by Lee Collins
Hot blood coursed through Victoria's cheeks. She could feel the sheriff's eyes on her. "I'll ride," she said quietly.
"I knew you'd come around." Cora's grin lasted only a moment. "Now then, we got a lot to get done and not much time. First thing, we make for the Print Shop and wait for them Indian boys to wander in. Sheriff, I'll thank you to leave one of these fellers - this one, the one that's dry - right where he is so we can take our gamble with him."
"Just the one?" Morgan asked. "Why not both?"
"We went and made a sorry sight of the other one's face. Even if he did wake up, and I ain't sure he would now, I don't reckon old blue eyes would have much of a use for him. Best to just drag him into the sun and have done with it."
When the sheriff hesitated, Cora rolled her eyes. Placing a hand on the hilt of her saber, she leaned toward the ruined corpse. "Or, if you'd rather, I can just have off with his head right here, and you can go about explaining to his widow why he's a head shorter than he ought to be."
"Don't make much difference, way I see it," Morgan replied. "Ain't like saying it was spooks that did it will make a damn lick of sense, anyhow."
"Well, you ain't been elected just to slick down that mustache of yours," Cora said. "If you don't like my explanation good enough, go on and spin your own yarn about how these poor fools got themselves killed. Maybe they gone and got themselves done in by being too greedy."
Cora laughed at her own joke, but the sheriff didn't join in. In the dim light, his face seemed to redden, but whether it was from anger or embarrassment, Victoria couldn't tell. His right hand curled into a fist, then relaxed and smoothed down his mustache.
"I do believe we've places to be," Victoria reminded Cora.
"Right, right," she replied. "Much obliged for the tour here, sheriff. Now, if you'll excuse us, we got to go ask some Indian boys about a witch."
Morgan's eyebrows twitched. "A what?"
"Never you mind. Come on, Vicky, let's make tracks."
Victoria followed the hunter down the stairs and out through the building's front entrance. The deputy still stood at his post, arms folded, as if he were carved from stone. Cora ignored him, pushing her way through the crowd of onlookers. The sun had climbed higher into the sky, and the temperature was beginning to rise. Victoria sighed at the thought of another sweltering day.
"I reckon I might need your help with these here Indians," Cora said.
"What do you mean?" Victoria asked. "I'm not exactly an expert on their culture. I'd never even seen an Indian before I arrived here."
"No," Cora admitted, "but you are an expert at sitting still and looking pretty."
"What does that have to do with anything?" Even before the question passed through her lips, she was dreading the answer.
Cora shot her a look. "You ain't as thick as all that. Woman your age, specially one as doll-faced as you is, ought to know by now just how to make a man go all weak in the knees with a smile or a wink."
"You expect me to be coy with them?"
"Damn straight I do. Ain't like I'm asking you to let them have a poke with you, so simmer down. All I need you to do is look sweet and scared, like you ain't got a hope in the world if they don't tell us everything they know about witches. Men plumb lose their wits when they think there's a pretty girl that needs their saving."
"What if they don't think I'm pretty?" Victoria asked. "For all I know, they may find blue eyes or blond hair repulsive."
"Maybe so," Cora said, "but there ain't no harm in trying."
"Save to my dignity," Victoria muttered.
When they arrived at the saloon, Cora pushed through the batwing doors. Robert glared at her from behind the bar. "Took you long enough."
"I reckon so," Cora said.
"Morgan didn't see the need to arrest you after all?"
Cora shook her head. "Just wanted my expertise on a case he's got brewing. Couldn't help him none, though, so I told him I'd send you over instead."
"Very funny," Robert said. "Are you going to mind the saloon now, or should I stand here all day?"
"You're welcome to," Cora replied. "Me and Vicky got business here with them Indian boys what drop by in the mornings, so you can stay and look after the other folk if you got a mind to."
Robert looked at her suspiciously. "What business do you have with Indians?"
"Ain't none of yours, that's what. If you ain't going to help, best you just get. I don't need you looking all prickly and scaring off the decent folk what come in for a little morning poker. Vicky's doing enough of that as it is."
