Tarnished Chapter 13 (Patreon)

John didn’t know who this Jacob fellow was, but he had to have some presence about him to con forty-plus workers into following him in the wrong direction.

Considering what he knew so far, he suspected that might be deliberate misdirection to throw anyone off his trail. If John were trying to stay out of sight, he would have done the same. Head out East, and then turn North until he was heading back West. Well outside the city and any possible spotters.

Being hours old, the trail was likely gone but he had to ask. “Either of you any good at tracking?”

Seline shook her head, while Sheriff Wyatt just glared at him. “Boy, do I look like a hunter?”

John almost laughed at the ‘boy’ comment. He was likely three times Blackwood’s age despite the fact he looked barely twenty-five. A very hard-lived twenty-five, but still younger than Blackwood looked.

The serum may have extended his lifespan or slowed his aging, but it didn’t take away the weight of time. John also didn’t carry himself like a typical young man, all swagger and confidence. He carried himself like someone who had seen too much and been forced to do even more. Blackwood had a similar bearing.

“Fine, you two stay here, I’m going to ride East and see if I can spot where they turned off.”

The Sheriff grunted. “You think they doubled back? Makes sense I suppose. But why go east in the first place?”

“To hide something,” Seline guessed.

John nodded. “I suspect Jacob may be working for whoever is snatching miners. For what purpose, I can’t say. But it’s clear they don’t want anyone else meddling in their affairs.”

“But why kill the Foreman?” Seline asked.

John wasn’t entirely sure, but he had a few guesses. “Perhaps to cover up the theft of the dynamite. Or maybe the man knew too much. The foreman did tip off the Harc’otti about where I had gone.”

The Sheriff didn’t seem all that surprised by the revelation. “Always thought that man was the type to sell his mother out for a bag of chew. Never thought he had it in him to be a traitor though.”

Seline had a much different opinion of the former Foreman. “The man was a filthy pig. …Is it ok that I’m happy he’s gone?”

“I doubt you’re the only woman in Ember Creek happy about that, young lady. What about the gold?” The Sheriff asked, keeping his voice low so nobody outside could hear.

So the man did know when to use propriety. John shrugged. “Either it was planned as a way to destabilize the town, or simply another opportunity they took advantage of. Until we find out what they are doing, anything we come up with is just conjecture.”

***

After reaching the stables and picking the fastest horse available, John rode East as fast as the poor animal could carry him.

If he wanted to catch up with Jacob, time was of the essence. With the nearly full day head start, he would be lucky to find their trail.

After riding for an entire day, he had to call it a stop. The ground in this direction was mostly short grass and rock. Whatever signs the group of miners had left, had clearly vanished before he arrived.

He cursed his luck and hopped off the exhausted animal, leading it by its reins over to the shade of a nearby tree so it could graze and rest. There had to be some sign he had missed along the way.

John’s eyes were pretty sharp, he didn’t miss much on a good day. But he was not having a good day. This was day three of little to no sleep, and even he was having a hard time. If he didn’t stop to rest, he was likely to pass out in the saddle. Out here in the wilderness, that was probably not a good idea.

After making sure there weren’t any animals nearby, John sat against the tree and closed his eyes.

He had only meant to rest his eyes for a moment, but it seemed his body had other ideas.

John wasn’t sure how long he had slept, but the panicked snort of his horse woke him. Instinct had his arm out to point his gun at whatever threat had approached, but he realized he had forgotten to draw the weapon before closing his eyes. He really must have been out of it to forget something he had ingrained in himself for decades. John quickly remedied that error as a series of deep growls pierced the darkness.

Wolves!

Why did it have to be wolves?

He slowly stood as he tried to pierce the darkness with his eyes. The wan moon overhead only cast the area in a sea of shadows. And the slight breeze set even those dancing, covering any movement of the approaching pack.

A shot may scare the creatures off, but it could also trigger them to attack. Without knowing how many there were, that was a foolish gamble. If he wasted his bullets, he may not get time to reload. His long rifle was still on the saddle, along with the guns he took from his would-be assassins. But the horse was snorting and dancing about erratically. He was more likely to get kicked than retrieve one of the guns if he got too near the frightened animal.

He tried to pick out any shapes in the darkness as the shadows danced back and forth along the ground. In the weak light, John couldn’t tell the difference between the wolves and the swaying branches overhead.

A stick cracked behind him and he whirled and fired. There was a yelp, and then all hell broke loose. Out of the darkness came the pack. John fired without wasting time aiming. A hit was all that mattered.

One of the wolves leaped forward, intent on clamping down on his leg. With inhuman speed, John swung his arm down and cracked the creature on the head with the pommel of his gun. His hand went numb from the blow, but the beast dropped. Spinning away from another wolf, John fired, hitting the creature in the torso.

It was so close that blood splattered across his face. He did his best to blink away the irritant as he drew his second revolver.

The horse gave a panicked whiny, the wolves yelped, and John screamed.

***

The fight was over in less than a minute, but in that time, John had exhausted both of his revolvers and over half the ammunition on his bandoleer. Everything was now eerily silent as he stood there, covered in scrapes and blood.

He stood with his back against the tree, trying to catch his breath and calm his racing heart. None of the blood covering his body was his. It all belonged the the wolves. Somehow he had avoided any injury during the brief but intense fight.

After killing over eighteen of the wolves, the remaining pack fled back into the night. But not before killing his damn horse. There had just been so many of them. He had run into wolf packs back in the old country, but those were usually only five or six animals at most. He was pretty sure this pack had more than forty wolves in it. It was hard to tell due to the darkness.

John had to remind himself that this new continent was mostly untouched land. It's why Fareen wanted to expand across it and eventually claim it. It wasn’t like the old world and its dozens of kingdoms and who knew how many years of environmental taming. This land was wild and dangerous. He needed to remember that. Even someone like him could quickly die if he got caught unawares.

