She Returns from War

TWELVE



The shapes of her mother and her husband swam through her vision, their voices faint and far away. She shook her head. They were not there. They had rejoined the Great Cycle, their souls finding new bodies to dwell in. She knew this. The phantoms she saw were only tricks of her mind.

The woman pushed them away. They brought nothing but sorrow and longing, and she could not use those feelings. She needed the anger, the hatred. Those were easy enough to find; they lived very close to her heart. She called upon them now to lend her courage to do what must be done. Even in their burning embrace, she was still afraid. Afraid of the ruined walls and ancient stone that surrounded her. Afraid of the spirits that walked in this place. Afraid of the old woman who brought her here.

Her companion stood before her, back stooped with many years, scratching symbols into the dirt with an old branch. The woman watched her with a mixture of fascination and dread. The darkness that clung to the crone's robes was thick and black, but the power she wielded was palpable. With such power, the woman could take revenge on the men who killed the ones she loved most. She could stop them from hurting the Dine for all time.

A faint shout echoed from behind her. Turning to look, she bit back a cry. Her mother's face stood at the edge of the firelight, features etched with love and fear. Her lips moved, but the woman could not understand her words. She blinked back tears. It was just a phantom of her guilt and her fear. Were she here, her mother would surely want her to go through with this. She had been a strong woman in life; she would have understood this desire to protect her people. The American soldiers had guns and numbers, but they did not have knowledge of these arts.

"Now," the old woman croaked.

The woman turned back to her. "Yes?"

The crone's eyes flashed red in the darkness. "You are ready?"

"Yes," the woman said again, trying to give more strength to her voice than she felt.

"You may never go back," the old woman said. "No-one may turn from the Witchery Way once they begin walking it. It will be with you and you with it until you die."

"I am ready."

A dry cackle spilled from those ancient lips. "So be it, girl. Come," she said, beckoning with a withered claw. "Come and take the power you desire."

The woman swallowed back her doubts, closing her ears to her mother's faint cries. Keeping the image of the American soldier's face in her mind, she stepped forward. The scratchings in the dirt were unreadable in the flickering light, but the woman knew the meaning of the animal skin laid next to them. Letting her anger fuel her need, she slipped out of the doeskin tunic she wore and knelt next to the hide.

Above her, the old woman's lips spread in a toothless grin.

The next morning, Victoria pulled on her clean shirt and denim trousers, ate a quick breakfast of flapjacks, and stepped outside. The sun had just climbed above the tops of the buildings, but a slight chill hung in the air. Victoria relished it, knowing that the hellish swelter would soon smother the dusty streets. The townsfolk moved sluggishly around her, as if they could not move properly unless their limbs were greased by sweat.

When she reached the saloon, Victoria found Cora's business partner Robert behind the bar. He wore a button-up shirt and tie beneath his jaunty, small-brimmed hat. Had he been in a bank or office tower in London or New York City, he might have looked right at home. Standing behind the bar of a dusty saloon, he seemed displaced and vulnerable. For the first time since her arrival, Victoria thought she might not be the most awkwardlydressed person in the room.

Robert's face brightened when he caught sight of her. "Ah, Miss Dawes. Wonderful to see you again."

"Likewise," she said, returning his smile. "How have you been?"

"Much the same as ever," he replied. He looked her up and down. "I'm guessing the getup was Cora's idea?"

"Quite right," Victoria said, stepping up to the bar. "Speaking of whom, has she been about this morning? I'm rather surprised not to find her where you are."

Frustration creased Robert's face. "I was, too. You wouldn't think it would be difficult for someone who lived in the saloon to open it on time, would you?"

"Certainly not," Victoria said.

"Yet here I am," he said, turning his palms upward, "and here I will remain until she remembers where she belongs."

"I don't expect Cora is a particularly easy woman to keep in line."

"Heaven spare me," Robert said, shaking his head. "I don't think any man anywhere has ever been able to keep her in line. Those who tried at one point or another aren't among the living anymore, or so I imagine."

The memory of Cora facing down the blue-eyed monster came to Victoria's mind, and she laughed. "Somehow, that seems all too likely."

