The Doctor And The Rough Rider Part 22

"But you told us Doc faced him and War Bonnet couldn't do a d.a.m.ned thing to him," said Johnson.

"People tend to learn from their mistakes," replied Roosevelt.

"Medicine men are people. There's no reason to think they won't learn from his encounter with Doc."

"Either way, you're the one he wants," said Sloan. "If we can stop him, we will, but if not-"

"If not, then it won't matter whether I'm leading or trailing the rest of you," said Roosevelt. "And let me explain once again: whether they've improved him or not, War Bonnet is not your target. Doc couldn't hurt him, and I have to a.s.sume you can't either. You're after the medicine men. They made him; they've got to be protecting him. We kill them, and I'll wager he's vulnerable to bullets."

"Good term: 'I'll wager,'" said Mickelson. "Problem is, what you're wagering is your life."

"I can go hunting for the men who control him, or I can sit in my room in Tombstone and wait for him to kill me," said Roosevelt. "It's an easy call."

"Well, then," continued Mickelson, "it's time to start getting practical. Let's say there are a hundred Indians where we're going. How do we know which four we want to kill?"

"There are maybe a dozen, and I'll point out the four medicine men when we get there-another reason why I shouldn't be bringing up the rear."

"You've never seen them," said Hairlip Smith, "so how the h.e.l.l will you know which ones they are?"

"More to the point," added Mickelson, "if this War Bonnet is half what you say he is, what makes you think he's going to let you get anywhere near the lodge? Why won't he come out to meet you and kill you half a mile or a mile out of the lodge?"

Roosevelt smiled. "Because no matter what you think, I'm not suicidal."

"I'm sure that's a comfort," continued Mickelson, "but would you like to tell us why we should believe that when you ride two days out of your way to confront a monster that was created for the sole purpose of killing you?"

"He was created to kill Geronimo too," Roosevelt corrected him.

"Big f.u.c.king deal," said Sloan. "How about answering Morty's question?"

"Because once we're in sight of the lodge, we're going to split up. I'm going to sit on my horse and, in essence, dare War Bonnet to come out after me."

"Bright," said Smith, spitting on the ground. "Real bright."

"And the rest of you are going to ride h.e.l.l-for-leather toward the lodge, and I'm betting that if it's a choice between my dying and their dying or neither of us dying, the medicine men will opt to live, by which I mean they'll call him back."

Sherman McMaster, who'd been listening intently without speaking, frowned and shook his head. "That doesn't make any sense. Doc's already proved he can't hurt anyone but you and Geronimo."

"We don't know that's still true," said Roosevelt. "And even if it is, it makes no difference. Only a crazy man would get within reach of a monster like that, especially once you see that your bullets don't harm him at all. I think they'll call him back with the intent of scaring you off." Suddenly he grinned. "Now do you know how you're going to identify the medicine men?"

"Well, I'll be d.a.m.ned!" said McMaster.

"Probably," agreed Mickelson. "Well, gents, now you see the value of a Harvard education."

The bird, which had been hovering a few hundred yards ahead of them, flew back, chirping and squawking.

"All right, Rough Riders," said Roosevelt. "I think he's trying to tell us that we're wasting time, that the enemy lies ahead of us. Shall we proceed?"

"'Shall we proceed'?" repeated Sloan with a grimace. "Come on, Dandy, you're out West now. Say it like a cowboy."

"Men," said Roosevelt, spurring Manitou forward, "let's ride!"

THE HORSES RAN OUT OF ENTHUSIASM in a few miles, and they were soon walking in single file across the flat, barren, featureless ground, with Roosevelt and Manitou in the lead. Night fell, and Sloan, who knew the desert like the back of his hand, directed him to the only water hole within fifteen miles.

They slept on the ground, brus.h.i.+ng off the occasional insect, killing the occasional scorpion, and were up at daylight. They had a quick breakfast, refilled their canteens, and began riding again, following the bird as it led them toward their destination.

Finally Roosevelt reined Manitou to a halt and, shading his eyes, looked off into the distance.

"Lose the bird again?" asked Tipton.

"He's around," said Roosevelt. "Probably just finds it too d.a.m.ned hot to keep fluttering his wings. I can't say that I blame him."

"He should have turned himself into a rattler, or maybe a scorpion," said Tipton. "They seem to love this G.o.dd.a.m.ned heat."

"They do," agreed Roosevelt. "But they couldn't keep ahead of us to lead us to the lodge."

"I hope to h.e.l.l that's what he is doing," said Sloan, as his horse walked up beside Manitou.

"What do you mean?" asked Roosevelt.

"Well, he is Geronimo, and we're a bunch of white men."

