Mojado by R Allen Chappell

Author:R Allen Chappell [Chappell, R Allen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: R. Allen Chappell LLC
Published: 2015-06-10T23:00:00+00:00

11

The Cat

By the time Thomas Begay reached the comparative safety of the ledge, he had already decided it was as far as he could make it that day and stood breathless, looking into the shadowy abyss below. Nothing moved that he could see, and he hoped his two friends had the sense to stay below rather than follow him up the steep incline in the failing light. However, he knew Harley when he was on a mission and did not rule out the two of them stumbling in after dark. Thomas watched until finally it became too black to see even the trail he had come in on. He moved to the back of the ledge and put down his meager supply sack and pulled out his blanket and a can of something to eat. The remaining piece of bacon tempted him as well, but only a fool would make a fire now. He pulled Charlie’s .38 from the shoulder holster and laid it on his blanket. It had been become a growing irritation, chafing to the point of distraction. It never seemed to bother Charlie, but then Charlie never wore it enough to be a problem. When he finished eating from the can (he still was not sure what it was), he sat in total darkness and waited for the moon. It would be a while yet. There was enough breeze sweeping up the mountain to rustle the scrub oak and mask the many little night sounds, and he inclined his head slightly that he might better hear. Still there was nothing.

He had nearly dozed off when a chill took him and he reached for his blanket. I should pick up the gun before it gets in the dirt, he thought; Charlie wouldn’t like that. Drowsily, he felt for the gun and cursed the darkness, “Sonofabitch,” he said under his breath and groped for the revolver.

A calm voice whispered, almost next to him, “I got it already, esse.” There was an unseen grin behind the words… then everything went completely black—not the black that comes from loss of light, but rather the dark and all-consuming vacuum that swallows consciousness.

When at last Thomas arrived at some semblance of rational thought, his head throbbed, and there was a warm seep of blood running into his ear. He tried to move but found himself bound with thin strips of his own blanket, and he had been shoved nearly to the brink of that great nothingness below. The moon was on the rise—a slightly thicker slice than the previous night—along with a brilliant array of stars, and they cast just enough light that Thomas could make out the mojado, who rocked back on his heels and was no more than six feet away. There was a glimmer of teeth as he took bites from a can. He carefully took another small sausage from the point of the big knife and chewed reflectively before wiping the blade clean. He felt at his belt and

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