James Axler – Way of the Wolf

Ryan ignored the merriment in the back. The redoubt was tucked away so that most people couldn’t find it. But Handsome Wyatt had been with War Wag One and the Trader when they had looked for nothing else.

And he had to wonder if Hazard had been the only thing to bring the man to the area.

Chapter Eighteen

For a time Ryan didn’t think the wag would have enough gas in it to take them to the redoubt. The needle, if it was accurate, hovered just above the quarter-tank mark and stayed there. But it was the road that finally gave out, getting passable only on foot or by horseback.

Four miles out from the redoubt by estimation, he pulled the wag over to the side. The steep grade allowed them to easily tip the wag into the gully below. They spent a few minutes gathering brush to cover it up, hacking it free with their knives.

“Dust line headed this way,” J.B. called. He squatted farther up the hill, binoculars to his glasses.

“Didn’t figure it would take them long to catch up,” Ryan said. “How far out?”

“Four miles, mebbe five. The wind’s blowing this way, so it might actually be a little ahead of them.”

“Are you sure it’s them?” Ryan checked his gear. The ammo J.B. had scavenged from Tinker Phillips’s gun shop had been split up on the way over.

“Still got balloons tied to the bastard circus wag,” J.B. said laconically.

“Thought all be bust in firefight,” Jak said.

“Such are the vagaries and whims of the gods,” Doc stated.

“Got no time to waste,” Ryan said, feeling the miles evaporate between them and the wolves chasing at their heels. “Jak, Dean, take point. Figure we’re operating on condition green and nothing’s going to be ahead of us.”

Both boys hurried ahead, already knowing where the redoubt was because they were in familiar territory.

“Doc, you and the short man go next. Albert, if you can’t keep up, you can’t go. And Doc, if I see you trying to carry him this time, I’m going to shoot you myself.”

The old man fired off a snappy salute. Albert set himself to match Doc’s pace.

“Mildred, you and Krysty go next. Walk a secondary drag. J.B. and I will bring up the rear a couple hundred yards behind. If we have to, mebbe we can buy some time.”

THE FOUR MILES WENT quickly as they followed the sun to the west. Even Albert was able to stay the course.

Ryan watched the dust cloud trailing them draw closer, pausing now and again to study Handsome Wyatt’s collection of jackers as they milled around where the road ended.

“More like jackals than jackers,” J.B. commented as they crouched in the brush farther up the rough terrain than the wags were. “Running around in packs.”

“Dangerous enough, though,” Ryan said. “There’s some who would say we were cut of the same cloth as those people back there. And like Kirkland.”

“Mebbe. But we know where the difference is. You’ve seen the difference between a pack of jackals and a pack of wolves, Ryan,” the Armorer said. “Jackals, hell, they’ll kill just for sport. But a wolf pack, they hunt for food, shelter and some form of security. That’s the way of the wolf. And that’s the way Trader taught us. Lot of difference between a wolf and a jackal.”

Ryan nodded, knowing it was true. “Hooray for the difference, but let’s put some more distance in there, too.” He turned and faded back into the brush.

LESS THAN FIVE MINUTES later, Ryan watched a band of jackers peel away from the wags. He counted twenty-three men in all, counting Wyatt, who had one hand bundled up in bandages.

“No way that bastard stupe finished raiding Hazard before he came after us,” J.B. said.

“Kirkland’s people could have managed to dig the jackers back out of the ville,” Ryan replied.

“You really think that happened?”

“No.”

J.B. shook his head. “So that means he’s burning up our backtrail looking for a quick dose of get-even.”

“Mebbe. And mebbe he talked to somebody about that anesthetic we brought in,” Ryan said. “Could be he figures we found a major stockpile.”