"He didn't have me come all the way out here just to kill me," said Roosevelt. "If he wanted me dead, he could have killed me a couple of times since I arrived."

"Maybe he wants his pals to take our scalps."

"No Western Indian takes scalps," said Roosevelt. "And the one or two tribes that did it-none of them do it anymore-learned it from the French."

"There's that book-learning again," laughed Mickelson.

"Ain't that our bird, Theodore?" asked Turkey Creek Johnson, pointing off into the distance.

"Yes, that's him," replied Roosevelt, urging Manitou forward again.

They continued for two more hours, and the land became a bit more interesting, dotted with small hills and some spa.r.s.e bushes.

Suddenly Roosevelt pulled Manitou to a stop.

"Get ready," he announced. "We're very close."

"What makes you think so?" asked Hairlip Smith.

"Do you see that tree straight ahead, the one with the flowers?"

"Yeah."

"It's not real."

Smith frowned. "What the h.e.l.l are you talking about, Theodore? That's a tree, right there, big as life."

Roosevelt shook his head and smiled. "That's Geronimo's way of saying we've arrived, and he's not sticking around as a bird or anything else that War Bonnet might be able to recognize and kill."

"How do you figure that?" asked Sloan.

"That's a white dogwood tree," answered Roosevelt. "There isn't one within almost a thousand miles. They can't bloom or even survive in this desert."

And as the words left his mouth, the tree vanished.

Suddenly guns were drawn and c.o.c.ked, rifles pulled out, ammunition checked.

"The lodge has got to be behind one of those hills," said Roosevelt. "Once we can see it, they can see us. I'm surprised they haven't reacted already, but maybe Geronimo had s.h.i.+elded us from whatever magic they use to see approaching enemies." He paused, staring at the hills. "The lodge can't be very large, not with only ten or twelve warriors living there. Once we're within sight of it, spread out and charge, guns blazing. We want War Bonnet to react, and hopefully he'll go to protect the very men we're after. I know he's going to be pretty awesome to look at, but keep in mind that he can't hurt anyone but Geronimo and me. Some of your horses may get spooked by his flaming hands, so if there are any Indians riding out to fight you, try not to shoot their horses; you may need them to get home."

"That sounds fine, if all your ideas work," said Johnson. "But what do we do if this giant thing comes straight at you, if we don't know who to kill or who's giving it orders?"

"Then I'll be just as dead as if he'd torn the Grand Hotel apart and found me there, and you're still charged with the task of killing the medicine men before he can kill Geronimo. In fact, the main thing is to keep Geronimo alive, because he can always deal with another Easterner. If he dies, it's another century or two before we expand to the Pacific."

"I ain't afraid of no Indians, and I ain't particularly afraid to die," said Sloan, "but do we care if the United States never gets past the Mississippi?"

"This is a h.e.l.l of a time to think of that," said Turkey Creek Johnson. "Well, I care. I grew up in the United States, I fought for the North in the War between the States, and I figure I'm still an American."

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h!" laughed Tipton. "I was a Johnny Reb. I wonder if we ever faced each other?"

"Couldn't have," said Johnson with a smile. "You're still alive."

Tipton turned to Sloan. "That war's over and done with, and I'm as much of an American as Turkey Creek. You bet your a.s.s I care."

"I never fought in your sillya.r.s.e war," said Mickelson, "but I'm all for extending the country to the coast." He made a face. "I hate horses. Let's open this land up to trains."

Sloan shrugged. "Okay," he said defensively. "I was just asking."

"All right," said Roosevelt, "let's go. And keep your eyes open. They don't have to attack us with a fifteen-foot warrior. They can post a sharpshooter behind any of these hills, or even dug into the ground."

"h.e.l.l, he'll probably be a lot cooler in the ground than we are up here on horses," said McMaster.

"Well, let's put them medicine men in the ground and see what they think," said Smith.

They continued riding for another twenty minutes and then, suddenly, as they pa.s.sed a small hill, the lodge came into view, half a mile off to the left.

"Don't charge yet," cautioned Roosevelt. "I know they've just been walking, but our horses are pretty spent from this heat. I don't want them tiring out or taking any bad steps before we're ready to charge in earnest."

"So where's War Bonnet?" asked McMaster. "He ought to stand out like a sore thumb."

"I don't know," admitted Roosevelt, frowning. "Since he's a magical creation, it's possible that he comes into being when they want him to, and the rest of the time he goes back into whatever limbo they pulled him out of."

"s.h.i.+t," said Mickelson. "I don't know if I want you to be right or wrong." He smiled. "If you're right, we just might kill the medicine men before they call him up. And if you're wrong, at least he'll show up so we know who we're supposed to kill."

