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The Dead of Winter

“A brilliant, bloody, violent dark fantasy –Charlie Huston turned up past 11.”

Andy Remic, author of Kell’s Legend

“From its opening chapter, The Dead of Winterlassoed me into its gritty world of gunslingersand demons. A page-turning thrill ride of anovel that could well redefine yourperception of the ‘wild’ west.”

Rio Youers, author of Westlake Soul

“The Dead of Winter ain’t your granddad’sWestern. Lee Collins paints a picture of theColorado wilds as cold and unforgiving asthe creatures that inhabit them. And in CoraOglesby, Collins has created a heroine astough as saddle-leather, and as fiery andsharp as rotgut whiskey. Read it with thelights on – but for damn sure read it.”

Chris F Holm, author of Dead Harvestand The Wrong Goodbye

an excerpt fromTHE DEAD OF WINTER

by Lee Collins

To be published November 2012(everywhere – US/UK/RoW)

by Angry Robot, in paperback andeBook formats.

UK ISBN: 978-0-85766-271-US ISBN: 978-85766-272-9

eBOOK ISBN: 978-0-85766-273-6

Angry RobotAn imprint of Osprey Group

Distributed in the US & Canadaby Random House

angryrobotbooks.com@angryrobotbooks

Copyright © Peter Friedrishsen 2012

All rights reserved. However, feel free to share this

sample chapter with anyone you wish. Free

samples are great. We are so good to you. Of

course, the whole book is even better...

ONE

The smell of blood was thick in the crisp morning airas Marshal Mart Duggan dismounted, his boots find-ing solid earth a few inches beneath the snow.Tossing the reins over a nearby branch, he looked athis deputy and pointed to his own eyes. Deputy JackEvans nodded, pulling his rifle from the saddle scab-bard. Satisfied, the marshal drew his revolver andturned back toward the clearing. Behind him, hismare tossed her head and snorted.

Duggan paused at the edge of the disturbed snowand crouched, his breath lingering in front of hisnose like a lover’s ghost. He ran a gloved hand overthe base of a nearby tree. Examining his fingers, henodded to himself. Wet and cold. Whatever hap-pened here had happened recently.

Standing up again, Duggan surveyed the clearing.Bits of clothing and strips of dripping flesh dangledfrom the nearby branches, but there was nothingthat resembled a body. Blood-spattered snow washeaped against the tree trunks, exposing strands of

yellow grass.Looking up, the marshal beckoned for his deputy.

Jack dismounted and approached the scene, his rifleat the ready.

“Keep an eye out,” Duggan said in a low voice.Eyes wide, the young man nodded and pointed hisgun toward the trees. Duggan walked a slow circlearound the clearing, his blue eyes sweeping thesnow for clues. Two pairs of boots and a few dogshad entered the clearing from the east. Duggan pic-tured them approaching, a couple of young menwith rifles in hand, laughing as they led theirwolfhounds through the snow. That early, the whitepeaks would have kept the morning sun fromspilling into the valley. Maybe the hounds had beennipping at one another as they walked alongsidetheir masters, unable to sense the danger lying inwait ahead.

Danger from what? Completing his sweep of theperimeter, Duggan frowned.

“What’s wrong, sir?” Jack asked.“Something ain’t right here,” the marshal said, not

looking up. “We got us a pair of wolfers killed bysomething violent, but their dogs got away clean.”He pointed to a set of tracks leading away from theclearing. “See there? Them dogs wasn’t even bloodywhen they lit out, meaning they wasn’t in the fightat all. They just upped and ran, letting the poor foolswith them get torn to bits.”

“Can’t say I blame them,” Jack said. “Whateverkilled them fellers did it right quick, and was awful

messy about it.”Duggan grunted as he made his way into the

clearing. As he stepped around a broken branch, hiseye caught a small silver gleam in a nearby drift. Hereached down and his fingers wrapped around thebarrel of a revolver. He pulled it free of the snow andbrushed it off. A Schofield .45, its nickel shineaccented by blood spatters. Holstering his own gun,the marshal snapped it open and looked in the cylin-der.

“Two rounds fired here,” he said, holding therevolver up. “One of them wolfers saw it coming, atleast.”

“Don’t look like he hit nothing, though,” Jacksaid.

Digging through the snow, the marshal uncoveredanother revolver and a long rifle, both unused.“Other feller didn’t get a shot off, looks like.”

Duggan carried the guns back to his deputy andset them down against a tree. “So,” he said, givingthe clearing another sweep with his eyes, “one ofthem wolfers gets jumped and goes down before hecan get his irons out. The other pulls on the attacker,gets two shots off, then gets torn up for his effortsanyway.”

“And their dogs get away clean,” Jack said. “Badday for them, I guess.”

Duggan sighed through his nose, the white cloudpouring over his red beard. “That don’t seem right,”he said. “Ain’t seen the wolfhound yet that wouldn’tdie for his master.”

Jack shrugged, but Duggan’s scowl deepened.After four years of serving as marshal for one of therowdiest towns in Colorado, he’d seen more thanenough outlaws and criminals with a quick gun anda good aim. He’d also had his fair share of run-inswith wolves, bears, and other man-eating critters.Not a one of them could have taken down two sea-soned wolfers like this, even if they didn’t have theirdogs with them.

Duggan felt Jack tense up beside him. Holding hisbreath, the marshal turned his head toward hisdeputy. The young man was alert, his fingers squeez-ing the barrel of his rifle. Duggan strained his ears,hoping to catch anything out of the ordinary, but themorning was still. After a few moments, he caughtJack’s eye and nodded. The two lawmen turned andwalked back to their horses. The marshal’s marewhinnied, eager to leave. Duggan patted her neck,keeping his eyes on the clearing while Jack climbedinto the saddle.

Without warning, a wave of gooseflesh rippled upthe marshal’s arms. Jack must have felt it, too; hisgloved hands curled around the rifle’s barrel. Dug-gan placed his boot in the stirrup and lifted himselfinto the saddle. Drawing his Colt, he peered throughthe trees. The air around them felt colder. The horsesbegan fidgeting, stamping their hooves in the snow.Duggan could hear his own breathing and the creak-ing of the leather saddles, but nothing else. It seemedlike an ordinary winter morning in the Rockies, butsomething still wasn’t right. The fine hairs at the

base of his neck pressed against the red bandana hewore against the cold. Somewhere, hidden in thetrees, something was watching them.

Turning to his deputy, Duggan gave a single nod.The two men pulled their horses around and kickedtheir sides. The animals needed no encouragement,trotting between the trees toward the edge of theforest. Once clear, they broke into a gallop. As theclearing shrank in the distance behind them, Dugganfelt the chill and malice melting away like ice on aspring river.

The marshal didn’t say much on the ride back totown. In fact, he didn’t say much for the rest of theday, which was fine with Jack. After seeing some-thing like that, the deputy needed time to mull itover. Aside from breaking up a midday saloon fightand sending a dispatch to the county sheriff aboutthe morning’s discovery, both men spent the day insilence. Duggan put Jack on the porch of the mar-shal’s station for the afternoon “to keep an eye onthings outside.” Jack knew the marshal would bekeeping an eye on the bottle of whiskey in his desk.The old man was funny about people seeing him hitthe bottle. Probably had something to do with beingreleased from his duties a few years back on accountof a drunken binge. Or maybe it was because Dug-gan’s reputation had gone downhill since he’d shota miner outside the Purdy Brothel a few monthsback for causing a ruckus. Trouble was, folks in townhad favored the miner over the marshal, though

Jack had never held the shooting against his boss. Ina town like Leadville, lawmen learned to shoot first.

