“Ma’am! Wait up. What do I call you?”
The drifter stood atop the knoll and turned. Her features were obliterated by the sinking sun at her back. She looked like a shade from beyond the grave with her coat billowing in the warm wind and the wolf an imposing silhouette at her side. Jessie felt the cold cloak of premonition settle across his shoulders as he looked at her.
“Grace. Grace Dyer.”
CHAPTER FOUR
They’d ridden until the sun sank well behind the horizon. Grace had tossed Jessie a lightweight cotton shirt to drape over his sunburnt scalp. She’d shaken her head and called him a gump but said no more about his lack of a hat. The wolf ranged most of the time, appearing suddenly with a bounding leap that nearly jolted Jessie off the back of his stolen gelding. Each time the big beast would appear he’d eye Grace and they’d share a moment of silent communication. At least, Jessie assumed they were communicating. Why else would she peer so intently into his feral yellow eyes?
When the orange sky turned indigo, Grace directed her mare to a stand of stunted Joshua trees. Jessie rode behind her and scanned their surrounds. A stream trickled nearby and a crop of yellow desert grass strangled the dried-up riverbed. As they approached the area, Kaga bounded forth and sniffed the water source. He snorted and padded away.
Grace slid out of her saddle and stretched. “As good a place as any to set up wicket.”
The elongated shadows of the Joshuas spread long-fingered patterns on the sandy ground but provided scant respite from the heat.
Jessie frowned and tried to swing his leg over the saddle. A sharp lance of pain tore up his spine. He was unaccustomed to riding, and the hours in the saddle had cost him dearly. Grace glanced at him and sighed. She muttered and strode toward him. Jessie’s pride stung as she approached, and he shifted in the saddle and tried to slide out. His foot snagged, pain wracked his body, and he ended up falling rather than sliding from the saddle. Grace caught him in her wiry arms and roughly shoved him up against his horse. Jessie staggered a few steps and felt his face flame as she held him up by the lapels. As soon as he was able, he brushed her hands away.
“I can manage fine.”
Grace’s lips twitched in a smile before she turned away. Embarrassment flared as Jessie saw amusement in her eyes. As she moved away and began setting up a crude camp, Jessie took small tentative steps to get the blood flowing back into his legs. He dragged the shirt off his head and hesitantly touched his face. It hurt to touch, and he imagined he must look like a pickled tomato. Grace spread a few lines of twine between the boughs of the Joshuas, then set to work scooping up kindling. Jessie turned to his stolen horse and grabbed the reins.
As Grace started working on a campfire, Jessie led the gelding to a stunted tree and busied himself unsaddling and rubbing him down. Kaga plonked down beside the fire and watched everything with a serene gaze. Jessie noticed Grace’s mare wandering near the desert grass, nibbling the long yellow stalks. He strode across to her and said, “Gee up, girl. C’mon and I’ll rub you down.”
The mare’s dark eyes rolled as he approached, and she bared her teeth with a nasty wicker. Jessie frowned and hesitated. He reached out for her reins. She lunged at his hand and Jessie nearly lost a thumb to the ill-tempered beast.
“Son-of-a-whore!” he cried.
Grace was suddenly beside him. Her hand snaked out and she grabbed the horse’s reins. The moment she pressed her hand against the mare’s neck, the horse quieted.
Jessie seethed as he watched Grace calm the nag with a mere touch.
“Don’t take offense, boy. She’s an ornery cuss. Don’t let nobody touch her but me.”
“Ornery cuss is right. Nearly took off my thumb!” Jessie said. He eyed the horse with dislike. “What do you call such a ringy scrub anyways?”
Grace’s lips twitched. “Crowbait.”
Jessie glanced at Grace, certain she was pulling his lariat, but no, her face was serious. He shook his head as Grace led the horse to the stand of trees.
“Suits her,” he said.
“Instead of standing ’round like a piddling sage hen, make yourself useful and fix us some chow. There’s biscuits and pemican in the bag by the fire. Got a small pot for boiling fresh water. Best get it on straight away. Might be right smart for you to wash them pants before you get a rash. Don’t go drinking from that creek neither. Not ’less you’re looking to die.”