"My other partners figured I'd lost my mind when I agreed to help Cora open this place," he said, looking around the near-empty saloon. "Truth is, had she wanted to start any other kind of business, I would have turned her down in a blink, but I knew she would be reliable so long as there was whiskey and poker involved. She's got enough of a reputation that I knew she'd pull in a crowd. Can't say I understand the name, though."

"Did she not explain it to you?" Victoria asked.

"Don't see why it matters none."

Both Victoria and Robert started and turned at the sound of Cora's voice. The hunter stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the morning light. Her spurs chimed as she strode over to the bar. "Ain't like most of the folk what pass through here can read the sign, anyhow."

Robert smirked. "That's truer than you know," he said to Victoria. "The people around here aren't what you'd call educated."

"Yeah, yeah," Cora said. "We ain't nothing but a bunch of ignorant frontier folk. Ain't got enough sense to wash or dress ourselves or take a proper squat." Robert opened his mouth to reply, but Cora didn't pause. "Last I checked, us frontier folk was keeping you in a steady means of living, Bob."

Robert dropped his gaze to his shoes, leaving Cora and Victoria looking at the top of his hat. "Yes, well," came his voice, quiet with embarrassment, "I wasn't going to go quite that far with it."

"You can stew about it till that hat of yours wears clean through for all I care," Cora said. "I'd just thank you to do your stewing right here for a spell."

That brought Robert's head back up. "Here? Why? Where are you going?"

"Got me some business with Morgan."

"What did you do this time?" Robert asked, rolling his eyes

"Nothing that you need to worry your city-fied head over," Cora said. She turned to Victoria. "You ready?"

Victoria blinked. "Ready?"

"Good." Cora headed back toward the door. Victoria exchanged a look with Robert. He shrugged and offered her an apologetic smile. She nodded in return, then followed Cora out onto the street.

"Where are we going?" Victoria asked.

"Off to see old Morgan," Cora replied. "Ain't you been listening?"

"Who's Morgan?"

"Sheriff in these parts." Above the edge of its scabbard, the butt of Cora's rifle caught the morning sunlight as she walked. "Seems he had himself a killing last night that ain't quite what he's used to."

"What do you mean?"

"Stiffs are drained dry," Cora said.

"Dry?" The two women paused on a corner to let a carriage thunder past. "You mean they've been drained of their blood?"

"Yes ma'am. He's all in a tizzy about it, says it's the worst thing he's seen in fifteen years of sheriffing. Can't see how that is, being as he don't look a day over thirty his own self, but I reckon it ain't smart to question a lawman on his numbers."

Cora strode toward a three-story building that stood near the end of the main street. Unlike the smaller buildings around it, whose shiplap walls were in various states of decay, this edifice boasted stone walls that glowed with the color of carnelians in the sunlight. Rows of windows, their curtains drawn, faced outward into the street. The building's crown thrust a triangular wedge toward the sky like a cockscomb.

As they approached, Victoria saw a small crowd gathered around the building's pillared entrance. Cora pushed her way through the throng, and Victoria followed close on her heels. A man stood in front of the doorway, arms folded, a gun hanging from his hip. The hunter marched right past him with a curt nod. The man returned the nod, a silver star gleaming on his chest.

Cora didn't slow her march when they entered the building. Desks, chairs, and people passed in a blur as Victoria followed her to the back of the building, where they clambered back and forth up a staircase until they reached the top floor. Stepping through an open doorway, they found a man with deep-set brown eyes waiting in the hall.

"Thanks for coming," he said, extending his hand.

Cora shook it. "You know this ain't my business no more, right?"

"Sure do," the man said. A mustache the color of ripe chestnuts covered his upper lip. "Don't expect you to do nothing beyond telling us your opinion of the matter, neither."

"So long as we're clear on that." Cora stepped aside and held her hand out toward Victoria. "This here's Vicky Dawes. Vicky, this is Sheriff Morgan."

"A pleasure, ma'am."

"My name is Victoria," she replied, giving Cora a look as she shook the sheriff's hand.

"You ain't from around here, are you?" the sheriff asked.

