Dark Sky (Joe Pickett #21)(80)

But it did.

Before Joe could react and raise the .22, the beast was on him again, trying to roll him over on top of Price, and then he felt an electric jolt in his shoulder as it sunk its teeth into him. Although less than a third of Joe’s body weight, the animal had enormous strength and quickness.

Joe grunted and swung at his attacker with his fists. He landed a solid blow on the top of its head with enough force that he heard its jaws snap together.

It was enough. The creature backed away and shot out through the opening.



* * *



—

Huhnnnn.

Huhnnnn.

Huhnnnn.

At first, Joe couldn’t account for the repetitious tone in his right ear. Then, as the dozens of cuts and scratches in his back began to scream at him, he realized it was coming from Price. Price was hugging him so tightly that his nose was pressed into Joe’s ear. The man’s breathing was panicked and ragged.

“It’s gone,” Joe said.

“Are you sure?”

“I saw it go.”

“What in the bloody hell was it? A bear?”

“No,” Joe said as he reached down and pried Price’s hands from him. “Wolverine. We’re in a wolverine den.”

“I’ve heard of them,” Price said. “I thought they were extinct.”

“They’re rare. I’ve never actually seen one in the wild, but there have been sightings of them here in the Bighorns. Pound for pound, they’re considered the most vicious predators in the Rockies.”

“I can vouch for that,” Price said. “I’m going to have nightmares about that if we . . .”

He didn’t finish his thought. No need, Joe thought.

“Will he come back?” Price asked.

“I think it’s a she,” Joe said. “She’s probably going to give birth to kits in the spring. So yes, eventually I’m sure she’ll come back.”

“Are you hurt?”

“My back is torn to shreds, I think.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Right now,” Joe said, “I’m going to think about how magnificent it was to see one of the rarest predators in the country up close. I just want to appreciate that for a minute.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yup.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

Before Joe could come up with an answer, he felt a vibration in the rock similar to what he’d experienced earlier.

He chinned to the ceiling of the den and mouthed, “Horses. Right on top of us.”

Price closed his eyes. His bottom lip trembled. Joe could tell the man was on the precipice of his breaking point and his personal abyss was within sight.



* * *



—

Outside the mouth of the den, Joe watched as horse after horse passed by. He could see only legs because his low angle prevented him from seeing any riders. He knew who was up there, though: Brad. Still leading the string of Thomas packhorses and the stolen mounts they’d gathered along the way. Joe’s heart filled when he recognized Toby’s unique white socks covered with dark spots.

For a second, Joe considered how tough and resilient Brad Thomas was: still riding and leading horses after being shot in the face. The thought scared him.

Then, from the dark behind Price, came another low growl.

There were two wolverines. This one, Joe guessed, would be the male. Males were known to be bigger, stronger, and more dangerous.

“We’ve got to get out,” Price hissed.

Joe agreed, and the two of them broke and crawled toward the mouth of the den as quickly as they could. The growl behind them settled into an agitated hum, and in Joe’s mind’s eye he could envision the big male wolverine pacing back and forth while choosing which human victim to target first.

Joe spilled out of the dark into the cold morning high-altitude air with Price right behind him. They emerged on a bed of flattened brown meadow grass studded with protruding rocks. The male charged just as they cleared the mouth, but chose to juke to the side and run back up the mountain instead of tear into them.

Before Joe could breathe a sigh of relief at escaping the close call, he realized that by exiting the den, the two of them had emerged less than thirty feet from the last of the string of horses Brad led slowly down the slope. A line of horse rumps bobbed ahead as the animals worked their way down.

But Joe and Price were completely exposed.

Joe glanced up to see that Brad rode with his broad back to them and apparently hadn’t heard them get attacked or clamber out of the den, nor the retreating wolverines. The footfalls of the horses and the breeze in the high branches of the trees must have drowned out the sounds.

He got to his hands and knees and stood up with a wobble. The fresh morning air stung the cuts and scratches on his back. Price remained down in the scree, apparently trying to get his bearings after the trauma they’d just experienced.

Joe attempted to size up their situation on the fly. The caravan of horses moved slowly down the slope, stepping carefully with their heads down, looking for firm footing. Although the rear horse—a gelding Joe recognized as being Boedecker’s—had looked back at him, the horse hadn’t spooked or whinnied.

Brad could decide to check out his string and therefore look behind him any second, and the two of them would be easy open targets.