Gunslinger's Moon (9 page)

              She retrieved his hat at the door. As she handed it, they stood close together. Her emerald eyes stared at him, trapping him in a verdant prism. A rising hackle from his lungs caused him to smile quickly and make his exit, where he spat a wet cough out. The night passed peacefully by.

Chapter 8

The next morning lazily went by. Jed spent most of the time in his room, watching folk from the window as they moved about their day. Obadiah was fretting the entire morning, caught between feeling excited with his first opportunity to hunt and the nervous dread that accompanied it.

Shortly after noon they prepared to move out. The horses were saddled and rested. Fresh for a hard night’s ride if need be. Sheriff Carter along with Nadi met them at the stable. He was a bundle of shaky leaves as he wished them good luck.

Nadi handed Jed a small jar. “Place this under your armpits. It will remove most of your smell,” she informed.

Sniffing the sludge inside, Jed asked, “Like soap?”

“No, this does not clean. It will only mask the smell of sweat. It should last all night.”

Dipping his fingers, the gunslinger scraped a healthy chunk. Pulling shirt from his belt he lathered the concoction under his armpit. He tossed the jar to Obadiah. His apprentice placed it on, feeling very self-conscious. Dubiously, he raised his arm and sniffed. “I think it works!”

Nadi snorted, “Of course it works.”

“Thank you Nadi, we’re much obliged,” Jed soothed. He swung atop his chestnut horse.

They rode on the flat desert land. The sun was in its twilight hours as they reached the canyons. The large red up cropped rock provided a handy marker. Jed did not enter the same place as when he chased Adolf. They rode a little north to sweep around.

Finding the right landmarks to stay on track was harder in the twinkling dark. As visibility reduced the horses were forced to a walk. Numerous rocks littered the ground. Any misstep could injure one of the horses. It took more than an hour to navigate the way. Then Jed could see the ridge he captured Adolf at. On the other side would be the cave. A long howl resonated in the moonlight. The pale mirror was completely full and the sound was definitely a werewolf. The horses neighed quietly and subdued. Obadiah had a death grip on his reins.

In silence they dismounted. Another howl rang. The ears on the horses were pressed to the skull. Jed rubbed its neck, soothing it with confident words. Obadiah was doing the same. They dismounted. The reins were wrapped around a bush. The horses could free themselves, but they were used to being tied to a spot. Pressing a finger to his lips Jed motioned for Obadiah to follow him.

The slope was thirty yards away. Last time Jed had walked down. It was gentle enough that climbing it was nothing more than using their arms to steady themselves. Obadiah was constantly kicking pebbles down. However, the pebbles journey down was hardly loud enough to alert the werewolves on the other side. Jed did realize he would need to teach Obadiah how to move silently. The gunslinger’s father had learned from an Indian tribe and taught his son growing up. While Jed was more comfortable avoiding leaves and sticks, he managed to climb soundlessly.

Grabbing a rock at the top, he cautiously peered over. There was nothing save the occasional howl and the pleating of some other animal. It sounded like a cow. Jed slid over the top crouching behind a boulder. A moment later Obadiah huddled beside him, a heavy sheen of sweat saturating his forehead. Confidant nothing was on the ridge with them they began crawling to the edge. Jed took his hat off and looked over. Everything appears differently in the night and discerning the general location of the cave took a moment.

Tapping Obadiah once he found it, they observed the area. Two hundred feet away was a cow. A rope tied it to a post. Then Jed saw the other one. It was free and mooing in panic. Constantly it tossed its head to either side. Its horn were no fearsome things, but its tremendous strength made up for its dullness. A camouflaged shape moved in the shadows. Once Jed spotted the first werewolf he saw them all. Four of them had circled the cow. They would dart in close and pull away when the cow faced them. It’s back turned to another, a werewolf would rush and scratch the hindquarters. It would scurry away before the cow lashed with its dull horns.

Any one of the werewolves could have struck down the cow effortlessly. If they were not busy playing with it. Inevitably the cow would lose all stamina. Only then, too tired to fight, would the werewolves kill their prey. The cow would not last much longer. The game had been going on for a while. Sitting on a rock on all fours was yet another werewolf. It was smaller than the rest and Jed swore it was the same one he met earlier. One or two more walked from the cave the light catching their yellow eyes.

