Calvin nodded. “One bullet, Ma, I promise,” Then with a last contemptuous glance at Cole, he opened the cabin door and stepped into darkness.

  * * *

  Ma Capps stood at the window and her eyes searched into the night.

  The moon rode high and silvered the wind-trembling aspen. The pines cast arrowheads of shadow that small, gibbering things passed though, rustling from light to dark and back again.

  She looked down at Clem. “You hear anything?”

  The man shook his head. The bow-tied bandanna made him look like a huge, grotesque rabbit.

  “If the lobo’s still out there, Calvin will nail him,” Ma said. “That boy ain’t sceered o’ nothin’ an’ he can track a grasshopper in the dark.” She glared at Cole. “Unlike some I could mention.”

  The wolf howled again, the aching, lonely cry in the shadowed tunnel of the moonlight that wakes a man from uneasy sleep and has him reach for the blue metal comfort of his gun.

  “He’s behind us,” Ma said, her eyes moving. “On top of the ridge.”

  Cole drew his Colt and stepped to the window at the rear of the cabin and peered outside. He said, “No, I can’t,” after his ma asked if he could see Calvin.

  “Then he’s on the lobo’s trail fer sure,” Ma said. “He’ll get him soon. Listen for a single rifle shot like I told him.”

  The wolf howled, this time longer, louder, and less plaintive.

  A few moments passed. Then a terrified shriek rang through the night, like a demon fleeing an exorcised soul.

  “Where did that come from?” Ma said, her heavy-cheeked face alarmed.

  “I don’t know,” Cole said. “It sounded like it was all around us.”

  The man’s voice shook a little because, unbidden, an unwelcome guest had slunk into the room—a wan wraith named fear.

  “Yee naaldlooshii,” the Kiowa whispered, his bottom lip trembling.

  All eyes turned to him. “What are you saying?” Ma said.

  “Skinwalker,” the Indian said. “A man in the shape of a wolf.”

  Cole was shaken. “What do we do?” he said. “How do we kill it?”

  The Kiowa shook his head. “Nothing. A shape-shifter is not easy to kill. Now is the time to sing your death song as I will mine.”

  “Cole,” Ma said, “git out there and help your brother.”

  The man shook his shaggy head. “I ain’t goin’ out there, Ma.”

  Ma Capps, her face ugly, went for her son, her whip raised. She stopped in her tracks when something heavy thudded against the cabin door.

  “He’s coming for you, Ma,” Sam said, reading fear in the woman’s expression. “The wolf’s at the door.”

  The Kiowa began a low, mournful chant, stone-faced, unmoving. Terror had rammed through him like a lance and pinned him to the spot.

  “Better open the door, Ma,” Sam said, smiling. “Maybe it’s just Calvin wanting back inside in a hurry.”

  Sam was clutching at a straw. He and the others were in a hopeless situation and he prayed that Ma’s and Cole’s fear would give him some kind—any kind—of an edge.

  Ma held out her hand to Cole. “Gimme the gun, you craven whelp,” she said.

  The man handed over his Colt without hesitation.

  As Ma walked warily to the door, Cole two steps behind her, Sam became aware of someone coming up on his left.

  Ma stopped at the door, the Colt hammer back and ready.

  “Who’s there?” she said. “Is that you, Calvin? Speak up, boy.”

  Sam felt a woman’s soft breath on his neck. “Stay right where you’re at, Pops,” Lorelei whispered. “I’m gonna untie you.”

  Ma lifted the latch and pushed. The door didn’t budge.

  “Cole,” she said, “help me here.”

  Slowly, like a man wading through mud, Cole stepped beside his ma.

  Sam’s hands were free. As he worked the stiffness out of his fingers, he felt Lorelei push a derringer into his fist.

  “You ain’t gonna hit anything with it, but you’ll make a noise,” she said.

  Cole put his strength to the door and it creaked open.

  Ma Capps screamed.

  Chapter 30

  The door swung outward, slowed by its heavy burden.

