Contents

Title Page

About The Author

Copyright

Cover

The Only Good Indian

View Finder

Silence

Out On A Date In My Daddy's Car

Around Midnight

A Boy And His Dog

Crossover Excerpt

ECLECTIC_SHORTS_

Walt Socha

Walt Socha is a recent retiree from the high tech silicon industry. He has short stories published in Spaceports & Spidersilk, Beyond Centarui, Aurora Wolf, Aoife's Kiss' Cover of Darkness anthology, and the 2015 Northwest Independent Writers Association’s Anthology: ASYLUM. He continues to write sort stories while working on an Alternative History series set in the 11th Century.

Walt lives in Portland, Oregon with his artist wife Gretha and two cats named Schiz and Zoid. When not writing, he plays jazz piano, pretends to fly fish and cleans litter boxes.

More information on Walt’s activities can be found at www.waltsocha.com.

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A second collection of pre-published shorts is expected in 2018 (once all rights have reverted).

The Alternative History novel “Crossover” is scheduled for publication in late 2015 or early 2016. The second of this series, “Contact”, is expected to be out in late 2016.

For the latest news and articles on the Middle Ages including technology, agriculture and technology, see www.waltsocha.com (and sign up for my mailing list!).

Copyright © 2015 Walt Socha

All rights reserved.

ISBN:

ISBN-13:

Previously published in “Spaceports and Spidersilk” in 2010.

Billy rode upland away from the family homestead and chores. He’d clear his head; maybe check out those lights he’d been seeing in the upper hills for the last couple of nights. Could even say he was working if he rode the upper fence line.

He stopped and looked back at the valley. The house and barn were still visible at the valley mouth. The fenced gardens a green square in a burnt yellow landscape. The windmill turned in the light breeze. It better bloody well turn. He glanced down at his hands. A couple of knuckles were still raw from straightening that blasted pump rod. Heck, he could fix anything. So why’d Pap want to send him down to that new college down in Las Cruces?

He turned back to the hills and nudged Patches into a walk. Old horse, old clothes and a bow and a few arrows instead of a gun. They were getting along, but just barely. That durn windmill set them back plenty and now his parents wanted to spend the last of the family’s cash on schooling.

He reached the fence line in a half hour and dismounted to open a section. As he led Patches through and then closed the makeshift gate, he took in the hills gently rolling into the mountains. Good open grazing in the winter at this altitude. Fairly safe, rare to have stock turn up missing.

A moving dot caught his eye. The dot focused into a moving figure headin’ upland along the adjacent ridge. Red Jim? The displaced Comanche and his family were up here somewhere. He mounted and kneed Patches into a walk toward his friend.

Billy glanced back at the valley behind him. Wouldn’t do to have Pap know he was still running into Red Jim. Pap said the only good Indian was a dead one. Blamed them for the few cattle that did go missing.

Billy looked back to the moving figure. Yeah, it was Red Jim. Blast it; the old Indian was friendly enough, never caused any trouble. Even helped Billy make his bow and showed him how to use sinew to attach the fletching for his arrows. Billy smiled at the memory of Red Jim trying to show him how to flake an arrowhead. Much easier hammering them out on the farm’s forge.

Then Red Jim changed direction and started to run toward Billy. He felt a twist in his stomach. Something wrong. He urged Patch into a canter.

“Devils steal family,” Red Jim said through gasps of air when Billy finally reined up. His friend’s painted face was streaked with sweat. He only carried his bow and a quiver of arrows.

“When?” Billy stared at Red Jim’s face. He’d never seen it painted.

“Last night. Bright lights. Magic me sleep. Wake up. Family no. Tracks no.” He pointed to the upper hills. “Lights same.”

Billy’s eyes followed the outstretched arm. Red Jim was pointing to the same section of hills where he’d seen lights for the last few nights.

Billy rearranged his kit and slipped his own bow across his chest. “Get on.” He stretched out his arm.

Red Jim swung up behind Billy. Patches whinnied in protest but moved into a trot at Billy’s knee pressure. Maybe an old horse, but a good one.

In an hour they were in the scrub pines. The land was more rugged with boulders and small ravines. Red Jim was softly chanting. Maybe it was some sort of death chant or war chant. Doubted if his friend had the English words to tell him.

They came to the end of a stand of trees overlooking a small glade at the base of two larger hills. And froze. Billy’s mind couldn’t take in what his eyes saw. In the middle of the clearing was an immense round shiny globe. On some sort of supports like spider legs. Its size dwarfed the people scurrying around its base.

After a few seconds, Billy realized the figures beneath the thing weren’t people. Yeah, they had two legs, two arms. But with a misshaped head. Clothes were silvery. All wore belts with multiple pouches.

Red Jim slid off Patches. Pointed to the right side of the thing near a rock outcrop. “Family.”

Billy could now make out several normal figures lying on the ground as if tied up. He slipped off his horse and stood besides Red Jim.

Red Jim pointed to the sun overhead and arced his hand to the western horizon. Then pointed down to his family.

Billy looked at his friend as his heart hammered in his ears. What was he getting into here? Red Jim’s family had been kidnapped without leaving tracks. And that thing down there looked dangerous. Pap would say that Red Jim was just an Indian and to leave him.

Billy pulled out a kerchief and wiped his brow. The Indian had never asked for anything before. Had fed him when he came across the Indian’s camp. Even his family had welcomed Billy the one time he’d met them. And being a refugee from the Texas Indian Wars, Red Jim had no one to turn to for help.

He looked back at the thing. It wouldn’t even do any good to go back to the ranch for help. He couldn’t even describe this situation. What was it? A tent? A balloon? He saw a drawing of a balloon once in a newspaper. But this thing looked heavy somehow.

Billy nodded to Red Jim. His legs felt weak as he led Patches back into the trees. Looked at his water bag. It’d be enough. He unsaddled and hobbled his horse, then joined Red Jim to wait for the sun to set.

At twilight, Red Jim pointed to Patches. “Ready, ride.” Then pointed down toward the clearing. “Now.”

Billy re-saddled Patches and tied him to a tree. The old man was smart. Might need to leave quickly. He strung his bow and followed Red Jim on foot down the shallow hill toward the clearing. The Indian used a circuitous route, making use of available cover.

Although night had fallen, a ring of strong lanterns lighted the area around the strange structure. These were shuttered somehow to only provide light outward from the thing.