Victoria gave her a scowl. "I beg your pardon?"
"See? There you go again. I swear I'm the only person here who ain't sat on a cactus this morning."
With that, Cora took up her usual place behind the bar. Robert twisted a rag around his fingers, his face alternating shades of red and white, but he didn't move. Victoria remained where she was for a moment, then sat down at the nearest unoccupied table. Her blisters wailed in agony. Despite the pain, she fought the impulse to pull off her boots and give them some relief. The sight of her bare, bleeding feet would probably undermine whatever charm Cora expected her to use on the two men they were expecting.
The thought still made her furious. What did she know about seducing men? Her parents hadn't raised her to be wanton, winking at every man that crossed her path. Perhaps she enjoyed the occasional attention she garnered from young men, but what of that? She still had her dignity. Even if she didn't, she knew she would only end up embarrassing herself. Heaven knew her riding clothes weren't exactly alluring, and what guarantee did she have that these two Indians would even be able to understand her? They could very well not speak English. A fine sight that would be.
The batwing doors creaked as two men entered. Victoria knew right away that they were the men Cora was expecting. Both had broad faces, raven-colored hair, and black eyes that seemed to spark in the smoky air. To her surprise, however, they wore denim pants and flannel button-up shirts. Red kerchiefs hung around their necks. She had expected them to come dressed in skins and face paint and feathers, like the stories she'd heard of such men, but they looked more at home in the saloon than she had when she first arrived. But for their long braids, they might have passed for dark-skinned Mexican cowboys.
After giving the room a brief glance, the Indians stepped up to the bar. Cora set a pair of glasses in front of them and pulled out a familiar jug. Victoria could feel the fire in the back of her own throat as she watched the brown liquid flow. The two men nodded their thanks and drained their glasses.
"You boys care for another?" Cora asked. "It's on the house."
Robert started to sputter a protest, but she silenced him with a look. The two men nodded. Cora refilled their glasses with a grin. "Drink on up."
They obliged. Cora watched the whiskey disappear down their throats, her grin widening. Behind her, Robert deflated with a shake of his head. He moved down to the other end of the bar and settled in to watch a game of poker.
"Say, you fellers got a minute?" Cora asked. "I was wondering if you might answer some questions I got for you."
The two men exchanged glances. "What questions?" one finally asked.
"Nothing incriminating," Cora said, holding up her hands in surrender. "I ain't looking to get you all in trouble or nothing. Wouldn't be no kind of business owner if I went around getting my own customers locked up, anyhow."
Another glance. "What questions?" the one repeated.
Cora nodded in Victoria's direction. "See that pretty little thing over there?" Two sets of black eyes settled on her. Victoria returned what she hoped was a shy-yet-inviting smile. "You might have seen her around town lately. She's got herself in a bit of a fix, and she done came to me for help. Sorry to say, but I ain't got the know-how necessary to help her out, but then I thought of you two fellers and figured you might be able to lend her a hand."
Their eyes lingered on her. Victoria willed herself not to squirm under t
heir gaze. Instead, she raised her eyebrows in a hopeful expression, as if her life really did hang in the balance. Then again, maybe it did.
Faces betraying no hint of emotion, they sized her up for a minute longer before one of them - the one who had spoken earlier - finally nodded. "We will hear your questions," he said. His accent was thick, but it was not foreign to Victoria's ears: the Indian woman hunting her spoke in the same manner.
"Glad to hear it, boys," Cora said. "Come on over to the table and we'll have us a little pow-wow. Bob, keep an eye on the rest of the place for a spell, would you?"
Robert nodded absently as the two men walked toward Victoria's table. They stopped short of sitting down, but that was fine with her. She offered them another smile, inwardly screaming at Cora to hurry up and join them. The two men didn't exactly frighten her, but their unreadable faces made her uneasy.
