Dead of Winter

by Lee Collins

  After a few minutes, she won the battle with her boots. Bracing herself, she rose to her feet, then leaned against the wall as her head punished her. She waited out the worst of the storm before picking up her coat and moving to the door.

  "They got eggs down there?"

  Ben grunted.

  "Think I'll have me a prairie oyster with breakfast, then. Might do me some good."

  Ben grunted again, but she had already left the room. Her shaky legs carried her through the hallway and down the stairs. A hearty breakfast greeted her when she stepped into the Northern Hotel's big common room: fresh sowbelly, long strips of crackling bacon, steaming sourdough biscuits, and several large tins of coffee. The hotel's early risers hovered around the fare like flies buzzing around a week-old carcass. Several others sat at nearby tables, wolfing down their first meal of the day.

  The sight was enough to make her sick.

  She worked her way past the crowd of hungry guests and grabbed a nearby bellhop.

  "You got any fresh eggs?"

  "Of course," he replied, prying her fingers from his shirt. "How many would you like?"

  "Just one, with some whiskey and pepper in a glass."

  "Fried?"

  "Raw."

  Confusion flickered across the little man's face for a moment before his head bobbed and he disappeared into the kitchen. Cora made her way to an empty table and collapsed. She folded her arms on the rough wood, rested her forehead on them, and waited. Her shoulders muffled the sounds in the room enough to allow her to doze for a few minutes before she heard a voice at her elbow.

  "Your egg, ma'am."

  Picking her head up, she stared at the concoction he had brought. Dark flecks of pepper dotted the egg yolk as it floated in the whiskey. Taking a deep breath, she picked up the glass. Her other hand pinched her nose shut, and she downed the mixture in one gulp. She could feel the egg slide down her throat and drop into her stomach like a lump of mud. She smacked her lips a few times, set the glass down, laid her head back down on her arms, and waited.

  After a short while, Cora felt well enough to join the other guests. Taking the empty glass with her, she walked over to the big table. She grabbed a couple of sourdough biscuits, stuffed them in the glass, then picked up a handful of sowbelly. Satisfied, she made her way back to her table and set to.

  The sowbelly, heavily salted, was the first to go. The biscuits followed, one after the other. They were warm, not steaming like they had been when she first walked in, but they were good. Halfway through the second, her thirst caught up with her. Picking up her glass, she looked around for a pitcher of fresh water. There was plenty of coffee, but the tiny bellhop seemed to have forgotten any other drinks. Not wanting to bother with him again, she threw her coat around her shoulders and stood up. She made her way through a small side door and found herself in an alley. The snow was still fresh and undisturbed, so she sank to her knees and began to shovel handfuls into her mouth. The cold numbed her throat, but it was water.

  Cora wiped her mouth and rose to her feet. Stepping out from the alley into the street, she squinted in the sunlight and cursed her hat for being back in the room. She considered going up to fetch it, but that might mean another talk with Ben. Another talk meant another argument, and she didn't want to sit around doing nothing while he read through his books. He hadn't been there to see that monster bleed and hear it squeal as she unloaded on it, so he didn't know it could feel pain. Sure, it was tough, but so was she.

  Her breath curled around her face as she looked down at her boots. He was right, though. Nothing they'd fought in the past had taken that many silver bullets to the head and kept coming. Knowing it was still up in that mineshaft made her uneasy, but what could she do about it?

  Get some advice, she answered herself. She wasn't sure if Leadville had a proper priest, but maybe Father Baez was still in Denver. They could get some information from him before charging headlong back into the woods.

  She'd met the Denver priest only once, nearly ten years before. She and Ben had been hunting a vampire nest in the area and needed information on its whereabouts. Father Baez had been eager to help, telling them several times that the occurrences had centered around an estate northwest of Denver. The little priest had even offered to consecrate their weapons before they set out. They hadn't needed the blessings renewed, but he had so wanted to give them more than just information that they couldn't bear to disappoint him. He had spoken the prayers in his quiet voice, beseeching Saint Anthony to shield the hunters as they sought to silence the servants of the devil. His prayers were answered a few days later when they found and burned out the vampire lair.

  The sound of raised voices pulled Cora out of her reverie. Looking down the street, she could see a group of men milling about near the center of town. They were fingering picks and guns at their belts and pacing as if waiting for some action. Maybe fifty strong, most of them miners, the group tracked over the snow-packed streets like cattle waiting to board a train. More men trickled out from the surrounding saloons, adding to the herd until it filled the square.

  Cora made her way down the wooden sidewalk toward the angry mob. As she approached, they began calling in whiskey-slurred voices for somebody named Elkins. She couldn't make out what this Elkins had done to rile such a crowd, but now she was curious. She crawled up on an overturned rain barrel outside a brothel, folded her arms, and settled in to watch.