When they reached the shadow side of the rocks, Red Jim gave an owl hoot. This was answered in a couple of heartbeats. The old Indian looked at Billy, made a slashing motion near his ankle and nodded toward his family.

Billy nodded back. And Red Jim slipped into the shadows.

Billy slung his bow across his back. Wiped his sweating hands on his pants and pulled out his knife. The old man must be planning a diversion. Hope he knows what he’s doing.

A few more owl hoots, this time a few yards away, confirmed Red Jim’s movement.

Then a screaming cry broke the night. The nearest lantern went out plunging the area around the captives into relative darkness. Red Jim’s war cries continued as another of the lanterns went out.

Billy moved around the outcropping, hissing for silence. He reached the first captive, the eldest boy. Slipped one hand down a leg and with the other cut through something tough and slippery. Like sinew but harder.

Further along, he could see Red Jim running and firing arrows at the lanterns. One of the creatures appeared. A narrow beam of light reached out and hit Red Jim. His scream, now of pain, ended as he fell.

The freed body jumped up and ran towards Red Jim.

Billy cut through a second, then third bond. Smaller children.

Billy could now see that Red Jim’s eldest son had reached the fallen man. Picked up his bow and an arrow. Turned and shot at the creature.

The silvery figure fell. A second creature appeared. Another beam of light and Red Jim’s son fell.

Hands shaking, Billy cut through the last cord, freeing Red Jim’s wife. “Follow me.” He grabbed the two children, dragged them around the outcrop and started up the hill towards Patch. The muffled sobs of the woman followed him.

No pursuit. Strange. Only when they were at the top of the hill and back in the cover of the trees did he feel safe enough to turn and look back down at the clearing.

The area was deserted except for two fallen bodies. Human bodies. A humming noise started. Increased in intensity. The remaining lights went out.

Then the entire structure rose in the air. Billy could only stare as the star lit mass moved straight up. Higher than the hills, then higher until it was out of sight.

Billy looked around in the dim light but Red Jim’s family had disappeared. Heard a pebble dislodged from the direction of the glade. Soon a faint keening wail could be heard.

Soon a slight breeze arose and drowned out the family’s dirge.

Billy unsaddled Patches again and settled in for the night. His heartbeat slowed as he lay against his saddle. That thing had to be some sort of traveling structure. Maybe it was like the railroad was to the Indians. They couldn’t understand the workings of that massive engine any more than he could understand what he just saw. Just a matter of education.

Billy looked up at the sky. Would the strange creatures return? Couldn’t even tell anyone. Nobody would believe him.

Maybe school would be a good idea.

[End]

Originally published in “Aurora Wolf” in 2012

Yes, it worked. Through the dim red light, Alice could see the print taking shape in the developer. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The timer chattered and she moved the paper to the stop bath then, after a count of ten, to the fixer.

Once the developed image was in the rinse, she cleaned up the spills and covered the trays. Finally, she turned on the regular lights and hung the print on a makeshift drying rack.

She felt her face spread in a grin as she inspected her photographic print. Nice crisp lines, all in focus and the three subjects centered in front of the town’s memorial. Maybe the school’s Archaic Photography club would let her become a member. A pang of loneliness shot through her gut, but she shunted it away with practiced ease.

Then Alice frowned. There were too many people in the photo. Cripes, her first picture with her brand new second-hand camera was double exposed.

She glanced at the old camera as if it could offer an explanation. It was a large format antique with its single sheet film holder. Even the man at the camera store wasn’t sure where or when it was made. He said it looked like a very old Linhof. But he did have the 4 by 5 inch sheets of film used by the ancient camera.

She re-examined the photo, a nice sharp image of the memorial in the city square. Even the townscape behind it was clearly defined. Although there were six figures shown in the photo print, she was certain there were only three when she tripped the shutter. Standing in front of the monument as was grumpy old Mrs. Ziegler, the town librarian, standing with the mayor. Next to the two adults was Alice’s goofy cousin Daniel, holding his library-reading award.

Maybe it wasn’t double exposed. The extra three figures seemed to be small kids standing at the side of the memorial. Alice peered closer. The three had large eyes and pointed ears. Was someone playing a joke on her?

“Look through camera.” A voice echoed in her ears. Alice looked around the small darkroom.

“Look through camera.” It wasn’t so much a voice as an echo.

Alice’s hand trembled a bit as she picked up the camera. When she looked through the viewfinder, the room retreated into a distant image, then sped past as she turned.

Alice gasped when she panned past a two wide eyes. She lowered the camera and looked around. She was alone in the room.

“Yes, I am here.” Again the voice seemed to echo in her ears.

Alice lifted the camera back to her eye. She turned slightly and found the eyes looking back at her.

“Ah, hello.” Alice felt silly. But what else could she say? “My name’s Alice. What’s yours?”

“I am called Kaya. You please must release my friends.”

Alice sat the camera down. Voices she could handle. Little people you could see and not see was another matter. “Who are you?”

“We are shadows in your world. Call us ‘Sprites’ if you need word. But please, camera has captured my three friends on flat surfaces. Please destroy all flat images.”

Alice stared with unfocused eyes as thoughts swirled through her head. None made sense. Was someone playing tricks? Was she going mad? The photo definitely had extra people, or creatures, in it. And the plight of someone small needing help felt all too familiar to her. Her barely 5 foot height brought her no end of bullying at school.

She took a deep breath. “How do I release your friends?”

“Fire,” said the voice.

Alice shuddered at the ethereal voice. Then, flipping the camera strap over her head, she removed the negative from the enlarger and grabbed the photo. After a quick look around the apparently empty darkroom, she left.

“How’d your first print go, dear?” Alice heard her mother call as she walked past the kitchen.

“I’ve got more work to do.” Which wasn’t exactly a lie. “I’m sure the next photo will be perfect.”

She detoured past the fireplace for matches and walked outside.

Over an empty flowerpot by the side of the house, Alice touched a lit match to the negative. It curled then burned with a smoky plume. The photo burned cleaner. When both were fully consumed, Alice heard several sighs echo in her head.

Alice stirred the ashes, dusted off her hand and lifted the camera to her eye. Four figures looked back at her. One she recognized as Kaya.

“Thank you for releasing my three friends.” Kaya’s voice now seemed to be more in Alice’s ear.

Alice looked up from the camera. Luckily, there were no neighbors around to wonder why she was talking to herself. She looked back in the viewfinder. “What happened?”

“We were hiding among you humans from evil. Being captured by camera was shock. We not know old enchanted machines still existed.”

