by Mav Skye
There the little fox waited and began to sway in the threaded currents of the moonlight. Her pursuers were close now; she could feel the tramping of the hounds through the moist earth, the excited breathing of the hunters on their steeds.
It was just a yelp to begin with.
A single continuous whine that left her tongue and danced in the air, yet it began to gather force until it had become a feral howl that shook the grass beneath her and the mighty oak branches around her and even the mist became liquid ripples in that one note that called the whole of the wild to her. As her hunters entered the grove, Nature herself answered in the hooting of owls and the cawing of crows that dived upon the humans rending and slashing at the faces and eyes with their talons and claws. Badgers and mice and fox-kind nipped at the hound’s feet and the horse’s ankles that sent their passengers plummeting to the ground to be trampled, and even the worms were surprised at so much food that night under the kind moon.
Lobos
by Mav Skye
Ernie stood, drew his gun, and kicked at the body lying by the campfire. It'd lain there for a couple hours now, since the sun crested the hill. A putrid smell clung to the humid air, reassuring Ernie the body would not be rising again.
Still he grasped the gun firmly in his sweaty palm. Should he burn the corpse, just to be sure, then make a run with the money? Or should he let it lie here for the vultures to descend upon. Either way, word would get back to Sheriff Roberts, and no doubt the sheriff would figure it was a robbery.
Damn.
Perhaps he should leave the money with the body. It would dehydrate out in the sun and the body's fragility would lend the idea credibility, but then there was the gun shot wound and… it was partially naked. The ragged shirt held its place by a button or two. The satchel of money still swung over the neck.
Ernie was surprised to find he recognized the creature that had stalked him the night before. Anyone in Silver City would have known that pug nose and the upturned frown that looked almost painted on. Gregory James was the head banker at Blue Moon bank. You’d be better pulling gold teeth off a rich man than trying to get a loan from Gregory James, even if you owned yourself a healthy copper mine. Gregory hadn’t achieved the status easily, but rose to the top with his shrewd and cautious ways. He was often made fun of because his wife was the local drunk and gambler. Still, he stayed with her and supported her drinking habit. Divorce was unchristian like. The truth be told, Ernie couldn’t recall a single time seeing the banker at church, but he often saw Big Charlene.
He could see the large, blonde woman in his mind’s eye right now. She’d be sitting on a pew as the pastor’s young new wife, Mrs. Lowe, listened to every word of Big Charlene’s confession. The other church women would tightly enfold her into their colorful array of fancy Sunday hats and dresses. Their eyes like vultures, ears like rabbits, clutching at any tidbit of sin they could relate to the rest of the quilting club that met every Thursday. They’d cluck when Big Charlene paused for a breath, and then sigh a praise Jesus! when she’d continue in her loud and boisterous voice, “Caught with his pants down! Don’t that just beat all.” And Mrs. Lowe would shake her little head and say, “Poor soul.” Then Big Charlene would say, “Gregory’s stomach was always bothersome in the wrong sort of way. Some nights he’d have to pull out the chamber pot two or three times. And the smell…” She’d pause just long enough for the women to get a visual. Mrs. Lowe would unconsciously cover her nose. Big Charlene would nod at her. “That’s what I’d have to do, especially on the nights when I made cabbage. It is a God given blessing that we women folk base our opinions on personality not only body type or its…functions.”
Hallelujah! The women would cry, Mrs. Lowe being the loudest, naturally. Her husband, the good pastor Mr. Lowe, would glance over to see if his little wife was saving more souls than he was. After seeing who was at the center of their fold, he’d roll his eyes and continue his soulful talk with Judge McDermott, who’d promised a healthy donation to the church basket if Mr. Lowe would help out with encouraging the good folk in his direction with the new election year coming up.
Enough! Ernie told himself, enough of what Big Charlene, or the Sheriff, or the pastor or even Judge McDermott might think. Heck, Ernie didn't even know what to think. One minute, he's on his way to El Paso to find his runaway daughter, the next he finds himself tracked by...