“I’ve made a huge mistake,” Jed whispered. Inaudible even to Obadiah lying inches to his side.

Obadiah mouthed something to Jed. He could not understand the message only the concern. Without success he tried saying it several more times. Then he drew a symbol in the dirt. By the motion Jed recognized it as the number eight. His apprentice counted eight werewolves. The number seemed accurate. Although more could be hiding inside the cave.

Suddenly the cow bellowed in pain. The werewolves had attacked. Swiftly, they had ran in concert. Their claws slashed the leathery skin of the cow. Its red blood coated the black and white. Guts spilled as the bowels were cut in a vicious strike. One of the werewolves grabbed the cow’s horns and twisted the head. The wolfish snout plunged its teeth in the throat, cutting off the terrified pleating. The other werewolves descended on the dying animal. The only noise was the ripping of flesh and crunching of bones.

Jed cursed vehemently in his thoughts. There went his potential plan of blasting a couple of werewolves as they ran up the hill. The plan flew out the window like a pet bird. It would be suicide trying to kill eight by himself and Obadiah. Jed calculated the number of bullets they had. Four guns and six shots each made twenty-four. That would give each werewolf three hits, assuming none missed. Not good math. A werewolf could eat three bullets and kill a dozen men.

Then it came. Jed did not have a chance to hold it in. It was a great racking cough. The type that quieted a room. The type that carried down the hill alerting blood frenzied werewolves. Pain flared in his chest as he coughed, almost like he was hacking up one of his lungs. Standing up he grabbed the back of Obadiah’s shirt and pulled the frozen kid.

“Run,” he croaked between fits.

A half dozen howls echoed on the other side. A bloodthirsty chorus calling for sacrifices. No time to ease down the pair half ran, half slid down the ridge. Jed slipped at the end and rolled down. Obadiah whistled sharply. His horse pulled away from the bush and raced toward him. Flipping the reins, Obadiah kicked his heels and the horse ran. Jed sprinted to his horse and smoothly slid to his seat. Constant howls filled the night and his horse was willing to gallop. The gunslinger let him have his head, hidden stones in the way be damned. They needed to move.

Despite the strong head start Obadiah’s horse was not faster than Jed’s. He passed his apprentice. The gunslinger always looked for a horse that could run like a bolt of lightning. He was always worried something would be faster than his horse. It was a good fear. A werewolf had circled the ridge, reaching the the path before them. It stood tall on its legs, bent like a man’s. Fiercely it howled. Jed spurred his horse onward, constantly kicking its side. Times like this the gunslinger wished he had spurs. However, his horse did not need any extra prodding. Its ears dropped and its legs bolted forward.

Crouching above the saddle Jed palmed the two guns. He felt the smooth wooden handles merge with his hands. The rhythm of the horse played like a song in his mind. A dozen yards from the beast the right beat played. Twin trumpets blared and the guns fired. The bullets twisted the werewolf to the side and Jed galloped by a second later.

“Giddy-up!” Jed yelled to his horse.

The rocky walls of the canyon made the relentless howls indeterminate. The proximity of the werewolves could be a hundred yards away or nipping at their heels. Jed glanced back. At least he knew where one of them was at. The werewolf he had wounded was running after Obadiah, catching. His apprentice was a masterful rider. It was his steed that lacked his ability. It was too slow.

Uselessly he yelled, “Move it Obadiah!”

Reining his horse he turned, heading in a different direction. Obadiah made the sudden turn at a far faster pace catching up to Jed. At a gallop they rode. The werewolf behind them disappeared. The horses had worked a sweat during the run.

“Where are we going,” Obadiah asked.

Jed could only cough again. These hills and canyons weren’t the back of his hand. Jed was losing themselves the further they rode. The mutts had cut off their exit. To the left he spotted where he wanted to go. It was a small hill. Speeding up they raced to the hill. Their speed was disheartening as the horses ascended the incline. Jed stood in the saddle when they finally reached the top.

“There.” Obadiah pointed to the north. Ahead the ground appeared to flatten slightly and provided an avenue away.

