Read Online Walking Wolf by Nancy A. Collins - Free Book Online Page B

like a cross between turpentine and gin, and burned my throat something fierce. Coughing violently, I pushed the bottle away and vomited a mixture of river water and stomach acid.
    â€œSee? What’d I tell you?” My benefactor chuckled in amusement.
    Wiping the grime and mud from my eyes, I saw a short White man with muscular, slightly bowed legs and long, wavy brown hair that hung past his shoulders. He was dressed in a badly stained and frayed white linen suit, with a stovepipe hat perched atop his head. He peered down at me through thick spectacles that made his eyes look grotesquely large. Even with my limited experience dealing with White society, I realized this man was not normal.
    â€œW-who are you?” I managed to stammer.
    The man in the once-white suit smiled and extended his hand. I took his hand and allowed him to pump my aching arm vigorously. “The name’s Praetorius! Professor Praetorius! And who might you be, young sir?”
    â€œBilly Skillet.”
    I slowly got to my feet, looking around at my surroundings. I found myself standing on the bank of what was now a small river. Nearby was a tangle of driftwood, a dead cow swollen from drowning, and other flotsam and jetsam left behind when the flood waters receded.
    â€œI was scouting to see where the best place to ford the river might be,” Praetorius explained, jerking a thumb at the covered wagon situated near the river bank a few dozen yards away. “That’s when I found you. Weren’t sure you was alive or not, seeing how you was completely coated in mud.”
    â€œW-where am I?”
    â€œI reckon we’re still in Texas. Yesterday I went through Vermilion, so we’re at least fifteen miles west of there.…”
    Massaging my bruised skull, I sat down on an uprooted tree. “You said you were in Vermilion?”
    â€œWhat there is of it, rather. Twister didn’t leave nothin’ but a greasy piece. No one left alive but a couple of Meskins. Had to leave. It don’t pay to play to a crowd that small and that poor.”
    â€œPlay at what?” I frowned.
    Praetorius smiled again and tugged on his lapels. “Why, my good man—I sell my very own Patented Hard Luck Miracle Elixir! Guaranteed to cure neuralgia, cholera, rheumatism, paralysis, hip disease, measles, female complaints, necrosis, chronic abscesses, mercurial eruptions, epilepsy, scarlet fever, cancer, consumption, asthma, scrofula, diphtheria, malaria and constipation! Good for both external and internal use!”
    â€œIs it the same as Mug-Wump Specific?” I asked warily.
    â€œHeavens no! My Patented Hard Luck Miracle Elixir is a thousand times more efficacious!”
    I grunted and got to my feet, doing my best not to wobble. I felt like a shirt that’d been beaten clean on a rock. Every muscle and joint ached, and my guts were full of filthy water. Praetorius grabbed my elbow and helped keep me steady. He was so short I found myself peering over the top of his stovepipe hat.
    â€œDame Fortune has led me to find you, Billy!” he said, steering me toward the covered wagon. I was too weak to argue, and didn’t have anywhere else to go anyway. “Obviously, the Fates decided that it was not yet time for you to die—they knew you had work to do! Important work! They saved you from drowning in that horrible flash flood in order for you to help me!”
    â€œHelp you?”
    â€œThat’s right, my boy! I’ve been in dire need of assistance for some time. I require a partner, if you will. I lost my last helpmate a couple weeks back—poor Jack’s horse stepped in a gopher hole and threw him.” Praetorius shook his head sadly. “Broke his neck clean through.”
    â€œSorry to hear it.”
    Praetorius shrugged. “No use crying over spilt milk, I say. Especially now that Providence has been so kind as to deliver you to me! Here, you sit in the shade next to the