The Dead of Winter

FOUR



Ben Oglesby found his wife planted at a table in front of the Pioneer's big stone fireplace, her fingers wrapped around a near-empty bottle. Cora looked up as he approached, her face flushed from the liquor. In the firelight, he could see the thin scars running down her left cheek, white stripes on red. Her brown eyes squinted at him for a moment, then she broke into a lopsided grin.

"Well, ain't you a sight for sore eyes."

He sat in the chair next to her. "I hope I'm a sight better looking than old Jules."

To his surprise, she burst out laughing. "Time ain't made him no prettier, that's for damn sure."

A group of miners at a nearby table glanced their way. Ben offered them a small smile, then turned back to her. "So you saw him?"

"You could say that," she replied, then laughed again. "Saw him, shot at him, nearly got ate by him. We had ourselves a grand old time."

Ben stood and reached for her hand, a cautious smile beneath his mustache. "Let's get you back to the hotel."

"Ain't no fire there."

"We'll make one, then," Ben said. "Now come on."

She struggled to her feet, still clutching the bottle. "We got a fireplace in our room?"

"Yes," he lied.

"All right, then, let's go." She took a few steps, then paused for a swig from the bottle. When Ben offered her his hand, she slapped it away. "I can help my own self, thank you kindly. I ain't as drunk as all that yet."

Behind them, Boots looked over from where he was wiping down the bar. "You OK, Cora?"

"Yes, I am," she declared in a loud voice, her braid whipping around as she turned to face the bartender. "What is it with all you men thinking I'm too weak to find my way back to my own damn room?"

"Well, I just thought–"

"You thought nothing," she said. "I'll have you know I went all the way up to the Bartlett place and came faceto-face with something or other in the mountains today, and that thing wanted to eat me, but I shot it up and made it run back into its tunnel. What'd you do today, Boots? Huh? Can you top that?"

The bartender's round face flushed as he looked down at the rag he was holding. "No, but you've had quite a bit from that bottle tonight, and maybe you'd want–"

"What I want is to go back to my room and have myself a good sleep," she said. "I can't get that with you all pestering me about whether I'm fit to do it."

"Just take care of yourself." Boots found some bottles behind the bar that needed straightening and turned his back to them.

"Just thank your lucky stars that I ain't got that Mart Duggan's temper," Cora said, more to herself than Boots. Her own boots started making a crooked line for the door. "That mick's got a short fuse on him. Why, he'd probably shoot you in the mouth just for saying howdy if you happened to catch him in a bad way."

"Glad I ain't had the pleasure yet," Ben said. He moved to open the saloon's door for her, but she crashed into it before he could. Bouncing back from the impact, she stared at it in confusion for a moment. A stream of curses flowed from beneath the wide brim of her hat as she reached a shaking hand toward the doorknob.

The knob pulled away just as her hand reached it. She fell face-first on the wooden floor, the bottle spilling from her hands. Ben heard an exclamation of surprise from the other side of the door. Looking up from his fallen wife, he saw two men standing in the doorway, their boots inches from Cora's head.

"Well now, ain't this a sorry sight." Mart Duggan crouched down, his wrists resting on his knees. Recognizing Cora's braid, he tossed Jack Evans a look. "Not even quitting time at the mines yet and here we got us a drunken disorderly."

"I ain't disorderly," Cora said, pushing herself up on her hands and knees. The floor seemed to pitch and heave under her. "And who's asking, anyway?" She raised her head and squinted at the marshal. "Why, speaking of Mr Satan himself. Look here, Ben, it's the marshal."

Duggan kept his attention on her, a scowl knitting his red eyebrows together. "I don't take too kindly to drunkenness in my deputies, Mrs Oglesby."

"Good thing we ain't your deputies, then." She tried to roll back onto her heels, went too far, and fell into a sitting position. "I never did take to wearing no badge, anyhow."

"Can't say that's a shame," Duggan replied. "The way I see it, no law outfit would benefit from having you with them. I'm ashamed to be working with you myself."

