by Lee Collins
The rustling was very close now, hidden in the next stall. Crouching down, she ran her fingers over the savior's wooden body for reassurance. Now that she'd reached the sound, she wasn't sure what she should do next. If it was the red-eyed woman or another of the feral vampires, she couldn't very well fight them with nothing but her crucifix.
Pressing up against the post, Victoria leaned around it just enough to see into the stall. At that moment, a bolt of lightning split the shadows. It gleamed on a black eye rimmed with white. Fear shot through her limbs, but it quickly dissolved. The tension drained from her body like water through a sluice gate, leaving her legs feeling wobbly. She fell to her knees as darkness again closed in around her. Thunder shook the walls, and although she could no longer see them, she knew her horse's terrified eyes were still watching her. Her sigh of relief came out as a laugh.
"What's so funny, darlin?"
Victoria spun around so quickly she toppled over. Framed by the barn door, the man's silhouette was like a slender black candle with blue flame smoldering at its crown. She could see hunger and amusement flickering in those eyes.
Pulling herself together, Victoria rose to her feet and raised the crucifix. The man continued to watch her, apparently relishing her helplessness. Victoria knew her luck had run out. Without a real weapon, it was just a matter of time before he overwhelmed and consumed her. Cora must have run out into the storm in pursuit of her quarry, or maybe she was lying dead somewhere nearby. Either way, the hunter wouldn't be coming to her rescue. Still, Victoria wouldn't allow him to make her his mistress, no matter what happened. If need be, she would kill herself before he could take her. If only she hadn't left her knife behind.
The barn had plenty of sharp tools handy, though. Keeping the crucifix raised, she began edging over to where she remembered Cora had left the pitchfork. The tines were rusted, but they would do the job well enough if she could just get to it.
Without warning, the man's eyes vanished from the entrance. Victoria searched the shadows, hoping to see that wicked blue glow, but the barn was dark. The constant drumming of rain on the roof made it impossible to hear something sneaking up on her. She began panning the crucifix around the room as she worked her way across the barn.
Something struck her head from behind. Dazed, she fell to one knee, fighting to stay conscious. The world was spinning. She felt like she might vomit. Had she dropped the crucifix?
A cold hand clamped onto the back of her neck. Crippling pain lanced through her body. Her fingers tried to pull it off, but it was like trying to pry open a wolf's jaws. The hand lifted her mercilessly until her feet kicked at the air just above the floor.
"Now, then," came the man's voice, "what was you saying about not being scared of me?"
Victoria couldn't answer. It took all of her effort just to draw in a breath.
"What's that? Ain't got no more fancy words for me?" The hand shook her like a rag doll. Lights flashed across her vision. "Well, my pecker's got a thing or two to say to you, so you just sit still and let him have his say."
He threw her to the ground. Her head slammed into the floorboards. Stunned, she lay in the middle of a spinning vortex, struggling to remain conscious. Footsteps rustled in the straw nearby, but she couldn't remember who they belonged to.
Lucidity broke through the haze like a sunbeam. She pushed herself into a sitting position even though it felt as though someone had piled a load of bricks onto her back. The nearby shuffling continued. It had to be Fodor Glava. He was going to rape her and kill her. She needed her crucifix, but where was it? Frantic, she crawled away from the sound, hoping to find the figurine or some sort of weapon. Her time was almost up; at any moment, she would feel the grip of cold fingers somewhere on her body, and then it would be too late.
"Damn fool."
Why was he speaking to her again? Why did his voice sound strange? She turned her head.
Cora stood in the doorway, her rifle trained on Fodor Glava. A storm lantern hung from her belt, bathing her in an orange halo.
"Cora!" In that moment, Victoria could have hugged her.
"Hush up," Cora said, keeping her gaze to the man standing in the shadows. "You there. Just what do you think you're doing?"
"Cora Oglesby," he replied. "About time you showed up. Your girl here ain't much sport."