Jessie’s heart sank as he remembered how he’d pissed his breeches back when Kaga had stalked him. He gathered what little dignity he had left and sauntered to the creek. He peeled off his soiled pants and gave them a dunk. As he strung them on the line of twine to dry Grace called out and tossed him an armload of her own gear to wash and dry. Jessie eyed her clothes, then shot her a quick glance. She’d removed her big dusty coat and laid down her hat. She was clad in leather pants and a simple ivory undershirt. Her hair, dark blond in the purple dusk, was pulled back from her angular face with a leather tie. She wore her gun belt on her hips and the pearl handles of her Smith & Wessons glimmered in the firelight. Her face was dirty, but without her hat he could see her features better. She would no doubt be fine as cream gravy when she was cleaned up.
Grace stared at Jessie until he moved to the riverbed. He set to work washing her clothes and by the time he’d laid out everything to dry, Grace had set two fat biscuits and a few strips of hard jerked beef on a flat stone and had a pot of water on the boil. She refilled her water canteen, and Jessie set upon the meager supper like a starving man. Grace devoured her own fare and finished the meal with a long pull from her waterskin. She passed it to Jessie, and he drank deeply. A shallow pan held boiled water for Kaga, and the wolf gnawed on a hunk of pemican.
Grace eased back on her butt and went to work rolling herself a smoke. Jessie wiped his lips with the back of his hand and looked at Kaga. He frowned as he found the wolf’s attention already upon him.
“He watches me like he understands what’s going on.”
Grace licked the paper and stuck the smoke between her teeth. She scratched a match and lit the end. “Pop your corn, boy. Something on your mind, just say it.”
Jessie scratched his ear. “Well, does he? Understand us? Talk, like.”
Grace inhaled. “Does Kaga understand talk? What do you think?”
Jessie eyed the wolf, who tore at the pemican, all the while keeping his gaze fixed on Jessie. “I think he ain’t no normal wolf.”
Grace’s gaze wandered to the wolf and a smile crossed her dirt-streaked face. She seemed about to say something when suddenly the wolf in question sat bolt upright and sniffed the air. When a rumble emanated from his chest, Grace leaned forward and dropped her hand to the Smith & Wesson on her right hip.
Jessie frowned and sat up. “What is it—”
“Hss!” Grace spat, not removing her gaze from Kaga. The wolf rose to his feet, his hackles raised. He swung his head and met Grace’s gaze. Tension filled the air. The night song of cicadas and crickets ceased. Grace shifted from her butt to her heels. She flicked the leather tongues from the Smith & Wessons she referred to as Justice and Mercy and drew both revolvers.
Kaga suddenly leaped straight up into the air and collided with a wild dog. Or so Jessie thought in those first few confusing seconds. Then the moon slid out from behind a cloud and illuminated the snarling, snapping beast. Jessie gasped in horror. The thing was dog-sized but was entirely furless, overly muscled, and had a spine of spikes along the ridge of its back. Three talons jutted from its front paws and raked the ground as it twisted and writhed. Its head looked like a jackal’s, but its eyes glimmered red and reptilian. Jessie jolted at an unearthly shriek next to him, and he turned to see a second dog-thing glaring at him. Its hind legs bunched. Jessie sucked in a breath and suddenly a roar of thunder deafened him as Grace fired her revolver. The dog-thing’s head exploded in a shower of red gore.
Grace dropped, rolled to Jessie, and came up firing Justice and Mercy. A scream behind hi
m told him she’d taken another one down. Grace grabbed Jessie’s arm and dragged him to his feet.
“Chupacabra!” she cried and shoved him toward the horses.
Jessie tottered unsteadily as Grace fired off another series of shots. She took down another lurching fiend, but the fourth dodged her shots with an unnatural agility. The chupacabra leaped and slammed into her. Its fanged maw slobbered and snapped as it tried to rip out her throat. Grace fell on the ground and both revolvers flew from her hands as she grabbed the chupacabra’s thick neck. One revolver thudded in the dirt and the other skidded toward the campfire.