A powerful thirst started tugging at Jack’s throat.From his post, he could see the front door of the Pio-neer saloon down the street. The big two storybuilding called to him, its shiplap walls and glasswindows promising shelter from gruesome memo-ries. It wouldn’t suit an on-duty deputy to be seenstanding at the bar, though, no matter what kind ofmorning he’d had. Jack tipped his hat toward thesaloon, offering a silent promise of the eveningahead.

“See anything, kid?”Jack leaned his head back to look at the marshal.

“Not a thing, sir. Seems everybody’s hiding from thecold.”

“Just as well,” Duggan replied, his voice thick.Jack could smell the whiskey on his breath, but hiseyes were still clear. “Don’t want folks runningabout today.”

Jack didn’t need to ask, but he did anyway. “Onaccount of what we saw this morning?” The marshalnodded. “Never seen you get so wound up over abear, sir.”

Duggan looked down at his boots. “That wasn’t nobear that did that, son.”

“No?” Surprised, Jack felt a familiar chill creep uphis spine and tried to shrug it off. “Pack of wolves,then?” The brim of the marshal’s hat moved fromside to side as he shook his head, but he didn’t lookup from his boots.

“You think bandits did it?” Jack asked, incredu-lous. No outlaw gang, no matter how ruthless,would do that to a pair of lone wolfers. Most outlawswanted money, not carnage. They wouldn’t hesitateto shoot a man for being poor, but they wouldn’tspread him across the landscape for it, either.

Duggan looked up and met his deputy’s gaze. Jackcould feel the marshal taking stock of him, thoseblue eyes asking themselves if he measured up. Thedeputy shifted his weight in the chair, waiting for theverdict. A horse whinnied inside the livery across thestreet.

Finally, the marshal sighed, his breath filling theair between them. “No, that wasn’t the work of ban-dits, either.”

“We’re running short on suspects, sir.”“I know.” Duggan turned to look down the street.

A few moments passed. “Fact is, Jack, I ain’t got aclue what killed those men this morning.”

“Looked like critters to me. Bears or wolves orsome such.”

“That’s what I thought at first, too. Big old grizzlyattack, and if anybody asks, that’s our story.Between you and me, though, that was one specialbear.”

The chill started crawling up Jack’s spine again.“What’s that mean?”

“Whatever killed those men got it done withoutgiving their hounds a scratch. I’ve known a goodnumber of wolfers in my day, and every one of themtrusted their dogs with their lives. Swore up and

down that their hounds would jump down a griz-zly’s throat for them. Them dogs with those men thismorning lit out without getting so much as a drop ofblood on their coats. Whatever killed them boysmust have scared the dogs bad, and a wolfhounddon’t spook easily.”

Jack stared at the livery’s sign, pondering the mar-shal’s words. “So what’s out there that could spooka wolfhound, then?”

“Nothing I’d care to meet.” Duggan stood silent fora moment, fingering the hammer of his Colt. Finally,he stirred himself and looked at his deputy. “Don’tworry about it, kid. These mountains are full ofstrange critters. I’d lay twenty dollars on this being aone-time thing, a story to scare your kids with oneday.” He clapped Jack on the shoulder. “Go homeand get some rest. I’ll take the evening shift till thenight boys show up.”

“If you insist,” Jack said, standing up. He pulledhis coat closed and tipped his hat to the marshal.“See you in the morning, sir.” Duggan grunted andwent back into the office.

Jack turned his back on the Pioneer, making cleartracks away from the saloon. He didn’t know if themarshal would be watching him or not, but itwouldn’t do for Duggan to see his deputy headingstraight for a saloon on a day like today. Jack kepthis head down, his boots crunching in the snow pastthe general store and down Main Street.

When he was a safe distance from the marshal’sstation, Jack ducked into an alley and doubled back

toward the Pioneer. He could already feel thewhiskey warming his belly. The afternoon sun hungjust above the western peaks, turning the clouds abrilliant shade of pink. Jack paused and glanced up,drawing the cold mountain air into his lungs.Evenings like this could be deceptive. Everythingseemed peaceful, but the men from the second shiftin the mines would be heading out in search of theirnightcaps soon. Cold nights and drunken minersmeant trouble.

Maybe he shouldn’t get all that drunk tonight.The Pioneer greeted him with a jingle from the

doorbell and a warm rush of air. The familiar smellsof coffee, spirits, and sweat blended into a single fra-grance as Jack took in the saloon’s afternoon lull. Afew miners stood at the bar, getting an early start ontheir drinking. Two had their backs to the door, star-ing into their whiskey between gulps. Another at theend faced the room, both elbows planted on the bar.Drops of liquor clung to the man’s beard like beadsof dew on a grizzly’s fur. The only other patrons sataround a game of poker at one of the rough-hewnpine tables, talking and laughing as they studied thecards in front of their faces.

“Afternoon, deputy,” Boots said as Jack walked upto the bar. “Nothing else to worry about in here.”

“I’m off duty, Boots,” Jack replied, making surethe others at the bar could hear him.

“Good.” The bartender set a glass of whiskey infront of the deputy, a grin on his round face. “Thisone’s on the house. Payment for them thugs you

and Mart ran off earlier.”Jack picked up the glass, nodded his thanks, and

threw it back. The alcohol left a burning trailthrough his chest down into his stomach. Eyesclosed, he relished the feeling for a moment, then helooked at the bartender and grinned.

“Ain’t seen no lawman enjoy his whiskey likeyou, Jack,” Boots said, refilling the glass.

“I deserve it today,” the deputy replied. An imagefrom the clearing sprang into his mind, the sight ofred guts hanging from a branch, and his face grewserious. He’d seen plenty of gunshot wounds, frost-bite, and mining accidents; they came with theterritory out here. Hell, he’d seen a man’s brains getblown out not more than a month after signing onas a deputy. The sight had turned his stomach, but ithadn’t burrowed into his memory like this. Shakinghis head, he drained his glass, hoping to burn theimages from his mind.

“As I see it, you deserve it most every day,” thebartender said, leaning against the rack of bottlesbehind the bar. “Dealing with this lot day in and dayout would drive any man to drinking.”

Jack replied with a cold grin. He could see the bar-tender’s bald spot in the mirror above the bar.Despite his age, Boots seemed sure of himself amongthe miners, thugs, and other residents of Leadville.Then again, he’d stood behind the Pioneer’s bar inthe same black military-issue boots for longer thanJack knew. No matter how disheveled the rest ofhim might be, Boots always kept those boots shiny

and clean. A proper tribute to his days in the service,he said, but he refused to elaborate whenever Jackpressed him for details. Every once in awhile, theminers would get to speculating on the nature ofthat service as they drank away the day. Some saidhe was Custer himself in hiding, waiting for the daywhen he would announce his return and sweepaway the rest of the Indian nations. Others, spurredon by the fact that nobody knew his real name, saidthat Boots was a deserter hiding from the govern-ment. Still others figured Boots had gotten his ballsshot off in some battle and resigned in shame.Nobody knew for sure, and the bartender neveroffered to shed any light on their speculation. Igno-rance was good for business, he claimed.

The bell over the door made a pitiful jingle. Glanc-ing over his shoulder, Jack watched the newcomermake his way over to the card table. The man keptthe wide brim of his hat pulled low. A few at thetable seemed to know him and called out a greeting.The stranger responded with a silent wave andpulled up a chair.

“That one looks like trouble,” Boots said, refillingJack’s glass.

“Why’s that?”“No respect. Bastard just waltzes in here and

plants his ass for a round of cards without buying somuch as a cup of joe.”

