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“Sam, Sam Tanner,” he answered, watching the rope. “And who do I have the pleasure of speakin’ with?” Sam gauged their actions and voices thoroughly.
“George Tatum, and my friend is John Finley. We’re ranchers. We’re lookin’ for a girl—a woman.” George eyed Sam carefully now.
“Do tell, out here?” Sam frowned up at him. “In the middle of nowhere?”
“Yeah, you see she run off. We were concerned she might get herself hurt or into trouble. You see she ain’t right in the head,” John said.
His partner snickered.
Sam squinted up at them. “You mean she’s touched?”
George snickered again and eyed his friend with a grin. “One way of puttin’ it. Her pa died not long ago, reckon she didn’t get over it as well as everyone thought. You wouldn’t have seen her, would you mister?”
“Nope, you’re the first I’ve seen of anyone in a couple of days. This part of the country is pretty desolate, don’t you think?” Sam scratched his head as he took his hat off. He gazed out over the land that stretched for as far as the eye could see.
“Desolate, huh? That’s one way of lookin’ at it. This is ranchin’ country mister and ‘bout all you’ll find for miles around.”
“Now John, don’t it strike you as funny that a growed man would be out here in the middle of nowhere without a horse or a rifle?” George snickered again. “And a freshly dug grave at his foot.”
John turned a mean frown on Sam, his vexation at Sam more obvious now. “Strikes me real funny.”
Nodog growled.
“Not surprising, my horse took off, my gun fastened onto him,” Sam explained, his movements slow and deliberate, his voice calm.
“You do have a pistol though.”
“Yeah, I got a pistol. ‘Bout the only thing I use a gun for is my supper, though. I mean, I got Nodog. Guess I’ll have to find a stream and catch me something.”
Both men looked at Nodog.
“I ain’t sure I believe you.” George circled Sam now with his horse. His yellow toothed grin aimed at Sam.
“Well, it’s the Lord’s truth. Horses can smell the dead for miles, you know,” Sam com
mented.
“And you didn’t dig this grave?” John asked as George kept circling.
“Nope, what would I dig it with?” Sam asked, eyeing George. “As you can see, my hands are clean.”
He took his gloves off.
“Maybe that’s the girl in that grave. Maybe you found her and killed her,” John said. “Maybe you bein’ a black buckm, you had your way with her and killed her.”
Sam firmed his lips and steadied himself. “One way to find out: dig it up.”
George shot him a look of disdain, then shook his head stopping right in front of Sam. “I don’t think we’ll have to do that. It’s pretty clear she’s in there and you done it. Ain’t no one else about. Ain’t no one missin’ that we know of, ‘cept her. No sir, I’d say we found the girl alright, and the man that done her in. Now, what do you think we ought to do to you?”
If she was dead, they wouldn’t chase her anymore and Sam decided to let it lie.
“Depends, did you want her back dead or alive?” Sam laughed.
George made no attempt to hide his anger as he dismounted, and Sam waited for him to come closer. Nodog edged toward him, smelling him and growling. His teeth bared back, he growled loudly. As he did, Sam pulled a knife from his boot and stabbed the man, and then he ran like lightning. Nodog had jumped the man on the horse and had almost bested him when the cowboy pulled his gun and shot at Nodog. Nodog whined loudly and lay down.
Sam wasn’t sure if Nodog was hit, but he aimed to find out.
John chased Sam and before Sam knew what hit him, a rope was thrown around him and he was being dragged across the prairie. Rocks, dirt and cactus hit him all at once. The ground was unbendingly hard. He could feel his skin tearing, smell the blood. Knowing what the Shawnee had taught him, he became very stiff and didn’t move and let the dirt and rocks tear at his skin as he was drug for some time before John seemed satisfied he was dead. He had protected his head as best he could and blacked out the pain before it began. The Shawnee had taught him well. Still he’d be some time getting over the soreness of it all.
