by Mark Lukens
David dismounted while his horse drank from a pool of water among the rocks. David walked away, but not too far. He looked up at the endless blue sky—there were more buzzards circling in the air high above them.
Jed filled up his canteen. He took a few long swallows—the water was cold and clean. He held his canteen out for David. “You want some?”
David walked over to Jed and gently took the canteen from him. He used both hands to lift it to his lips, drinking the water and spilling some of it down his chin. After he was done, he handed the canteen back to Jed.
“It’ll be dark soon,” Jed said as he filled his canteen back up again. “We need to find a place to camp for the night.” He looked around. Now that they were out of the low canyons and up on higher, flatter ground, there wasn’t much in the way of cover for a camp.
A few minutes later they were back on their horses. As they rode away from the scattering of rocks and boulders, Jed’s mind began to slip back to the woods yesterday, and soon he was there again.
*
Jed and his men ventured deeper into the woods, getting farther and farther away from that strange inside-out carcass they had seen on the trail earlier. They found a large clearing to camp in; it was the biggest one they’d seen so far in the woods. The trail they had been following through the woods picked up again on the far side of the clearing. To the left of the clearing, a rock wall rose up thirty feet and ran along for at least three hundred feet. From its highest point the rock wall sloped back down to the forest floor on both sides. At the bottom of the rock wall, right in the middle, there was a dugout large enough for a man to stand up inside; the rock wall hung over the dugout like a porch roof. The dugout looked almost like the entrance to a cave, but it only went back about five feet underneath the rock wall. It would provide a nice place to camp and protect their backs; they couldn’t ask for better in the middle of these woods.
Roscoe built their campfire at the edge of the rock overhang while Dobbs tied their horses to a few trees that were bunched together where the rock wall came back down towards the ground. The horses were farther away than Jed would’ve liked, but they were still within fifty yards of their camp.
Red Moon was a little closer to them, only thirty yards away from the camp in the other direction. Jed had wrapped a length of chain around the base of a tree and locked it to Red Moon’s shackled wrists in front of him. The chain would keep the Navajo outlaw from running in the night, and Jed thought it was more humane than tying the man’s legs together all night. There was enough slack in the chain around the tree so that Red Moon could lie down if he wanted to—Jed brought him an extra blanket, a bowl of beans with jerky in it, and some coffee. But Red Moon had left the blanket rolled up beside him and he ignored the bowl of food and cup of coffee. He sat there with his back against the tree, not moving a muscle.
Jed was about to walk back to the camp, but he looked at Red Moon. “We both know what’s going to happen to you when we get to Smith Junction. No sense making things worse. If your men are following us, then just tell me now so we can be ready. You could call them off when they get close enough. I don’t see any reason for anyone to get killed tonight.”
“They are not my men,” Red Moon answered. “I told you that.”
“Skinwalkers, huh?” Jed said.
Red Moon nodded. “The same ones who turned that animal inside out on the trail. They will do the same thing to us. You cannot stop them. I cannot stop them. No one can.”
Jed was done with Red Moon’s fairy tales. He left the man alone in the darkening woods and went back to the campfire.
The horses were a little jumpy as the night fell quickly, the darkness covering everything except their little beacon of campfire light. The four horses snorted and whinnied in the dark, perhaps sensing something close by—if not Red Moon’s men, then maybe a bear or a cougar.
“What about what that Indian said earlier?” Dobbs asked after they were quiet for a moment. He had finished his beans and cradled his coffee cup in his hands like he was trying to warm his fingers up. He sat cross-legged, close to the campfire. His eyes were wide in the darkness, his skin so pale it almost seemed luminous.
“Skinwalkers?” Roscoe asked. He leaned back on his pack underneath the rock overhang, lost in the shadows it created. He took another sip from his whiskey flask.
“Yeah,” Dobbs said. “What are they supposed to be? I mean, I know they’re not real, but . . .”
“Just a legend, kid,” Roscoe said.