Jack’s third glass flowed down his throat. Potentas it was, the whiskey wasn’t going to work fastenough to suit his need. Gray light from the saloon’s

windows winked at him from the empty glass,pulling him back into the early morning hours andthe sharp scent of blood.

“If that’s the worst of your problems, you got iteasy,” Jack muttered, not looking up. “Hell, I’d takea hundred angry miners screaming for my blood andcall myself lucky if I never had to cross paths withthat monster that did those wolfers in.” Catchinghimself, he drew a quick breath and looked up,afraid he had let the secret slip, but Boots had movedto the other end of the bar. Relieved, Jack let thebreath out and glanced at himself in the mirror.

The stranger was standing behind him.The shock slammed into his ribs. He whirled

around, his hand flying to the butt of his six-gun,but the stranger didn’t flinch. The man’s buffalo hidecoat stayed wrapped around his small frame, and hishands rested at his sides. Jack couldn’t see any ironon him, although he wore a leather rifle sheathacross his back. All he could see of the man’s facewas his mouth, small and twisted into a mockinggrin. Without a word, the stranger stepped up to thebar and rapped it with his knuckles.

Jack let himself relax, his hand dropping awayfrom his gun. This close, he could see the man’s riflesheath in greater detail. The leather was old butwell-oiled, marking a long and friendly relationshipwith the gunman. The stranger was shorter than thedeputy, his profile hidden by the brim of his hat. Adark braid tied with a simple strand of twine endedhalfway down the man’s back.

The stranger rapped on the bar a second time, andBoots hurried over. “What will you have?”

“Whiskey. The good stuff,” came the reply, fol-lowed by the clinking of two silver dollars on the bar.The bartender nodded and scooped up the coins. Asthe black boots disappeared into the storeroom, Jackalmost laughed out loud. The voice had been lowand quick, but there was no mistaking it: thestranger next to him, who had scared the daylightsout of him not a minute before, was a woman. Achuckle escaped his lips as he fingered his glass.

“Nothing funny about an empty glass, deputy,”she said as Boots returned with a clay jug.

“No, ma’am,” Jack agreed, lifting it up. “Take careof it, Boots.”

“Give him a drop or two of the good stuff, Boots,”the stranger said, sliding a few more coins towardthe bartender. Boots grinned and filled Jack’s glassfrom the jug. Jack brought it up to his nose anddrew in the aroma: strong and full-bodied. He’dnever had the money to sample the Pioneer’s privatecollection himself, but he never turned down a freedrink. Smiling, he lifted his glass to the womanbeside him.

“To the good stuff!”Glass clinked against glass, and the good stuff filled

Jack’s chest with fire. Eyes closed, he allowed a stu-pid grin to bloom beneath his mustache. He took adeep breath, then clapped the stranger on the back.

“Much obliged, ma’am! That was a treat.”“Go on, have another,” she said, giving Boots a

nod.Jack lifted the refilled glass to his lips. “Well, ain’t

you generous? Anything I might do to repay thefavor?”

“I ain’t looking for much,” the stranger replied,running her fingers along the rim of her glass. “I’mjust a mite curious about that monster you men-tioned earlier.”

Mart Duggan shut the door of the marshal’s office,leaving Victor Sanchez and George Murray in chargeof the midnight watch. Pulling his coat closed, heheaved a sigh and stepped into the snow-coveredstreet. The livery’s lantern winked at him fromacross the street, burning a pale yellow against thecold night. He could almost feel his wife’s hands onhis shoulders, working out the knots in his musclesin front of a crackling fire. Shaking his head againstthe morning’s carnage, the marshal crunched acrossthe snow toward home. The night was crisp andquiet out on the streets, but he could sense troublebrewing behind the town’s walls. He would’ve beenup for a good fight any other night, but tonight hehoped his deputies could keep a lid on things.Tonight, all he wanted was a good sleep to put somedistance between himself and the day’s events.

“You might want to teach that deputy of yourshow to keep his mouth shut, marshal.”

The voice came from a dark alley to his right. Dug-gan turned and pulled his Colt in a single motion.The night air resounded with the metallic click of the

gun’s hammer.“Hey, now, no need for all that.” A slim figure in

a wide-brimmed hat stepped into the moonlight,hands raised. “Just wanted to have a word with youbefore you tuck in.”

Duggan’s temper flared, but he forced himself tolower his gun. “What about?”

“I hear tell you and your deputy had some troublethis morning.” Her voice was calm as she leanedagainst a hitching post and crossed her arms. “Yourman Jack seemed pretty shook up about it, andthere ain’t much as can shake up a Leadville law-man.”

“That son of a bitch,” Duggan said, shaking hishead. “I tell him to keep quiet and he shoots hismouth off to the first woman he meets.”

“Can’t say I didn’t help loosen his tongue a bit,”she replied. “Good whiskey sure works wonders ona man.”

“Well, ma’am, I appreciate you telling me aboutmy wayward deputy. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s abit chilly out and I’ve had a long day.” Duggan hol-stered his gun. Something about the womanbothered him, and he didn’t want to lose his temper.Tipping his hat to her, he turned toward home.

Her voice brought him up short. “I imagine you’dsleep a lot better knowing what killed those men thismorning.”

“And I suppose you know?” he asked withoutturning.

“Ain’t got a clue.”

Duggan’s fists clenched as he whirled on thewoman. A few strides brought them inches apart.“Then don’t waste my time,” he said, his breath cov-ering her face.

The stranger met the marshal’s cold blue eyes witha calm stare. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Fact is, I’m look-ing to save you some. You’re a busy man and ain’tgot the time to be chasing down spooks, am I right?”

“Who said it was spooks?”“You ain’t no fool, marshal,” she replied. “You

know damn well that wasn’t no bear that killedthose men.”

Surprised, Duggan took a step back, his gazefalling to the snow on his boots. This woman, who-ever she was, didn’t seem like a fool, either. Hehated drawing in outside help, but she was right. Hedidn’t have time for spook hunting with all of hisregular duties as Leadville marshal, and he didn’twant to risk sending one of his deputies after some-thing that dangerous. Problem was, he didn’t knowthis woman from Eve. She could have butchered thewolfers herself for all he knew. Still, if she couldreally take care of the problem, he’d be a fool to turnher down.

After a long silence, his blue eyes came back up toher face. “So what do you want from me?”

TWO

From atop Our Lady of Virginia, Cora Oglesby sur-veyed what remained of the scene. Above them, thenoonday sun filtered through the evergreens, dap-pling the mare’s chestnut coat. Our Lady snortedand flicked an ear. Despite the marshal’s warnings ofcarnage, both horse and rider were unconcerned bythe clearing spread out before them.

Then again, there wasn’t much to be concernedabout.

Cora pounded the saddle horn and cursed. “ThatMart Duggan is a damn fool,” she said.

“How’s that?” Ben asked, nudging his gelding upbeside her to see for himself.

“If he’d led us out here when we first asked himto, there might have been something to see,” shesaid. “A trail of blood, or footprints, or some leftoverguts, or something. But no, he has us sit in our hotelroom a full week while he runs our story past thatgood-for-nothing sheriff Jim Barnes. ‘Can’t associatewith no criminals,’ he says while he lets the realmonster just slip away.”

“No use worrying about that now,” Ben said.“I’ll fret about it if I want to.” Cora sighed and dis-

mounted. She gave Our Lady a pat on the neck,then looked up at her husband. “Don’t fall asleep,now.”