"No, she's from England somewhere," Cora said before Victoria could answer. "Came all the way out here so she could have a chance to ride with the legendary Cora Oglesby. Wasn't none too happy to learn I ain't the riding type no more."

"You sure on that count?" Morgan asked with a pointed look at Cora's rifle.

"Sure as shit. This here's just for protection. I may have given up my spurs, but that don't mean I gave up my sense with them."

Morgan nodded and motioned for them to follow him. The trio made their way down the hall, their boots drumming a cacophony on the worn floorboards. Opening the last door on the right, Morgan led them into a small office. A window dominated the far wall, curtains drawn back just enough to allow a modest stream of sunlight in. Documents and legal books were piled high on the bookshelves standing at attention behind a large desk. Two comfortable-looking chairs faced the desk, their stained feet nestled into a thick green carpet.

Victoria absorbed all of this in a flash. Her eyes fixed on the slumped bodies of two men in business suits. One man was positioned behind the desk, and the other faced him in one of the two chairs. Both corpses were the color of old milk, their skin drawn tightly over their bones. Victoria's stomach gave a flop.

"Ain't seen nothing like it," Morgan said. He and Cora bent down on either side of the body behind the desk. "I ain't even sure how it was managed, sucking these sorry fools like they was oranges."

"I got a notion," Cora said, "but I don't reckon it's one you'll take to."

"Try me." Morgan stood upright and folded his arms. "I didn't call you here to give you a free gander. You got an opinion, I want to hear it."

"Vampires."

The sheriff leaned forward. "Come again?"

"Vampires," Cora repeated. "Blood-sucking living corpses what go about doing just this sort of thing. What's more, these fellers will start moving about again come sundown looking for some blood of their own. Were I you, I'd set them out where the sun can shine on them nice and good and leave them there."

"Propping up stiffs that look like these is like to put folks right off their feed," Morgan said. "Ain't like these two was outlaws or some such so folks'd be glad to see them done in. I put a pair of fine businessmen on display like sacks of potatoes, this town is liable to string me up from my own gallows."

"Putting them out on the street's a better idea than letting them run about once the change sets in," Cora said. "You do that, you'll have another few stiffs on your hands come tomorrow morning, and that's if you're lucky."

"Forget it," the sheriff said, shaking his head. "I always figured you was a loon, but when the talk in town is that you got a knack for strange cases, I thought you'd have something worthwhile to say about this here situation, but all you got is kid stories. Go on and take your fancy lady friend with you and leave the real work to the men folk."

"Seems to me like the sheriff needs some hard evidence," Cora said to Victoria. "You got that holy water I gave you?"

"Yes," Victoria said.

"Go on and pour a little on this feller's head," she said, nodding toward the corpse.

Hand suddenly shaking, Victoria reached into her satchel. She could feel the sheriff's eyes on her as she pulled the vial out. The glass was cool to the touch. Gripping the stopper with her thumb and forefinger, she twisted to one side. It wouldn't budge. Smiling nervously, she tried again. The rubber squeaked against the glass. One more try, and the stopper came out with a small popping sound.

Careful to keep as much distance between herself and the corpse as she could, she held the vial over the dead man's head and tilted it enough to let a few drops fall.

The result surprised her as much as it did the sheriff. Where the water fell, plumes of smoke billowed from the desiccated skin. It was as though someone had poured vinegar on a hot stove. A sound like sizzling fatback filled the room. Alarmed, Victoria took a hasty step backward, bumping into Cora. The hunter held out a hand to steady her companion, a smirk playing about her lips. She nodded toward the sheriff, and Victoria followed her gaze.

Morgan's eyes were wide in his lean face, and his cheeks had gone deathly pale. His lips moved without sound. Brown eyes stole a quick, bewildered glance at the two women.

"What in tarnation is this?" he finally asked.

"This," Cora said, "is what happens when you throw holy water on something that's been cursed with unholy blood. Vampire, hellhound, werewolf, they all go up in steam and screams when you give them a good bathing." She folded her arms and cocked her head. "Still think I'm an old fool?"