They were quiet for a moment. Jed watched Dobbs, and he could tell that the boy wasn’t going to let the idea of skinwalkers go. It was almost like Dobbs wanted to hear a ghost story by the campfire.
“Yeah, but what is the legend?” Dobbs finally asked.
Roscoe didn’t answer.
“If you’re too scared to talk about them—” Dobbs began.
Roscoe sat up quickly. “I ain’t scared of nothing.”
Dobbs smiled, knowing he had riled Roscoe. “So what are they?”
Roscoe shrugged.
Jed was pretty sure Roscoe was stalling because he really didn’t know what skinwalkers were. He’d heard the name before and knew that they were some kind of Navajo legend, but that was probably the extent of his knowledge on the subject.
“I heard they’re witches,” Jed said, rescuing Roscoe from stumbling through an explanation, part of which he would probably just make up anyway. “Witches that can transform into animals.”
Dobbs considered the idea for a moment.
“Like shapeshifters,” Jed went on. “You ever heard of shapeshifters?”
Dobbs just shrugged. “I guess not.”
“Shapeshifters are men that can turn into animals like wolves or bears, and then turn back into men again. Sometimes it happens during a full moon.”
Dobbs stared up at the moon at the edge of the trees, the moon not quite up over the clearing just yet.
“What about werewolves?” Jed asked Dobbs. “You ever heard of werewolves?”
“Yes,” Dobbs answered, his face brightening a little. “I heard of them.”
“Well, skinwalkers are supposed to be kind of like werewolves.”
Dobbs looked out at the darkness of the clearing, staring at the woods at the other side.
“Look at his face,” Roscoe cackled. “You got him scared of werewolves now.”
“I ain’t scared of no werewolves,” Dobbs grumbled.
“I don’t know too much else about skinwalkers,” Jed admitted. “I heard they’re like witches, though. I heard they can put curses and spells on people. Like black magic.”
“But none of that’s true,” Dobbs said almost like he was trying to reassure himself.
“It is true,” Red Moon said from the darkness, his deep voice carrying easily across the clearing. “To become a skinwalker, a man must murder his own family. He must take one of the dead bodies of his family to another skinwalker. And then he must learn to raise the dead.”
Dobbs sat very still next to the fire, his eyes wide, the cup of coffee clenched in his hands.
“Don’t listen to him,” Jed told Dobbs. “He’s just trying to scare you.”
“I know,” Dobbs said and swallowed hard, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his throat.
“Maybe his people really are skinwalkers,” Roscoe said, moving closer to Dobbs. “Maybe they’re all out there right now in the woods, watching us.” He cackled again and took another sip of whiskey from his flask.
“Skinwalkers are not my people,” Red Moon said. “Once they are skinwalkers, they are not Diné anymore. They are no longer men at all.”
Jed looked over at Red Moon, barely able to make him out at the base of the tree in the darkness. It looked like he hadn’t moved a muscle the whole time.
“Skinwalkers are monsters,” Red Moo
n continued. “They can raise the dead. Make them walk and talk again.”
“That’s enough,” Jed called out to Red Moon.
A coyote yipped from somewhere in the woods.
Jed tensed at the sound. Roscoe and Dobbs were motionless, both of them listening.
A wolf howled from far off in the other direction.
Roscoe moved closer to the dying fire. He had his Winchester repeater in his hands now. Jed was glad to see him alert after all of the whiskey he’d had in the last hour and a half.
“Just a wolf,” Dobbs said as if the sound needed an explanation.
“Skinwalkers can sound like animals,” Red Moon told them from the darkness. “They can sound like any animal they want to.”
A rattling sound came from the brush at the other end of the clearing—a rattlesnake.
Jed scooped a few handfuls of dirt onto the campfire, snuffing it out.
The three of them sat in the darkness for a few minutes, listening for any other sounds. The horses were snorting now, moving around as much as they could on their hobbled legs, pulling at the ropes tied to the tree trunks and branches.
An owl hooted from somewhere nearby. Another animal grunted in the brush a hundred yards away, then crashed through the undergrowth.
