“Better than birdlime!” Hudson added.
“I can’t imagine an entire flock of them,” I said.
“That woulda been somethin’ to see.” Hudson sounded a little wistful. “I like ta think there might be one or two out there, maybe a few in captivity like my Rosie, but the rest are all gone. I do like a rare breed.”
“I can see why you’re fond of Jackaby.”
“Hah! He’s as rare a breed as they come—that’s the truth!”
Jackaby rolled his eyes.
“I’m real glad you two came out.” Hudson turned back to the road. “You’ll like Gad’s. It’s purdy out here in the valley. Only, best you don’t go explorin’ too much on yer own. Word is something big’s come to the valley. Bill says a couple local hunters found some paw prints a few weeks back like nothin’ they’d ever seen. I’m right keen to get a crack at it, whatever it is.”
I nodded and absently gnawed a bite off the strip of deer jerky in my hands. I tried to imagine what sort of lumbering beasts might lurk in these hills. The last time I’d gotten lost in the woods, I really had been attacked by a vicious creature—and it would’ve done me through if not for Charlie coming to my aid. Even at his best he had barely been able to stand his ground. I blanched and nearly choked on the chunk of gamy meat.
Had local hunters already stumbled across Charlie Barker’s secret? Charlie—properly Charlie Cane, as I had known him in New Fiddleham—was part of a nomadic family, the House of Caine, all of whom were born with the ability to change from men to dogs and back again. It was the exposure of his inhuman heritage that had forced Charlie out of New Fiddleham, and it was his most closely guarded secret. I took its keeping very seriously. I would not know it myself, had he not risked everything to protect his town. But Charlie could not endlessly deny his full nature; he had to occasionally change, and in his canine form, he would certainly leave footprints unlike anything a local had ever seen.
Jackaby and I exchanged glances. I could tell that the thought had occurred to my employer as well. “What sort of prints did Bill say that they had found?” Jackaby asked. I eyed the heavy rifles and sharp skinning knives tethered to the walls of the carriage. “Mountain lions, perhaps?”
“Naw,” Hudson called back. “Said it was like a fox or a wolf’s, but big—bigger’n a bear. He’s been trading with hunters in these parts longer’n I can reckon—so if there’s something in these woods he ain’t seen before”—the big, bushy-bearded face popped back into the carriage with a wide grin—“then I wanna hunt it.” He pulled himself back out and hummed happily as the carriage bumped along the rocky pass.
The soft hide I was resting on suddenly felt a little less pleasant, and the sharp trapper’s tools looked a lot more dangerous. I swallowed hard, and the lump of deer jerky slid uncomfortably down my throat. Charlie Barker and Hank Hudson had been two of the most pleasant acquaintances I had made since my arrival in the States—but now it seemed I would be spending my trip worrying about whether one of the bullets Hudson had just purchased had Charlie’s name on it. The ammunition boxes beneath my seat clinked as the carriage bumped along. They were the big ones.
Chapter Fifteen