The sheriff gaped at her for a moment before turning his gaze back to the smoking corpse. The trails of smoke were thinning out, resembling cigarette smoke instead of blacksmith's steam. Morgan took a step toward the body. Crouching down beside it, he craned his neck this way and that. Finally, he shook his head. "You is still a fool in my book, but maybe you got your head screwed on right about this here case."

"See?" Cora said, arching an eyebrow at Victoria. "The men here ain't nothing but a big old herd of sweet-talkers."

The sheriff stood and brushed his hands on his trousers. "How'd they get this way in the first place?"

"Another vampire had himself a drink," Cora said. "Given that they're all nice and tidy, I'd put good money on it being the same one we've been chasing lately."

"You know who did this?"

"Got a strong notion, though we can't be sure about it with things as they are here. Could be there's another vampire feller out there somewhere causing his own bit of ruckus, and it's just a coincidence that he turned up right when we was chasing the other one."

Brow furrowed, Morgan studied the two corpses. "So we might have two on our hands? What's the best way of handling these things?"

Cora patted the butt of her rifle. "Holy weapons, mostly. Silver bullets and blessed swords and the like. I got me some leftovers from when I was in this business, but it ain't going to be enough if you got a full infestation brewing on your hands. Best advice is to make friends with them monks out at the old Spanish mission. They ain't equipped for fighting, but they might have enough holy water and crosses as can offer the townsfolk some protection."

"Can't you go after the one that started this?"

"That's our plan," Cora said, "but you'd best have something else up your sleeve in case we can't find and whip the son of a bitch in time."

"I'll lend you one of my deputies if you like," Morgan said. "Got me a good tracker in the bunch, knows this here country powerful well."

Cora shook her head. "Keep him. Don't need me two greenhorns on the trail, or they're like to trip me up." Victoria blushed and looked down at her boots, but Cora didn't miss a beat. "Better your boys stay here and do what they can to protect folk.

"As for hunting down the bastard as did this, I got an idea." She stepped over to the other corpse and took a good look at its face. "I don't reckon those two will hide out on that ranch after what happened," she said to Victoria. "Was I them, I'd have lit out for another place to lay low for awhile."

"This isn't what I would call laying low," Victoria said.

"Me, either, but I did catch that feller in the leg with my rifle," Cora said. "I reckon he got himself a powerful hunger after that. Fresh blood keeps him strong and helps that wound of his to heal. Held off for a day or two, either out of fear or because that squaw wouldn't let him feed, but his need finally got the better of him.

"Second thing is, we done shot up his troops out at the farm. I reckon he's feeling a mite naked without critters at his heels, so he's looking to make him some new ones." She poked a grey cheek. "This feller's one of his new recruits. When he wakes up, I'd put good money on him running straight back to that blue-eyed bastard. Might not even feed before he goes if we're lucky."

"So we follow it back, just like that?" Victoria asked. "Won't he know what we're about and lead us back out into the desert, or ambush us?"

"Could be," Cora said, "but ain't like we got any other trails to follow. For all we know, this sucker will get right up and start feeding on folk as soon as the sun goes down. Then again, he might not. It might just be a pair of sixes, but it's the hand we was dealt, and we got to play it or fold."

"I'd rather not gamble our lives on it."

"You don't got to tag along. I reckon old Bob would be pleased as all get out if you decided to keep him company at the Print Shop tonight instead of riding out with me. Might even make it so he don't come grumping at me in the morning."

Hot blood coursed through Victoria's cheeks. She could feel the sheriff's eyes on her. "I'll ride," she said quietly.

"I knew you'd come around." Cora's grin lasted only a moment. "Now then, we got a lot to get done and not much time. First thing, we make for the Print Shop and wait for them Indian boys to wander in. Sheriff, I'll thank you to leave one of these fellers - this one, the one that's dry - right where he is so we can take our gamble with him."

"Just the one?" Morgan asked. "Why not both?"

"We went and made a sorry sight of the other one's face. Even if he did wake up, and I ain't sure he would now, I don't reckon old blue eyes would have much of a use for him. Best to just drag him into the sun and have done with it."