Thumping boots announced Cora's approach. "Go on and have a seat, boys," she said, claiming a chair next to Victoria. The men exchanged glances again, and the one who had spoken to them nodded. Their chairs skidded across the floorboards as they sat.
"You boys got names?" Cora asked. "It don't feel right just calling you boys all the time."
The first man nodded. "I am Naalnish. He is Ata'halne."
"Fine names, if you ask me." Cora grinned at them.
"I reckon you already know who I am. This here's Vicky Dawes."
Victoria was about to correct her, but before she had a chance, Naalnish spoke to his companion in their native tongue. Victoria listened, fascinated. The words flowing out of him sounded like the bubbling of a small river. The man called Ata'halne nodded and said something in reply.
"What does this name 'Vicky' mean?" Naalnish asked, looking at Victoria.
"My name is Victoria," she said. "My parents named me for Queen Victoria - that's our queen where I'm from - and I never gave it much thought. I suppose it has something to do with victory and being victorious."
Naalnish said something to Ata'halne, and the other nodded. "It is a strong name. Your parents chose well," Naalnish said.
"Thank you," Victoria said.
"You got meanings for your names, too, right?" Cora asked. "All you Indians do, I hear."
Naalnish nodded. "Yes. In your tongue, my name means 'He Works'. His name means 'He Interrupts'."
Cora laughed. "He sure ain't living up to his name today. I don't think he's said a word but to you. Did you all name him that as a joke?"
"No," Naalnish said. "He does not know your language and so does not speak to you."
"Fair enough." Cora placed both hands on the table. "So, are you and him ready to help us out?" Naalnish nodded again, so she continued. "Well, as it turns out, Vicky here got herself into a bind with one of your folk, and she ain't quite sure how to go about getting out of it."
"She has been injured by one of our people, or she has injured one of our people?"
"Not injured, exactly. At least, not hurt or nothing. See, a lady Indian took her from her hotel room here in town, carried her out to an old ranch west of here, and gave her quite a scare. Then, when Vicky and I rode out to that same ranch, this here lady killed our horses and left us in the middle of the desert to starve or die of sunstroke."
Strange words flowed between the two men. Cora folded across her chest and waited. Victoria listened to them speak, hoping to catch any hint of meaning or emotion, but she soon gave up. Though their words were at once as graceful and earthy as the mesas in the desert, she couldn't make any sense of them. The Indians seemed intent on their conversation; they spoke for several minutes, occasionally glancing at the two women.
Naalnish suddenly turned back to them. "What reason would one of our people have to do these things?"
"I ain't rightly sure, myself," Cora replied. "Vicky didn't go picking any fights, if that what you mean. She was minding her own business when she got snatched up."
"That is not good," Naalnish said. "Our people do not wish to fight with yours." His dark eyes fixed on Victoria with startling intensity. "You did not give her reason?"
"No," Victoria said. "I had never seen her before she kidnapped me. I'm sure of it."
Naalnish relayed her words to Ata'halne. The other man replied with something that made both of them laugh. Victoria shot a glance at Cora, not sure what to make of their laughter, but the hunter's eyes remained on their companions.
"Why do you come to us with this?" Naalnish asked. "Surely your laws can deal with this woman. You do not need our help."
"Well, this woman ain't exactly normal," Cora said.
Naalnish's brow twitched. "What do you mean?"
"You Navajo folk got religion, right? Not like Catholics or Protestants or whatnot, but you all have spirits and magic and such?"
"Yes," Naalnish said.
"That's what I figured," Cora said. "See, this here woman what's been giving poor Vicky so much trouble uses that spirit magic of yours to pull off her tricks, I reckon. Spooky stuff, what's more. She made it where my gun didn't work, and said she even turned into my horse to trick us."
As she spoke, the man's face clouded over. He leaned back in his chair. When Cora finished, he turned to his friend and spoke in a low, hurried voice. Ata'halne's eyes locked onto the hunter as he listened. Like Naalnish, his face betrayed a deep concern at what he was hearing. He responded to the other man, his voice hushed as though he was afraid the two women would overhear.