Ben nodded. Cora pulled her rifle from the saddlescabbard and stepped toward the clearing. Scav-engers had picked the area clean, leaving only a fewrust-colored stains behind. She made a full circlearound the area without finding much of anything.Another sigh filled the cold air around her. If onlythey could have gotten here sooner. Still, even withthe scavenger’s tracks, she could tell that nothing bigenough to kill the wolfers had been through theclearing. It was as if the men just vanished in abloody mist.

She was intrigued.A crow’s call broke the silence. Cora scowled up at

the interruption. The black bird perched about fif-teen feet above her head, its feathers gleaming in apatch of sunlight. It crowed again, turning to stare ather through one beady black eye. She consideredblowing the smug look off of its face with her rifle,then thought better of it. Her bullets were too valu-able to waste on animals, no matter how irritatingthey might be.

Rocks, however, were much cheaper. She slippedthe rifle into her shoulder scabbard, knelt down andbegan digging through the snow. She rejected sev-eral stones before finding one that felt right.Standing up, she was glad to see that the offending

bird hadn’t moved from its perch. She smiled anddrew her arm back, ready to see feathers fly, whenshe noticed something.

“Hey, Ben,” she said over her shoulder, “comehave a look at this.”

Ben tossed his reins onto a nearby branch andwalked up next to her. “What am I looking at?”

Cora pointed at the crow’s perch. The branch thebird sat on was broken, jutting out from the pine’strunk like a snapped bone. From what she could see,the break was still white and clean. A single blackfeather drifted down and settled on the snow at thetree’s base. Acting on instinct, Cora walked over andpicked it up. It was about as long as her gloved handand boasted a glossy sheen, but there wasn’t any-thing unusual about it.

Frustrated, she let the feather drop from her fin-gers. It floated off to her left, lighting on a branchsticking out from the snow. Cora’s brow furrowed asshe leaned down for a closer look. The scent of pinesap drifted up to meet her from the fresh break inthe wood. She lifted the branch out of the drift,grunting from the effort. Shaking the snow from itsneedles, she hoisted it upright and leaned it againstthe tree’s trunk. The branch was nearly as tall as shewas and too thick for the fingers of one hand towrap around.

“Here’s this,” she said.Ben came over to inspect the branch. After a few

moments, he nodded to himself. “Something brokethis off, and it wasn’t no snowfall. Limb’s too thick

for that.” Looking back up at the bird, he took anestimate of the height, then looked back toward theclearing. Smiling, he nodded again. “I reckon ourkiller was perched right up there, just waiting forthose poor fools to wander too close.”

Cora crouched down, turning the broken branchthis way and that. “Sure didn’t leave much by wayof sign. Ain’t no claw marks or hairs or nothing.”

“Guess that means it wasn’t no werewolf or hell-hound,” Ben said.

“That’s too bad,” Cora said. “I was hoping forsomething easy. All them dog monsters is alike: linethem up and put them down. Hellhounds is our spe-cialty, besides. How many have we bagged in all?”

“Half a dozen, I reckon.”“Well, we ain’t adding to that count today.”

Straightening up, Cora made to brush her gloves onher coat when a white blob splattered on the branchin front of her. Startled, she took a step backward.The crow let out a satisfied croak, which sheanswered with a glare. Her hand dropped to herrevolver when the bird took wing in a flurry ofblack. Her heart sank a little as she watched it disap-pear into the trees.

“We ain’t killing nothing at this rate,” Ben said, asmile spreading beneath his trim mustache. “You’retoo old and slow.”

Cora glared at him. “I’ve bagged me more than myshare of critters, thank you kindly.”

“Guess we’re lucky none of them was evil birds.”He dodged the punch she aimed at him, his blue

eyes sparkling.“Well, fine,” Cora said, crossing her arms. “We got

us an escaped crow and a broken branch with nogood reason for being broken. Ain’t much to go on,but we’ve made do with less.” Her brown eyes sweptover the clearing once more, then she nodded. “Let’sget on back to town.”

Ben followed her back to the horses without aword. Our Lady whinnied as they approached,stretching her neck out for a pat. Cora obliged herand was rewarded with a snort of hot, moist air. Shesmiled, running her hand down the horse’s manebefore slipping the Winchester back into the saddlescabbard. She placed her boot in the stirrup andswung herself up. Our Lady tossed her head andnickered, but Cora didn’t share her enthusiasm.

“What do you reckon that prickly marshal willhave to say when we tell him we ain’t got nothing?”she asked.

Ben sighed through his nose. “Five dollars sayshe’ll run us out of town.”

“I’ll make it ten.”“Think we still ought to find this critter even if he

does?”Cora shook her head. “He can rot along with his

little town,” she said. “He’s already wasted a week ofour time. We ought to head for Carson City or some-where without all this damn snow.”

Cora pulled on the reins, turning Our Lady awayfrom the clearing. They trotted through the treesuntil they reached the meadow. Squinting against

the blinding glare of the sun, it took her a fewmoments to spot the mountain Marshal Duggan hadpointed out to her. She finally picked it out, its peakthrusting toward the blue sky like a crooked gun-sight. Mount Something-or-Other, her guide back tothe silver boom town of Leadville, Colorado.

Pulling her bandana over her nose, she lifted herboots on either side of Our Lady to give her a kickwhen she paused. Her breath warmed her face andneck, but she could feel a chill creeping into her fin-gers through her gloves. She glanced skyward andheld her hands out beneath the sun. Clenching herfists a few times, she tried to drive the cold out, butit persisted. She could feel it flowing up toward herelbows. Her fingers became hard to move, a feelingwhich always gave her a slight panic. Cold fingersmeant a slow draw and a slow trigger, and neitherwas good for staying alive.

Ben rode up beside her. “What’s wrong?”Cora held up her hand, and he fell silent. She

pulled the Colt revolver from her belt and cockedthe hammer. Turning her head, she looked back intothe mess of evergreens. The sunlight still fell inpatches through gaps in the branches. Nothinglooked out of the ordinary, but the chill in her bloodkept moving. It was past her elbows now, workingits way up to her shoulders. Uneasy, she lifted hergaze toward the treetops, sifting through thebranches with her keen brown eyes. The blue skywinked at her from between clusters of green nee-dles. Her fingers began to throb, the chill digging in

toward her bones.A sudden breeze pulled at her hat and caused Our

Lady to shift her weight. Cora felt the horse roll andpitch beneath her, but her gaze never left the trees.The branches were swaying with the wind, butsomething didn’t look right. Deep in the maze ofprickly limbs, she could see a gray shadow in thebranches that lagged behind the motion of the trees.She couldn’t make out a recognizable shape at thisdistance, but that hardly mattered. Maybe it was abird or a confused bear, or maybe it was somethingelse. Whatever it was, she blamed it for the unnatu-ral chill in her veins.

Forcing her cold arms into action, she leveled herrevolver at the shadow. It was a long shot for a pis-tol, but she didn’t want to waste time pulling out theWinchester. The pain in her fingers made it hard tohold the gun steady. She gripped her gun arm withher other hand and closed one eye, sighting downthe barrel. The gunshot clapped her ears and rolledthrough the winter forest. Our Lady flinched at thenoise. The kickback stung Cora’s fingers, but sheforced her thumb to pull the hammer back a secondtime.

When the smoke cleared, the gray shape had van-ished from the branch. Cora’s eyes darted to the baseof the tree. Nothing. Keeping her gun raised, shechecked the surrounding trees. Seconds passed, butthe only movement was the breeze through thebranches. Her gun hand began tingling. Lookingdown, she flexed her fingers around the grip. They

were still cold, but feeling was returning.“Did you see anything?” Ben asked.Cora replied with a shrug. She holstered her

revolver, turned her back on the forest and punchedOur Lady’s sides with her heels. The mare spranginto motion. Ben spurred his own horse after her,giving the trees one last look as they rode across themeadow.