When the sheriff hesitated, Cora rolled her eyes. Placing a hand on the hilt of her saber, she leaned toward the ruined corpse. "Or, if you'd rather, I can just have off with his head right here, and you can go about explaining to his widow why he's a head shorter than he ought to be."

"Don't make much difference, way I see it," Morgan replied. "Ain't like saying it was spooks that did it will make a damn lick of sense, anyhow."

"Well, you ain't been elected just to slick down that mustache of yours," Cora said. "If you don't like my explanation good enough, go on and spin your own yarn about how these poor fools got themselves killed. Maybe they gone and got themselves done in by being too greedy."

Cora laughed at her own joke, but the sheriff didn't join in. In the dim light, his face seemed to redden, but whether it was from anger or embarrassment, Victoria couldn't tell. His right hand curled into a fist, then relaxed and smoothed down his mustache.

"I do believe we've places to be," Victoria reminded Cora.

"Right, right," she replied. "Much obliged for the tour here, sheriff. Now, if you'll excuse us, we got to go ask some Indian boys about a witch."

Morgan's eyebrows twitched. "A what?"

"Never you mind. Come on, Vicky, let's make tracks."

Victoria followed the hunter down the stairs and out through the building's front entrance. The deputy still stood at his post, arms folded, as if he were carved from stone. Cora ignored him, pushing her way through the crowd of onlookers. The sun had climbed higher into the sky, and the temperature was beginning to rise. Victoria sighed at the thought of another sweltering day.

"I reckon I might need your help with these here Indians," Cora said.

"What do you mean?" Victoria asked. "I'm not exactly an expert on their culture. I'd never even seen an Indian before I arrived here."

"No," Cora admitted, "but you are an expert at sitting still and looking pretty."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Even before the question passed through her lips, she was dreading the answer.

Cora shot her a look. "You ain't as thick as all that. Woman your age, specially one as doll-faced as you is, ought to know by now just how to make a man go all weak in the knees with a smile or a wink."

"You expect me to be coy with them?"

"Damn straight I do. Ain't like I'm asking you to let them have a poke with you, so simmer down. All I need you to do is look sweet and scared, like you ain't got a hope in the world if they don't tell us everything they know about witches. Men plumb lose their wits when they think there's a pretty girl that needs their saving."

"What if they don't think I'm pretty?" Victoria asked. "For all I know, they may find blue eyes or blond hair repulsive."

"Maybe so," Cora said, "but there ain't no harm in trying."

"Save to my dignity," Victoria muttered.

When they arrived at the saloon, Cora pushed through the batwing doors. Robert glared at her from behind the bar. "Took you long enough."

"I reckon so," Cora said.

"Morgan didn't see the need to arrest you after all?"

Cora shook her head. "Just wanted my expertise on a case he's got brewing. Couldn't help him none, though, so I told him I'd send you over instead."

"Very funny," Robert said. "Are you going to mind the saloon now, or should I stand here all day?"

"You're welcome to," Cora replied. "Me and Vicky got business here with them Indian boys what drop by in the mornings, so you can stay and look after the other folk if you got a mind to."

Robert looked at her suspiciously. "What business do you have with Indians?"

"Ain't none of yours, that's what. If you ain't going to help, best you just get. I don't need you looking all prickly and scaring off the decent folk what come in for a little morning poker. Vicky's doing enough of that as it is."

Victoria gave her a scowl. "I beg your pardon?"

"See? There you go again. I swear I'm the only person here who ain't sat on a cactus this morning."

With that, Cora took up her usual place behind the bar. Robert twisted a rag around his fingers, his face alternating shades of red and white, but he didn't move. Victoria remained where she was for a moment, then sat down at the nearest unoccupied table. Her blisters wailed in agony. Despite the pain, she fought the impulse to pull off her boots and give them some relief. The sight of her bare, bleeding feet would probably undermine whatever charm Cora expected her to use on the two men they were expecting.

The thought still made her furious. What did she know about seducing men? Her parents hadn't raised her to be wanton, winking at every man that crossed her path. Perhaps she enjoyed the occasional attention she garnered from young men, but what of that? She still had her dignity. Even if she didn't, she knew she would only end up embarrassing herself. Heaven knew her riding clothes weren't exactly alluring, and what guarantee did she have that these two Indians would even be able to understand her? They could very well not speak English. A fine sight that would be.