After verifying the wolves were gone, John did his best to collect his spent brass. He only managed to find three undamaged cartridges. With a grumble, he went over to his horse, what was left of the poor creature anyway.

Without the ability to run, the frightened animal had been taken down rather easily. And the wolves responsible wasted no time tearing into their prize while the others swarmed John. Those quickly found him a much harder target.

“Why couldn’t it have been a bear or a large cat?” He grumbled quietly. Although, neither of those would have been ideal either. He wasn’t sure his pistol rounds would kill a bear. And a large cat like a mountain lion probably wouldn’t have alerted him to its presence before it was on top of him. So maybe he lucked out with the wolves. He just really hated wasting ammo.

John cut the strap on the saddle, removing the damaged thing from the horse and tossing the saddlebags over his shoulder. Then he recovered the guns. They had been scattered in the fight, either by the panicking horse or by the wolves.

A quick glance told him two of the four pneuma rifles were broken. It seemed the horse had stepped on them at some point.

His long rifle had stood up a bit better, but the stock was cracked. He sighed in annoyance and shoved what he could into the saddle bags. He made a makeshift sling out of his destroyed camping supplies and kept his own rifle out. If the wolves chased him, he may need the range. And he was nearly out of ammo for his revolvers.

With everything he could carry secured, he started back toward Ember Creek. It was going to be a long walk.

***

Two days later, John paused along the road. His eyes had spotted something. Not any more wolves, thankfully. The creatures had either decided he wasn’t worth the risk, or they had simply gone back to eat the remains of his horse and the other wolves.

No, what he saw was man-made. John pushed through his exhaustion and walked toward a tree well off the path. When he arrived, he found what had caught his eye. He bent down and picked up the discarded glass bottle and gave it a sniff.

He winced at the strong odor of alcohol. But that told him the bottle hadn’t been there long. And he knew nobody really used this road. Otherwise, he would have seen someone in the last three days.

John glanced back toward the trail, then farther into the thickening trees. But he didn’t see anything that stuck out. He lowered his head to the ground and looked through the grass, he could barely make out two thin dips in the short grass. The dips led from the road and into the distance where the grass had yet to fully bounce back from something heavy rolling through.

“Dammit!” It was no wonder he had missed the trail. But without a horse, he couldn’t follow it right now even if he wanted to.

With an annoyed grunt, he shoved the bottle into the crook of the tree, marking it for when he returned. He had noted a few landmarks in the distance on the same heading. If he got lucky, he might find more clues when he got back.

It took another two days for John to return to Ember Creek. After cleaning up and rearming himself, John spoke with the peacekeepers.

“I found where they left the main trail. It’s about half a day’s hard ride from here.” He had already told them about his run-in with the wolves.

“When’s the last time you slept?” Blackwood asked.

“A day ago, why?”

“Well… You need to get some sleep and I need to prepare some stuff if I’m going out with you?”

John shook his head. “Sleep can wait. And I don’t need your assistance.”

“You don’t. You sure about that? What happens if you run into another pack of wolves? Or more likely, whoever is at the end of that trail? Do you plan on going in half asleep and with no backup?”

John worked his jaw back and forth in annoyance. He didn’t want to admit the drunk of a Sheriff was right. But he had made more than one mistake in his sleep-deprived state. And it was true, he had no idea what waited for him if and when he caught up to the missing workers.

“Fine. We leave at sunrise. You best be ready.”

***

After John left, Wyatt sighed. “What, Seline?”

“You’re just gonna leave me here, alone?”

“You’ve managed the town alone just fine.”

“You know that’s not what I mean,” she growled.

Seline was the daughter of an old friend back from his time in the army. It was the only reason he had agreed to mentor her out here and also why he put up with her backtalk.

“You aren’t ready for what might be waiting for us.”

“Oh, and Smith is? He’s barely any older than I am.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She demanded.

“Don’t you worry about it,” his tone leaving no room for argument. “Now if you’re done badgering an old man, I have stuff to get ready.”

She clamped her mouth shut, clearly resisting the urge to question him. “Fine. At least take Sally with you.”

Wyatt paused. “I hadn’t realized you finished her already.”

She walked over to her desk and unlocked the drawer, pulling out a revolver. He never quite understood the girl's fixation on naming her weapons. The revolver was a bulky thing. But not much longer than his own. Where it differed was the thin brass air tank that sat below the barrel.

Unlike his own pistol, this tank was good for only a single shot. But that shot was as powerful as nearly two of his own. Normally, this wouldn’t be a good thing, except Seline had somehow found a way to recharge this cylinder without the need for a charging station.

He didn’t pretend to understand how she did it or how it functioned. The girl was far too smart to be playing peacekeeper. Yet, that was what she wanted to do.

“It’s ready… but I haven’t had the courage to test it yet.”

Wyatt chuckled and picked up the gun. It was heavy, probably twice what his own weighed. Despite that, he could feel the care that had gone into crafting it.

He shoved the weapon back into the holster. “I’ll take good care of it.”

She gave him a lopsided smile. “I somehow feel like Sally will be taking better care of you, than you will of it. Don’t do anything stupid out there, okay, Sheriff.”

He nodded to the girl before donning his hat and heading out the door. Wyatt didn’t have the heart to tell his Deputy that he was barely managing. The only thing keeping him from burying himself in a bottle was this murder investigation. And even that wasn’t a sure thing. A few days ago he had almost given up and dug up his stash of liquor near his house. The shovel still lay next to a small pile of dirt to mark his lapse of reason. He wasn’t sure if he could hold out much longer. Maybe leaving for a few days would help him clear his head.