They rode away from the ridges and rock slants and emerged onto the prairie again. Multicolored wildflowers grew among the high grasses. The sound of muted thunder reached them, yet the sky overhead was clear.
“Coming up on the buffalo soon,” J.B. said with an eager smile.
Urging their horses to the top of a gentle bluff, they gazed awestruck at the violently undulating sea of buffalo. They were less than a quarter of a mile from the herd’s right flank. The ground quaked at the pounding of their hooves, and the air was choked with the dust of their passing. Their massive tufted humps and domed, horned heads bobbed as they thundered by, the farthest reaches of the herd shrouded by dust-clogged distance.
Tersely, his body taut with anticipation, Joe explained how they would hunt the great animals. They would travel in pairs, pick out a buffalo from the herd and while one hunter tried to drop it with a single, killing shot, the partner would keep a loaded blaster at the ready.
“Buffalo are unpredictable,” he added. “Sometimes what seems to be a mortal wound won’t kill it. It will be angered enough to charge as its last act of life. That’s why standby blasters are needed.”
“We only have a couple of long blasters,” Ryan argued. “Will our handblasters do?”
Joe eyed the weapons critically, then nodded. “They have plenty of stopping power, at least. Just don’t get too close.”
Doc waved a hand grandly. “I, for one, do not intend to do so. I shall be more than happy to participate in a feast of fresh meat, but I have no desire to risk my life to put it on my plate. Judas Redux, the flour and myself will sit this one out.”
Joe glanced at Jak. “Partner up with me.”
Jak nodded his agreement and unholstered his Colt Python. “Let’s do it.”
The six people directed their horses down the bluff toward the westward-rumbling herd. Joe’s face was alight with excitement. He howled a hunting cry, raised his rifle and heeled his pony into a gallop.
Jak followed him, wondering briefly what would happen if his, or someone else’s, horse slipped beneath the hooves of the herd. It wasn’t a mental picture he wanted to dwell on.
They shouted encouragement to one another as they rode along the flank of the herd, but the rumble of the buffalo’s passage was so loud, their voices were overwhelmed.
Jak had yet to test his mount’s speed and gait, so he kicked it hard in the ribs. The next moment he was clinging to the reins for his life. It was as though his horse had exploded forward. The steed rushed at a nightmare pace beside the outer edge of the herd. Rather than reining in the horse, Jak enjoyed the wild ride. The teenager had, more than his companions, the capacity for taking things as they came.
Whether outrunning an acid rainstorm, wading through toxic swamps in the bayou or swapping strangleholds with muties, Jak didn’t usually bother to look far ahead.
He had done so only once in his life, when he settled down on a spread in New Mexico with his wife, Christina, and their daughter, Jenny. After they had been murdered by marauders, Jak had steadfastly refused to look very far into the future. There was no percentage in it.
Joe caught Jak’s attention by waving and shouting. He pointed out a huge bull that snorted and eyed the approaching mounted men with something akin to anger. From hoof to hump, it stood half a head taller than Jak and it was perhaps ten feet long from nose to the brushy end of its tail. The coarse, curly hair was a muddy brown, with black streaks blended into it. It looked as if it would weigh out at close to a ton. The bull shook its massive horned head, a challenging bellow rising above the cacophony of hoofbeats and bawls.
Nodding in wordless agreement, Joe and Jak picked out the big bull as their common target. They rode closer. The never-ending roar, the choking dust and the cloying odor of the great beasts exhilarated Jak.