Rescuer Caught

Three days past since Rath left Cort to lead the wagon train. It seemed his prey was getting smarter. The trail disappeared. He wandered until a river broke the horizon. Downriver or upriver. Upriver seemed more likely to take. Hoofs splashed as he went a cross stream. Continuing upriver, his eyes scanned the banks. Stopping when a figure caught his attention.

Removing his shooter, his horse crept closer. A shirtless figure in a skinned loincloth laid on his stomach drinking water with a cupped hand. Cocking back the hammer sent the red skinned man looking up. Tried grabbing for a spear, but a bullet from Rath's shooter froze him.

Rath stared at the man before him. Long black braided hair touched his waist. Leather boots covered his feet. The loincloth came to his knees.

"What tribe are you from?" Rath asked.

No answer came.

This was a sandwalker and the wagon train was attacked by sandwalkers. Sandwalkers were small tribes that traveled the lands. They stayed out sight. Staying out of settlers way as long they were left alone. Those that attacked the wagon train had a reason.

Taking the sandwalker prisoner was a gamble Rath was willing to take. Motioning with the barrel to turn around, Rath got off his horse.

Tying the hands behind his prisoner, "Led me to your tribe," tightening the rope," and don't act deaf," putting the noose around the red neck.

Getting on his horse, he said, "Lead the way," wrapping the rope around the saddle horn.

The prisoner led Rath further upstream. Where the source of the water ended, a rocky trail began. Rath slid off the saddle. Leaving the rope around the saddle horn, he took the reigns as the prisoner continued forward. The trail started going uphill.

Over the slope, a huge mound with a flat top dominated the horizon. It stood out among the scrubs and sand. It grew as they continued. It wasn't steep as a mountain or rocky. Scrubs and desert grass covered the mound. Too big to be a hill, but not right size to be conceded a mountain.

At the basin, Rath tied his guide's feet. Walking up the mound proved to be difficult cause of the loose ground. No one could just run up it.

Getting to the top, he noticed it wasn't solid. The rim was a mile wide, but beyond that. Nothing, just air. Walking towards the inner edge of the rim, removing his hat and laying on his stomach, peered over the edge. Black dots scattered over the rock wall.

Using his spyglass, watched daily actives being done. A lone stone dwelling surrounded by skin tents caught his curiosity. Moving the spyglass up to the black dots on the rock wall, revealed they were cave opening. In them, were watchers and they watching him.

Suddenly removing the spyglass from his eye. Not looking, his hand went to retrieve his hat instead found a foot. Movement out the corner of his eye caused him to roll left. A spearhead struck the empty spot where he laid. Spinning, Rath's foot hit the back of the spear carrier's knee causing him to strike the ground. Getting up Rath put his hat as the warrior stood ready to attack.

Rath drew his shooter, but the spear wielder's reaction speed allowed his spear tip to knock the shooters out of Rath's hands. The spearhead came at Rath's stomach. He dodged it and then grabbed the shaft.

The end of the spear swing at his side, but his free hand blocked it. Now the spear separated them. He stared into the red face. They tried overpowering each other, but a stalemate developed. The struggle sketched across their face. Muscles ached, but backing down wasn't an option. Suddenly he was swung to the left, but his grip stayed.

Quickly Rath went backwards. His momentum carried the warrior over. His boots pressed against the red muscled stomach, adding to the momentum. The man landed on his feet, but had no support for his heels. Losing footing he fell over the edge.

Quickly getting up, retrieved one of two shooters.

Reholstering his only shooter, he concluded, "Must've went over the edge."

Running down the slope, he added, "Cob can scolded me later."

As his horse appeared in the horizon, the ground disappeared beneath his running feet. Darkness engulfed as his head whiplashed backward.

Bright light quickly blinded him before his momentum stopped. His vison cleared up. Rope squares surrounded him. He landed in a net. Moving his head around. Noticed spears pointed at him.

"Oh shock," he snorted.

Rath laid on the rim. Ropes binding his wrists and ankles to metal loops fastened into the rock. Everything was taken except his pants and boots. As the day went by, his skin turned red.

A man, wearing a feather head dress, peered over him. He bent closer to Rath's face. His weathered face blocked out the sun.

"You're part of the wagon train," he said.

No answer.

"You're horse gave you away. It proved difficult to move. You must be a real warrior."

He motioned towards the crowd.

"You might remember this face."

The warrior, who went over the rim, appeared.

"We keep nets around the rim. He landed in one. Plus," revealing both of Rath's shooters from an animal skin, "one of these almost landed on a child."

Rath continued staring at the man.

"The tan skinned woman from the wagon train, what's her to you?"

No response.

"Tight tongue. Maybe some flame may loosen that tongue."

Branches and moss were placed around Rath's right hand. A torch lit the wooden pile.

Rath's jaw tighten as pain raced through his arm. Wooden increased the pain. More flue for the fire was added. The answers, that were being sought, didn't came.

"The flame didn't loosen your tongue. Let's stretch your limits," the head dressed man said.

Instead of being tied against rock, now he was hanging like meat in an ice room. The rope cut into Rath's burnt wrist as a stone stretched his legs. His wrists hung from a wooden beam supported by stone columns. Rope cut into his bare ankles. Breathing became difficult as time went by.

Couscous remained so escape was still possible. Plans haven't raced through his mind as pain continued.

His eyelids were heavy. When sleep tried claiming him, a spear would hit his ribs. When that didn't work, water was thrown at him.

Time tracking became lost on his as fatigue inched over him. Before passing out, he got a glimpse of figure in a skin dress stared at him.

Something cold pressed against his forehead. His eyelids fluttered opened. His vision was blurred. A face came in focus. Black hair, tan skin, and hazel eyes of April filled his view. He sat up.

Placing her hands on his chest, she said, "Rest, your answers will come. Your burnt hand needs time to heal. Fever have wrecked your body. Rest. Time for palaver will come," her hands pushed him back on the cot.