“Evil what?” A magic camera was one thing. But what could scare an invisible creature?

“It is creature from beyond both your world and our shadow one. In your language, it might be called Demon. It hunts us, but when it is stronger, it will be able to also hunt humans.”

Alice lowered the camera. If she walked back into the house, maybe these creatures and their problem would go away. “But why does it hunt you?”

“To feed.”

Alice thought she could now see four shimmering images. And Kaya’s voice was now definitely less in her head than in her ear. “Can’t you do anything about it?”

“We hide.”

Thoughts about school flashed through Alice’s mind. The larger and more popular kids frequently picked on her. But that was nothing compared to being used as food. She shuddered again. Then she looked down at her camera.

“Ah…this Demon. Can it be captured?” Alice held out the camera for emphasis.

Four voices started talking, faster than Alice could understand. The ghostly figures were wildly gesturing to each other.

Then they stopped. Kaya turned to Alice. “It is possible.” Kaya’s eyes seemed to solidify as the little Sprite gazed at Alice.

Alice looked away from the small creature to her house. From this place of safety came the sound of the radio in the kitchen. Her mother was still preparing dinner.

She looked back to the four figures. She did have more film.

“How can I help?” Her stomach felt heavy. She could feel her heartbeat in her ears.

Again the Sprites chattered among themselves. Diminutive hands fluttered in the air. Then they quieted and looked at Alice.

“We sense that Demon is nearby. In place of trees on edge of your dwellings. That way.” Kaya pointed south.

Alice’s eyes followed the outstretched arm. Kaya must mean the City Park that was about a quarter mile away in that direction.

“We follow you to that place. And draw its attention. You must be ready.”

Kaya was interrupted by one of her friends. There was more rapid talk and hand gestures.

“Demon may be strong enough to attack you.” Kaya’s face seemed to add a question.

“I’ll be right back.” Alice hurried back to the darkroom. If she thought too much, she’d be too scared to go through with this crazy plan. She laid out her two film holders and box of film. Then, turning off the light, she used only touch to load each with an unexposed sheet of film and slide the protective cover over the film. Once the film holder was attached to the back of the camera, the cover would need to be withdrawn before clicking the shutter. Then she turned the lights back on and inserted one holder into the back of the camera and the other into an accessory bag.

Once back outside, with the camera around her neck and the bag over her shoulder, she joined Kaya and the other Sprites. “Let’s go.”

She started running, holding on to the camera and bag to prevent them from bouncing. She remembered how she had thought it was so cool, although old fashioned, that each piece of film was handled separately. But it was not something to be done in a hurry.

“How fast is this Demon?” she asked Kaya who was running besides her.

Kaya didn’t answer at first. Finally she said, “I think Demon is fast. No one survived who has seen it.”

When they got to the park, Kaya led Alice to a table in the center of the open picnic area. “What now?” Alice asked Kaya.

Kaya looked around. “You stand on the table. We position ourselves around you and call to you if we see it.” She was visibly nervous. “It is nearby. I sense it.”

She waited until Alice stood on the table. “You will have only one chance. If you must capture one of use do so.” Then she ran out about a hundred feet. The others also took up similar positions, surrounding Alice on four sides.

They waited. Alice’s dread increasing as time pasted. It would be dark soon. The park was deserted. Alice’s mother would be wondering where she was. And there would be no way to explain what she was doing.

Then Alice felt something that turned her stomach to ice. “It comes,” she heard one of the sprites exclaim.

Alice started to open the negative cover on the camera film holder. It jammed. She felt the panic spark through her body. She pulled harder and the cover’s handle fell off.

This can’t be happening. She felt herself hyperventilating. She pulled out the broken film holder out and let it drop.

A scream rent the air. “Alice,” a voice called. “Help.”

Alice pulled out her spare film holder and slid it into the back of the camera. Pulled out the negative cover. This time it came freely. The film could now be exposed.

The scream choked into a whimper. Alice put the camera to her eye and pointed it toward the sound. Something came into view. Not daring to take time to make adjustments, Alice clicked the shutter.

Silence.

Through the viewfinder, Alice saw the dim landscape of the City Park. The scene flew past as she turned in a circle, looking for Kaya. Each of the other three Sprites came into view and disappeared as she completed a full turn. She did not see Kaya or the Demon.

Alice lowered the camera and looked in the direction where she had heard Kaya’s scream. She could just make the shadowy images of three Sprites gathering.

One looked up at Alice. “Demon is gone.” Then they moved away into the far trees and disappeared from sight.

* * *

Alice removed the photo from the rinse and hung it to dry. Other than focusing the negative, she had avoided actually looking at the image.

She turned away and switched on the room’s lights. Then, with a deep breath, she turned back to look at the photo.

It was in focus. The creature’s cavernous mouth with stalactite and stalagmite teeth was clearly defined. Alice shivered. She could have disappeared into that mouth in one bite.

One of the Demon’s arms was braced on the ground, as if it was preparing to leap. The other held Kaya. The Sprite’s eyes were closed and her body lay limp in the grasp of the huge clawed hand.

But she could see no blood on Kaya.

Alice frowned. Kaya’s body was being held off to the side of the Demon. Maybe Kaya was not lost.

Alice dug around in the darkroom drawers and found scissors and a magnifying glass. With shaking hands, she cut out that part of the print with Kaya’s body. Then she removed the negative from the enlarger and, with even more care, she snipped Kaya from it also.

Now back outside, with only the moon for light, Alice burned Kaya’s images over the old pot. As the last of the smoke curled into the air, she heard a sigh.

Barely visible in the dim light from the moon and streetlamp, an ethereal figure lay on the ground next to Alice’s feet. Kaya stirred and tried to get to her feet.

“Are you ok?” Alice reached out to help the struggling Sprite. Her arm felt firm as Alice, with an exhaled a grunt of effort, pulled Kaya to her feet.

Kaya stood and looked down at the ground. Alice followed her gaze to the remains of a grotesque arm, severed above the elbow. It started to steam and smoke. Within minutes, only 4 claws remained.

“Thank you again.” Kaya’s voice seemed weary as she looked into Alice’s eyes.

She looked back down at the claws. “I think that if you cut image of Demon into small pieces and use fire to release one piece, then another, you will destroy Demon forever.”

Then Kaya looked up at Alice. “Just as you will have me as friend forever.”

[the end]

Originally published in “Spaceports and Spidersilk” in 2012

Daniel woke to painful brightness. He squeezed his eyes tight and buried his head beneath his pillow. He really had to remember to close the curtains at night.