"She ain't my girl. She's just a lost lamb showed up on my doorstep."
"Awful keen on protecting her, ain't you?"
Cora stepped toward him. "Ain't nothing special. I just happen to like shooting wolves is all. You're the feller calls himself Fodor Glava, I presume?"
"Naturally," he replied with a bow. "Sure is nice to see you again."
"You can stick the act where the sun don't shine," Cora said. "I know you ain't him because I done him in four years past."
The man laughed. "You can't never kill what's dead."
"Seems to me I been doing just that for more years than I've got fingers and toes. So either I've earned my keep shamming folk all this time, or you ain't got a clue what you is." Cora closed one eye and sighted down the rifle's barrel. "Care to call my bluff?"
For once, the man didn't reply.
"That's what I thought," Cora said, "but now that we know who you ain't, I want to know who you are and why you go about calling yourself Glava."
"His blood is in me, so why shouldn't I?" he said. "I've just as much a claim to it as he did now."
Cora cocked her head to one side. "Ain't that odd? He never so much as gave you a mention when I was running him through. Could be he had other things on his mind. Still, I reckon he might have said something about making a dimwit of a disciple."
"I was his ace in the hole, see? His backup gun if you managed to whip him. He had it all figured out."
"Except for the part where I've got you on the business end of my gun," Cora said. "How are you supposed to get your revenge now or whatever you was planning to do?"
"I got my ways," he replied.
"Ain't going to do you much good if they ain't coming by in the next few minutes." Cora glanced down at Victoria. "Get up, girl."
Victoria scrambled to her feet and hurried over to her, keeping an eye on the man. "Yes?"
"Here." Cora shoved the rifle into her hands. "Keep this on him."
The weight of the gun was almost too much for her. Hoisting it with difficulty, she pointed the barrel at the blue eyes. "What will you do?"
"Get my answer," Cora said. She untied the lantern from her belt and lifted it. "Now, let's see who you really are."
"He is a demon," said a new voice. "That is all you need to know."
Cora's head turned so quickly Victoria heard her neck bones pop. "Who in tarnation are you?" the hunter asked.
"You only need to know what I am," the woman replied.
Victoria glanced over her shoulder at the speaker, and a chill ran down her spine. The silhouette of a woman stood in the doorway, eyes gleaming red in the night.
"She's my ace," said the man.
"Don't look like much of one," Cora said.
"I am more than what I seem," the woman said, "much as you are, Cora Oglesby."
Cora laughed. "All I am is an old drunk. If that's more than I seem to be, maybe I ought to gussy myself up from time to time."
"Don't go flattering her, now," said the man. He took a step forward.
Victoria tightened her grip on the rifle. "Don't move."
"You, Victoria Dawes," said the woman. "You did not obey me."
"I tried," Victoria said, "but she insisted on coming out here before she would leave with me."
"Well, I'll be damned," Cora said, glancing at Victoria. "You wasn't joshing me after all. This squaw really did send you after me."
"Mind your words," the woman said, "or they will be your death."
"Them's some big words," Cora said. "I'd lay fifty on them being a bluff."
"You would be wise to reconsider," the woman replied. She stepped forward into the la
ntern's halo of light.
Victoria could not help but stare. Aside from a hide mantle around her shoulders, the woman was naked. Droplets of rain clung to her, creeping down skin the color of rust to pool at her feet. Gooseflesh covered her exposed arms and legs, but she didn't seem to feel the chill. Sodden ropes of black hair were plastered to her face, neck, and chest.
"This is my lucky day," the man said.
The woman ignored the comment. Peeling the hide mantle from her shoulders, she threw it at Cora's feet. "This is a warning."
"I seen me plenty of hides," Cora said. "Yours ain't all that special, though it could do with a good tanner. Ain't you Indians got folks that can do that?"
"Look at it closely, hunter," the woman said.