“It is them,” Red Moon said, his voice low but still carrying easily across the forest floor towards them.
“Just stay ready, boys,” Jed told Roscoe and Dobbs. “We’ll sleep in watches tonight. Dobbs, you take the first watch.”
Dobbs nodded.
Jed wanted to give Dobbs the first watch because he didn’t trust him to stay awake as the night grew long towards the dawn. “Wake me up in three hours, or if you see anything.”
Again, Dobbs nodded. He looked too scared and nervous to fall asleep anytime soon. He had his gun belt on, his hand down by his six-shooter.
Jed lay down with his head on his pack, tipping his hat down low to cover his eyes, resting his hands on his belly, his Colt .45 within easy reach. But he didn’t think he was going to sleep anytime soon.
CHAPTER 4
The sun was already touching the tops of the jagged mountains lining the western horizon. Jed and David needed to find somewhere to camp soon. He spotted a wash near a few boulders and copse of scraggily trees. It wasn’t the perfect place to camp, but it was the best he could find before it got dark. The boulders and trees would provide cover for their backs and help block the chilly wind. They only had an hour of daylight left now.
Jed ran a rope between two of the trees and then tied both of their horses’ leads to the line of rope. He wanted to keep their horses close to their camp tonight, especially with what had happened to his horses in the woods yesterday. After he was done hobbling the horses’ legs, he looked at David. “You want to find some kindling for a fire?”
David went to work right away, collecting sticks for the campfire. Jed arranged some round rocks in a circle for their fire pit. He pulled out a metal grate from his pack to heat the pots on. A few moments later David brought Jed some sticks and a few larger pieces of wood. Jed used the kitchen matches he’d gotten from David’s house to start the fire.
A few minutes later the flames of their campfire were dancing inside the circle of rocks, pushing the cold and darkness back a little. As Jed cooked some beans and heated a pot of coffee, he tried again to talk to David, but the boy wouldn’t talk to him. Soon, Jed’s mind slipped back to the woods again.
*
Jed snapped awake in the woods and knew right away that Dobbs was gone. It was dark with their campfire out. Roscoe was lying on his back with his rifle across his chest, snoring.
Jed woke Roscoe up, nudging him. It sounded like Roscoe had choked on an intake of breath for a moment as he woke up. But a second later he was sitting up with his rifle in his hands.
“Dobbs is gone,” Jed whispered. Their horses were gone, too. Jed looked over at the tree he had chained Red Moon to and the Navajo was still there, just a dark lump in the darkness at the base of the tree.
Jed and Roscoe hurried over to where the horses had been. A few pieces of rope hung from the tree branches. Jed studied the ends of the ropes in the moonlight; they were frayed, not cut—almost like they had been snapped.
“Maybe Dobbs took the horses,” Roscoe said.
But Jed didn’t think so. The bounty for Red Moon was worth much more than the horses. And Dobbs was no criminal—Jed’s friend had vouched for Dobbs, and that was good enough for him.
They hurried back to the dugout just beyond their dead campfire.
Roscoe nodded down at the ground. “There ain’t no blood. No sign of a fight. And look over there; his guns and gun belt are still here.”
Jed knew Dobbs hadn’t run off—it looked like he had been taken.
“Cover me,” Jed said, already looking over at Red Moon.
Roscoe wasn’t happy about Jed going to check on Red Moon, but he covered him with his rifle. Jed ran across the clearing that seemed so bright now that it was bathed in the moonlight. He felt exposed in that moonlight, tense, sure that he might feel the bullet from a rifle or the tip of an arrow stabbing into his flesh and bone any second now.
“Dobbs is gone,” Jed told Red Moon when he got to him. “Our horses are gone.”
Red Moon just stared up at Jed; he was trembling so badly that he was rattling the chain around the tree and the handcuffs on his wrists.
“Did your men do this?” Jed asked Red Moon.
“Not my men,” Red Moon answered. “I swear to you.” He lifted his hands up as far as the chains would allow. “Please. Unlock these.”