After a few minutes he gave up and stretched. Then realized that his annoying little sister wasn’t crying. Even the neighbor’s dog was quiet. Absolute bliss. If only it was this peaceful every morning.

Last night had been horrible. Cary had been having one of her snits and despite his parents’ efforts she just wouldn’t stop crying. All Daniel could do for hours was wish everyone would just go away.

Too quiet. Usually on a Saturday, his mom would be preparing her breakfast spread. Nothing like a long breakfast without having to rush to catch the school bus.

Daniel got out of bed and dressed. Strange, even the bathroom was empty.

He descended the stairs two steps at a time. Spooky.

No one in the kitchen. No sign of a breakfast, past or future. Where was Mom?

Daniel went to the front door. They must be outside, although it was a little early for a barbeque.

He hesitated. Yes, Mom and Dad must be outside. Along with that little noise box of a sister. He watched his hand reach for the doorknob. They all had to be outside.

* * *

Daniel broke into a run when he saw people, the twist in his gut from street after street of empty cars and houses unraveling.

As he got closer, he slowed. The people were soldiers, standing side by side in a long curving line stretching as far as he could see in both directions. Some had weapons, but most didn’t, but they just stood there a couple of feet apart like a long camo fence.

A small cluster of men gathered at one point in the line nearest Daniel. Some of the men wore fancy uniforms, others wore business suits.

“Hold up, son,” one of the suits said when Daniel was about a dozen yards away. “There’s some invisible barrier between you and us. Very painful if you get too close.”

“Have you seen my parents?” Daniel could feel his cheeks get wet and tried to keep his shoulders square. “What is happening?”

One of the uniforms introduced himself as General Mitchell. “We don’t know but we’re here to help find them. What is your name? Where do you live?”

Daniel gave the general his and his family’s names and address. “What do you mean by barrier?”

The general sent some men to check the crowd of people behind the soldiers for Daniel’s family. Then the general tried to explain the barrier and the empty region within it. But after listening to a lot of complicated talk, Daniel got the idea that the authorities were clueless. They only knew it was some sort of invisible spherical barrier about a mile in diameter and that nothing living could cross it.

One of the other men interrupted the general with a map. “Sir, the spherical barrier is centered on this boy’s home.”

The general looked at the map for several minutes then he looked back to Daniel. “Did you see anything out the ordinary yesterday? Lights, sounds, maybe unusual aircraft? Anything during the night?”

“It was just an ordinary day and night.” Last night’s wish kept slipping into his thoughts. But that just had to be coincidence. It just had to be.

The general asked more questions. Several of the other men interrupted with their own questions. But there was nothing that Daniel could add.

One of the men pushed a tray of sandwiches and drinks across the barrier with a long pole. Daniel ate one of the sandwiches but, with everyone watching, it was tasteless.

“Are you sure you haven’t seen my parents on your side?” Daniel asked one more time. “And my sister?”

“Sorry, son, my men have rechecked the area several times.” The general’s frozen smile faded as he looked down.

After the questions stopped, another of the officials said something about pushing a trailer through the barrier. The man said it had a bed, running water and pre-cooked meals.

“I’ll just go back home.” Daniel just wanted to get away from all these strangers. Besides, everything still worked okay on this side.

The general protested, but Daniel just turned his back on all the staring eyes and started walking.

When he got home, it was still silent. Daniel thought of his sister’s crying, the creak of floorboards as his father moved about the house or the clatter of dishes as his mother cooked. All sounds he wished he could hear.

It was late in the night before Daniel finally fell asleep, wishing for the familiar noises in the quiet.

* * *

Daniel woke to painful brightness. He’d forgotten to close the curtains again. Then he realized he could hear his sister crying in the adjacent bedroom. Heard his father trying to comfort her. From downstairs came the sounds of breakfast being made. Daniel smiled.

Even when the general arrived and started asking questions, he kept smiling. And kept silent.

[end]

Originally published in “Beyond Centauri” in 2010

Daniel had finally worked up enough courage to put his arm around Lucy’s shoulder when the clock in the City Hall tower struck 12.

“Blast, I’m supposed to be home by now.” Lucy leaned forward to allow Daniel to remove his arm and then started separating their papers and notes.

Lucy was one of the most popular girls in his high school while he was pretty much a nerd, a favorite target of the football jocks. He’d been surprised when she had started a conversation with him about colleges, and they had talked several times before he’d worked up enough nerve to suggest going out for dinner.

“Sorry, I thought I had this thing fixed.” Daniel whacked the dashboard and the display went from 11:20 to blank. The long line at the restaurant had meant a late dinner and afterwards they continued talking in the parking lot, Lucy leaning towards early childhood education while Daniel flip-flopping between music and science. They were both avoiding the problem that neither could afford tuition. He turned the key and after a few false starts, the engine caught. “Buckle up.”

Daniel drove out of the deserted parking lot onto Main Street and headed out of town. He’d take River Road. Maybe he’d be able to get Lucy home within a quarter hour of her curfew. Couldn’t really blame her parents for being so strict, Lucy was their only child.

It was a clear night and River Road was deserted so Daniel pushed a little heavy on the gas. At the top of the grade, he let off to make the turn.

A flash of brown in the headlights. “A deer!” Lucy screamed. He swerved and felt the tires slip. “Hold on…” he started to say as the guardrail loomed in front of the car.

Light blazed.

* * *

The light dimmed. Daniel found himself face down on a cool metallic floor. He looked up to see Lucy’s confused and terrified eyes.

“Daniel,” she spoke in a low whisper. “What happened?” Then she glanced up to a white desk, the only furniture in the plain grey room.

“And where are we?” she added.

The face showing behind the desk was human like. But not human. The pale face moved a little; the mouth in the face thinned into a line as the two blue orbs widened. “Good, you are both conscious.” The mouth twitched with the words. “I am pleased.”

“Who are you?” Daniel tried to keep the squeak out of his voice.

“Call me Axthumi. That should suit your vocal apparatus.” The mouth became more rounded and the eyes less so. “But to business.”

The humanoid raised his hands and moved his long thin fingers. What looked like a holographic display of indecipherable symbols appeared in mid air over the center of the desk.

“You were experiencing a fatal vehicular event when we acquired you.” Axthumi looked from the display to Daniel and Lucy. “We are in the position of making you an offer.”

The mouth widened slightly. “I believe the correct expression in your language is ‘an offer you can’t refuse’.”