He kicked the body over with his boot. Gray fur climbed up the belly, spreading graciously over the chest and neck. Even as he watched, the fur sank back into the skin slowly, like an insect burrowing into the sand.
"Gregory James, what the hell happened to you?"
Gregory didn't reply. Ernie took this as a good sign.
"What kinda disease did you catch, son? I knows that moon was full last night… a lot mosquitoes this time o' year, but hell, what makin' you grow this fuzz? And all while I'm trying to find my little Lottie."
Gregory's frowning mouth thinned as the sharp incisors shortened, his upper lips drew up with the teeth into a light smile, probably the first smile that had ever lighted on the man’s lips. The fur on his face had already faded. Ernie figured the closed eyelids no longer hid the luminous yellow eyes that so carefully followed him last night.
Ernie scrambled back a couple steps and tipped up his hat. "Well, if that don't take the rag off the bush."
He sat down on the rock that he'd been roosting on for the last hour, and decided to stop beatin' the devil round the stump.
Holding the gun pointed at Gregory, he grabbed the satchel of money and pulled gently, hoping the tether would break. No such luck. He holstered his metal, took out his pocket knife and sawed the tether in two. The body jarred forward as Ernie tugged the satchel free. He grabbed for his gun as the body flopped back and settled for the last time.
The bag was heavy. When Ernie peaked inside, he cried out. “Lord almighty!” He’d thought there may be a couple hundred or two by the way the bills slipped out the side, but this was far more. Must have been at least a thousand. Heck, maybe two grand! What was a man like Gregory James doing with this much cash? Sure, as president of Blue Moon bank, Gregory James made more than the average laborer, maybe even more than Judge McDermott, but a banker carrying this much money by himself through the desert usually meant one thing.
"Could be a chisler," he muttered to himself, but knew it wasn’t true even as he said it. Ernie was as straight as an arrow, a stickler for the rules. But why had he taken it and where was he going? Ernie then scolded himself. It wasn't his place to question why, how, or where Gregory was headin' with it.
The only question that needed answering was what was he going to do with it?
Ernie fell back on the rock once more, the satchel clutched loosely in his fingers. It was only right to break off from his current course, head East to the nearest town, and inform the local sheriff about the body and turn in the money. Ernie hated to think of how much time that would take off from his current route. Lottie…his little girl. Who knew what her bastard husband, Billy Collins, had done to her already? There was no way for Ernie to know, because all he had was a note.
Ernie let the satchel fall to the dirt and set his gun on a rock ledge beside him. He reached inside his leather vest and pulled out a carefully folded Western Union telegram with Lottie’s plea typed neatly in the middle of the page.
Daddy,
Please help me.
Lottie
His heart shriveled into a tight knot. His daughter needed him. Now.
He glanced down at Gregory James's body. With the sun rising full in the sky, with the fur and the fangs gone, he looked like a decent man now. A decent man's wife deserved to know the truth. A decent man deserved a burial.
He needed to make a decision. Which was it? Either turn in the money and report the body or go after his little girl, and deal with the hullabaloo later.
Ernie shook his head. For all the years he’d been mining, his conscience tipped the scales more than h
is ore ever did.
Going to town first was the right thing to do, and it would prevent accusations of robbery or murder. Lottie had left of her own free will, she would have to wait one more day.
With a grunt, Ernie stood and holstered his gun. He stuffed the satchel into the pack that his horse had been carrying the night before. That was until the Gregory-beast scared him off. It was good thing the pack had fallen off. Without those supplies, Ernie would soon be just as dead as Gregory here.
Or worse, his mind told him.
He dug out his compass, turned East, and set out. It was getting hot already, but Ernie was determined to keep walking. If he was able to keep up a good pace, he'd be able to get a couple hours of sleep and make it to town early in the morning, then head South again.
Yes, it was a fine plan, fine as cream gravy.
* * *
Brilliant pink and blue hues cloaked the sun as it nestled in for the night. Ernie uncapped the canteen and tilted his head back, saturating his throat with warm water. Water dribbled out the side of his mouth. It felt good.