  Calvin Capps hung from a nail by his bandanna, the front of his body pressed against the rough timber. His eyes were wide open, reliving the horror of his last moments.

  The man’s throat had been torn out. Blood trickled down his chest and legs, and large, scarlet drops ticked from the toes of his boots.

  Ma threw herself on her son’s body and shrieked her pain.

  Cole hesitated at the door. Then, his head on a swivel, he sidestepped outside, doing his best to avoid the body.

  It was the last mistake of his life.

  A gun roared somewhere in the darkness and Cole went down, a bullet in his chest.

  Ma screamed curses at the unseen gunman, and the Colt in her hand bucked as she shot at shadows.

  Sam took his chance. He stepped toward the door, the derringer in his hand.

  Clem saw the gun and stood, his arms in the air, trying to talk peace, hindered by the tight bandage around his chin.

  Sam let the man be for now and reached the door—in time to hear the flat statement of a revolver and see Ma Capps stagger and almost go down. Fat and ungainly, she stumbled outside and fell across Calvin’s body. She let out a great sigh and then lay still.

  * * *

  “Stay away from the door, you crazy old coot!” Lorelei yelled.

  Sam jumped back into the shelter of the cabin wall.

  “You out there,” Sam called out. “You hear me?”

  “I hear you.” A voice from the darkness, hollow in the silence.

  “Seems like you killed them all, feller, exceptin’ fer one, an’ his jaw is broke, so he’s out of the fight,” Sam said.

  “Is that Ma Capps I just gunned?” the hidden gunman said. “It looked like her.”

  “Yeah, it was her as ever was. You plugged her an’ Cole, an’ a wolf done fer Calvin. The one you didn’t kill is in here an’ he ain’t lookin’ too good. If’n you’re interested, his name is—”

  “I know his name.”

  “His jaw’s broke.”

  “Yeah, you told me that.”

  Sam measured his words like an inchworm and it was a while before he spoke again. When he did, he said, “Well, feller, we’re right obliged to you. Now, if you want to be ridin’ on, we’ll, in a manner o’ speakin’, clean up your mess.” Sam added a smile to his voice. “We’re much obliged to you and when you ride on, be careful. There’s a big lobo wolf out there, an’ he already kilt a man, so you be careful. An’ thanks again an’ it’s been right nice meetin’ you.”

  “You talk too much,” the gunman said. “How many of you in there?”

  This time Sam didn’t hesitate. “A dozen United States Marshals, all well armed and determined men.”

  “How many? And this time don’t lie to me.”

  From long experience, Sam recognized defeat when he saw it.

  “Me,” he said, “two women, one of them wounded, a young’un, a broke-down Kiowa, an’ the feller with his jaw broke.”

  The voice seemed closer this time.

  “Come out here, all of you.”

  “State your intentions,” Sam said.

  “I intend to kill all of you if you don’t come out here now.”

  Sam looked at Lorelei. “Think he means it?”

  “He’s already killed two, maybe three people. I reckon he means it.” Lorelei walked to the door. “Don’t shoot,” she said. “We’re coming out.”

  “I want to see everybody’s hands,” the gunman said. “If I don’t see hands in the air, I’ll drill all of you.”

  “Do as he says, Sammy,” the Kiowa said, “and leave the belly gun on the table.”

  “Maybe I could get the drop on him,” Sam said.

  “No, you won’t,” the Indian said. “I have heard the man’s voice and I know him. He is Santos, a great warrior and brother to the wolf.”

  Sam looked into James’s eyes, read the warning clear, and said, “I couldn’t hit nothing with a belly gun anyhow.”

  He walked into the night, his hands in the air, like the others.

  Clem Capps stood off to one side, obviously frightened. In the moonlight he looked even more like a giant rabbit ready to hop into the brush.

  As though he had an instinct for the man’s fear, Santos said, “I have no interest in you tonight, Clem. You can return later and bury the ashes of your dead. Go away now.”