“We can return you to your point of origin. In which case you will die.” Axthumi looked back to his display.

“Or you can agree to participate in our entertainment production. In that case, your mortality is dependent on your performance.”

“Performance?” said Lucy with a tremble in her voice.

“Yes, I am an entertainment agent for Xethu Performance Services.” His mouth and eyes changed again as he glanced at his captive pair. “We stage live action entertainment, specializing in Early American Westerns.”

“And what happens to us?” Daniel stood up and helped Lucy to her feet. He looked around. The room was stark. Thin outlines on several walls hinted at doors. It seemed too solid for some practical joke or some dumb TV reality show.

“You will participate in a Western action scene. The outcome depends on your response to the given situation. You may die or you may survive.”

Axthumi looked back to his holographic screen. “Survival does come with its rewards.”

* * *

The light dimmed. Daniel found himself standing on a dusty rutted road. A hundred yards away the road ended at the side of an isolated platform next to a weathered water tower. Ancient railroad tracks ran along side the tower and disappeared into opposite horizons.

Between Daniel and the watering station was a man in an all black cowboy costume complete with two holstered pistols.

Daniel looked down. In contrast to the man in black, Daniel was wearing a white shirt. He also had two holstered pistols.

He let out a sigh. This was way too corny. The line that Axthumi had fed them must be a joke.

Then he saw the body on the tracks near the water tank. A female tied across the rails. And in the audible distance, Daniel heard a forlorn train whistle.

It was Lucy. And between them was this man in black.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” He started a fast walk towards Lucy.

And stopped as a shot rang out and a puff of dust appeared a few feet in front of him.

“You gotta go through me.” The voice was low and guttural. The man slowly replaced the smoking gun back into its holster.

Daniel looked around, his heart racing. The train whistle cut the air, closer now. This felt real, the rough clothes scratched and the hard sun burned his exposed skin. Had he fallen into some Stephen King novel?

From the tracks, Daniel heard the muffled screams as Lucy struggled against her bonds. Another train whistle ripped the air.

A real hero would draw his pistols and take out this crazy gunman and save Lucy. But he was no hero and would die if he challenged the man in black. That wouldn’t help Lucy.

Daniel glanced at her then back to the gunslinger. It was one thing to avoid the bullies back in high school, but there was no dodging this man. But maybe Daniel didn’t have to follow this mad scenario designed for a bunch of voyeuristic aliens.

Raising his hands above his head, he stepped forward. “Hey, no problems from me.” He crossed his ankles and let himself fall. When he hit the ground, he rolled on his left side, grimacing as the pistol on that side dug into his hip. He pulled the right pistol out, stretched out on the ground and aimed at the man in black. Daniel hesitated. If this was real, he’d be shooting a human being.

The train whistle blew. The man in black laughed and drew both his pistols. Daniel fired and the gunslinger jerked backwards.

Daniel dropped the smoking pistol and got to his feet in a run. The train was now in sight. Its whistle screamed.

He reached Lucy. The knots were too tight to loosen. He pulled out the left pistol and shot away the rope holding her hands and then the rope holding her feet.

With the screaming train a few yards away, he rolled Lucy off the tracks and kept rolling.

Into blinding light.

* * *

The light dimmed. Daniel was wearing his normal clothes and standing next to Lucy at the side of the road. Below, through the smashed guardrail, they could see a car burning.

“Daniel?” Lucy’s voice cracked.

Daniel reached for her hand. Then froze at the sight of her bleeding wrists, still tied together with rope. One end frayed and singed with powder burns. He looked down. Her ankles were similarly tied together.

“Nobody’s going to believe us,” he said after several heartbeats.

“Daniel?” Lucy was looking at his chest. “What’s that around your neck?” She glanced down. “And around my neck?”

The pale moonlight illuminated several clear crystals suspended by a thin yellow chain. Daniel held up his wristwatch and rubbed the watch glass with one of the crystals. A thin scratch appeared. “Looks like we got college tuition covered.”

He took Lucy’s hands and, after a quick look up at the stars, started working on the knots. “I think it’s gonna be music for me.”

[end]

Originally published in Aoife Kiss’ “Cover of Darkness” anthology in 2011

Mike pulled off the highway onto the overlook and turned off the motor. Now for the hard part. It wouldn’t be so bad if she weren’t such a mousey girl. Not so much ugly as just plain. Of course it could just be the lack of makeup along with the plain clothes. But he was up five points just getting her here. She was so reserved at school that she came with bonus points.

“I’ve always liked the view.” He gazed at the city lights in the distance as they slowly faded under the rising full moon.

“Do you bring many girls up here?” Alexis shifted position, leaning her back against the passenger door, and looked at him.

“A lot of us come up here,” Mike said. Odd comment from her. She’d been quiet most of the evening, keeping the discussion mostly to the classes they had in common, not saying anything remotely personal.

“Look, the view is great but I’ve really got to be home before midnight.” She looked at the digital display in the dash, now reading 10:58. “We have to be leaving now.”

Mike looked from the clock to the girl huddled at the far end of the passenger seat. Best finish this and rack up the points, putting him ahead if his scoring was correct. His 50 bucks would turn into almost 500 if he could score a kiss from this wallflower.

“So tell me again why you were sneaking out of the infirmary?” Mike tried not to grin. While checking out the student lockers for saleable items one evening, he’d spied her sneaking out of the school’s medical center. He’d used that little observation to get her to go out with him this evening. She’d been upset, but seemed resigned enough to his promise of just dinner and small talk.

“I said that’s personal,” she said, somehow moving even farther away from him.

“Ok, so let’s do an exchange.” Now for the end game. “One little kiss goodnight and I don’t ask, don’t tell.”

Alexis visibly sighed. “Look, it’s no big mystery. Remember that accident in the chemistry lab? Well, even though nobody was hurt, the nurse had to take blood samples as a standard procedure. I simply had to destroy them without any commotion.”

“You got some disease?” No contest was worth getting sick.

“No, I just prefer my privacy. And that goes for who I kiss.” She moved to face out the windshield. “Please, I really have to be home soon.”

She glanced the dash clock and then at her bare wrist. “Just can’t figure out what happened to my wristwatch. Had it earlier this evening.”

Mike sighed. He was the most popular guy in school, a senior letterman. This little mouse ought to be ecstatic just to be here. Time to play the last card.

“Ok, if you don’t want to get home too late, just give me a brief kiss and we’ll leave.”

