Dead of Winter

by Lee Collins

  The stranger rapped on the bar a second time, and Boots hurried over. "What will you have?"

  "Whiskey. The good stuff," came the reply, followed by the clinking of two silver dollars on the bar. The bartender nodded and scooped up the coins. As the black boots disappeared into the storeroom, Jack almost laughed out loud. The voice had been low and quick, but there was no mistaking it: the stranger next to him, who had scared the daylights out of him not a minute before, was a woman. A chuckle escaped his lips as he fingered his glass.

  "Nothing funny about an empty glass, deputy," she said as Boots returned with a clay jug.

  "No, ma'am," Jack agreed, lifting it up. "Take care of it, Boots."

  "Give him a drop or two of the good stuff, Boots," the stranger said, sliding a few more coins toward the bartender. Boots grinned and filled Jack's glass from the jug. Jack brought it up to his nose and drew in the aroma: strong and full-bodied. He'd never had the money to sample the Pioneer's private collection himself, but he never turned down a free drink. Smiling, he lifted his glass to the woman beside him.

  "To the good stuff!"

  Glass clinked against glass, and the good stuff filled Jack's chest with fire. Eyes closed, he allowed a stupid grin to bloom beneath his mustache. He took a deep breath, then clapped the stranger on the back.

  "Much obliged, ma'am! That was a treat."

  "Go on, have another," she said, giving Boots a nod.

  Jack lifted the refilled glass to his lips. "Well, ain't you generous? Anything I might do to repay the favor?"

  "I ain't looking for much," the stranger replied, running her fingers along the rim of her glass. "I'm just a mite curious about that monster you mentioned earlier."

  Mart Duggan shut the door of the marshal's office, leaving Victor Sanchez and George Murray in charge of the midnight watch. Pulling his coat closed, he heaved a sigh and stepped into the snow-covered street. The livery's lantern winked at him from across the street, burning a pale yellow against the cold night. He could almost feel his wife's hands on his shoulders, working out the knots in his muscles in front of a crackling fire. Shaking his head against the morning's carnage, the marshal crunched across the snow toward home. The night was crisp and quiet out on the streets, but he could sense trouble brewing behind the town's walls. He would've been up for a good fight any other night, but tonight he hoped his deputies could keep a lid on things. Tonight, all he wanted was a good sleep to put some distance between himself and the day's events.

  "You might want to teach that deputy of yours how to keep his mouth shut, marshal."

  The voice came from a dark alley to his right. Duggan turned and pulled his Colt in a single motion. The night air resounded with the metallic click of the gun's hammer.

  "Hey, now, no need for all that." A slim figure in a wide-brimmed hat stepped into the moonlight, hands raised. "Just wanted to have a word with you before you tuck in."

  Duggan's temper flared, but he forced himself to lower his gun. "What about?"

  "I hear tell you and your deputy had some trouble this morning." Her voice was calm as she leaned against a hitching post and crossed her arms. "Your man Jack seemed pretty shook up about it, and there ain't much as can shake up a Leadville lawman."

  "That son of a bitch," Duggan said, shaking his head. "I tell him to keep quiet and he shoots his mouth off to the first woman he meets."

  "Can't say I didn't help loosen his tongue a bit," she replied. "Good whiskey sure works wonders on a man."

  "Well, ma'am, I appreciate you telling me about my wayward deputy. Now, if you'll excuse me, it's a bit chilly out and I've had a long day." Duggan holstered his gun. Something about the woman bothered him, and he didn't want to lose his temper. Tipping his hat to her, he turned toward home.

  Her voice brought him up short. "I imagine you'd sleep a lot better knowing what killed those men this morning."

  "And I suppose you know?" he asked without turning.

  "Ain't got a clue."

  Duggan's fists clenched as he whirled on the woman. A few strides brought them inches apart. "Then don't waste my time," he said, his breath covering her face.

  The stranger met the marshal's cold blue eyes with a calm stare. "Wouldn't dream of it. Fact is, I'm looking to save you some. You're a busy man and ain't got the time to be chasing down spooks, am I right?"

  "Who said it was spooks?"

  "You ain't no fool, marshal," she replied. "You know damn well that wasn't no bear that killed those men."

  Surprised, Duggan took a step back, his gaze falling to the snow on his boots. This woman, whoever she was, didn't seem like a fool, either. He hated drawing in outside help, but she was right. He didn't have time for spook hunting with all of his regular duties as Leadville marshal, and he didn't want to risk sending one of his deputies after something that dangerous. Problem was, he didn't know this woman from Eve. She could have butchered the wolfers herself for all he knew. Still, if she could really take care of the problem, he'd be a fool to turn her down.

  After a long silence, his blue eyes came back up to her face. "So what do you want from me?"

  TWO

  From atop Our Lady of Virginia, Cora Oglesby surveyed what remained of the scene. Above them, the noonday sun filtered through the evergreens, dappling the mare's chestnut coat. Our Lady snorted and flicked an ear. Despite the marshal's warnings of carnage, both horse and rider were unconcerned by the clearing spread out before them.

  Then again, there wasn't much to be concerned about.

