to read too.”
Byron, thinking it would be easier now, said, “Alonzo, you take point and Ezra, you drop back on drag. I wouldn't be surprised if the woman shot an arrow or two into our main group, because she's smart. As we ride, keep your eyes open for any movement. An hour before dusk, I want our point man to select a good place to spend the night and wait for us to catch up. It'll be a cold camp tonight, too.”
Alonzo moved out about a hundred meters and started following the tracks. He wasn't real worried about a woman, because the Wolf People had very few women warriors and he didn't accept this one as his equal. The tracks led through a small grove of mixed trees and he kept his eyes scanning the countryside, expecting an arrow from the trees any second. His eyes should have been on the trail.
He heard a loud twang , felt something hit him in the chest, and his horse stopped moving. He looked down to see he'd ridden into a limb, or had he? Pain abruptly began to radiate up his neck and he gave a loud piteous scream, both of fear and pain. His hands were now on the sharpened stakes, feeling the stickiness of his own blood, as well as the texture of the wood. He watched crimson flow down his chest to his stomach, only to collect on his crude saddle. The sweet coppery smell of his blood filled the air. His scream was now continuous, the pain growing.
“Move forward and do the job now! Spread out and keep your eyes open. The women are to be taken alive.” Byron said, expecting Alonzo had taken an arrow.
At first Byron thought the warrior has ridden into a limb, until he saw the bloody sharpened stakes protruding from his back. Alonzo was no longer screaming, but whimpering like a wounded animal. His lungs are injured, so he'll die, Byron thought.
Nearing the man, the leader said, “His wound is fatal.”
“H . . . help me.” the wounded man pleaded with both his voice and eyes.
The men gathered around and one asked, “What in the hell kind of trap is that one?”
“It's ancient, and the old Indians of the 1800's used them all the time.”Ora said and then added, “Tension keeps the limb pulled back until the trip wire is thrown, then the limb swings forward to impale anyone in it's path. It's a simple, but deadly device.”
“Hel . . .p me.” Blood was now running from the wounded man's mouth, nose and ears. A wheezing sound was heard when he spoke and his body was shaking.
Byron rode to the man's side and pulled his skinning knife. He grabbed Alonzo's hair and pulled his head back as the man pleaded, “Help . . . me. Don't kill —”
The blade flashed once and a fountain of blood shot high into the air. Alonzo began to cough, his eyes grew large, and a few seconds later the light in his pupils died. His body gave a mighty quiver as he died.
Turning to his men, Byron said, “His injury was fatal and there was absolutely no hope. Now, Lum, remove any gear on his body, all of it. Seth, once the gear from his body has been removed, take his horse and supplies. We're wasting time.”
The horse was skittish from the smell of blood and after pulling her out from under the man, Alonzo remained suspended a foot or so above the ground by the limb. Seth then pulled an old shirt from the dead man's gear and wiped the blood from the saddle.
It was then another scream was heard behind them, and all knew Ezra had trouble on his hands.
“Move to the drag man and do the job now.” Byron ordered, and then kicked his horse into a gallop.
When they neared Ezra, he was holding his bow, arrow ready, and he swung his weapon toward the approaching group. When he recognized his friends, he lowered the weapon.
Byron shook his head. Ezra had three arrow wounds, but none looked to be fatal. This was done on purpose, to slow us down; well, by God, it'll not work, the leader thought. I can't kill this one, because he's not fatally injured, but we can make a travois and take him with us.
They all dismounted and
Byron, thinking it would be easier now, said, “Alonzo, you take point and Ezra, you drop back on drag. I wouldn't be surprised if the woman shot an arrow or two into our main group, because she's smart. As we ride, keep your eyes open for any movement. An hour before dusk, I want our point man to select a good place to spend the night and wait for us to catch up. It'll be a cold camp tonight, too.”
Alonzo moved out about a hundred meters and started following the tracks. He wasn't real worried about a woman, because the Wolf People had very few women warriors and he didn't accept this one as his equal. The tracks led through a small grove of mixed trees and he kept his eyes scanning the countryside, expecting an arrow from the trees any second. His eyes should have been on the trail.
He heard a loud twang , felt something hit him in the chest, and his horse stopped moving. He looked down to see he'd ridden into a limb, or had he? Pain abruptly began to radiate up his neck and he gave a loud piteous scream, both of fear and pain. His hands were now on the sharpened stakes, feeling the stickiness of his own blood, as well as the texture of the wood. He watched crimson flow down his chest to his stomach, only to collect on his crude saddle. The sweet coppery smell of his blood filled the air. His scream was now continuous, the pain growing.
“Move forward and do the job now! Spread out and keep your eyes open. The women are to be taken alive.” Byron said, expecting Alonzo had taken an arrow.
At first Byron thought the warrior has ridden into a limb, until he saw the bloody sharpened stakes protruding from his back. Alonzo was no longer screaming, but whimpering like a wounded animal. His lungs are injured, so he'll die, Byron thought.
Nearing the man, the leader said, “His wound is fatal.”
“H . . . help me.” the wounded man pleaded with both his voice and eyes.
The men gathered around and one asked, “What in the hell kind of trap is that one?”
“It's ancient, and the old Indians of the 1800's used them all the time.”Ora said and then added, “Tension keeps the limb pulled back until the trip wire is thrown, then the limb swings forward to impale anyone in it's path. It's a simple, but deadly device.”
“Hel . . .p me.” Blood was now running from the wounded man's mouth, nose and ears. A wheezing sound was heard when he spoke and his body was shaking.
Byron rode to the man's side and pulled his skinning knife. He grabbed Alonzo's hair and pulled his head back as the man pleaded, “Help . . . me. Don't kill —”
The blade flashed once and a fountain of blood shot high into the air. Alonzo began to cough, his eyes grew large, and a few seconds later the light in his pupils died. His body gave a mighty quiver as he died.
Turning to his men, Byron said, “His injury was fatal and there was absolutely no hope. Now, Lum, remove any gear on his body, all of it. Seth, once the gear from his body has been removed, take his horse and supplies. We're wasting time.”
The horse was skittish from the smell of blood and after pulling her out from under the man, Alonzo remained suspended a foot or so above the ground by the limb. Seth then pulled an old shirt from the dead man's gear and wiped the blood from the saddle.
It was then another scream was heard behind them, and all knew Ezra had trouble on his hands.
“Move to the drag man and do the job now.” Byron ordered, and then kicked his horse into a gallop.
When they neared Ezra, he was holding his bow, arrow ready, and he swung his weapon toward the approaching group. When he recognized his friends, he lowered the weapon.
Byron shook his head. Ezra had three arrow wounds, but none looked to be fatal. This was done on purpose, to slow us down; well, by God, it'll not work, the leader thought. I can't kill this one, because he's not fatally injured, but we can make a travois and take him with us.
They all dismounted and
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