“What do you mean by ‘too late’?” She turned to look at him, eyes wide.

“I set my wristwatch and the car clock back an hour. Worried we wouldn’t have enough time together.” Or that he wouldn’t have enough time to work on her. And if she had to worry about a curfew by strict parents, then so much the better. No way could he afford to lose the ‘kiss and tell’ contest with the guys; his social life was too expensive. At least the small wristwatch in his pocket would probably cover tonight’s expenses.

“You idiot!” she hissed at him. She started to open the door, and then glanced at the dash clock just as it changed to 12:00.

Alexis closed the door and faced Mike. Her eyes seemed to brighten, and a smile curled her mouth. “Okay, one little kiss,” she said, sliding over to his side of the car.

Mike reached for her. The sooner this was over, the better. He felt her rapid breath as her arms slid around his shoulders. She gave his lips a nibble, and then slid her mouth along his face to his ears. This time it hurt and he tried to pull back.

Her small arms jerked him forward. Her hot breath moved to his neck.

He felt her mouth open impossibly wide, hearing the sound of crushing bones as the pain erupted…

[end]

Originally published in “Beyond Centauri” in 2012

Cody trudged up the walkway to his home, images of humiliation still coursing through his thoughts Why’d they pick on him? He’d tried to stay out of their way.

He turned the front door knob and, as he cracked the door open, felt a wet nose on the back of his hand. A smile creased his glum face. “Good boy, Osker.” He bent over and rubbed the dog’s ears and neck, trying to maneuver his flapping tail away from the umbrella stand.

The only good thing in his life since the school year started was finding Osker on the side of the road. His mother hadn’t wanted to stop but Cody screamed until she did, the sight of the young dog lying alone along side the road reminding Cody of his lonely life in school. The subsequent trip to the veterinarian—Osker had been dehydrated and malnourished—had been expensive, especially for a single mom. But Cody had gladly accepted a reduction in his allowance to help with the cost.

“Come on boy.” Cody straightened and shut the door. “Let’s get started on our homework.”

He detoured into the kitchen. It was empty. Mom must be late again. Cody opened the pantry and, blocking Osker from entering, snitched a dog biscuit. Shutting the door, he turned to the quivering dog. “Beg, Osker, beg.”

The dog sat back on his haunches, transfixed at the sight of the biscuit.

Cody smiled and tossed it straight up.

Osker’s eyes followed the biscuit, his jaws springing shut on the treat as it descended. He promptly lay down for a vigorous chew session.

While Osker was preoccupied, Cody checked the calendar next to the refrigerator. A sticky note covered tomorrow’s square. Cody’s newly acquired good mood evaporated. Another vet appointment.

He turned to Osker. “Sorry, mom’s gonna try to take you to the vet again tomorrow.” He knew Osker should be neutered. But he felt guilty about it anyway.

Strange that the last two appointments had been missed due to bad weather. The vet had been upset; Mom told Cody that the vet claimed that the weather had been fine on both occasions.

#

I let my canine instincts dictate my behavior when the human male child entered the dwelling. It is interesting to watch the interplay between the child and my dog host. I must monitor my interactions lest the canine unduly influence my actions.

The child is an interesting specimen who has done me a critical service, since I am critically vulnerable after my unplanned occupation of the dog. This situation must be allowed to continue, as it will be at least a full revolution of this planet around its star before my alteration of this dog’s genes is complete.

I follow him into the food preparation room. I allow my canine instincts to govern the acceptance of food. I continue to monitor the child.

I turn at the child’s voice. Translation has ceased to be a problem. But the content is a problem. The human female adult continues to try to eliminate this dog host’s ability to procreate. This cannot be permitted if I am to regenerate my species. Her previous attempts had been prevented by the manipulation of external sensory data, direct influence of her thought processes being unsuccessful. I will consider options.

#

Cody woke to sunlight streaming through his window. He stretched, glanced at his nightstand clock and groaned. Way late for school. Why didn’t Mom wake him?

He flipped off the sheet and blanket. Then smiled. How could he forget that it was Saturday? Mom must have shut off his alarm.

He dressed in jeans and a tee shirt with a flaming guitar logo. No slacks and button up shirt today. And no jerks at school.

As he started down the stairs, he heard his mother’s voice. Must be on the phone. And that explained Osker’s whereabouts. That dog seemed fascinated by Mom talking on the phone. Maybe it put out some high-pitched sounds?

He stopped to listen. His heart sank. Mom was talking to the vet. Osker would be getting fixed this morning.

“Look, I’m not driving in this weather,” his mother said.

Cody frowned. It was sunny outside. What was she saying? He descended the steps and peered into the kitchen. And froze.

His mother was holding the phone. Osker, as usual, was sitting on his haunches, starting up at her. But the kitchen window showed rain punctuated by flashes of lightning.

Cody turned, heart pounding. He looked back up the stairs. Patches of reflected sunlight patterned the wall. He turned back to the dark and stormy kitchen window. Osker now stared at him.

A shiver coursed through Cody. Twice before, Mom was going to take Osker to get fixed. Each time, she had postponed due to bad weather, finding it hard to see in heavy rain with her eyesight. He’d been at school and never thought about it.

“I’m not crazy.” Mom’s face contorted in anger as she hung up the phone. She lifted her heavy eyeglasses to massage the bridge of her nose then turned.

“Good morning, dear.” She sighed. “Sorry about that.” The muscles in her face twitched as she appeared to compose herself. “I don’t think we can work with the vet. Think we can just keep Osker fenced or leashed instead of getting him fixed?”

Osker continued to stare at Cody.

#

The human child knows.

Options exists. But each has undesirable consequences that this host is not prepared to experience.

However, the child has not acted on his new knowledge. The pack instinct of this canine host suggests an emotional bond that can be mutually beneficial.

Is it possible that I can co-exist with these creatures?

#

Cody scratched Osker’s ears. His tail wagged, his hindquarters quivering. “What are you?”

Cody sat on the floor and hugged his friend. “I can’t tell Mom; she’ll think I’m crazy. Or she’ll think she’s crazy.” He wiped away a tear. “You’re my only friend.”

#

I will pursue co-existence.

[end]

Crossover - Chapter One

Most of the staff and guests were finishing up their coffee or clearing trays as Joe entered the dining hall. Good. He grabbed a clean tray and mechanically filled it from the remains of the breakfast buffet.

Unofficial ranch policy urged staff to mingle with the guests whenever appropriate, but no way could he handle small talk after last night. Avoiding eye contact with the remaining diners, he walked over to an empty table and sat down.