"It's all academic," said Roosevelt, frowning.

"What are you talking about?"

"There he is."

Roosevelt pointed to his left, where War Bonnet was either getting to his feet from a position behind a hill, or rising up from the bowels of the Earth. He surveyed the riders, and then flashed them a maleficent smile. He extended a burning arm toward Roosevelt and pointed at him with a burning finger.

"I want you!" he thundered, taking a step toward the party of riders.

"Now!" said Roosevelt, and his companions spurred their horses and raced to the lodge, yelling and screaming, guns blazing.

War Bonnet froze, his gaze turning from Roosevelt to the Rough Riders, back to Roosevelt, then to the men again. He seemed rooted to the spot for almost a dozen seconds. Then, with a savage scream, he began racing toward the lodge, covering the ground not only with his giant stride, but with huge, powerful, gravity-defying leaps.

"Slow down," Roosevelt whispered far too softly for his men-or his enemies-to hear. "If you beat him to the lodge, you'll never know which ones you want."

It was almost as if Mickelson, who was in the lead, heard him, for he carefully, subtly slowed his horse down, and the others immediately realized what he was doing and why, and followed suit.

"You give new meaning to the word 'monster,'" mused Roosevelt. "These men know you can't hurt them, but Doc had no idea when he faced you. I take my hat off to him. That is one brave man."

Half a dozen warriors suddenly ran forward from the lodge, firing rifles. But while the Rough Riders shot back their primary attention was on War Bonnet, and when he came to a halt and positioned himself in front of a hut, they knew they'd found their target.

Mickelson and Sloan brought their horses to a halt twenty feet away and fired at point-blank range. The bullets had no effect on War Bonnet, who roared like a jungle animal, stepped forward, and reached out for their horses. His flaming hands went right through them, doing them no physical harm, but the terrified animals began screaming and bucking, and it was all Mickelson and Sloan could do to stay atop them.

McMaster saw that shooting at War Bonnet was useless, and aimed his rifle at the wall of the hut. The bullet went through it, and he heard two screams-one from inside the hut, and one from War Bonnet, who grabbed his shoulder as if he himself had been shot. The others saw what was happening, and turned their fire on the hut, but War Bonnet positioned himself in front of it and absorbed most of the bullets himself.

More and more warriors raced to the hut and began firing, and finally the Rough Riders, badly outnumbered stationery targets, had to retreat, but not before Tipton took a bullet in the thigh and McMaster was shot in the shoulder.

"Oh, s.h.i.+t!" yelled Mickelson. "The medicine men are safe. We've got to get back to Theodore before the monster does!"

And sure enough, War Bonnet had begun striding across the ground toward Roosevelt, who sat atop Manitou, rifle in hand, watching him approach.

"Remember what Doc told Theodore!" cried Mickelson as he reached Roosevelt's side and dismounted. "He can't hurt anyone but Theodore and Geronimo. He can't even try-and he didn't try back at the lodge. All he did was try to scare the horses."

The six of them-Mickelson, Sloan, Smith, Johnson, Tipton and McMaster-dismounted and formed a tight circle around Roosevelt. War Bonnet arrived, smiled a triumphant smile, and reached out for Roosevelt, but Sloan raised his arms and somehow War Bonnet wouldn't or couldn't brush them aside.

"Doc was right!" said Mickelson, excited. "Kneel down, Theodore!"

It went against the grain, but Roosevelt saw the wisdom of Mickelson's suggestion, and he knelt, offering an even smaller target.

War Bonnet screamed, raked his painless flames across the men, and tried twice more to reach Roosevelt, only to be thwarted again.

"We could be here all day, and I'll bet we get hungrier and sleepier before he does," said Roosevelt. "Luke, you're standing behind me, farthest from War Bonnet. Why don't you back away, get to your horse, and ride back toward the medicine men's hut. My guess is that War Bonnet will race after you."

"Then what?" asked Mickelson.

"Then we declare it a draw and ride back to Tombstone. Luke will turn and follow us as soon as he sees we've mounted."

"Why won't he chase us all the way to Tombstone?" asked Johnson. "What's to stop him?"

"I think he gets his strength from the medicine men," said Roosevelt. "And they're just men, not G.o.ds. Otherwise, why would he vanish after Doc faced him? He was only a few miles out of Tombstone, and not much farther from Geronimo's lodge. Why not go the rest of the way? But Doc made him work, and the medicine men are new to this. They've never created anything remotely like War Bonnet before. As they get more used to him, he'll grow bigger and stronger and he may not vanish at all, but for the moment, I don't think he'll follow us right after a battle."

"And if you're wrong?" asked Smith, uselessly pumping a pair of bullets into War Bonnet's belly.