“Refresh my memory, marshal. What time did youand your deputy find that clearing again?”

Mart Duggan looked up from the newspaper,annoyed to find this woman standing in his office.Where the hell was Sanchez? Why hadn’t hestopped her from barging in like this? Looking pasther into the front room of the station, he could seethe deputy’s boots propped up on the desk. If Victorwasn’t asleep yet, he would be in the next fifteenminutes. Duggan cursed under his breath andlooked back at the strange woman, his patience thatmuch shorter.

“Sometime in the morning,” he answered.“I remember that part.” Cora helped herself to the

chair facing the marshal. “But how early or late wasit?”

Duggan folded the paper in a messy heap andleaned his elbows on the desk. “Early. No more thanan hour past sunup.”

Cora’s brow furrowed. “You’re sure? It wasn’t stillnight?”

“Yes, I’m sure, Mrs Oglesby. Jack and I was follow-

ing up on a report we got first thing that morning.Somebody had been out on a morning ride whenthey came across that spot and high-tailed it back totown to tell us about it.”

“Who was it that told you about it?”“Bill Hicks.”“Who’s Bill Hicks?”The marshal leaned back in his chair and folded

his arms. “Look, Mrs Oglesby, I ought to thank youfor being so eager to look into this for me, but I ain’tgot time to discuss the townsfolk with you. I’m abusy man, and Leadville is a busy town. Until yougot any real results for me, please leave me to mybusiness.”

“Is that right?” Cora stomped her boots on thefloor.

“It is.”“Well then, it just so happens that I may have

caught me a glimpse of your culprit.”The marshal picked up the newspaper. “What did

he look like?”“Can’t say, really,” Cora replied. “It wasn’t a very

good glimpse.”“So it wasn’t the spook you thought it was, then?”

Duggan said, not looking up.“I ain’t the only one who thinks it’s a spook. Your

deputy Jack thinks the same as me.”“I can’t help hiring idiots from time to time.”Cora snorted a laugh through her nose. “Seems to

me you can’t help being one, either.”Duggan’s boots slammed on the wooden floor as

he stood to his feet, the newspaper scattering. Heplanted one hand on his desk and pointed the otherin her face. “Now you listen to me! You and yourhusband is only here because Sheriff Barnes thinksyou’re worth a damn. If I had my way, you’d havetill sundown to clear out of my town before I ranyou out. It still ain’t settled in my mind that youain’t drifters looking to turn a quick dollar beforemoving on to some other fool town. Lord help youif that’s true. I won’t stand to be made a fool of.”

Cora let him finish, a small grin playing at the cor-ners of her mouth. “Ain’t no fool I’ve ever met thatneeded help being made, marshal. I know you got tokeep this town together, and that ain’t no mean feat.Last time I was through here, why, you could havethrown a stone from one end of town to the otherwithout hitting a single head. Now the only thingyou got more of than saloons and brothels is theminers that use them.”

The marshal’s finger sank to his desk as she talked,and she took that as her cue to stand. “As I saidbefore, we’re looking to make your life a bit easier,”she said. “You’re a right fine lawman, but you’regreen when it comes to handling any sort of mon-sters. Me and Ben happen to be experts in that area,and as experts, we’re fixing to lend you our expert-ise. If you choose not to take it, that’s your business.We’ll be on our way, no hard feelings. You and thatsleepy Mexican in the front room and all your otherlittle deputies can have this town to yourselves.”

“But.” She planted her own palms on the desk

and leaned toward the marshal until their hatstouched. “When that thing in the woods finishespicking them wolfers out of its teeth, you can betyour badge it’ll come back for more. Creatures likethat can’t never get their fill. If it can’t find any idiotslike them wolfers out in the forest, it’ll start prowlingaround your streets. Pretty soon, you’ll hear storiesof lonely miners disappearing between brothels.Maybe that vaquero out there won’t show up onemorning.” She grinned at him, her brown eyescolder than the frost on the windows. “Could beyour office here ends up looking like that clearing,only instead of you cleaning up some unlucky saps,it’s your wife cleaning strips of you off the win-dows.”

Cora straightened up and rested her right hand onthe hilt of her cavalry saber. “Of course, your mon-ster could take a fancy to none of that. Maybe killingthe wolfers was a one-time thing. I wouldn’t bet anentire town on it, but it ain’t my town. Ain’t no pissin my soup if Leadville gets torn apart and draggedto hell bit by bit. Me and Ben can kill this thing foryou, but not without your help. So it’s your call,marshal.”

Duggan stood silent for a moment. This womanhad a way of getting under his skin that few couldmanage. The hot-headed Leadville marshal wasknown for his temper, but it usually took longerthan a few minutes to whip him up into a fury. Aself-proclaimed woman spook hunter with enoughlip to call him a fool in his own office was a new

thing for him, and he hated every bit of it.Her words unsettled him down to his bones,

though he would never admit it. In his four years asLeadville marshal, he’d jailed more than his fairshare of ruffians, rowdies, and crooks. Most weredrunk enough that a good smack on the head and anight behind bars would clear them up, but he’d set-tled a few high-profile troublemakers as well. He’deven faced down the mayor a time or two, refusingto let a rich friend of his walk free until the mansobered up. Duggan feared no man, but what thiswoman described wasn’t a man, and he knew it. Asmuch as he hated to even think it, he couldn’t pis-tol-whip something that could shred two grownmen in seconds and disappear without a trace. Hecould shoot it, maybe, but one of the wolfers haddone the same thing and ended up dead anyway.

He rose to his full height and looked across hisdesk at this strange bounty hunter. Duggan was nota tall man, and his eyes were level with hers. As shesaid, there was a chance that this thing would keepto the woods or even move elsewhere, but he didn’ttrust the notion. What he had seen in the clearinghad been the work of something savage. He’d neverheard of the animal that was satisfied with just ataste of human blood. Bears, wolves, and cougars allbecame regular man-killers once they’d whettedtheir appetites for a man’s flesh. That thing out therewasn’t any of those, but it was an animal just thesame. Better than any of them, when it came rightdown to it. More dangerous. If this woman wanted

to throw herself in its way, he shouldn’t try to stopher. If she actually managed to kill the thing, somuch the better.

“All right,” he said at last, extending his hand.“You got yourself a deal.”

Cora took his hand and shook it, another grinbearing the gap in her front teeth. “Glad to see youain’t a fool after all.”

“That Duggan is a damned fool.”A loud bang echoed in the hotel room as Cora

slammed the door behind her. Ben was stretched outon the bed with a book in front of him, a kerosenelamp casting its dim light over his shoulder. Hedidn’t look up or even flinch at the sound of theslamming door.

“Why is that?” he asked.“I had to sit in his office and tell him that his own

wife would be cleaning his guts off his windowsbefore he could bring himself to help us out.” Cora’sboots thudded her indignation into the worn hiderug as she walked across the room. She set her pistolon the wooden table that stood between the room’stwo windows and rolled her head around on hershoulders. “Seems to me that a man with any kindof sense would be begging us to chase that thing offafter seeing the clearing.”

“Didn’t seem that bad to me.”“Sure, when we was there,” she said, sitting down

and pulling off her boots. “Critters had picked itpretty clean by then. Not much left to go on.”

“Then what did you shoot at?” Ben finally lookedup from his book.

“A gray something hiding itself up in the trees.”The book’s spine crackled as Ben closed it. “So you

did see something.”Cora told him of the strange shadow she’d seen in

the trees and of the chill she’d felt. When she fin-ished, he leaned his head back against the headboardand smoothed down his mustache.

