

“That’s what my missus keeps sayin’,” Hickok observed. He surveyed the clearing, noting sentries had been posted at 20-foot intervals around the perimeter. Although he wanted to escape just as badly as Priscilla, what else could he do? For the time being he was stuck where they were.

“I’ll just have to wait for Achilles to come and save us,” Priscilla said.

“You’re partial to that whippersnapper, aren’t you?” Hickok said.

“None of your damn business.”

“Yep. You are.”

“Are you a mind reader?” Priscilla asked sarcastically.

“Nope. But I do know that when a woman acts contrary, she usually is hidin’ something.”

“My. I never would have guessed you’re a student a human nature.”

“And I don’t know why you’re pickin’ on me when there are heaps of real lowlifes you can vent your spleen on.”

Priscilla opened her mouth to speak, then changed her mind and averted her face. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m terrified of what will happen to us. I don’t mean to take it out on you.”

“That’s okay. I’m married.”

“So?”

“So I’m used to havin’ a female dump on me all the time.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“I am?” Hickok responded, and beamed. “Thanks.” He glanced at Geronimo. “I bet nobody ever pays you compliments like that.”

“You’ve got me there.”

Eagle Feather suddenly sat up, scowling. “This is insane! Here we are, about to die, and you act as if you don’t have a care in the world!”

“Calm down,” Hickok advised. “Gettin’ all bent all of shape won’t help us a bit. Why do you think we’re makin’ light of the situation? Because we’re crazy? We do it to keep our sanity intact, to get a handle on things until we can make our break. If you brood on it, you’ll go to pieces.”

“Warriors must take courses in combat psychology taught by an experienced Elder,” Geronimo disclosed. “We’re trained to control our reactions to brutality and danger by trying to take everything in stride.