The batwing doors creaked as two men entered. Victoria knew right away that they were the men Cora was expecting. Both had broad faces, raven-colored hair, and black eyes that seemed to spark in the smoky air. To her surprise, however, they wore denim pants and flannel button-up shirts. Red kerchiefs hung around their necks. She had expected them to come dressed in skins and face paint and feathers, like the stories she'd heard of such men, but they looked more at home in the saloon than she had when she first arrived. But for their long braids, they might have passed for dark-skinned Mexican cowboys.

After giving the room a brief glance, the Indians stepped up to the bar. Cora set a pair of glasses in front of them and pulled out a familiar jug. Victoria could feel the fire in the back of her own throat as she watched the brown liquid flow. The two men nodded their thanks and drained their glasses.

"You boys care for another?" Cora asked. "It's on the house."

Robert started to sputter a protest, but she silenced him with a look. The two men nodded. Cora refilled their glasses with a grin. "Drink on up."

They obliged. Cora watched the whiskey disappear down their throats, her grin widening. Behind her, Robert deflated with a shake of his head. He moved down to the other end of the bar and settled in to watch a game of poker.

"Say, you fellers got a minute?" Cora asked. "I was wondering if you might answer some questions I got for you."

The two men exchanged glances. "What questions?" one finally asked.

"Nothing incriminating," Cora said, holding up her hands in surrender. "I ain't looking to get you all in trouble or nothing. Wouldn't be no kind of business owner if I went around getting my own customers locked up, anyhow."

Another glance. "What questions?" the one repeated.

Cora nodded in Victoria's direction. "See that pretty little thing over there?" Two sets of black eyes settled on her. Victoria returned what she hoped was a shy-yet-inviting smile. "You might have seen her around town lately. She's got herself in a bit of a fix, and she done came to me for help. Sorry to say, but I ain't got the know-how necessary to help her out, but then I thought of you two fellers and figured you might be able to lend her a hand."

Their eyes lingered on her. Victoria willed herself not to squirm under their gaze. Instead, she raised her eyebrows in a hopeful expression, as if her life really did hang in the balance. Then again, maybe it did.

Faces betraying no hint of emotion, they sized her up for a minute longer before one of them - the one who had spoken earlier - finally nodded. "We will hear your questions," he said. His accent was thick, but it was not foreign to Victoria's ears: the Indian woman hunting her spoke in the same manner.

"Glad to hear it, boys," Cora said. "Come on over to the table and we'll have us a little pow-wow. Bob, keep an eye on the rest of the place for a spell, would you?"

Robert nodded absently as the two men walked toward Victoria's table. They stopped short of sitting down, but that was fine with her. She offered them another smile, inwardly screaming at Cora to hurry up and join them. The two men didn't exactly frighten her, but their unreadable faces made her uneasy.

Thumping boots announced Cora's approach. "Go on and have a seat, boys," she said, claiming a chair next to Victoria. The men exchanged glances again, and the one who had spoken to them nodded. Their chairs skidded across the floorboards as they sat.

"You boys got names?" Cora asked. "It don't feel right just calling you boys all the time."

The first man nodded. "I am Naalnish. He is Ata'halne."

"Fine names, if you ask me." Cora grinned at them.

"I reckon you already know who I am. This here's Vicky Dawes."

Victoria was about to correct her, but before she had a chance, Naalnish spoke to his companion in their native tongue. Victoria listened, fascinated. The words flowing out of him sounded like the bubbling of a small river. The man called Ata'halne nodded and said something in reply.

"What does this name 'Vicky' mean?" Naalnish asked, looking at Victoria.

"My name is Victoria," she said. "My parents named me for Queen Victoria - that's our queen where I'm from - and I never gave it much thought. I suppose it has something to do with victory and being victorious."

Naalnish said something to Ata'halne, and the other nodded. "It is a strong name. Your parents chose well," Naalnish said.

"Thank you," Victoria said.