Cora laughed. "That's what they call gratitude here in Leadville?" Her boots scuffed across the floor as she tried to pull them under her. After a few attempts, she managed to rise to her feet. A wave of nausea rolled through her, but she swallowed it down. "Maybe we should just leave you to get ate by that monster out there."

"Can't do us much good from inside a jail cell," Duggan said. "I've more than half a mind to take you there right now."

Jack spoke up. "Maybe she just needs to be walked back to her room, marshal."

"By God, I will shoot the next man who says that," Cora said, pushing her way past the two lawmen. Her breath puffed out in white clouds beneath the evening sky. "The hotel is just down the street here. I can find my own way."

"All the same, I think Jack here will walk you back," the marshal said. "I'd hate for you to fall and not be able to find your feet." With that, Duggan turned and disappeared into the saloon, leaving Jack standing next to her, looking awkward. Ben waited for the marshal to pass, then slipped through the door and went to stand by his swaying wife.

"It's for your own good, Mrs Oglesby," Jack said, his voice hopeful. "We don't want no trouble."

"You boys already got more trouble than you can handle." She gave the deputy a smile that revealed the gap between her teeth. "I seen what's up there that killed those wolfers, and it ain't a pretty sight."

Her words brought Jack's thoughts back to that clearing, and the sinking dread returned. He ran his tongue over his lips. "You've seen it?"

"Sure as Satan's hooves," she replied, then beckoned him with a lazy sweep of her arm. "Come on, boy. Since you're walking us back anyhow, I might as well let you in on it, too."

They walked her back, one man on each side, as she told them about her encounter in the cabin and the mine below. Ben remained silent, his face thoughtful, but the fear became plain on Jack Evans's face as she gave them a detailed description of the monster. The deputy had joined up with Mart Duggan as a way of making peace with himself for running out on his family back East. He figured that the good Lord would look more kindly on him on Judgment Day if he did his part to keep some of the world's troublemakers under control.

What this woman described wasn't just another troublemaker, though. He wanted to write the whole thing off as a drunken fantasy, but he'd seen that clearing and what was left of those men. If the creature had managed to escape from her, who claimed to have fought things like it before, what chance did he have against it? He hadn't joined a law outfit to fight monsters, and he doubted that even Mart Duggan would know how to fight one. By the time Cora Oglesby staggered into the Northern Hotel, he was already on his way back to the Pioneer in search of his own bottle.

"Well, I'd say you scared him nice and good," Ben said after the deputy left. "Wonder if he'll skip town."

"Oh, he'll pull through," Cora replied. The mattress crackled as she collapsed on the bed. "That sprout has got some guts in him, I think. He needs them to work for a man like Duggan."

Ben sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his boots. "Not really our concern, anyway. We need to work out how we're going to stop that thing you saw."

Cora sighed. The bed felt far more comfortable than she'd expected. The whiskey began pulling at her eyelids, and she gave in after a brief struggle. "I think it can wait while I catch a few winks."

"Looks like it's going to, at any rate," Ben said. He settled himself at the table and stared out the window. Down the street, he could just make out the shutters covering some of the Pioneer's second-story windows. Snow covered the gables crowning the saloon, reflecting the evening sunlight in a sheet of tiny sparkles. Soon, soft snores began coming from the bed.



Cora opened her eyes, then immediately squeezed them shut again. The morning sunlight glared through the open shutters, flooding her head with pulsing pain. She rolled over and pulled the sheet over her face with a moan. After a few seconds, the pain subsided enough for her to remember where she was.

Ben's side of the bed was empty. She called out for him, wincing against the redoubled throbbing in her temples, but there was no answer. Where had he disappeared to? Gathering her strength, she forced herself to peek out from beneath the sheets.

The room was empty, and the door was open. Ben must have left to get something to eat from the common room downstairs. Her stomach rumbled at the thought, and she hoped he remembered to bring her a plate or two. She pulled the sheet back over her head, closed her eyes, and waited.

Soon, footsteps in the hallway announced Ben's return. She opened one eye expectantly, but to her disappointment, his hands were empty when he came through the door.