Joe took a bite of something. Chewed.

"You avoiding us?" A voice interrupted his thoughts. "Hey, you okay? You're as white as I am."

Joe looked up as Brent slipped his wiry frame into the opposite chair.

"Too bad about your color." Larry's dark skinned mass filled his vision to the right. "I'd say you looked like you lost one of your best friends, but we're both here." The seat next to Joe groaned as he settled into it.

Joe smiled. He couldn't really argue. "Had a strange dream last night. Kinda weirded me out." He took another bite. Egg. He looked down at the plate he'd loaded without thinking. "I've been having them the last few nights. Always a view of a village in a large clearing. Surrounded by low rolling hills."

"Sounds fairly pleasant," Brent said as Joe took another bite.

Joe shook his head. "Last night was different. It felt more personal. And evil." Joe paused and glanced around the dining hall, then lowered his voice. "In the dream, the moonlit village was nearly obscured by a low mist. I was watching from the summit of a nearby low, squarish hill that barely stuck up above that mist. I was lying on my belly, surveying the land around the village. and I was scared shitless."

Joe stared at Larry and Brent. They sat drinking their after-breakfast coffee and waiting for him to go on.

"My heart woke me, it was pounding so hard. I went to the sink to splash myself back to reality," Joe watched his friends' faces. "Then I went back to bed. Lay there until the alarm went off."

Joe paused to sip his coffee. He needed to get this said. "In the daylight, I could see dirt stains in the sink and on the towel. My fingernails still had dirt under them. I...I can still remember bracing myself on my hands, fingers dug into the soil of that hill as I lifted my head to look around."

After a few seconds, Brent's left eyebrow rose a fraction of an inch. "When you have a vivid dream, you don't hold back."

"Start shoveling that food, it's getting late." Larry stood, his chair sighing. "We may have students."

#

Leaving the dining hall, Joe checked the signup list and found no names listed for his scheduled classes. No surprise for a Sunday morning with a large number of clients either just arriving or leaving. But Brent's always-popular medicinal herb class was half full; Joe would give him a hand. After lunch, maybe he could hang around Larry's forge.

As he crossed the grassy field towards Brent's shed, Joe was intercepted by Mel.

"Got a job for you." The ranch foreman gave Joe a shoulder squeeze. "Schedule has you down for sleeping all day." He grinned. "How'd you like a little ride?"

Joe suppressed an eye roll. "Can't you white guys run cattle without losing them?"

"It's that fool new sorrel this time." Mel let the rib pass. "A dude left the gate open. Decided to leave. The horse, that is." He gave Joe a few guesses as to where to search as they walked towards the stables.Entering the cavernous barn, they were joined by Tom. "You're sending Joe? You wanna lose another horse?"

"What are your thoughts on our escapee?" Mel asked, ignoring the old poke's wide grin.

"Maybe Spookums headed up either Red Wash or Max Canyon. He was up there several times this past week, hauling pack for the client tours. Mighta got the scent of that band of wild mustangs, the one lead by that paint."

"So you're figuring that damn gelding thinks they'd be better company?"

"Maybe." Tom shrugged. "But if Joe here can get Spookums back, we'll keep 'im corralled here awhile. In spite of being ball-less, maybe he'll remember enough to get friendly with the local mares and wanna stick around."

"Anywhere else?" Joe asked. There followed much contradictory opinion, ending with Joe planning to head up Red Wash first.Joe kept his face neutral during the discussion. Any of the more experienced pokes would most likely find the errant Spookums quicker, but they were leading client tours. No doubt any of them would rather be riding alone up in the Crazy Mountains than babysitting dudes.

They walked through the empty stables to the outside paddocks. Tom and Mel changed the subject to the merits and deficiencies of various mounts for the daylong guest ride through the foothills.While they talked, Joe scanned the mountains, locating the fold in the contours that identified Red Wash. A haze hovered over that locale. Couldn't be fog. Fire perhaps? Unlikely with the recent rains. The trails were already dry but the deadfall and debris were still moist. Tom and Mel didn't seem to give it any notice.Joe cut Rosebud out of the herd and saddled her. Rosebud. Not even the pokes knew the origin of the mare's name.

Just before Joe left, Mel came out of the stable office with a sheathed rifle. "Been some cougar sightings up that way. Loaded. No shell in the chamber."

"Come on, Mel, no cat's going to mess with a full size man."

"Hell with you." He snorted. "I just want to be sure the horse gets back okay. You remember which end points away?"

Joe laughed and, after checking the safety slide, secured the rifle to the rear of his saddle. It was a Winchester 94, a model he used to routinely beat the other staff on the ranch's rifle range. A flash of sadness reminded him of another Winchester he'd used on his hunting trips with his Grandfather. Back when he had family.

He shrugged off the memory and rode out through the stable gate, pausing to close it behind him. He detoured past the garden to wave to Brent before heading toward the misty canyon.

The early autumn day presented a colorful palette with the Crazy Mountain peaks providing clear signposts to Red Wash. He figured about two hours up, a couple to search, and two back He'd be back in time for dinner if that horse wasn't hiding. A long ride but the day shown clear and the scenery was peaceful.

At a small rise, he looked back at the dim shapes that defined the ranch. It felt like the closest thing to a home he'd had in years, even if it was just a summer job. Closer than the sterile walls of the dorm. After eight years of dropping in and out of school, he only had a few more classes to pass and he'd graduate. Then what to do with a degree in Civil Engineering? Since his grandparents' deaths, the idea of working on water projects for one of the reservations had lost its appeal. Hell, even though he was registered in four different tribes, he only spoke English. A minor in anthropology didn't help his options much either. Joe shook his head and nudged Rosebud into a trot.The entrance to Red Wash canyon was wide and deep with grassy patches. Lots of space for the wild band to wander. Joe scanned for moving brown shapes or a flash of white from the wild stallion as he rode, but not till he came to Red Creek itself did he bother looking for tracks.

The stream came out of the mountains at a meandering late summer pace. Joe slowed as he approached the sandy edge, originally swept clean by spring flows but now posting a record of recent critters large and small. Eyes sweeping the ground, he slowly made his way along the north side until he was well within the confines of Red Wash canyon. He picked out a few old prints from the mustangs but nothing fresh. No sign of a shod hoof. With a nudge of his knees, Joe guided Rosebud across to the south side.