  The grumbling and hollering of the men soon shed some light on what had stirred them up. From what she could make out, two miners named Elkins and Hines had turned violent while settling a card game the night before. Elkins had knifed up Hines pretty good before running out. Duggan's deputies had picked him up just outside of town and locked him up, but that wasn't good enough for Hines's mining buddies. They'd spent the rest of the night drinking themselves into a frenzy, and now they were demanding justice at the end of a rope. She heard the words "darkie" and "nigger" being tossed around, so she figured that Elkins was a black man, which slimmed his chances.

  Despite her Southern birth, Cora had never held much against black men. Her family had never been rich enough to afford slaves, but they'd lived close enough to the Yankee states that freed slaves weren't all that unusual in town. Her parents told her to stay well away from them, and she had obeyed out of fear. Since coming west, though, she and Ben had met a good number of black men. They seemed like regular folk to her, saints and sinners just like anyone else, and she couldn't figure out why her parents had been so scared for her. Still, she knew a black man wouldn't have much hope of justice at the hands of a white mob, and Cora found herself hoping that this Elkins was on good terms with his maker.

  A voice rose above the crowd. Looking up, Cora saw a heavyset miner with a full beard and thick arms. He waved those arms at the crowd, moving his hands in exaggerated motions.

  "Are we going to sit by and let that blackie go unpunished for what he done?"

  "No!" the crowd roared.

  "Old Hines is laid up in a doctor's bed with a cut that might end him any minute. If we don't string that nigger up for it, he'll ride out of here tomorrow without facing his music. We can't trust the marshal to do justice, so if we want it done, we got to do it our own selves."

  The crowd roared again, swirling along after the big miner as he started marching toward the marshal's station. Shutters winked open at the noise, then pulled shut again as the miners passed. Trailing behind the mob, Cora saw the shutters creak open again, and she smirked. The onlookers didn't want to get involved, but they sure weren't going to miss anything, either.

  As the mob approached the marshal's station, Cora could make out the solid shape of Mart Duggan standing in the doorway. She could picture his blue eyes watching them, fingers hooked through his belt loops. The mob stopped in front of the station, still chanting their victim's name.

  After a few moments, the big miner stepped forward. "Marshal, you let that black boy out so we can do him proper justice."
Behind him, the miners yelled and hollered their agreement, fists and bottles waving.

  Duggan watched them carry on, his face calm. After they had quieted a little, he took two steps forward. The brim of his hat hid his face in shadow, but his beard glowed red in the sunlight. The marshal pulled twin peacemakers from his belt and pointed them at the crowd. In the following silence, Cora heard two distinct clicks as Duggan pulled the hammers back.

  "You're welcome to try," Duggan said, his words clear in the morning air, "but I will shoot the first man that steps forward."

  The miners exchanged nervous glances and shuffled their feet. The big one at the head of the group found something to stare at on his boots. Cora folded her arms across her chest and grinned. She hoped poor old Hines wasn't watching from a window somewhere, or he'd be mighty disappointed to see that none of his friends were willing to take a bullet for him.

  After a tense minute, the miners began to disperse, breaking into smaller herds and ambling down the street. A few squinted at the morning sun with red eyes before deciding to go in search of a bed. The ringleader, now abandoned by his friends, stared at the barrels of Duggan's guns for a moment before turning away. He shuffled through the snowy street, unsure of where to look or where to go.

  Duggan watched them all leave. Only when the street was empty did he thumb the hammers back to rest. Catching sight of Cora standing in the street, he holstered one revolver but kept the other in his hand.

  "Morning, marshal," Cora called out as she approached, her buffalo coat swirling around her legs.

  "Morning, Mrs Oglesby. Glad to see you've recovered." Duggan turned and walked through the station's door.

  She followed him into the station. "Amazing, what a prairie oyster can do for you. Them things is truly the mercy of the good Lord for the drunkard."

  "I wouldn't know," Duggan replied, annoyed that the woman was standing in his station again. At the deputy's desk, Jack Evans sat staring wide-eyed at his boss. Duggan turned his attention to him. "What's wrong with you, deputy?"

  "I ain't never seen anything like that before, sir," the deputy said. "You faced down a entire lynch mob all on your own."

  Duggan nodded. "Ain't like I had a deputy on duty to back me up."

  Jack flushed bright red and lowered his head. "Sorry, sir. It just happened so fast."

  "Lots of things do," the marshal said. "You got to act just as fast or you'll end up shot. Worse, somebody else may end up in a box that don't deserve it."

  "Ain't met the man yet that didn't deserve it," Cora said.

  The marshal didn't look at her. "I don't reckon you'll find him at a card table or a bar."

  Cora ignored the remark. "Once met a cowpuncher not a day over eighteen years down in Santa Fe. Told me he ain't done a single sin his whole life on account of his being cooped up on his ma's farm for all of it. I says to him that we're all equal sinners in the eyes of the Lord, but he shook his head and proclaimed his innocence. Said he once saw angels flying about his farm, and how could he have seen them if he wasn't a good boy? The good Lord was watching out for him, he said."

  Duggan rolled his eyes, but Jack was curious. "What happened to him?"