Ernie made decent time today despite lack of sleep and his lost horse. He'd done a lot of thinking on Gregory James and had come to the conclusion that there was no conclusion for the man's mad looks or behavior. Gregory had stalked, no hunted Ernie down, and attacked right before dawn. What choice did Ernie have other than to draw his gun? It was self-protection.
He capped the canteen and put it away. Water was nearby and the landscape showed it. Thriving green-needled brush ravished the desert floor. Blooming cacti peeped its rose colored blooms through the bushes relieving Ernie's eyes from the endless miles of cracked earth. There were mesquite trees, too. They were oddly shaped, their stumps fallen over and sprawled as if crawling toward water.
He’d heard of the hot spring from a few folks traveling through Silver City, but he’d never actually seen it with his own eyes. There was a rumor that Geronimo, who had escaped a Federal reservation with a small band of Apaches, lived near the hot spring. But no one had spotted an Apache in that area for nearly three decades as they had been crowded out by the Navajo after they were forced to trek three hundred miles from their homeland to New Mexico. The war over land had been fought, and everyone was tired of death.
While walking in the mid afternoon sun, Ernie had seen mirages of a deep pit filled to the brim with delicious water, but when he’d draw near, the vision would tease out of sight, and he’d keep going. Between the mirages, Ernie would feel his eyelids drop and there’d be nothing he wanted more than to sit his weary bones down and not get back up, but he kept going. He kept going and thought of his daughter, all alone with Billy Collins in the rough town of El Paso.
Now that the sun had fallen into the desert sands, he felt more alert. He knew that the gentle lapping noises nearby were not his imagination, nor was the sky-blue puddle up ahead a desert mirage.
He dropped his pack and ran towards the spring, jumping in fully clothed. The water was warm and clean as a freshly drawn bath. After diving underneath, he stood and slicked his gray hair back, then started scooping the water into his hands and drinking it.
He did that for quite sometime, and finally, begrudgingly trudged out and picked up his things. He decided to camp by the hot spring for the evening. He hung his clothes on the limbs of a mesquite, and in nothing but his underwear and boots, went about collecting dry grass, fallen mesquite branches and dried out cactus paddles for a fire.
After he had accumulated a decent amount, Ernie searched in his pack and pulled out the flint and steel. He squatted close to the small pile of kindling, and had begun striking one against the other when he heard the snap of a branch.
He froze and glanced up.
In the soft darkness, Ernie made out a figure. It appeared to be holding a bow and arrow.
Apaches.
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, it’d been at least ten years since Gerinomo had led a raid on American settlers, most thought he’d gone back to Arizona. But there’d been talk in town as of late, a sighting here, a spotting there.
Ernie had to admit he admired the man. Geronimo was a leader. He had done his best to protect his people and his land.
Ernie dropped his flint and steel and raised his hands in the air. He kept his face to the ground. “I mean no harm. Just passing through.” The pack lay on the other side of the fire, his pistol inside it.
If they chose to attack, he’d have no time to defend himself against their arrows. Ernie squeezed his eyes closed, thinking of Lottie, praying to whatever god existed to let him live.
After a few seconds, he glanced up, the dark figure was gone. He let out his breath and went back to work with the flint and steel. If they had wanted to kill him, they would have done it.
Soon, the fire was licking hungrily at its meal of dry grass and mesquite branches. Ernie dressed himself, slid on his gun belt, and scrummaged around in the pack, drawing up a few strips of jerky and a slice of dry bread.
He put the bread into his mouth and tried to bite off a piece but it was too hard. He brought out a small metal cup, poured water into it, and set it near the fire to warm.
He took his time eating the jerky strips, chewing thoroughly before swallowing, then he dipped his stale bread into the hot water. He was easily able to nibble off morsels of bread that way.
After another jerky strip, and finishing off the water, Ernie spread a blanket on the ground by the fire and laid out on it, his hand resting on his gun.