  Clem hesitated a moment, then turned and ran.

  * * *

  Santos watched him go, then said, “Put your hands down, all of you.”

  He hadn’t been looking at James, but now he said, “Kiowa, we have met before, I think.”

  The Indian bowed his head, like a commoner in the presence of royalty. “Yes, Santos, we have. In another place and time.”

  “We hunted Victorio for the army, did we not?” Santos said.

  “Yes, we two and Dahteste, the beautiful one.”

  “I remember Dahteste well. She was more lovely than any man can describe, yet she was a great scout and a mighty warrior.”

  “And her spirit was strong,” the Kiowa said.

  “It was told that Victorio took his own life at Tres Castillos,” Santos said. “Is what I heard true?”

  James nodded. “That story was told. But the Mexicans say he was killed by hunting wolves, a male and a female.”

  “Why do you tell me this?”

  The Kiowa pointed to the body hanging on the door. “Yee naaldlooshii.”

  “Your knowledge of the Navajo tongue does you credit, Kiowa. But his throat was torn out by a true wolf,” Santos said. He smiled slightly. “I found his body and brought him home.”

  “Then it must be as you say, Santos,” James said, bowing his head again. “You are a great warrior and speaker of the truth.”

  Hannah, Lori in her arms, stepped toward the breed. “Listen, Mr. Santos or whatever your name is, we have a sick woman here,” she said.

  “Yes, a wound on her left shoulder that weeps yellow tears,” Santos said. His black eyes burned through the moon-gauzed night. “You are the woman of the sheriff, Vic Moseley.”

  “I’ll never be his woman.”

  “That is well, because he does not want you back. He says dollars are more important than your caresses.”

  “Then what will you do? Kill me?”

  Santos shook his head. “Why should I kill you? You mean nothing to me.”

  He looked at Sam. “I came for you.”

  “Dan Wells sent you after me, huh?”

  “You killed his brother.”

  “In a fair fight. He was trying to kill me.”

  “Dan and Jake want you alive.”

  “Santos, the only way you’re taking me back is over my saddle,” Sam said.

  “That can be arranged.”

  The breed spun his Remingtons and both revolvers thudded into their shoulder holsters. “Help me with the wounded woman,” he said. “The killing can come later.”

  Chapter 31

  Skate Santos pointed to a grassy spot near a stand of pine.

  “We will lay you down there,” he told Lorelei. “The cabin stinks and crawls with the souls of dead wolves.”

  Lorelei was fevered and too weak to protest. Sam helped her onto the ground and gently laid her on her back.

  Santos knelt beside the woman and examined the wound. “Who did this to you?” he said. “Who fired the bullet?”

  “A low-down snake,” Lorelei said.

  “His name?” Santos said.

  “Matt Laurie.”

  The breed said, “Does he live?”

  “No. I killed him.”

  Santos nodded. “You did well, woman. You chose the warrior’s way, and that is good.” He grunted. “The ball was removed by a butcher.”

  “The Injun did it,” Lorelei said.

  “Pah, the Kiowa know nothing but horse-stealing and keeping their wives away from other women.”

  “Why are you helping me?” Lorelei said.

  “Because the night is long and I have nothing else to do.”

  “Big boy, men have told me that before,” Lorelei said.

  Santos looked at Hannah. “How are your eyes in the night, woman?”

  “I can see well in the dark.”

  “Good. Then I will tell you the plants I need. You will take the child with you. It is good for her to learn such things.”

  “But . . . but the wolf—” Hannah began.

  “He is gone. His hunting is done for this night,” Santos said.

  * * *

  After Hannah left, Santos beckoned the Kiowa closer.

  “I will need some water from the well,” he said. “I will try to undo the damage you have done.”

  James said nothing. He bowed his head, then turned on his heel and stepped toward the cabin.

  Sam knelt beside Lorelei. “How are you feeling, ma’am?” he said.

  “Like hell, Pops. How are you?”