Cora rolled her eyes. Crouching down, she held the lantern over the strip of flesh. Her smirk slowly faded, and she smoothed the skin out with her free hand. The blood drained from her face. She shot a quick look at the woman before storming into the shadows.
Victoria watched the light from the hunter's lantern retreat, confused and frightened by her reaction. Left alone between the two creatures, she backed up until she could see them both without turning her head. The Indian paid her no heed, but she could feel the man's blue eyes on her. Her arms ached, but she kept the rifle raised, reminding both herself and him that she still had the power to kill him.
A roar of anger filled the barn. It was so loud and full of rage that it was barely human, and Victoria took it at first for another clap of thunder. Cora charged back into the group, revolver drawn, face red with fury. She pressed the barrel against the woman's forehead.
"What did you do?"
The woman regarded her with calm black eyes. "As I said, it is a warning."
Cora pulled the hammer back. "Where is my horse?"
"Dead."
Orange light glinted on the Colt's barrel as Cora stepped back and pulled the trigger.
Click.
Instead of a gunshot's deafening report, the revolver simply clicked.
In a blink, the woman's hand came from nowhere, knocking the gun away. It flipped end-over-end into the shadows. Cora reached for her saber, but the woman grabbed her wrist. "Be still."
Cora's other fist smashed into the woman's jaw. The woman rocked backward, but she didn't release the hunter's arm. When Cora hauled back for a second blow, the Indian caught the swinging fist in her palm. "Be still," she said again.
Cora spat in her face. "Go to hell."
"I offer you this chance, hunter," the woman said, "because we share the pain of loss."
The hunter deflated a little. "What are you talking about?"
"Do not ask idle questions. I know of your husband."
Cora lowered her arms. "How?"
"I heard you speak of him."
"When?" Cora asked, confusion bleeding into the anger on her face.
"Earlier today," the woman replied. "You told the young one of your husband as you rode toward this place."
"How do you know that?"
The woman motioned toward the hide. "I was your horse."
Cora blinked at her, then threw back her head and filled the barn with laughter. Victoria and the blue-eyed man openly stared at her, and even the Indian woman seemed confused by her reaction. True, the woman's reply made little sense, but Victoria hardly thought it merited such an uproarious guffaw.
The echoes soon died out, and Cora shook her head. "I got to hand it to you, that is the best yarn I've heard in a good while. Them boys back at the Print Shop could have a few lessons from you on spinning tales."
"I do not deceive you," the woman said. She pointed at Victoria, who shifted uneasily at the attention. "That one fired her weapon at a bush, and her horse fled at the sound. When you killed the rabbit for your supper, you made her tie it to her horse. You spoke of the importance of animals and of your husband."
As the woman went on, the smile disappeared from Cora's face. Her eyes grew stony. Victoria watched her countenance change, the rifle all but forgotten in her hands.
"Well, ain't that odd," Cora said when the woman finished. "You was dogging us all the way from town, and I never knew. You Indians got some first-rate tracking skills, you know that?"
"Believe what you will," the woman replied. "But I urge you to take this chance and escape with your lives. Return with Victoria Dawes to the east, hunter. Assist her with her demons. Leave the land of my people, and do not return."
"I ain't about to take orders from the same squaw that done killed my horse," Cora said. "We ain't settled until I take that price out of your hide."
Before the woman could respond, Cora spun toward Victoria and snatched the rifle from her hands. Victoria stepped backward, stunned, as the hunter swiveled back toward her enemy. The Winchester's barrel spouted flame, but the Indian was no longer where she had stood a moment before. Cursing, Cora chambered another round and fired at the fleeing shadow. The silver bullet sailed over the woman's head and out into the falling rain.
"Cora, behind you!" Victoria screamed.
Without missing a beat, the hunter spun in place. The rifle's barrel cracked across the blue-eyed man's face as he charged, sending him tumbling to one side. Cora followed his roll, sending a round through his leg. He bellowed in anger, but before she could put a bullet through his head, he recovered and fled into the night.