Suddenly the gunslinger’s horse neighed. A werewolf leapt from its position, yards from them. Instinctively, Jed dragged the reins back. The horse reared up on its two legs blocking Jed from the werewolf. The inch long fangs stopped short to his face. Putrid steamy, hot breath blew on his face. Long claws scraped Jed’s forearm and the neck of his horse. Obadiah fired several shots from his Colt. He couldn’t miss at the close range. It growled in pain as Jed slipped his foot from the stirrup. He gave a strong uppercut, snapping the skull up and knocking the beast down.

“Come on,” Jed yelled.

The rest of the werewolves were closing in fast. They tried to encircle the riders. The pack hunting in a coordinated effort. In the nick of time the horses’ hooves hit the open ground. A leaping werewolf barely missed the jump. Galloping again the pursuers were yards behind. Most of the werewolves were running as fast as the steeds. That would change soon. Jed knew that werewolves like their namesakes could run for hours. A single thing was in the men’s favor. The gunslinger swung the Kruger back. His thumb worked the hammer as he fired. Between each shot required a watch over the road as they followed a twisty path.

The first shot clipped the closest werewolf, it held firm and did not stumble. His next shot missed. Obadiah was having more trouble. His horse was not going to last much longer. The shots were also wild, missing their targets by wide margins. Jed twisted back again and sent another shot. Something must have carried it home, for the bullet smashed into a werewolf’s kneecaps. It tumbled widely on the ground.

Another tried to leap over its tumbling comrade. An extended leg tripped it in midair and it too crashed to the ground. That left three more in immediate range. Obadiah finally made a shot, clipping the skull of one. Enraged the beast threw itself in the air catching the back of the horse. However, it was too bulky to stay on and its claws raked the horse’s hindquarters before it slipped. As it fell a rear hoof caught the monster knocking a few teeth out.

The pain added fuel for Obadiah’s weary horse and it ran neck to neck with Jed’s. They fired behind them several times, none landed a good blow. Only two were left for concern. Just then the bumpy terrain ended and the smooth land between the rocky canyons and Hickory began. It wouldn’t matter though. Long before they reached town their horses would drop from exhaustion. Out of nowhere the other werewolves would descend, still fresh. They had to do something soon. Spent casings fell to the ground as Jed reloaded. From his vest he withdrew the box. Gripping the reins in his teeth, he directed the horse while loading the priceless bullets. When the last bullet fell in the hole Jed slapped the chamber shut.

The reins in his right hand, Jed shouted, “Obadiah stop!”

Harder than he ever did before, he dragged back on the reins. Rearing up the horse landed facing to the side. Slickly, Jed pulled the revolver up and sent one round at the charging werewolf. The beast seemed to hit a brick wall. It crumpled to the ground. Obadiah snagged the other one several times before it stopped. Its partner howled in beastly pain. No, it was something more. There was a human scream mixed its cries.

“Wait,” Jed ordered.

“What’s happening?” Obadiah asked breathlessly.

The werewolf Jed had shot writhed on the ground. Its black fur mixed with dusty dirt and red blood, copious amounts of it. The other werewolf stood near it, studying its agony. Fur receded as it tried to change, an extreme effort to stop the bleeding. It couldn’t stop. The blood was flowing wetly. None of it was clotting. Gripping the sand in pain was a mostly human hand. All the other werewolves approached gingerly.

Their pack member continued to cry. He was more human than beast now. The long snout collapsed on itself as his jaw opened wider. It closed quickly, revealing a fully human, but unrecognizable face. The man cried in pain, whimpering in his torture.

“Silver,” Jed pronounced defiantly. The scratches on his arm had stopped bleeding, the blood clotted. “Any of you bastards want some?”

The small werewolf approached its dying comrade. The dark snout sniffed. Jed would’ve bet it could smell the silver burning in its blood. Blood could only be described loosely as such. It poured out like rain water, completely soaking the ground.

“Do you want to chew on this, you bloody mutts?” Jed growled in challenge again.

They were silent. The dying man was finally silent. The land was ghostly still. The riders were silent. All was silent except the breaths. The horses gasped hard. The werewolves breathed with menace. Jed calmly breathed in. Obadiah hadn’t taken a breath of air in half a minute.