Jessie turned to Kaga as the wolf snapped and danced. Two dead chupacabras lay on the ground in shredded heaps. Jessie spun back to Grace, who wrestled with the one on top of her. He heard a thud behind him, and he turned to see firelight reflected in the eyes of another three chupacabras. They circled him. Jessie’s mouth went dry as he scanned left and right. His gaze fell on Grace’s revolver. He dived for the gun as one of the chupacabras lunged. He squashed the trigger and the gun barked. The shot went wide. Jessie’s shoulder screamed with pain as though he’d been kicked by an angry mule. Tears coursed down his face as he squeezed the trigger again. The bullet slammed into the approaching chupacabra and sent it scudding across the desert floor with a yelp.
Jessie turned to Grace. A chupacabra straddled her and snapped at her face. It missed by an inch. Jessie pointed the revolver in their direction but before he could aim, the chupacabra shrieked and rose straight up in the air. Jessie gaped as Grace’s cavalry saber burst through the dog’s spiny hind. Grace grunted and tipped the dead hound off her. She sat up, her ivory shirt drenched in dark chupacabra blood, and turned to Kaga. The big wolf savaged the final attacking chupacabra and came up with his maw dripping gore.
Jessie spun and eyed the two chupacabras lurking behind the glow of the campfire. He fired a shot and the chupacabras flinched and loped away. Jessie yelled and squeezed the trigger again. The revolver clicked uselessly. It was dry. He frowned and squeezed again. Click. Squeeze. Click.
The chupacabras, as though sensing their reprieve, slunk into the shadows.
“No!” Jessie cried. A firm guiding hand came down on his and plucked the Smith & Wesson from his tight grip. Jessie spun and faced Grace. She was covered with dust and blood.
“We gotta get them!” Jessie screamed.
Grace shook her head. She methodically cracked open the revolver and slipped fresh bullets into the chamber. Jessie bristled at her inaction. “But...they’re demons! Don’t you hunt them?”
Grace smiled grimly as she closed the chamber with a soft clink. “Chupacabras ain’t demons, boy. They’re just scrounging for grub. Might fight like Kilkenny cats, but they ain’t something to be hunted down. Ain’t right for them to come this far north though. Might be something spooked them out of their usual hunting grounds.”
Jessie frowned. “What? You fill Ina full of lead and call her a demon, but these things get away in the dead of the night? Criminy! Is this a bluff or do you mean to play for real, woman?”
Grace turned to Jessie, grabbed his shirt, and dragged him close. He was astounded at the strength in her arms and the chill in her eyes. “Get this through your slow, addled brain, boy. There’s demons, then there’s demons. Not everything that looks evil is evil. And not everything that looks fine and dandy is right as rain. There’s things out there that will drop you for your meat and sup on your bones. Don’t mean they’re evil. But there are things out there that’ll whisper sweet words in your ears, fill your hands with hard tin, and promise to cap your climax. Things that cut a good-looking figure, speak with a snake’s silver tongue, and dress all rag proper. They’re the ones you gotta bed down, boy. They’re the true demons.”
She shoved Jessie away and spun on her heel. She strode to the campfire and stirred the embers into a squalling blaze. Jessie watched her with a queasy feeling in his stomach. He dropped his gaze to Kaga and frowned as he noticed the wolf’s too-smart eyes fixed on him.
“Don’t think I rightly understand your mistress. All up and ornery about some things and not others. P’shaw.”
Kaga took a few steps forward and surprised Jessie by brushing up against him. The wolf was soft and warm, and Jessie was suddenly overcome with weariness. He awkwardly patted the wolf and headed to the other side of the campfire.
Grace snapped out a thin bedroll over the top of the dusty, hard ground. She cast a hard look at Jessie. “You reckon you’re a cleanup boy? Then get to it. Clean up.”
Jessie frowned and looked around at the scattered chupacabra bodies. “You cain’t be serious!”
Grace paused and glared at him. Jessie bobbed his head and held up his hands.
“I’m moving,” he muttered and approached the first dead body. Screwing up his nose and steeling his gut, Jessie grabbed the thing’s legs and dragged it outside the campfire’s glow. He winced as the creature’s tongue lolled out of its maw. The worst was when one of the chupacabra’s legs tore off in his hands. After purging his stomach, Jessie got on and finished the grisly task.
