Hunted by William W. Johnstone Page B

sergeants, at least. He said some of them were pretty beat up looking, like in time-worn.”
    â€œWhat are you saying, Tom?”
    â€œMunson said it. Mercenaries.”
    â€œWere they armed?”
    â€œPistols only, as far as Munson could tell. He said they all wore them in shoulder holsters or those military type rigs that fit on the chest.”
    â€œMercenaries?” Then Darry popped into his mind. “Could they be bounty hunters, Tom?”
    â€œNow . . . that’s an interesting thought, Rick. That hadn’t entered my mind. But who would they be after?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Rick lied. “They may have received information about some fugitive hiding out in this area. It has happened before.”
    â€œOr they may be marching in to join up with Sam Parish and his bunch.”
    â€œThat’s an idea, for sure. I’ll check them out, Tom.”
    â€œWhen you do, boy, you go in armed. Not much spooks Munson, but this bunch did.”
    â€œI’ll keep that in mind.”
    After Tom hung up, Rick sat for a few moments, mentally digesting the latest news. There was no doubt in his mind—none at all—about who those dozen or so men were after.
    He recalled Darry’s words: “If blood samples were ever taken from me and put under a microscope, it would be all over for me. With the new equipment science has, the DNA testing and all that, I’d be placed in a cell and kept there for the rest of my life. If the doctors hadn’t been in such a rush for warm, breathing bodies during World War Two, they would have spotted the difference. By the time Korea came around, I had changed my name, again, and was living in Canada, up in the Yukon.”
    â€œHave you leveled with me about everything, Darry?” Rick asked.
    Darry smiled. “Not quite. But you’re not ready for the rest of it. All in time, Rick.”
    Sitting in his small living room, Rick thought: But you just may be running out of time, Darry. And after all you convinced me of today, what else could there be? What else could you possibly tell me?
    * * *
    The faint call of a wolf echoed from the wilderness.
    â€œWhat the hell was that?” Stormy said, looking around her, her eyes trying to pierce the darkness. “Coyotes?”
    â€œBeautiful, isn’t it?” Ki said, stirring the beans bubbling in a small pot. “No, that wasn’t a coyote. The wolves are slowly making a comeback in the wilderness.”
    Ki looked at her friend and colleague and smiled. “Relax, Stormy. They won’t hurt you. The big bad wolf is a myth. There has never been a documented, proven account in the United States of a healthy, full-grown wolf ever, unprovoked, attacking a human being. Wolves shy away from contact with humans. They’ve learned, over the centuries, that humans are not to be trusted to behave in a rational way.”
    â€œI forgot about your working with Craig. That was a good series you did. Some beautiful film.”
    â€œWolves are important. I disagree with Craig about hunters. He thinks all hunting should be banned. That will never happen and it shouldn’t happen. But the wolf certainly should have a place in the wild.”
    â€œI think hunting is cruel and barbaric,” Stormy said, pouring a ready-mixed martini from a small can. She’d bought a case of the ready-mixed drinks to take along.
    The outfitter had shaken his head in disbelief at all the equipment the women had bought. Took three packhorses to tote it all. Very gentle packhorses.
    â€œIt serves a purpose, Stormy. A very important purpose. I hunted as a kid. I’ve killed deer. I can dress out a deer just as well as anybody.”
    This was a side of Ki that Stormy did not know. “Why did you stop hunting?”
    â€œI no longer needed the meat to survive. I came from a very large family, Stormy. A very large family on a very small farm. A lot of times, we wouldn’t