Bloodshed of Eagles by William W. Johnstone & J. A. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone & J. A. Johnstone [Johnstone, William W. & Johnstone, J. A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General, Western, Western stories, Westerns, Colorado
ISBN: 9780786028733
Publisher: Pinnacle
Published: 2009-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

They had been on the scout for four days when they saw several buzzards making circles over one spot.

“You see that?” Dorman asked, pointing to the birds.

“Yeah, I see them.”

“There sure are a lot of them. Whatever is dead up there is bigger than a rabbit, or a deer,” Dorman said.

The two riders slapped their legs against the sides of their horses to hurry them into a trot, and they closed the distance in just over a minute. They could smell the stench long before they got there. They saw the wagon first; then, as they drew closer, they saw the two dead mules. Wolves had been at the mules and much of the flesh was eaten away, leaving exposed rib cages and entrails…There was an arrow protruding from each of the mules, and three other arrows sticking out of the wagon.

“Damn,” Dorman said. “That is one powerful stink. What is it, do you suppose? Prospectors?”

“I don’t know, I don’t see any bodies,” Falcon said. “Wait a minute, look at this.”

On the canvas of the wagon, not obvious as they had approached, but now clearly visible, were stenciled words:

COLORADO HOME GUARD

“That’s the wagon we’ve been looking for,” Falcon said, dismounting and hurrying over to look into the back. “The guns aren’t here. But I didn’t think they would be.”

“Whoever took ’em, it wasn’t Injuns,” Dorman said. He pointed to the mules. “And as nearly as I can tell, the mules weren’t killed in any sort of a fight. It looks like they have been shot through the head. Don’t think the Indians would have done that.”

“I think you are right. Harris evidently decided he would be better off without the wagon,” Falcon said. “These wagons normally take a team of six, they’ve taken four of the mules with them. Two for each gun.”

“It ain’t goin’ to be hard to follow them,” Dorman said. “Pullin’ them caissons like they are, why, they might as well be leavin’ us maps. Depends on how long a head start they have.”

“From the looks, and the smell of the mules, I would say we are about six or seven days behind them,” Falcon said.

“Seems about right,” Dorman said. “Listen, Falcon, you seen all you need to see here? I got to get away from this stink, else I’m goin’ to start pukin’.”

“I’ve seen all I need to see,” Falcon agreed.

“Let’s get on out of here then.”

Falcon nodded, and the two rode away, following the clear trail left by the gun caissons.

It came up a thunderstorm that afternoon, and as Falcon and Dorman rode through the rain, it slashed against them and ran in cold rivulets off the folds and creases of their ponchos. It blew in sheets in front of them, turned the trail into mud, and whipped into the trees and bushes.Wicked forks of lightning were followed immediately by thunder, snapping shrilly at first, then rolling through the valleys, picking up the resonance of the hollows and becoming an echoing boom.

“The rain is washing the trail away,” Dorman complained.

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