Jed felt a pang of sentiment for just a moment—Red Moon’s face was pure fear. But Jed needed to think about this rationally. It had to be Red Moon’s men out there.
“Those skinwalkers out there are not my people,” Red Moon said. “They will come for me just like they will come for you.”
“Did you see what happened to Dobbs?”
Red Moon shook his head no. “I was asleep. I just woke up now.”
Jed gave up questioning Red Moon; he went back to their camp where Roscoe was waiting with his rifle.
“What did he say?” Roscoe asked.
“He said he was asleep when Dobbs left.”
Roscoe was about to respond, but his words were cut off when they heard a long, continuous scream from the woods.
It was Dobbs.
The scream turned into what sounded like words, but the words were unintelligible, like Dobbs was trying to say something while he screamed. Maybe he didn’t even have a tongue anymore. Jed had heard stories about some of the tortures Native Americans could inflict on their prisoners.
Jed and Roscoe called out to Dobbs as they ran up into the woods beyond the rock wall that they had camped in front of. They climbed higher into the hills, aiming their weapons into the woods where the moonlight filtered down through the tree branches. And then they froze when they saw what was left of Dobbs.
It looked like a man was strung up between two thin trees, but even from where Jed stood, even in the dark, he could tell that it wasn’t a man up there . . . not a man anymore.
Jed had to force himself to put one foot in front of the other, to keep pushing forward another few feet, pushing the plants and tree branches aside. Roscoe was right behind him, stumbling through the brush, his rifle in his hands.
The only thing left of Dobbs was his skin. The entire skin of his body had been strung up between the two thin trees—each arm pulled out wide and tied to the thin trunks of the two trees with what Jed had thought at first was cord, but then realized were pieces of intestines tied around each wrist, the skin of Dobbs’ hands hanging down like white gloves. The way the skin had been tied up made it look like Dobbs was hanging between the trees with his arms out wide, like he’d been crucified, but not on a cross, just hanging
there in the night air. The skin from Dobbs’ head and his entire face was being held up by something propped up inside of him. A stick maybe, but Jed thought he’d caught the gleam of bone. The features of Dobbs’ face were flattened like a mask, much of the skin sagging in some places now that they didn’t have muscle and bone to adhere to anymore. Dobbs’ skin seemed to be in one whole piece, not a slit anywhere that Jed could see—maybe there was a long slit up the back—but the front of the skin was pristine, not even a spot of blood on it, like the skin had been washed clean with care before being suspended between the two trees. Dobbs’ skin looked like a ghost floating in the woods.
Roscoe vomited. It was a noisy sound, and Jed thought he’d heard choked sobs between each round of retches.
“They . . . they took his skin off,” Roscoe said, his words coming out in a rushing, wheezy breath; it was like he had no air left in his lungs.
“Get your rifle up,” Jed snapped at Roscoe.
Roscoe sniffled and raised his rifle, aiming it at nothing in particular, but ready if something moved in the woods.
“We need to get back to camp,” Jed said. At least at the camp they had their backs protected by the dugout in the rock wall. Here in these woods, they were sitting ducks.
As they hurried back down through the woods to their camp, Jed wondered if Dobbs was still alive somehow. Could he still be alive for a while without his skin? Was he somewhere, shaking uncontrollably from shock, his heart ready to give out as his tormentors poked at his exposed muscles and nerves with sharpened sticks?
Skinwalkers, that’s what Red Moon had called them.
Maybe this group was a rogue band of Navajo that believed they were skinwalkers, believing they had special powers. Jed had heard of some tribes skinning their victims with amazing speed and skill, but what he had just seen up in those woods seemed almost impossible.
No way Dobbs could still be alive. No way.
Jed and Roscoe hurried down to the bottom of the hill, crashing through the brush, no longer worrying about making noise now. Jed just wanted to get back to the dugout. He wondered if Red Moon was gone now. He wouldn’t be surprised to find Red Moon free from his chains. And truthfully he wouldn’t even care at this point. If Red Moon was all those men in the woods wanted, then Jed would let him go if he and Roscoe could somehow survive this night.