  "Poor fool went and got himself ate by a werewolf, I think," she said, shrugging. "Ben could tell you better than me. He's got the memory for that sort of thing."

  Duggan turned on his heels and started toward his office, intent on the bottle stashed in the top drawer. This woman's nonsense brought out his thirst like nobody else.

  "Hold up a tick," Cora called after him. "I got something for you."

  "What might that be?" Duggan turned and looked at her from his office doorway.

  "My own personal sighting of your monster."

  A spark of anger flashed in the marshal's blue eyes. "This another one of your 'glimpses'?"

  "No, sir," Cora said, shaking her head. "Got all up close and friendly this time around."

  "How close?"

  Cora stepped up to the deputy's desk and looked at him. "About like this. To his head, anyway. Couldn't really tell how close the arms got, seeing as I was busy not getting eaten."

  Duggan took a step toward her, the glimmer of anger replaced with curiosity. "What did it look like?"

  "Like old Jules Bartlett. You remember him? That miner hermit out west of town?" The marshal nodded. "I reckon it's what's left of him after some kind of evil thing took hold. Kept his human shape, at least, though his arms and legs are all spider-like now."

  "Ain't he the one from before?" Duggan asked. "Sheriff Barnes said you dragged in a miner once to prove he wasn't a monster."

  "One and the same."

  "Guess you was wrong about that, then."

  Cora laughed. "Marshal, if I'd been wrong back then, you wouldn't have no Jim Barnes to grump about no more. This here development's new. Probably happened within the last month or so."

  "What makes you so sure?"

  "Too few dead folk," she replied. "Whatever that old miner has turned into, it ain't got no reason left. Thing's like an animal, only looking for food. You said them wolfhounds fled the scene, right?"

  Jack nodded before the marshal had a chance.

  "So I'll warrant this monster only takes to human flesh. Don't know if it remembers anything that old Jules knew, so it's anybody's guess if it knows how to find its way into town. Can't imagine it would take long for it to figure it out, though. You'll have it breathing down your necks before you know it if we don't whip it." Cora paused for a moment as she thought. "Actually, I don't think it breathes, or needs to, anyway. It makes a moaning noise, though, so listen for that."

  Jack couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You're expecting this thing to come after us?"

  "Why not?" Cora said. "Like I told your boss a few days ago, monsters don't never get their fill. For all we know, it could have tracked me back here yesterday."

  "Well, if that don't beat all," Duggan said. "We got us a man-eating critter out there and a halfwit bounty hunter in here. I don't suppose you got a plan worked up?"

  "First thing today, Ben and I are catching the train for Denver."

  "What?" the two lawmen said in unison.

  "Yep," Cora said. "We got a priest down there that knows a thing or two we don't, so I reckon he might know what we're dealing with."

  "So we're supposed to just sit here and wait for you to get back?" Duggan asked.

  "That's about the size of it."

  "What if this thing comes around while you're gone?"

  "Fight it off. Ain't that hard."

  Duggan clenched his fists, restraining himself from striking her across the face. "If it ain't that hard, what do we need you for?"

  "There's a difference between fighting it off and killing it, marshal. Ben and I will figure the killing part out, but even you boys should be able to hold it off for a few days."

  "How would we go about that?" Jack asked, not liking her dismissive tone. The thought of the monster lurking in the streets made him uneasy, but he didn't consider himself a coward.

  "Well, can't say, exactly," Cora said. "Seemed to take a mighty disliking to my silver bullets. Didn't seem too fond of fire, neither."

  "That's easy, then," Duggan said, rolling his eyes. "We just need to find us a silver arsenal of our own and we'll be safe as a bear cub with its ma."

  "Finding silver is hard work in a mining town, ain't it?"

  The marshal glowered at her. "I ain't exactly got a mine of my own."

  Cora folded her arms. "Can't you just ask one of the mining companies to loan you a mess until we get this settled?"

  Jack burst out laughing, and even Duggan cracked a smile. "I'll get right on that, Mrs Oglesby, as soon as you pull the sun down out of the sky."

  "I take your point," Cora said. "You ought to make do with fire, though."

  "Don't have much choice," the marshal said. "If we're lucky, we may even settle this while you're gone."

  It was Cora's turn to laugh. "I never fig
ured you for a sense of humor, marshal."

  FIVE

  "Well, ain't this a regular mess."

  Cora and Ben stood on the train station platform, watching the steady stream of people flow around them. Men in dark suits and waxed mustaches paraded into passenger coaches bound for San Francisco, Saint Louis, Chicago, and New York. On their arms, ladies in calico dresses peered from beneath lace-trimmed hats. Their perfume lent the scent of flowers to the stench of smoke, oil, and human sweat.

  Following the swell of the crowd, they stepped out into the street and started walking. The afternoon sun glowed on the brick buildings, its reflection in their windows blinding them at regular intervals. The murmur of voices all around them blended with the clopping of horse hooves on the street.