Free Hunted by William W. Johnstone Page A

quiet.”
    The Indian looked up, his expression giving away nothing. “I felt eyes on me this morning. I don’t like this place. Terrible things have happened here.”
    â€œNow how the hell do you know that?”
    â€œI feel it. Sense it.”
    â€œI think,” a big merc named John Webb said, “that you are full of shit, Indian.”
    â€œAnd I think,” George Eagle Dancer said, a cruel smile playing on his lips, “that you are a fool.”
    Webb started to rise to his boots. “Sit down, John,” Tuttle said. “You tangle with George and he’ll kill you.”
    ebb hesitated. “Sit down!” Tuttle barked.
    Webb sat. He stared at George. “Me and you, Indian, will settle up when this op is over.”
    â€œI think not,” George said evenly. “I think you will die in this wilderness. But not by my hand.”
    Darry studied the men. None of them were kids. Darry guessed their varied ages to be between thirty-five and forty-five. And to a man they looked very capable of handling any situation that might confront them.
    An ex-army ranger named Joel Bass said, “I’ve worked with you many times, George. But I’ve never seen you like this. What the hell’s got you so spooked?”
    â€œWhat we’re doing is a mistake,” George replied. “There is no clear-cut right or wrong here. We are chasing a man who has broken no laws. If this is the man I think it is, he was a friend to my people. I told you all, Indian nations from Canada to the Mexican border still sing songs about this man who will not die. If we push him, he will be forced to fight. He does not want to fight. But he will, and he is the greatest warrior to ever walk the face of Mother Earth. I agreed to this operation, yes. But I wish I had not. This is not democracy against tyranny, not peaceful people against bandits. What this is ... is wrong.”
    â€œWe’re not here to hurt this man, George,” Tuttle pointed out.
    â€œNo. Just kidnap him. Chase him down, drug him with these guns”—he tapped the tubelike object by his side—“and take him away against his will.”
    Tranquilizer guns, Darry thought.
    â€œLet’s don’t get all moralistic about this op, George,” Miles Burrell said. “Let’s just do the job, collect our money, and move on.”
    â€œSpeaking of moving,” Tuttle said, glancing at his watch. “Police this area and let’s get cracking. We’ve got a lot of daylight left.”
    The mercs buried their ration containers and left the area as they had found it, splitting up and fanning out, moving toward the west.
    Darry watched them for a time, then worked his way out of the area and started jogging back to his cabin. He wanted to take a bath, then fix a whiskey and water and sit for a time. He had a lot of thinking to do.
    * * *
    â€œI’m gonna burn that son of a bitch’s cabin down and kill his goddamn dogs,” Willis Reader said.
    â€œNo, you’re not,” Sam Parish told him. “Just leave him alone for the time being. You’ll get your chance at him. I promise you that. But now would be a real bad time.”
    â€œYou mean that, Sam?”
    â€œI mean it, Willis.”
    â€œThen I’ll wait. Just don’t make me wait too long.”
    * * *
    To an observer, it would appear that the man was simply looking at his dogs. But there was much more to it than that. Thoughts were passing between the human form and the hybrids. When Darry was certain the two wolf-husky mix understood, he averted his eyes and rested for a time. It was very tiring communicating with them for any length of time while in his human form, but he could make them understand and obey better this way. Like so many other aspects of his double personage and never-ending life, Darry didn’t know why that was so; it just was. But Pete and Repeat now knew they must be very careful