He listened to the crackle of the fire, and fastened his gaze on the stars above. The big dipper twinkled in the blackness, it had always been Lottie’s favorite constellation. How much she had grown from the little girl who once sat on his knee star gazing. Now, almost a grown woman, she’d resembled her mother so much that it almost pained him to look at her. Not only did she look like her mother, but had inherited her free spirit as well. Ernie thought about the words they had the night Lottie had left, what he had done, and shame filled his very being.
He closed his eyes to the stars, unworthy of their majesty, and turned on his side toward the fire. He prayed that Lottie would find somewhere to be safe until he could reach her, then he closed his eyes. Sleep immediately overcame him.
Ernie dreamed.
He dreamed the stars had been swallowed by the night. Mist rose from the desert floors, dampening an Indian chant coming somewhere from the great beyond. A creature stepped forward from the night, it was the same one as the night before. Gregory James? But it didn’t look like him, it looked closer to a demon. Ernie noted its ravenous, yellow eyes and razor edge teeth. Its midnight fur smelled of blood and death. The dark creature howled at the starless midnight and raced toward Ernie on two feet.
Ernie planted his feet into the ground and raised his pistol, aiming at the dark creature’s heart, but when he fired, the bullets missed.
The creature grew closer and closer.
Ernie fired and fired, until the bullets ran out. The creature leapt through the air, canine jaws opening wide then slamming shut like a trap on his throat. He screamed his daughter’s name just once, “Lottie!” before the beast ripped him to pieces.
Ernie startled out of sleep. He sat up and yanked his gun out of its holster and aimed it into the darkness, listening. Then, he sighed deeply, realizing he had just awoken from a dream. He placed the gun in his lap and rubbed his eyes. When Ernie heard a snap, similar to what he’d heard earlier, he froze and felt for the gun.
The moon wasn’t quite as full as the night before, but it provided enough light for him to see there wasn’t anything or anyone immediately around him.
He listened for a few minutes more, then relaxed. There were plenty of night critters out—beetles, lizards, snakes. They were relatively harmless if you left them alone. He stirred up the coals and threw more kindling on it, a flame began to lick them. Ernie thought about laying down again when a familiar howl echoed in the desert.
He froze. Every hair on hi
s arm prickled. The beast’s image still fresh in his mind from the dream.
Could the creature be back?
But, he had shot it dead.
The thing howled again. Perhaps there were more of them?
Ernie cocked his gun and rose. He stared in the direction where he’d seen the dark figure.
Maybe what he’d seen earlier hadn’t been an Apache, perhaps it had been the beast, but why not attack him then? Or even as he slept.
Ernie shook his head. A chill over took him and he began to quiver. The wail began once more, ending with an echo across the vast plains. It was closer this time. He could feel it in his bones.
He decided to examine where he’d seen the dark figure, but when he reached the spot, he didn’t see a single footprint.
“Hmm…” Ernie scratched the back of his neck, and glanced around. He wasn’t going to wait for that thing to creep up on him like it did the night before.
He bent and crept to a place between a mesquite and a taller paddle cactus, then squatted between them, leaning against the tree.
Something squirmed beneath his boot. An angry snake rattled its tail. Ernie startled, and drew his gun. The dark shadow of the snake squirmed away.
Ernie waited. He listened and watched, every sense on alert. Soon, a half hour passed, and then another. It was quiet and the usual night sounds continued, lulling him to close his eyes. Eventually, his eyelids begin to droop… and he dreamed.
He dreamed his daughter sat by the hot spring, she was five years old. The moonlight haloed her blonde hair, drawn into a single long braid down her back. Her hand-sewn patchwork dress was full of mud as she used both hands to scoop water from the spring, then splash the sand in front of her knees. She patted the mud together, humming.
He said, “Lottie?”
She paused and smiled at him in the moonlight, her eyes wide and innocent. “It’s a mud pie, Papa.” She began patting another one together singing, “Mary had a little lamb. Little lamb, little lamb…”