"You got meanings for your names, too, right?" Cora asked. "All you Indians do, I hear."

Naalnish nodded. "Yes. In your tongue, my name means 'He Works'. His name means 'He Interrupts'."

Cora laughed. "He sure ain't living up to his name today. I don't think he's said a word but to you. Did you all name him that as a joke?"

"No," Naalnish said. "He does not know your language and so does not speak to you."

"Fair enough." Cora placed both hands on the table. "So, are you and him ready to help us out?" Naalnish nodded again, so she continued. "Well, as it turns out, Vicky here got herself into a bind with one of your folk, and she ain't quite sure how to go about getting out of it."

"She has been injured by one of our people, or she has injured one of our people?"

"Not injured, exactly. At least, not hurt or nothing. See, a lady Indian took her from her hotel room here in town, carried her out to an old ranch west of here, and gave her quite a scare. Then, when Vicky and I rode out to that same ranch, this here lady killed our horses and left us in the middle of the desert to starve or die of sunstroke."

Strange words flowed between the two men. Cora folded across her chest and waited. Victoria listened to them speak, hoping to catch any hint of meaning or emotion, but she soon gave up. Though their words were at once as graceful and earthy as the mesas in the desert, she couldn't make any sense of them. The Indians seemed intent on their conversation; they spoke for several minutes, occasionally glancing at the two women.

Naalnish suddenly turned back to them. "What reason would one of our people have to do these things?"

"I ain't rightly sure, myself," Cora replied. "Vicky didn't go picking any fights, if that what you mean. She was minding her own business when she got snatched up."

"That is not good," Naalnish said. "Our people do not wish to fight with yours." His dark eyes fixed on Victoria with startling intensity. "You did not give her reason?"

"No," Victoria said. "I had never seen her before she kidnapped me. I'm sure of it."

Naalnish relayed her words to Ata'halne. The other man replied with something that made both of them laugh. Victoria shot a glance at Cora, not sure what to make of their laughter, but the hunter's eyes remained on their companions.

"Why do you come to us with this?" Naalnish asked. "Surely your laws can deal with this woman. You do not need our help."

"Well, this woman ain't exactly normal," Cora said.

Naalnish's brow twitched. "What do you mean?"

"You Navajo folk got religion, right? Not like Catholics or Protestants or whatnot, but you all have spirits and magic and such?"

"Yes," Naalnish said.

"That's what I figured," Cora said. "See, this here woman what's been giving poor Vicky so much trouble uses that spirit magic of yours to pull off her tricks, I reckon. Spooky stuff, what's more. She made it where my gun didn't work, and said she even turned into my horse to trick us."

As she spoke, the man's face clouded over. He leaned back in his chair. When Cora finished, he turned to his friend and spoke in a low, hurried voice. Ata'halne's eyes locked onto the hunter as he listened. Like Naalnish, his face betrayed a deep concern at what he was hearing. He responded to the other man, his voice hushed as though he was afraid the two women would overhear.

Naalnish abruptly stood. "We cannot speak of this."

"What's that, now?" Cora asked.

"To speak of this evil is to call to it," he said. "We can say no more."

"Now, you just wait one minute," Cora said, rising to her feet. "How can you call yourself a man if you just light out and leave this poor girl to her fate?"

"She is not of our people," Naalnish replied. He met Cora's gaze without flinching. "We have women and children, brothers and sisters. Why should we risk their lives for her? The evil that you speak of will devour them all. We will not help you."

"Please." The look of distress on Victoria's face was genuine. "I don't know what to do."

The Indian turned away from them, placing a hand on Ata'halne's shoulder before walking toward the door. Ata'halne rose to follow his companion. His black eyes lingered on Victoria's face for a moment before he, too, turned and left the saloon.

Cora sat back down as the batwing doors creaked shut. "Well, that puts a burr under our saddle, don't it?"

"You do not seem all that concerned."

"Well, what to do about it?" Cora said. "Ain't like we can go clinging to their boots and begging. Indians don't take kindly to that sort of display, and that's one thing we happen to agree on. I ain't exactly the begging type."

"You aren't the smart type either, are you?" Victoria asked.

