Chapter 15

I’d never seen a living bison up close before. East of the Mississippi, they weren’t all that common, save for traveling shows. As such, even with the weight of Emma’s proposal with Mr. Grayson on my shoulders, I couldn’t help but pause and simply stare as we neared the herd. We’d stopped probably a hundred yards away from the herd, which had to contain nearly forty of the massive creatures.

It was easy to tell the creatures were taller than a man, their muscled backs and shoulders protruding higher than their heads. The massive heads, of which I knew from tales, and complaints, of those who often went after the creatures, were extremely thick, were further covered in thick fur with two upwards turned horns. The length of the creatures, from snout to tail, looked to damn near equal that of the wagon’s Mr. Grayson was using to carry the hides and tongues of his previous prey. A single one of the massive creatures, I had no doubt, could no doubt feed a family of four for probably at least a month, if not longer.

I shook my head as the thought crossed my mind. All that meat would be wasted. Left to rot in the prairie, as Mr. Grayson and his ilk sought the quick wealth the hides and tongues provided. It was wasteful, and honestly distasteful in my opinion. Randal had always told me to only take what I needed from the land around me. We never over indulged. We never hunted more than we needed for our immediate needs, and maybe to ensure we had rations for a week ahead of us. Something he’d mentioned he’d learned from his time with the Sioux. And now, sadly, I’d have disregard that lesson.

I glared at Mr. Grayson, who was speaking with a group of gunslingers about twenty feet away from me. This man was worse than a plague on the land. And because of him, I was going to have to dirty my own hands. I’d noticed the way he looked at Emma and noticed the hunger and longing in his eyes when he’d countered her proposal. I’d be dead and buried before I let this man put himself in a position where Miss Emma owed him anything.

As if he could feel my gaze, the pompous man in question smiled his sickly smile my way, and rode towards me. The others rode off in various directions, joining the preplanned groups he’d already created. While the man was scum in my eyes, there was no doubt he’d created a rather efficient way to hunt his quarry. Those who couldn’t kill the beasts, were set to use their various skills to keep the creatures corralled, making it easier for those who could, to do so.

“Sorry to say Mr. Smith,” he said as he rode up, “but I don’t think you’ll be able to keep your end of the bargain. Hot headed gunslingers with a fire affinity just aren’t good at killing bison. Even if you had the mana to penetrate their thick hide and bones, well, the flames just ruin the hides and meat. I hope you understand.” He rode closer to me, placing a gloved hand on my shoulder. “Apologies in advance, but your employer set you up for an impossible task, and quite frankly, bit off more than she could chew.”

“And what makes you think I’ve an affinity for fire?” I asked through gritted teeth. It was all I could do to keep my temper cooled enough to ensure I didn’t let any of my flames out. Much as I hated to admit it, Clint was right. My temper and tendency to just let my flames dance across my fingers when I was angry was a bad habit.

“Are you implying that you do not have an affinity for fire mana?” He released his grip and pulled back on his reins, making his horse take a few steps back until Baron and his horse were roughly nose to nose. “Judging by your temperament, and the soot stains ‘round the cuffs of your sleeves, it seemed clear as day that you did.”

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“I can assure you; you were mistaken.” I said through clenched teeth, fighting to keep those very same damning flames at bay. The last thing I needed was stories of me and my multiple affinities from spreading. For now, I am supposed to be purely a wind affinity user. After all, Bloody Bill knew I could use fire and wind, Thomas had told him that much. And that was something that stood out and made me easy to track. And I didn’t like that.

Mr. Grayson’s surprise showed clearly on his face for a moment, before he shook his head, and his smile returned.

“Well, be that as it may. I still don’t think you’ll be able to join us in this here hunt to the degree Miss Parker requires. Pelts sell for a premium if they’re in pristine condition. That is, a condition only obtainable by those strong enough to take a bison done with a single shot. And not just any shot,” he smiled and patted his rifle, which was in its own scabbard. “A headshot capable of piercing the skull and killing the beast in a single, swift go.” His smile widened even more. “It’s common knowledge that those best suited for the task are those blessed with an earth affinity. And even then, it requires a large amount of mana, and a weapon capable of firing rounds of the requisite size, to take down a bison in such a manner.”

The man nodded down at my Winchester Model 1873. The lever-action rifle was effective, offered rapid firing, and good distance. But he did have a single point in his favor. The barrel had a smaller diameter than his own Sharps, meaning he could, indeed, fire a larger round from it. In fact, the preloads for my own rifle were often classified as a .44 caliber round, while the preloads for his, were .50 caliber rounds.

Still, size wasn’t everything. That was a lesson I’d been taught quite a bit over the past month. The size of a person’s core wasn’t everything. The size of bullets wasn’t everything. The size of your weapon wasn’t everything. I couldn’t help but feel a small, sad smile play across my face. While I doubted I was ever as asinine as Mr. Grayson, his arrogance, I could sadly relate with.

“I can assure you, Mr. Grayson,” I said as I pulled my rifle free, the smooth feel of the wood and metal of the weapon a comfort to my hands. I’d not gotten the opportunity to use it often, but it had served me well. And the craftsmanship, was top notch. “I can say with confidence that I’ll have no trouble killing a bison in a single shot.”

Mr. Grayson laughed and shook his head side to side. It was a condescending sound, and my hands instinctively squeezed my weapon tighter. Someone needed to knock this man off his high horse.

“Ah, the arrogance of youth,” he said with a continued chuckle. “Have you ever killed a bison before, boy?” He made it clear he was done acting. He was looking down on me. In his eyes, he was superior to everyone here. Oh I was looking forward to this.

“I can’t say that I have.” I said, with a shrug. “Spent most of my time hunting men, after all.” I let some venom into my voice, as I held his gaze. His arrogance remained, but I thought I saw a flicker of uncertainty cross his eyes.

“Well, unlike men,” he said, nodding towards a bison that had wandered off from the main herd. “Bison are tough to kill.” He pointed at it, his smug smile returning. “Tell you what. I’ll let you learn the lesson yourself. You get the first shot. Bring that bison down in a single shot, and you’ll be allowed to take part in the hunt. But if you don’t,” he licked his lips, “well, I’m sure you’ll still get paid, even if you fail to uphold your employer’s proposal properly.”

My weapon was already in my shoulder as the man finished speaking. My breathing slowed; my focus intensified. I mentally loaded one of my air bullets into my rifle. The type that Clint had taught me. I focused on the round as I took aim. And then, with deadly intention, I pulled the trigger.