“Ring any bells?” she asked.Ben shook his head. “Can’t say it does. I’ve never

heard of something that can cause a chill like that.”“Sure wasn’t no hellhound.” Cora propped her

feet up on the other chair. Ben nodded his agree-ment, his eyes tracing the thick pine logs that framedthe room.

Cora’s gaze settled on her toes, and she gave eachset a stretch. Like the rest of her feet, they were thickand hard from long years trapped in boots. The sec-ond toe on each foot stuck out beyond the others,the nails worn small. When she was a little girl, herfather had told her that having long middle toesmeant she was born to ride. Their tiny farm on theShenandoah hadn’t housed more than the twohorses needed to plow the furrows. They were bigand thick with shaggy brown hair, four-legged giantsin her young eyes, but they weren’t for riding. Herfather had promised that he’d make enough one dayto buy her a real riding horse. Then he’d show herhow to sit and ride like a real lady, he said.

Of course, that was before the blue coats had

come through the valley and burned them out, leav-ing nothing but blackened earth behind them. Shehad been a young woman then, gangly and freckled,not the pretty Southern belle she had pictured her-self growing into when her father had made hispromise.

“Don’t seem like a hell beast to me,” Ben said,pulling her out of her thoughts.

“What do you mean? Anything that can whip twowolfers that quick sure ain’t no angel.”

“Course not, but most of the things old Hades spitsout have the feel of that place about them, youknow? All fire and flames and pain, like the goodbook says. That unnatural chill you felt out theredon’t sound like Hell to me.”

“Well, maybe Hell has a patch of cold for thosethat enjoy the warm,” Cora said. “Folks living out inCarson City or Santa Fe wouldn’t be all that uncom-fortable in the regular parts of Hell, and that ain’t nokind of punishment. Maybe Lucifer made some partof his kingdom like Montana in the winter-time toput them off their feed.”

“Could be,” Ben said. “Still, you’d think the goodLord would’ve mentioned something like that if itwas so.”

“If the good Lord wanted us to be prepared foreverything in life, He’d have put us in the wombwith one of these.” Cora picked up her Colt from thetable, admiring the nickel shine in the lamplight. Shewore her holster cross-style, the butt of the gunpointing toward her right arm from the front of her

left hip. Every now and again, some pudding-headedcowboy would call her out for it, saying she carriedlike a Mexican whore instead of a proper whitewoman. Most of the time, she was too involved witha card game or a glass of whiskey to pay them muchnotice, but they’d sometimes catch her in a foul tem-per and end up in the street with a fresh bruise. Ifthey were still sore about it, she’d challenge them toa shooting contest. Used to be that she could win amonth’s wages with a few rounds, but her reputa-tion started calling ahead of her, turning the gunmenyellow about facing her. Not much of a loss, really.She and Ben were set for cash from the jobs theydid, and the quiet left her more time for gambling.Hearsay still couldn’t keep the occasional youngbuck from trying to make a name for himself bybesting her in a match, though.

“I doubt even the Lord’s rich enough to give everynew baby a silver shooter,” Ben said, picking up hisbook.

“Good thing He ain’t, or we’d have to settle forregular work like tilling a farm or digging in a moun-tain somewhere.”

Ben grunted in agreement. “Speaking of, did thatmarshal say anything useful?”

“Mentioned some feller named Bill Hicks. Said hewas the one that told him and the deputy about thekillings that morning. Seems this Hicks is one ofthose retired miner types, like old Jules Bartlett froma few years back.”

“Which one was he?”

“He’s the one that made Sheriff Jim Barnes jumpout of his boots for fear of vampires last time we wasthrough here.”

“That’s right,” Ben said. His memory was sharpexcept when it came to names. “Took a liking tolurking around at night for his meat instead of dur-ing the day like most folk. Good thing he hadhimself that full beard, or you’d have shot him for avampire anyway.”

“Hunting at night ain’t natural for any folk exceptthe unnatural ones.”

“You damn near pulled that beard off the poor asswhen you dragged him in to the sheriff.”

“Shouldn’t have been about at that hour, plainand simple,” Cora said with a small shrug. Therevolver clicked as she turned the cylinder with herfingers. “He’s damn lucky we found him beforesomething else did. Never did thank us for that, nowthat I think about it.”

“Thank us?” Ben raised an eyebrow as he lookedat her. “He looked right ready to put his pickthrough your hat with your head still in it.”

Cora could still see the miner’s face, his eyes blaz-ing above his gray beard as he stood next to her atthe door of the sheriff’s station. The sheriff himselfwas disheveled, having been roused from a goodsleep by the pounding on his door. When he openedup, Cora had Jules Bartlett in one hand and theminer’s big Henry rifle in the other. Marching pastthe bewildered lawman, she had set the rifle on thedesk before propping the miner up like a prize stag.

Jules had balked when Cora told the sheriff she’dfound his vampire, but Jim Barnes looked as thoughhe couldn’t decide whether to laugh or apologize.The miner’s confusion turned to anger, and he’ddemanded that Barnes arrest her for making sport ofhim. Cora had laughed at that notion, telling the oldman that he was lucky she’d left Ben with the horsesor he’d have laid him out for such talk. Both menflushed red, and Cora had left them to it after tellingthe sheriff she’d settle accounts with him the nextmorning.

“All the same, I reckon we should look him upand get our due gratitude,” she said. “For all heknew, Barnes could have been right about a vampirein the area. A sucker would’ve made a short meal ofthat old codger, though I’m not sure it would’vebothered. He didn’t look like he had more than apint of blood in the whole of himself.”

Ben nodded. He was sinking back into his bookwhen a thought hit him, bringing his head up again.“Maybe Barnes was right all along and we justdragged in the wrong fool. What if there is a realvampire around here, and it’s started acting upagain? Think a vampire could’ve done those wolfersin?”

“Not a chance,” Cora replied, shaking her head. “Avampire could’ve done that kind of damage, sure,but the sign was all wrong. Wouldn’t do one anygood to spill that much blood on the ground.Besides, that fool marshal said the bodies was tornto bits, so much that he couldn’t find anything rec-

ognizable. Vampires usually leave shriveled stiffsbehind, all curled up and panicky-looking.”

“At least until the dead folk start moving aroundagain,” Ben said. “Still, maybe this is some new kindof vampire.”

“They is all the same from what I’ve seen. Savage,mindless blood-suckers the lot of them. Remind meof them Yankees, to be honest.”

“Couldn’t be because the first vampire we killedwas wearing a Union jacket,” Ben said, his blue eyesalight with amusement.

“Well, can’t say I was surprised the Union hadactual monsters working with the human ones intheir army. Damn shame we can’t blame their tacticson the undead, but there ain’t no vampire that canmake battle plans.”

“Can’t imagine what would happen if there was,”Ben said. “We would have a serious problem on ourhands.”

“Well, that’s one of the advantages the good Lorddoes give us, I guess. He may not see fit to give us allpeacemakers and blessed silver bullets, but at leastHe gave us the brains to make them.” She replacedher Colt on the table. Looking out the window, sheconsidered the remaining daylight, then she turnedto her husband. “Sun’s about set for the night,meaning a shift of miners will be coming throughthe Pioneer soon. I’ve a mind to go fleece them fortheir earnings and get me a few drinks in the mean-time. You up for a game?”

A smile bloomed beneath Ben’s mustache. “Think

I’ll stay in. You know I hate to watch you lose halfour money in a single night. Besides, one of us needsto come up with a plan for tracking this monsterdown, and I don’t reckon the king of hearts willhave any good ideas.”