Within seconds, Joe spied the fresh prints of shod hooves, stark against those of recent elk and deer. The stride was a walk, leaving the creek and moving into a break in the brush that bordered the water like a fence.

Letting Rosebud pause to drink, Joe scanned the canyon. The sun had climbed halfway up the sky but still cast long shadows on the steep terrain. Pines and firs clung to the ragged canyon walls among broken rock. The misty air started about a mile further up. Still no clue to its origin and no scent of smoke; Rosebud seemed unconcerned. What little breeze touched Joe came from the west. Yet the haze appeared stationary.Joe shrugged and urged Rosebud into the brush. Maybe the mist was just the result of some odd heat inversion. He'd heard something about that on a recent weather report. And these high elevation valleys did have their own weather.

Within a few yards, Joe was dodging overhanging tree branches and whipping brush as Rosebud forced her way along the faint trail into increasingly larger and denser stretches of underbrush and pines.

As he emerging into a small glade, the temperature dropped. Nearby, fog swirled around the stream-side ferns and covered the water like a thin blanket. Towering pines, interspersed with an occasional oak, blocked out any view of the mountains. He stopped, listening to occasional birdcall over the low background drone of insects. Unease crawled over his skin. He couldn't identify the bird or the insect sounds. And oaks? There weren't supposed to be any oaks up here. The hair on the back of his neck stirred as Rosebud sidled nervously, her ears flicking.

A scream rent the air. Human or animal? He freed the rifle and chambered a shell. Rosebud fidgeted. The insect noise ceased. He jerked his head around at the sound of something smashing through the low undergrowth to his right. A young girl exploded from behind one of the pines into the open area just yards from Joe.

Looking behind her, she almost ran into Rosebud, who whinnied and shied. The girl turned and froze, her mouth open but silent. She wore a one-piece leather dress and was shoeless, her skin covered with bleeding scratches. Joe could only stare as Rosebud skittered back a step, snorting.Then a second figure---a deeply tanned man wearing a leather loincloth and holding a massive club---emerged from the brush and stopped, eyes narrowing in confusion at Joe and Rosebud. Joe kept his eyes on the man, hearing the girl's footsteps as she fled around Rosebud and into the brush behind Joe.

The man lunged, his club swinging in a high arc toward Rosebud.Joe felt his arm bring up the rifle. Felt the finger tighten. With the club inches away, he heard the blast.

Surprise registered in the man's upturned eyes. The club fell, grazing Rosebud. The horse reared, seized the bit and, as Joe struggled to remain seated, bolted.

Joe hung on, but they were hundreds of yards away from the attack site before he fought Rosebud to a stop. He rubbed his hand along her neck, avoiding the scratches that oozed blood. "Easy girl," he murmured in a low voice.

Joe chambered another shell and listened. All was quiet. No birdcalls, even the bugs were silent.

He urged the nervous horse back through the broken vegetation. Emerging once more into the clearing, he saw the man lying motionless, face upwards, staring into nothing. A small hole was centered in his chest, the blood already coagulating. A chill swept through Joe's body; he had killed the man.

No sign of the little girl. Fighting nausea, Joe urged Rosebud closer. The dead man was shorter than Joe by seven or eight inches, maybe five foot two, face streaked with white paint. Flakes of worked chert were embedded in his wooden club. Joe shuddered and looked around for the girl. Nothing but her footprints.

Then Joe heard a faint scream in the distance, from the direction the girl and her pursuer had appeared. What the hell was going on? Should he head back to the ranch for help? But the image of the girl's terrified face flashed through his thoughts. Clutching the rifle with a white knuckled fist, Joe urged the snorting Rosebud back along the girl's path.

Within yards, the game trail turned into a well-used path. More distant screams rent the air. Joe urged Rosebud into a trot. In a few minutes, they crossed a small stream and broke out of the forest. He reined in Rosebud and froze at an impossible scene.

A dozen long, bark-covered huts stood at his end of a brightly flowered meadow. At the opposite end was a low square shaped mound. Around the meadow, stands of maples climbed the rolling hills that faded into the horizon.

Shit, he was in his dream.

Not more than 50 yards away, bodies lay among the brightly colored flowers. Over these bodies stood half a dozen men, warriors holding bloodied clubs and staring at Joe. The screams were from those on the ground. Beyond them, another group of men herded a small group of crying children.

One of the closer men fitted a long dart to an atl-atl.

Joe stared. Had he stumbled on a movie set? Some prehistoric conflict complete with spear throwers?

The man whipped the dart forward and Joe heard the whistle of the long thin shaft as it passed between Rosebud and his head. Shit. Joe raised the rifle and fired as Rosebud shied.

The man clutched his upper arm and added his scream to those of the wounded on the ground. This broke the surprise of the remaining warriors, and they formed a loose line. Behind them, the rest drove the children toward the opposite side of the clearing. A young girl fell and one of the men picked her up.

"Dammit!" Joe screamed to everyone and no one. Eyes on the struggling girl, he levered another shell under the hammer and urged Rosebud to the right, hoping to outflank the line of warriors.

The man with the child dropped his catch. He glanced at Joe then looked down at the girl. He raised his club. Joe fired, and Rosebud shuddered under him.The man jerked, dropped the club, and staggered backwards. One of the other warriors loosed another dart.

Joe saw him and started to turn Rosebud, but too late. He heard a dull thud and the mare reared. Joe dropped the rifle and clawed at the saddle horn. Then Rosebud turned and broke into a panicked run. Joe held on as his mount tore through the brush back the way they had come.

After a mile or so, weariness slowed Rosebud and Joe calmed her to a walk and, after a few more minutes, to a stop. Whispering in low tones, he dismounted and inspected the wound in her flank. The scabbard had taken most of the impact, leaving the point and an inch of the broken shaft protruding from the bleeding wound. Joe removed the scabbard and tied it to the saddle horn. Then he tied Rosebud to a nearby tree with her sturdy halter rope, and, taking a breath, yanked out the shallowly embedded dart point. Rosebud screamed, eyes white, rearing against the halter rope. Joe grabbed it, staying clear of her pawing hooves, and hung on for several minutes until the shuddering animal recovered.

Joe wrapped the point in his kerchief, mind racing. He could hear the murmur of Red Creek, The air was clear. On either side of the valley, mountains rose and peaked into white tips. He thought of the low hills that nestled the broad clearing of the village. Had he gone nuts? If he had, what about the bloodied horse? And the man he'd killed?

With stomach churning, Joe pocketed the point and started walking Rosebud back to the ranch.