  “I allow that I’ve been better.”

  “We’re in a jam, ain’t we?” Lorelei said.

  “Seems like.”

  “Yeah. It seems like.”

  High-level winds scudded frail clouds across the face of the moon, tarnishing their edges like old silver. The air smelled of wildness, of cedar trees and hard-rock mountains, of hidden streams green with fern and moss. And over all hung the smell of burned gunpowder, like the aftermath of an Independence Day street party.

  Coyotes yipped in the distance and Santos drew his lips back from his teeth. “Curs,” he snarled. “Cowardly, strutting dogs of the night.”

  Sam cocked his head, listening. After a while he said, “Well, they don’t bother me none.”

  “Then you know nothing,” Santos said.

  * * *

  When Hannah returned with an armful of plants and herbs, Santos examined them closely, then told her she’d done well.

  He poured a little water in an earthenware bowl the Kiowa had brought him and then added the plants he needed. Some he tore into small pieces; others he pounded with the pommel of his knife until they formed a paste.

  “This will heal your wound and help leave the scar smaller,” he told Lorelei. “It also dulls pain and cools fever.”

  The woman raised her head and sniffed the bowl.

  “Smells all right,” Lorelei said. “Slap it on me, Doc.”

  “Drink the liquid first,” Santos said. He held the bowl to Lorelei’s lips.

  “You,” Santos said to Hannah, “make me a bandage.” He handed her his knife. “Cut a strip from your undergarment.”

  After Lorelei drank the liquid and made a face, Santos spread the herb poultice on her wound.

  “You got gentle hands, Doc,” she said.

  The man nodded. “The warrior should also be a healer. It is the ancient way of the Apache.”

  He bound the poultice in place with the strip from Hannah’s petticoat, then said to her, “I will be gone at first light. You must gather plants and do this until the wound no longer is red with anger.” He looked into Hannah’s eyes. “Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

  The woman nodded.

  “Good. Then all is well.” To Lorelei he said, “Sleep now and gather strength.”

  “Whatever you say, Doc,” she said, already drowsy. She smiled. “You’re the first man who ever laid me on my back and didn’t climb on top of me.” Lorelei giggled. “It’s funny.”

  “The potion is taking effect and her mind wanders into darkness,” he said to Hannah. “She will sleep now and her spirit animal will come to her and help her heal.”

  He rose to his feet and raised his nose to the wind, his hair blowing across his face. “I must go get my horse. The wolves will come back tonight when the moon rises higher.”

  Santos gave Sam a hard look. “Don’t run. I’ll find you, and if I’m angry it might go badly for you.”

  “Now, that ain’t likely, is it?” Sam said, riled. “I ain’t going anywhere.”

  “Afraid of wolves?” Santos said.

  “No, just one,” Sam said.

  The breed laughed. “You are a much wiser man than I thought.”

  Chapter 32

  Skate Santos rode back to the cabin and ordered the Kiowa to saddle a mount for Sam and to release the Cappses’ horses from the barn.

  The moon climbed higher in the sky, and the shadows shaded deep as Santos dragged the bodies of Ma Capps and her two sons into the cabin.

  He found a can of kerosene and poured it over everything that would burn, and then threw an oil lamp against the wooden table. Immediately the table burst into flame and the fire quickly spread.

  By the time Santos rejoined the others, the cabin blazed and smoke rose like a column of black marble against the star-scattered sky, a gloomy funeral pyre for Ma Capps and her vile brood.

  Santos watched for a while, scarlet flames reflecting in his eyes, then said to no one in particular, “A wolfer’s den is a place of evil, but the fire will purify this unholy ground.”

  Sam said, “Santos, when you get angry at folks, you sure don’t get mad and then get over it, do you?”

  “Then don’t let me get mad at you,” the breed said.

  “That,” Sam said, “is not my intention.”

  Santos stepped beside Hannah. He held out the derringer. “Is this yours?”

  “No. It belongs to Lorelei.”

 

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