Cora picked up one of her boots and threw it athim. He caught it in one hand without looking upfrom his book, the grin never leaving his lips. Shepulled the other boot over her toes, then step-thumped her way over to the bed and held out herhand. Ben dropped the boot on her palm and lookedup at her. She returned his smile as she put the booton, then leaned over and kissed his forehead.

THREE

Our Lady of Virginia picked her way along thesnowy path one hoof at a time. Cora let the mare goat her own pace, taking the time to enjoy the quiet.The two of them were traveling along a rough trailthat wound around the base of a mountain. Theywere near the treeline, giving Cora a clear view ofthe snow-covered slope rising above her. Some-where behind her, she could picture the crookedpeak rising on the other end of the valley, and herthoughts returned to town for a moment.

She wondered if Ben was having any luck track-ing down Bill Hicks. He had wanted to stay in town,leaving her the task of heading out to visit JulesBartlett. While she was playing cards, Ben had givenmore thought to the idea of looking up the old her-mit, thinking that he might know something aboutthe creature prowling the woods below his house.By the time she returned to the hotel room, Corahad been too drunk to feel stupid for not thinking ofthat herself. She listened as closely as the whiskeyallowed while he outlined the next day’s agenda.

Despite the potency of Boots’ private stock, she onlyhad to ask him to repeat himself six or seven times.

Cora could see a dirty yellow trail flowing downthe mountainside above her, muck belched out by anearby silver mine. She smiled at the ugly stain,thinking of the silver that mine would produce, sil-ver that she could use for bullets. Silver that hadonce been part of a holy relic or symbol was moreeffective against Hells’ minions – it made a priest’sblessings that much more potent – but any silverwould do in a pinch.

The trail continued to wind its way around themountain’s base. Through the trees, Cora could seewhat seemed like a thousand snowy peaks reachingtoward the afternoon sun. The sight made her headswim, and she soon found the saddle horn in frontof her a much more comforting view. Our Lady wascontent to find her own way up the slope, snowcrunching beneath her hooves.

Once, a stray limb reached out for Cora from anearby tree, its branches groping toward her like askeletal hand. Her eyes were still fixed on the saddlehorn when the branch brushed against her coat andneck, and she jumped at the touch. Her right handhad already pulled away the leather flap that heldher Colt in place before she realized what hadscratched her. Looking back at the tree, she gave it adeep scowl. She hated to leave it unharmed for suchan offense, but the mare’s steady pace had alreadyput it out of reach.

After a while, her thoughts returned to Jules

Bartlett. Despite the hostility the old miner probablystill harbored toward her, Cora wasn’t worried aboutpaying him a visit. Age had taken the best part of hisstrength, leaving him with bony arms and legs. Shefigured he had spent his youth in California duringthe big gold rush they’d had back in the early fifties.His beard had been big and brown beneath hisfloppy hat then. She pictured him sticking his handsinto the freezing runoff in some mountain stream, astubborn set to his jaw as he filled his pan with mud.No gun, no horse, not even a pick to his name. Hewas just a sprout looking to make himself a fortuneand go on to live a fancy life down in San Francisco.

Perched on a rocky outcropping above her head,the miner’s cabin crept into view. Cora studied it asOur Lady continued her way up the path. The wallswere built of the pine trunks that had once stood onthe ledge, lashed into place by old Jules himself. Asthey rounded the final switchback and made for thecabin, she could see crooked shingles on the cabin’sroof. They looked as though he’d cut them from treebark but hadn’t sealed them against the weather.Tanned hides hung inside the window by the door.

Jules had put in a small hitching rail outside hisdoor, though Cora couldn’t imagine him entertain-ing many visitors. It wasn’t a fancy one, at any rate:a small log suspended crossways over two uprightlogs. She guided Our Lady up to it, dismounted, tiedthe reins off, and made her way to the cabin’s door.The string was out, but she was feeling polite, so sheknocked. A few moments passed as Cora listened to

the mare working the bit in her mouth. Shifting herweight toward the door, she knocked again. Stillnothing.

“Well, ain’t that odd?” she asked the horse.“Seems old Jules took himself for a walk. Or maybehe’s drank himself into a stupor.”

Her patience gone, she pulled at the string andeased the door open. It groaned, making a racket inthe still mountain air. If Jules hadn’t heard herknocking, though, he wouldn’t be roused by acreaking door.

The inside of the cabin was dark. Sunlight stream-ing through the open door gave her light enough tomake out the shapes of the miner’s furnishings. Shepropped the door with a stone so it wouldn’t closeon her and stepped inside. Snow crumbled from herboots onto the wooden floor as she looked aroundthe small enclosure.

There wasn’t much to see. An oil lamp hung froma central rafter, dark stains running down its sides.Jules had propped his bed up in one of the far cor-ners, the mattress nothing more than a shapelessbag. An icebox sat in another corner near the fire-place. Several charred logs lay among the ashes.Removing a glove, Cora knelt down and felt one ofthem. It was long cold.

She pulled open the icebox and looked inside.Nothing but snow and a few strips of what appearedto be venison. She closed it, straightened up, andgave the small room another sweep with her eyes.An impressive assortment of picks, shovels, ropes,

lanterns, and other mining gear lined the cabin’srear wall, suspended on rusty nails. Apart fromthem, the cabin had no other amenities.

Jules lived a very simple life.Frustrated, she took the few steps back to the

door. No miner and no clues about where he mighthave gone. She had hoped to get some informationout of the old man today, but that wasn’t in thecards for her. For all she knew, Jules had gotteneaten himself, taken at night just the way she saidhe would be. Not much to show for all the time shespent getting up here. Hopefully Ben had trackeddown Bill Hicks and learned whether or not Juleshad gone missing. If not, they’d be shooting in thedark when they tried to come up with a plan forbagging this monster.

Cora hated not knowing what they were upagainst. She never took to books the way Ben did,but she liked knowing what she was hunting beforeshe started hunting it. Even regular hunters took thetime to learn what they could so they’d know whatto expect. Those unlucky wolfers had probablylearned a thing or two about wolves before decidingto go out and start collecting bounties. Stupidhunters could end up getting gored by an elk or tornapart by a bear, and those were just regular animals.Folk in her line of work were lucky to end up as apile of scat after a bad hunt. She’d heard stories ofturned hunters, those who went out looking forsomething and came back as the very thing theywere looking for.

Such tales had always chilled her blood a little.Death was easy enough to accept, but she didn’twant to lose her soul to some lucky monster andstart going about as one of its children. One time,after a priest had given them the unpleasant job ofkilling a former hunter, she’d made Ben swear to puther to rest should that ever happen. He had gone allteary-eyed when she said it, but he’d made thepromise.

Shaking her head, Cora turned to leave, thennoticed something. A flat wooden board, like a tablewithout legs, sat in the far corner of the room. Fromthe look of things, Jules didn’t seem the type toworry about formalities like a table. Intrigued, shewalked over to examine it, then shook her head inamazement.

“Jules, you crazy bastard,” she muttered.It was a trapdoor. Cora gripped the rusty handle

with both hands and heaved upward, but the doorrefused to budge. Determined, she kept pulling at it,her curses almost as loud as the shrieking hinges.

The door suddenly gave way, causing Cora to loseher footing. She fell backward, landing on her backwith a loud thud. When her breath returned, it camewith a string of profanity. As she got to her feet, shethought of how Ben would be laughing at herexpense if he was there. First the crow, now thedoor. She stretched her back and grimaced, thankfulthat he was back in town.