Cora held up a hand. "Hey, now, no need to get nasty about it. So these two fellers are too yellow to lend us a hand. They ain't the only two Indians in the world. We'll find us a one that ain't such a coward."

"Why? So you can drive them off again?" Victoria's chair nearly fell over as she stood. "What if none of them offer to help us? How will we get ourselves out of this mess?" Cora started to speak, but Victoria was too angry and too frightened to slow down. "I'll tell you. We won't. We won't because you have the diplomatic subtlety of a cannon. You have condemned us to death, but I refuse to just sit about and wait for it. If this witch woman wants to kill me, I will make her catch me first. I'm going back to England. Even if you refuse to come. I have had enough of your insults, your condescension, and your recklessness, and I won't stand for another minute of it. Goodbye, Cora Oglesby."

Victoria turned on her heel, ignoring the spikes of pain shooting through her feet. She half-expected to hear Cora's voice calling her back, but the hunter remained silent. Not that it mattered. Cora could scream and beg for her to stop. Her mind was made up. It had been a mistake to come out here in the first place, the mad delusion of a girl lost to grief. She should have listened to her doubts and abandoned this quest before it had ever gone this far. The sooner she boarded a train bound for New York, the sooner she could begin forgetting this miserable little town and its horrible hero.

Outside, the sun had already transformed the streets of Albuquerque into dust-lined ovens. Victoria pulled her hat down against the glare and stormed down the wooden sidewalk. With every painful step, her longing to see the cobblestone streets and green pastures of Oxford increased. She could have been seated in her father's study that morning, learning all she could about managing the investments he had left to her. In the afternoon, she might have taken a carriage to a friend's estate to take tea and watch children play in the garden. Nightfall would have seen her return to her own bedchamber for a deep, dreamless sleep beneath her silk sheets.

A hand grabbed her shoulder.

She let out a short scream and whirled around, hand reaching for her revolver. It was halfway out of its holster before she stopped. The Indian called Naalnish stood before her. The sun shone in his black hair as he regarded her in silence.

"Yes?" she asked after a few awkward moments. "What is it?"

Naalnish looked over his shoulder as Ata'halne appeared behind him. Naalnish asked the other man something in their native tongue. Ata'halne nodded.

"You would know why he is called 'He Interrupts'?" Naalnish asked, turning back to Victoria.

"Not particu-"

"It is not because he speaks too much or too loudly. He was given that name because he interrupts the speech of wisdom."

"What do you mean?" Victoria asked.

The Indian sighed. "He spoke to me of his great worry for you. He says you are young and do not understand this world. He asked me if I would have my own daughter receive help if she journeyed to your lands and found trouble. I could not say no."

He paused. Victoria said nothing, afraid of somehow changing his mind again.

"I cannot help you to fight this evil," Naalnish said, "but I know of one who can."

Hope fluttered in her chest. "Who is he?"

"A singer," he replied. "He has seen many things in his long years, and he knows much of the Holy People. He has led many ceremonies in our clan. I will ask him to help you, but he may say no. If he will not help you, you must find your way alone."

"Where is this man?"

"He is near," Naalnish said. "It will not be a long journey."

Victoria studied the man's face. He seemed sincere, as did his friend. If what Naalnish said was true, she might not need to return home in shame, defeated by powers beyond her ability to overcome. Still, could she trust these two men? They seemed honest and decent, but she knew nothing of them or their ways. They could be planning to kidnap, rape, or even kill her, abandoning her body for the desert animals to scavenge. Or perhaps their people kept slaves, and they would sell her to this singer man they spoke of.

The thought of spending the rest of her days in this godforsaken desert almost brought the refusal to her lips. She opened her mouth to say as much when her gaze met Ata'halne's. The Indian's eyes sparked at her from beneath his thick brows. This man had convinced his friend to turn back and offer her their help, even at the risk of endangering his own family. If their offer was sincere and she turned it down, she would make a fool of him. Besides, she still had her gun and her knife. Abrasive though she was, Cora had taught her how to handle herself. She could at least give them a fight if their intentions proved less than honorable.

"Take me to him."