Mississippi Mayhem (A Davy Crockett Western Book 4) by David Robbins

Author:David Robbins
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: davy crockett, american explorers, western ebook, david thompson, american frontier fiction, david robbins, early us frontier adventures, frontier fiction ebook
Publisher: Piccadilly Publishing

Chapter Seven

Davy Crockett snapped his rifle to his shoulder. Just in time, he realized that the warrior wearing the antler headdress was hurrying toward the bird mound, not toward Hoodoo Tom and him.

More shouts rose from the crest. Glancing up, Davy discovered that the Old Ones were pointing at the sky, not downward. Why would they do that? Pivoting, he scanned the starry canopy but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Then a faint shriek wavered on the stiff breeze. The Old Ones fell silent. In the remote distance a speck appeared, a speck that expanded rapidly in size, blotting out stars. Its shrieks grew correspondingly louder.

Davy gaped as the ebony outline of an enormous bird took definite shape, a bird so gargantuan that it defied belief.

The creature swooped in low over the bird mound. The glow cast by the fire etched a flashing image of wings as long as canoes, of a body as thick around as a bear’s, of a great hooked beak and talons the size of a man’s hand.

“It can’t be!” Davy gasped.

The bird banked to make a pass over the village, voicing another unearthly cry.

Hoodoo Tom took an awestruck step backward. Forgetting himself, he flung an arm skyward and exclaimed, “The piasa! I told you! I was right about it!”

Davy lunged to clamp a hand over the trapper’s mouth, but the harm had already been done.

The warrior moving toward the bird mound spun, spied them, and charged, voicing a war whoop that was drowned out by yet another thunderous shriek from the piasa or Thunderbird or whatever it was.

Davy palmed his tomahawk. There was still a chance. If he could dispatch the warrior without alerting the Old Ones up on the mound, his search for Flavius could continue. Risking a glance at the crest, he was momentarily riveted by the spectacle of the Thunderbird hovering fifty or sixty feet above the mound, its mighty wings beating fiercely, its talons extended, as if it were about to plunge straight down at prey. Incredibly, the Old Ones were not fleeing for their lives.

Insight flooded through Davy in a rush of cold terror. The bird mound! The feathered robes! He should have seen it sooner! The Old Ones weren’t fleeing because they wanted the piasa there. The bonfire, the pounding of the drums, the loud chanting, they were all designed to lure the creature to the village. They were conducting a sacrifice! But the offering was certainly not one of their own.

Flavius! Davy thought, taking a few swift steps, forgetting all about the onrushing warrior. The blast of a rifle brought reality crashing down on his shoulders.

The warrior clutched at his chest, staggered a few yards, and toppled, voicing a vibrant death wail with his last breath. Up on the mound, the faces of the Old Ones nearest the rim bent down. And the piasa, with a cry different from its hunting shriek, wheeled abruptly up into the darkness. Gaining altitude with astounding speed, it flew to the northwest.

It’s leaving, Davy realized.

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