"Where's my breakfast?" she demanded.

"Downstairs," he replied.

"Why didn't you bring anything up?"

"I wasn't sure if you'd be awake yet," he said, sounding irritable.

"Well, I am. Go get me some flapjacks or something." He ignored her, and dug through the small trunk he used to carry his books. She wanted to pester him more, but her head was still pounding. Grumbling in protest, she curled herself into a ball and shut her eyes.

Ben's boots thumped around again, followed by the scraping of a chair along the floor. She could hear the soft sound of turning pages as she tried to go back to sleep. The blood pounding in her ears began to ebb, taking the pain with it. A patch of warm sunlight fell across the bed, and she dozed off.

"What exactly did that creature look like?" Ben's voice cut through the haze of sleep. She whined in reply, but he persisted. "Come on. We need to figure out what it is if we're going to kill it."

"No, we don't," she said. "We just need to shoot it until it stops moving."

"You tried that already, didn't you?"

She didn't answer, hoping that he would give up and go back to his reading. After a few moments, she heard his boots thump on the floor again, and she smiled to herself.

The smile vanished when she felt the sheet disappear. She curled into a tighter ball, opening one eye just wide enough to glare at her husband. The sheet hung from his hand. "Get up, Cora," he said. "We need to work on this."

"I already told you. My plan is to shoot it until it stops moving."

"Worked like a gem yesterday, I hear."

"Sure as hell did," Cora said. "Drove that bastard back down his hole right quick."

"After how many shots?"

"Enough," she replied, rolling on to her other side.

"Cora, stop it." Ben seldom raised his voice, but he did now.

"Who shoved the sand up your craw?" She matched his tone and regretted it as her head throbbed in protest. Lifting a hand to her brow, she continued in a softer voice. "Why is you being so ornery about this?"

"Because it's our job to kill this thing, and we don't know how to do it."

"You still ain't said what's so wrong with my plan."

Ben sighed through his nose. "How many times did you shoot it yesterday?"

"A lot," Cora replied, giving in. There was no deterring him when he got like this. "Six rounds from my Colt and one from my Winchester."

"Where did you hit it?"

"In the head, mostly. Maybe one or two in the chest."

Ben nodded. "So we know this thing ain't an ordinary spook."

"Ain't one we've seen before, but that don't mean it's some kind of super spook."

"Well, I've never heard of anything that can take that many silver bullets to the head and not go home to the devil."

"There was something else, too," Cora said, her face clouding from more than just the hangover. "My sword didn't so much as scratch it. I was all set to chop off one of them spindly arms, but it was like taking a swing at a rock. Just bounced right off."

Ben frowned. "The blessing is still on the blade, ain't it?"

"Of course it is. Father Brown blessed it before we left Dodge, and I ain't killed a damn thing with it since."

"So it resisted a blessed blade?" Ben asked. Cora nodded. "And you still think it's just an ordinary monster?"

"Of course I don't," Cora said. "I just wanted you to shut up so I could get back to sleep."

Ben grinned at her. "You know better than that."

"Hey, a girl can hope, can't she?"

"Only if she's aiming to be disappointed."

"So I reckon it's too much to hope for that you'll go and get me breakfast."

"Yep," Ben replied. He dropped the sheet on the floor and sat back down at the table. He opened his book, crossed his legs, and proceeded to ignore her.

Sighing, Cora tossed her feet over the edge of the bed and sat up. Her eyes closed on their own as her head started pounding with renewed vigor. Her muscles ached now, too, but that's what she got for passing out with her clothes on. Ben had pulled her boots off for her, giving her the trouble of putting them back on. Her fingers fumbled with the leather, refusing to cooperate. She'd have to remember to tell Boots that his rotgut had given her more trouble than she was used to. Knowing him, he would take it as a compliment, and she supposed it was. Most whiskey wouldn't have given her more than a small ache behind the eyes, but Boots's suppliers knew how to distill their liquor.

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 figured you for a sense of humor, marshal."