Seconds passed, marked by the pounding of Victoria's heart. The ringing in her ears faded, replaced by the hollow drumming of rain on the roof. Cora kept the rifle pointed at the open door, every muscle stretched taut, waiting for the slightest movement. None came.
A gunshot cut through the sound of falling rain as fire lit the inside of the barn. Cora worked the action, aimed at the roof, and fired again. Between shots, Victoria could hear the hunter's rage-filled screaming. Only when she had emptied the rifle's magazine did she fall silent, her back to the young Englishwoman.
"Get your things," the hunter said without turning.
"But-"
"Do it!"
Cora's voice cut the air like a whip-crack, making Victoria jump. Scrambling for the lantern, she raised it above her head and began searching for her lost crucifix. Her boot swept from side to side, pushing loose straw out of the way. Behind her, she heard a steady metallic clicking as the hunter loaded fresh bullets into her rifle. Victoria could sense Cora's impatience mounting with each one. She swept faster.
A few tense seconds later, she heard the unmistakable sound of wood tumbling on wood. Chasing it with both lantern and hand, she pulled her crucifix from a small pile of straw. It looked none the worse for the wear.
Tucking it in her belt where it belonged, she looked at Cora. "Done."
"What about your gun?"
"It's back in the house," Victoria said, letting her frustration leak into her voice. "It's useless now. That Fodor Glava person bent the barrel backward."
"Get my gun, then," Cora said. "I think it fell over there somewhere."
Victoria sighed. Lifting the lantern again, she moved to where the gun looked like it may have fallen and began her search. When she located the Colt, she slipped it into her empty holster and returned to Cora's side. "Got everything?" the hunter asked. Victoria nodded. "I'd say we're done here," Cora said. "No point spending the night out here. You ready for another wetting?"
"I suppose so. Do you want your gun back?"
"Hang on to it a spell. We can't have you running around defenseless, now can we?" Victoria blushed, but Cora had already turned toward the door. "Tie that light to your belt so you got your hands free. Never know if they're planning on jumping us out there."
Victoria did as instructed, then pulled the crucifix from her belt. "Ready."
The hunter plunged into the downpour, vanishing from sight almost instantly. Holding her breath, Victoria followed. The shock of cold water made her flinch. She resisted the urge to wrap her arms around herself, keeping the crucifix extended toward the darkness.
NINE
The sun shone down on the woman and her husband as they walked side-by-side along the road. A grey mule plodded beside them, flicking its ears at buzzing flies. New rations were strapped across the mule's strong back. The woman knew it hurt her husband's pride to beg for rations from the American soldiers, but she would not let them starve. She had known enough of hunger.
In the distance, she saw a cloud of dust slowly moving toward them. Shapes soon became clear within it. A small band of soldiers, no more than half a dozen. A patrol returning to the fort after a day roaming the desert. She had seen many such groups near the American fort. While she did not like them, neither did she fear them. They were enforcers of the American laws, but they could not interfere with the Dine. Their treaty said as much.
The woman and her husband continued walking along the road as it stretched across the land. The soldiers drew nearer, the cloud of dust billowing out behind them like a storm. Soon, she felt the thunder of the horses' hooves in the ground. They moved aside to let the soldiers pass, leading their mule into the scrub by the side of the road.
As they rode by, one of the soldiers pulled his horse around and rode toward the woman and her husband. He had the wide mustache favored by so many Americans, and his teeth flashed white beneath it as he smiled at them.
"Where might you be going?" he asked.
"Home," she answered. She had learned their speech while living at Hweeldi.
"Not with our food, you aren't," the soldier said.
"This food is ours," she said, laying a hand on the mule's grey coat.
"Grew it yourselves, did you?" By now, the other soldiers had gathered around the one that spoke.
"No," her husband said.
"That's what I thought," the soldier said. "Now just hand it on over and you can be on your way."