  Cora pounded the saddle horn and cursed. "That Mart Duggan is a damn fool," she said.

  "How's that?" Ben asked, nudging his gelding up beside her to see for himself.

  "If he'd led us out here when we first asked him to, there might have been something to see," she said. "A trail of blood, or footprints, or some leftover guts, or something. But no, he has us sit in our hotel room a full week while he runs our story past that good-for-nothing sheriff Jim Barnes. 'Can't associate with no criminals,' he says while he lets the real monster just slip away."

  "No use worrying about that now," Ben said.

  "I'll fret about it if I want to." Cora sighed and dismounted.

  She gave Our Lady a pat on the neck, then looked up at her husband. "Don't fall asleep, now."

  Ben nodded. Cora pulled her rifle from the saddle scabbard and stepped toward the clearing. Scavengers had picked the area clean, leaving only a few rust-colored stains behind. She made a full circle around the area without finding much of anything. Another sigh filled the cold air around her. If only they could have gotten here sooner. Still, even with the scavenger's tracks, she could tell that nothing big enough to kill the wolfers had been through the clearing. It was as if the men just vanished in a bloody mist.

  She was intrigued.

  A crow's call broke the silence. Cora scowled up at the interruption. The black bird perched about fifteen feet above her head, its feathers gleaming in a patch of sunlight. It crowed again, turning to stare at her through one beady black eye. She considered blowing the smug look off of its face with her rifle, then thought better of it. Her bullets were too valuable to waste on animals, no matter how irritating they might be.

  Rocks, however, were much cheaper. She slipped the rifle into her shoulder scabbard, knelt down and began digging through the snow. She rejected several stones before finding one that felt right. Standing up, she was glad to see that the offending bird hadn't moved from its perch. She smiled and drew her arm back, ready to see feathers fly, when she noticed something.

  "Hey, Ben," she said over her shoulder, "come have a look at this."

  Ben tossed his reins onto a nearby branch and walked up next to her. "What am I looking at?"

  Cora pointed at the crow's perch. The branch the bird sat on was broken, jutting out from the pine's trunk like a snapped bone. From what she could see, the break was still white and clean. A single black feather drifted down and settled on the snow at the tree's base. Act
ing on instinct, Cora walked over and picked it up. It was about as long as her gloved hand and boasted a glossy sheen, but there wasn't anything unusual about it.

  Frustrated, she let the feather drop from her fingers. It floated off to her left, lighting on a branch sticking out from the snow. Cora's brow furrowed as she leaned down for a closer look. The scent of pine sap drifted up to meet her from the fresh break in the wood. She lifted the branch out of the drift, grunting from the effort. Shaking the snow from its needles, she hoisted it upright and leaned it against the tree's trunk. The branch was nearly as tall as she was and too thick for the fingers of one hand to wrap around.

  "Here's this," she said.

  Ben came over to inspect the branch. After a few moments, he nodded to himself. "Something broke this off, and it wasn't no snowfall. Limb's too thick for that." Looking back up at the bird, he took an estimate of the height, then looked back toward the clearing. Smiling, he nodded again. "I reckon our killer was perched right up there, just waiting for those poor fools to wander too close."

  Cora crouched down, turning the broken branch this way and that. "Sure didn't leave much by way of sign. Ain't no claw marks or hairs or nothing."

  "Guess that means it wasn't no werewolf or hellhound," Ben said.

  "That's too bad," Cora said. "I was hoping for something easy. All them dog monsters is alike: line them up and put them down. Hellhounds is our specialty, besides. How many have we bagged in all?"

  "Half a dozen, I reckon."

  "Well, we ain't adding to that count today." Straightening up, Cora made to brush her gloves on her coat when a white blob splattered on the branch in front of her. Startled, she took a step backward. The crow let out a satisfied croak, which she answered with a glare. Her hand dropped to her revolver when the bird took wing in a flurry of black. Her heart sank a little as she watched it disappear into the trees.

  "We ain't killing nothing at this rate," Ben said, a smile spreading beneath his trim mustache. "You're too old and slow."

  Cora glared at him. "I've bagged me more than my share of critters, thank you kindly."

  "Guess we're lucky none of them was evil birds." He dodged the punch she aimed at him, his blue eyes sparkling.

  "Well, fine," Cora said, crossing her arms. "We got us an escaped crow and a broken branch with no good reason for being broken. Ain't much to go on, but we've made do with less." Her brown eyes swept over the clearing once more, then she nodded. "Let's get on back to town."

  Ben followed her back to the horses without a word. Our Lady whinnied as they approached, stretching her neck out for a pat. Cora obliged her and was rewarded with a snort of hot, moist air. She smiled, running her hand down the horse's mane before slipping the Winchester back into the saddle scabbard. She placed her boot in the stirrup and swung herself up. Our Lady tossed her head and nickered, but Cora didn't share her enthusiasm.

  "What do you reckon that prickly marshal will have to say when we tell him we ain't got nothing?" she asked.

  Ben sighed through his nose. "Five dollars says he'll run us out of town."

  "I'll make it ten."

