Doyle explain this latest atrocity to the shocked troops.
"A dangerous and cunning Indian has scalped Diggs. He's made fools of every man out here today," Doyle concluded.
Now the hunt would begin in earnest.
Chapter 7
Men will kick an apology ahead of them like a stone,
thereby ensuring that they never quite catch up to it.
—Tilok proverb
" M iller, or whoever you are, if you're out there, give me a jingle."
It was the voice Kier had heard before—calm, authoritative—coming over the operative channel on Miller's radio. He assumed it was Tillman. Kier heard the rage only at the edge of his tone. He knew that to talk—even to talk as he ran— would be a death sentence. First, it would totally eliminate their confusion as to whether Miller was indeed whom they were looking for. More important, they could triangulate his position. Over time, they might even determine his direction of travel. They probably had the best equipment available.
"Listen," the voice said. "We can make peace. You'll never get out of these woods alive unless we make a deal. Even if you do, you'll be a hunted man forever. You've got the journals, haven't you? We've figured it out. Okay. We're pissed, but you've got something we need, so let's deal."
Kier believed that they had figured out nothing except that some guy in a white camouflage outfit was killing and maiming their people. Tillman had perhaps twenty men, probably ex-soldiers. Maybe Special Forces men who couldn't find anything else to do in life—hired mercenaries, pumped up with some concocted story about how they were doing the world a favor. Or maybe such people didn't care for abstractions.
At a flat-out run, Kier took the trail directly to the Donahues'. Even if Jessie had traveled at a much slower pace and had covered more than twice as much ground, she should have long since arrived and departed. But he had to make sure.
From the densest thicket, as the last light faded, Stalking Bear scrutinized every detail. He placed the object that would be the salvation of his people in a safe place—a place where, if need be, one other would find it. With it, he left a written note.
Now Stalking Bear was pulled in two directions.
A pregnant Claudie and her two little boys, Bren and Micah, climbed into Kier's truck. Theirs was the immediate peril. Tomorrow would always lie with the children. Even if the Donahue boys were not Tilok, they were friends to the Tilok. And Stalking Bear's grandson had no greater friends than Jack and Claudie Donahue.
Moving like a shadow with easy strides, Stalking Bear vaulted into the bed of the pickup truck as it passed. He folded himself into one of several storage compartments barely large enough for him, making himself very small, and slowed his breath, his heartbeat. He became the sleeping bear. The tension flowed out of his body, and he listened, dreamed.
"Sorry I startled you."
Kier piled into the driver's seat of the Volvo as Jessie slipped over the center console.
"What the hell happened?" she asked.
In the backseat, Miller groaned.
"I didn't kill anybody, but Miller's friends killed one of their own." Kier glanced at his watch. "You were supposed to be gone two minutes after you got here."
"So I'm a slow walker. Only one dead?" she asked, her voice sharper now.
"I think so."
"It sounded like a war. I'm sure you saved our lives."
"See how long that lasts," Miller said.
"Miller here is getting quite a reputation," Kier said.
"You mother—"
"We better get you out of here fast." Kier stepped out of the car and opened the back door. "These guys want to carve you up." As Kier dragged Miller back to the car trunk and locked him inside, he watched the treeline in the last of the gray light.
"We need to hide for a while. We have to figure out what the journals mean,'' Kier began, back in the car. He turned the car left, toward Johnson City, driving as fast
"A dangerous and cunning Indian has scalped Diggs. He's made fools of every man out here today," Doyle concluded.
Now the hunt would begin in earnest.
Chapter 7
Men will kick an apology ahead of them like a stone,
thereby ensuring that they never quite catch up to it.
—Tilok proverb
" M iller, or whoever you are, if you're out there, give me a jingle."
It was the voice Kier had heard before—calm, authoritative—coming over the operative channel on Miller's radio. He assumed it was Tillman. Kier heard the rage only at the edge of his tone. He knew that to talk—even to talk as he ran— would be a death sentence. First, it would totally eliminate their confusion as to whether Miller was indeed whom they were looking for. More important, they could triangulate his position. Over time, they might even determine his direction of travel. They probably had the best equipment available.
"Listen," the voice said. "We can make peace. You'll never get out of these woods alive unless we make a deal. Even if you do, you'll be a hunted man forever. You've got the journals, haven't you? We've figured it out. Okay. We're pissed, but you've got something we need, so let's deal."
Kier believed that they had figured out nothing except that some guy in a white camouflage outfit was killing and maiming their people. Tillman had perhaps twenty men, probably ex-soldiers. Maybe Special Forces men who couldn't find anything else to do in life—hired mercenaries, pumped up with some concocted story about how they were doing the world a favor. Or maybe such people didn't care for abstractions.
At a flat-out run, Kier took the trail directly to the Donahues'. Even if Jessie had traveled at a much slower pace and had covered more than twice as much ground, she should have long since arrived and departed. But he had to make sure.
From the densest thicket, as the last light faded, Stalking Bear scrutinized every detail. He placed the object that would be the salvation of his people in a safe place—a place where, if need be, one other would find it. With it, he left a written note.
Now Stalking Bear was pulled in two directions.
A pregnant Claudie and her two little boys, Bren and Micah, climbed into Kier's truck. Theirs was the immediate peril. Tomorrow would always lie with the children. Even if the Donahue boys were not Tilok, they were friends to the Tilok. And Stalking Bear's grandson had no greater friends than Jack and Claudie Donahue.
Moving like a shadow with easy strides, Stalking Bear vaulted into the bed of the pickup truck as it passed. He folded himself into one of several storage compartments barely large enough for him, making himself very small, and slowed his breath, his heartbeat. He became the sleeping bear. The tension flowed out of his body, and he listened, dreamed.
"Sorry I startled you."
Kier piled into the driver's seat of the Volvo as Jessie slipped over the center console.
"What the hell happened?" she asked.
In the backseat, Miller groaned.
"I didn't kill anybody, but Miller's friends killed one of their own." Kier glanced at his watch. "You were supposed to be gone two minutes after you got here."
"So I'm a slow walker. Only one dead?" she asked, her voice sharper now.
"I think so."
"It sounded like a war. I'm sure you saved our lives."
"See how long that lasts," Miller said.
"Miller here is getting quite a reputation," Kier said.
"You mother—"
"We better get you out of here fast." Kier stepped out of the car and opened the back door. "These guys want to carve you up." As Kier dragged Miller back to the car trunk and locked him inside, he watched the treeline in the last of the gray light.
"We need to hide for a while. We have to figure out what the journals mean,'' Kier began, back in the car. He turned the car left, toward Johnson City, driving as fast
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