Naalnish abruptly stood. "We cannot speak of this."
"What's that, now?" Cora asked.
"To speak of this evil is to call to it," he said. "We can say no more."
"Now, you just wait one minute," Cora said, rising to her feet. "How can you call yourself a man if you just light out and leave this poor girl to her fate?"
"She is not of our people," Naalnish replied. He met Cora's gaze without flinching. "We have women and children, brothers and sisters. Why should we risk their lives for her? The evil that you speak of will devour them all. We will not help you."
"Please." The look of distress on Victoria's face was genuine. "I don't know what to do."
The Indian turned away from them, placing a hand on Ata'halne's shoulder before walking toward the door. Ata'halne rose to follow his companion. His black eyes lingered on Victoria's face for a moment before he, too, turned and left the saloon.
Cora sat back down as the batwing doors creaked shut. "Well, that puts a burr under our saddle, don't it?"
"You do not seem all that concerned."
"Well, what to do about it?" Cora said. "Ain't like we can go clinging to their boots and begging. Indians don't take kindly to that sort of display, and that's one thing we happen to agree on. I ain't exactly the begging type."
"You aren't the smart type either, are you?" Victoria asked.
Cora held up a hand. "Hey, now, no need to get nasty about it. So these two fellers are too yellow to lend us a hand. They ain't the only two Indians in the world. We'll find us a one that ain't such a coward."
"Why? So you can drive them off again?" Victoria's chair nearly fell over as she stood. "What if none of them offer to help us? How will we get ourselves out of this mess?" Cora started to speak, but Victoria was too angry and too frightened to slow down. "I'll tell you. We won't. We won't because you have the diplomatic subtlety of a cannon. You have condemned us to death, but I refuse to just sit about and wait for it. If this witch woman wants to kill me, I will make her catch me first. I'm going back to England. Even if you refuse to come. I have had enough of your insults, your condescension, and your recklessness, and I won't stand for another minute of it. Goodbye, Cora Oglesby."
Victoria turned on her heel, ignoring the spikes of pain shooting through her feet. She half-expected to hear Cora's voice calling her back, but the hunter remained silent. Not that it mattered. Cora could scream and beg for her to stop. Her mind was made up. It had been a mistake to come out here in the first place, the mad delusion of a girl lost to grief. She should h
ave listened to her doubts and abandoned this quest before it had ever gone this far. The sooner she boarded a train bound for New York, the sooner she could begin forgetting this miserable little town and its horrible hero.
Outside, the sun had already transformed the streets of Albuquerque into dust-lined ovens. Victoria pulled her hat down against the glare and stormed down the wooden sidewalk. With every painful step, her longing to see the cobblestone streets and green pastures of Oxford increased. She could have been seated in her father's study that morning, learning all she could about managing the investments he had left to her. In the afternoon, she might have taken a carriage to a friend's estate to take tea and watch children play in the garden. Nightfall would have seen her return to her own bedchamber for a deep, dreamless sleep beneath her silk sheets.
A hand grabbed her shoulder.
She let out a short scream and whirled around, hand reaching for her revolver. It was halfway out of its holster before she stopped. The Indian called Naalnish stood before her. The sun shone in his black hair as he regarded her in silence.
"Yes?" she asked after a few awkward moments. "What is it?"
Naalnish looked over his shoulder as Ata'halne appeared behind him. Naalnish asked the other man something in their native tongue. Ata'halne nodded.
"You would know why he is called 'He Interrupts'?" Naalnish asked, turning back to Victoria.
"Not particu-"
"It is not because he speaks too much or too loudly. He was given that name because he interrupts the speech of wisdom."
"What do you mean?" Victoria asked.
The Indian sighed. "He spoke to me of his great worry for you. He says you are young and do not understand this world. He asked me if I would have my own daughter receive help if she journeyed to your lands and found trouble. I could not say no."
He paused. Victoria said nothing, afraid of somehow changing his mind again.
"I cannot help you to fight this evil," Naalnish said, "but I know of one who can."