  "Think we still ought to find this critter even if he does?"

  Cora shook her head. "He can rot along with his little town," she said. "He's already wasted a week of our time. We ought to head for Carson City or somewhere without all this damn snow."

  Cora pulled on the reins, turning Our Lady away from the clearing. They trotted through the trees until they reached the meadow. Squinting against the blinding glare of the sun, it took her a few moments to spot the mountain Marshal Duggan had pointed out to her. She finally picked it out, its peak thrusting toward the blue sky like a crooked gunsight. Mount Something-or-Other, her guide back to the silver boom town of Leadville, Colorado.

  Pulling her bandana over her nose, she lifted her boots on either side of Our Lady to give her a kick when she paused. Her breath warmed her face and neck, but she could feel a chill creeping into her fingers through her gloves. She glanced skyward and held her hands out beneath the sun. Clenching her fists a few times, she tried to drive the cold out, but it persisted. She could feel it flowing up toward her elbows. Her fingers became hard to move, a feeling which always gave her a slight panic. Cold fingers meant a slow draw and a slow trigger, and neither was good for staying alive.

  Ben rode up beside her. "What's wrong?"

  Cora held up her hand, and he fell silent. She pulled the Colt revolver from her belt and cocked the hammer. Turning her head, she looked back into the mess of evergreens. The sunlight still fell in patches through gaps in the branches. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, but the chill in her blood kept moving. It was past her elbows now, working its way up to her shoulders. Uneasy, she lifted her gaze toward the treetops, sifting through the branches with her keen brown eyes. The blue sky winked at her from between clusters of green needles. Her fingers began to throb, the chill digging in toward her bones.

  A sudden breeze pulled at her hat and caused Our Lady to shift her weight. Cora felt the horse roll and pitch beneath her, but her gaze never left the trees. The branches were swaying with the wind, but something didn't look right. Deep in the maze of prickly limbs, she could see a gray shadow in the branches that lagged behind the motion of the trees. She couldn't make out a recognizable shape at this distance, but that hardly mattered. Maybe it was a bird or a confused bear, or maybe it was something else. Whatever it was, she blamed it for the unnatural chill in her veins.

  Forcing her cold arms into action, she leveled her revolver at the shadow. It was a long shot for a pistol, but she didn't want to waste time pulling out the Winchester. The pain in her fingers made it hard to hold the gun steady. She gripped her gun arm with her other hand and closed one eye, sighting down the barrel. The gunshot clapped her ears and rolled through the winter forest. Our Lady flinched at the noise. The kickback stung Cora's fingers, but she forced her thumb to pull the hammer back a second time.

  When the smoke cleared, the gray shape had vanished from the branch. Cora's eyes darted to the base of the tree. Nothing. Keeping her gun raised, she checked the surrounding trees. Seconds passed, but the only movement was the breeze through the branches. Her gun hand began tingling. Looking down, she flexed her fingers around the grip. They were still cold, but feeling was returning.

  "Did you see anything?" Ben asked.

  Cora replied with a shrug. She holstered her revolver, turned her back on the forest and punched Our Lady's sides with her heels. The mare sprang into motion. Ben spurred his own horse after her, giving the trees one last look as they rode across the meadow.

  "Refresh my memory, marshal. What time did you and your deputy find that clearing again?"

  Mart Duggan looked up from the newspaper, annoyed to find this woman standing in his office. Where the hell was Sanchez? Why hadn't he stopped her from barging in like this? Looking past her into the front room of the station, he could see the deputy's boots propped up on the desk. If Victor wasn't asleep yet, he would be in the next fifteen minutes. Duggan cursed under his breath and looked back at the strange woman, his patience that much shorter.

  "Sometime in the morning," he answered.

  "I remember that part." Cora helped herself to the chair facing the marshal. "But how early or late was it?"

  Duggan folded the paper in a messy heap and leaned his elbows on the desk. "Early. No more than an hour past sunup."

  Cora's brow furrowed. "You're sure? It wasn't still night?"

  "Yes, I'm sure, Mrs Oglesby. Jack and I was following up on a report we got first thing that morning. Somebody had been out on a morning ride when they came across that spot and high-tailed it back to town to tell us about it."

  "Who was it that told you about it?"

  "Bill Hicks."

  "Who's Bill Hicks?"

  The marshal leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "Look, Mrs Oglesby, I ought to thank you for being so eager to look into this for me, but I ain't got time to discu
ss the townsfolk with you. I'm a busy man, and Leadville is a busy town. Until you got any real results for me, please leave me to my business."

  "Is that right?" Cora stomped her boots on the floor.

  "It is."

  "Well then, it just so happens that I may have caught me a glimpse of your culprit."

  The marshal picked up the newspaper. "What did he look like?"

  "Can't say, really," Cora replied. "It wasn't a very good glimpse."

  "So it wasn't the spook you thought it was, then?" Duggan said, not looking up.

  "I ain't the only one who thinks it's a spook. Your deputy Jack thinks the same as me."

  "I can't help hiring idiots from time to time."

  Cora snorted a laugh through her nose. "Seems to me you can't help being one, either."