When the camp was clear of bodies and only patches of red ground remained, Jessie sank down on the hard earth, and pressed a palm to his chest to feel how fast his heart hammered. His fingers brushed over a bulky shape, and he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the notepad he used to tally inventory at the Bad Hoss. A worn-down lead pencil was tucked inside the little book. Jessie glanced at Grace, who lay on her bedroll with her back to him. He turned back to the little book. The first four pages were filled with his chicken-scratch handwriting. Orville had been right impressed when he found out Jessie could read and write; a literate cleanup boy was damn near unheard of. Jessie bit his cheek and tore out the first four pages. He licked the tip of the pencil, hunched over the book and began to write. Pa read to me about Hell on Earth, but I do believe I am walking it today. I have come face to face with demons and pure evil and a woman I am not rightly sure is a woman. The world doesn’t make sense anymore. And I’m still just a damn cleanup boy.
Jessie shivered as he looked up from the page. Grace rolled over and he couldn’t help notice how her bloodstained shirt clung to her chest. No doubt he’d have to try to soak the blood out on the morrow.
Jessie looked back at the page and wondered if his lot in life was to forever be the cleanup boy, first cleaning up in Orville’s watered-down saloon, and now cleaning up the death Grace had sowed.
CHAPTER FIVE
Jessie decided his gelding needed a name. He probably had one back at Redrock Ridge, where his irate owner was likely screaming bloody murder at his theft. But out here, riding beside Grace on her aptly named Crowbait, Jessie couldn’t keep calling his gelding “Hoss” or “Boy” as he’d been doing. He mused on different names as they trotted along. Silver? Thunder? Lucky? Nothing seemed to fit the placid gelding.
“Why Crowbait, ma’am?” Jessie asked.
Grace turned in her saddle and her dark eyes swept over him. She spat a glob of tobacco on the ground and patted her horse’s thick neck. “’Cause that’s what she is. Crowbait. Buzzard food. She was left for dead, so I took her as my own.”
Jessie frowned. “Left for dead? Where?”
Grace chewed her tobacco and turned away. She chirked and the nag sped up and outpaced Jessie’s gelding. Jessie sighed and shook his head.
“Ornery cuss,” he muttered beneath his breath. He rearranged the shirt draped over his head to try to make it more comfortable, but the linen made his scalp itch.
Jessie watched Grace swaying on Crowbait’s back and slumped in his saddle. He yearned to ask about her words of warning last night, that demons don’t always come looking like monsters with claws and gnashing fangs. That sometimes they come looking like men and women. Well, he’d seen that firsthand back at the Hoss. Ina Maddox. Pretty as a pistol and sweet as honey to talk to, yet she’d been a foul and corrupt thing wearing a woman’s body. Was Ina Maddox the type of demon Grace
had been talking about? The type whose tongue was more dangerous than her claws? Jessie wondered whether Grace had come afoul of such a demon in her past. It would explain the hate that drove her to hunt them with such loathing.
Jessie’s horse sharply veered and he was jolted from his idle thoughts. He frowned as he realized Grace had reined to a stop just in front of him. Jessie tugged his gelding’s reins and pulled up beside her. He glanced at her face and frowned. Her jaw was tense, and her eyes fixed on the horizon. Jessie squinted and noticed a cloud of dust in the distance.
Riders.
They were still far enough away that the thud of hooves was absent, and he couldn’t tally how many riders approached.
“Want to cut up before they get here?” he asked quietly.
Grace didn’t respond. She glowered at the approaching riders.
“Ma’am?” Jessie asked. His gelding shuffled sideways as Jessie tensed his thighs. Crowbait was as stiff as the corpse she was named after.
“We ain’t cutting,” Grace said in a low tone. She brushed a fly from her face and lowered her hands to her hips. She flicked the leather loops off Justice and Mercy.
“Think they’re longriders?” Jessie asked nervously.
Grace spat out the remaining wad of tobacco. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and kept her gaze fixed on the horsemen. The thunder of the horses, along with the whoops and hollers of the riders, caught Jessie’s ears. He took a quick count and frowned. Six.
“Might be right smart to hand over that talking iron, ma’am.” He gestured at Grace’s Winchester rifle.
She snorted and cast him a sideways glance. “You looking to die, boy? You’re more likely to blow off your own foot than put down a bad egg.”
Jessie blushed and gritted his teeth. “I ain’t no nipper, Grace. I took down that chupa-what’s-it last night, didn’t I?”
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