Putting the thought aside, Cora returned to thetask at hand. The door’s hinges had been bent by her

efforts, and it stood open at an odd angle. Sheignored the damage, peering into the dark hole ithad covered. A wooden ladder descended into theinky depths, vanishing after the first two rungs.Frustrated, she looked around the cabin. Jules had afew lanterns hanging from the back wall, but shedidn’t have any matches. He might have somestashed away somewhere, but finding them wouldtake too long. Instead, she went to each of thecabin’s four tiny windows and tore away the hides.Cold afternoon light streamed in. It did little to cheerup the old cabin, but as luck would have it, a beamof sunlight fell across the top of the ladder. She wentback over to the hole and looked down.

Pick-marks and scratches in the stone suggestedthat old Jules had carved this tunnel out himself, orelse he’d found it and built his cabin on top of it.Cora guessed it connected to the larger mine she’dseen on her way up here. She couldn’t blame himfor wanting to work for himself instead of for a bigmining company. She’d always liked doing thingsher own way, too, even if that meant doing themherself.

Despite the added light from the windows, she stillcouldn’t make out the bottom of Jules’s mineshaft.Lowering herself onto the floor, she stuck her headin the hole and took a deep breath. A mixture ofaging pine and ancient rock filled her nostrils.

“Hello!” she yelled into the hole. “You downthere, Jules? Can you hear me?” Her voice echoedinto the inky darkness, giving her an idea that the

tunnel went deep into the side of the mountain.She paused to listen for a response. Nothing. She

called out again, but only received echoes in reply.Cursing, she raised herself to her hands and knees.Old Jules may be having fun with his disappearingact, but she didn’t take to it much, not when sheneeded information out of him.

Cora brushed her gloves on her cowhide chapsand made to stand up, then paused. Still kneeling,she cocked her head and listened. There it was again:a faint groaning. She lowered her head back to theopening. It was soft and deep, like a horse’s snoring,magnified by the echoing tunnels. It could havebeen nothing more than rocks grinding against eachother somewhere in the mine’s bowels. Then again,it might be the groans of an old miner caught in acave-in.

“That you, old timer?” she called into the hole.This time, a moan answered her. “All right, then,just sit tight. I’ll be down in a jiffy.” She walked overto the old miner’s tool wall and poked around untilshe found a book of matches. Selecting a promisinglantern from the wall, she set to work. Sparksflashed and faded as she struck a match, throwingshadows around the cabin. After a few attempts, shemanaged to get the flame to catch, and the lanternsputtered to life.

Satisfied, she tucked the matches into a pocket ofher flannel shirt and pushed her hat off her head.The white streak in her raven hair glowed in the yel-low light as her hat settled between her shoulder

blades, the stampede string tugging softly on herthroat. She picked up the lantern and stepped overto the mine’s entrance.

“I’m coming down, Jules!” she yelled into thedarkness before placing her boot on the ladder’s toprung. The wood was old, but it held her weight asshe descended into the cold, stale air of the mine.Shadows danced on the rough stone walls to therhythm of the lantern’s swaying.

After no more than twenty feet, her boots setdown on solid rock. The tunnel extended downwardinto the mountain at a gentle slope. She could seethe first of what she guessed were many supportbeams lining the mine. She stepped closer and ran ahand over the beam. It looked to be made of thesame wood as the cabin above. Jules must have cutdown half the forest setting up his claim out here.

The lantern’s halo of light only extended a fewfeet, so Cora made her way one step at a time.Ahead of her, she could still hear the groaning echo-ing off the walls, almost as if the stones themselveswere in pain. She felt as though she was walkingdown the throat of a dying giant.

“Where are you, you old fool?” she called. Herwords fell flat in her ears, the shadows swallowingthe sound of her voice. Jules must have heard her,though: the moans grew louder. At least that meanthe was still alive and awake. Encouraged, she con-tinued deeper into the mine.

After a few hundred yards, she came to a junctionand stopped. She couldn’t tell which direction the

old miner’s noise was coming from. She took a fewsteps down the right-hand tunnel and listened. Themoans echoed in the darkness around her. Maybehe was down there, maybe not. She would take alook and come back if she couldn’t find him.

Cora rolled her eyes as she started down the right-hand fork. All this work just to pull some old man’sleg out from under a rock. In all likelihood, Juleshadn’t found more than a few hundred dollars’worth of silver in here, just enough to pay for thecabin and the mine. Miners had always eluded herunderstanding, though. She couldn’t fathom whatwould drive a man into spending years of his life ina tiny tunnel like this, swinging a pick at a rock untilhis arms fell off. She preferred wide open skies andendless trails, but she’d always loved being outdoors.Even as a girl, she’d spent more time playing in herfather’s fields or swimming in the river than learningneedlework with her mother.

A shiver ran through her body. Even needleworkwould have been better than mining. At least youcould do it next to a fire instead of in a chilly,cramped tunnel. She flexed her free hand, trying tofight the chill that was growing in her fingertips.

A chill she’d felt before.A wave of dread washed over her, sending tingles

down her spine. Her instincts told her to run, but sheforced herself to think. Jules could still be down heresomewhere. Maybe the monster hadn’t found himyet. If she was quick, she might be able to get himout.

Another groan rolled through the tunnel, bringingwith it an image of the old miner lying in the dark,torn apart and left to die. Even if she did find him,she wouldn’t be able to save him. She had to assumethe creature could see like a cougar in the dark,meaning her lantern would draw it in like a giant,bloodthirsty moth. The sooner she got topside, thebetter.

She drew the Colt from her belt and began back-ing out of the tunnel. The walls echoed with themetallic click of the revolver’s hammer beforeanother moan swallowed the sound. She felt a smalltwinge of guilt for leaving the miner to die, but bet-ter one death than two. The chill had alreadyovertaken her elbows, and she could feel it startingin on her toes. It was spreading faster this time.

Her boots ground against the pebbles on the tun-nel floor as she made her way back to the ladder.Keeping the barrel of her gun pointed into the dark-ness, she fought the growing urge to run. Thelantern’s flickering light played tricks on her eyes,and she nearly shot one of the tunnel supports whenits shadow jumped out at her.

Then, without warning, the groaning fell silent.Cora halted her retreat. Panic squeezed at her lungs,and she tried to quiet her breathing to listen. Silencepressed in on her from all sides. Her breath curledaround her face in short-lived white clouds.

Then, somewhere beyond the lantern’s halo, anew sound crept into her ears. It was quieter thanthe groaning, but she knew it right away: the soft

padding of skin on stone. A faint scraping of pebblesalong the tunnel’s floor. It was slow but constant,the quiet sound of a predator stalking its prey. What-ever it was, it was following her.

Cora forced herself to face the approaching men-ace as she resumed her exodus. With each step, shehoped to feel the ladder against her back, but thetunnel seemed endless. The shuffling stayed withher, lingering just out of sight. By now, the mon-ster’s chill had spread through her limbs and wasstarting to send cold fingers snaking across her chest.In this state, climbing the ladder would be slow andpainful, but it was either that or charge headlonginto the thing’s waiting jaws.

After an eternity, she bumped into the ladder.Stealing a quick glance upward, she could still seethe sunlight at the top of the shaft. The glare left ablind spot in her eyes. She let out a quiet curse asshe tried to blink it away.

As if in response, a moan echoed up the tunnel. Itsounded close, almost close enough to see. Keepingher revolver aimed at the sound, she waited. Shethought she could see two points of light floating inthe darkness. She squinted against the purple blotchin her vision, straining to see.

Then, at the very edge of the lantern’s tiny halo oflight, something emerged from the shadows. It wasa human hand. Elongated fingers settled on the floorof the tunnel, their tips cold and black. Loose skinhung from the wrist like white curtains. As Corawatched, a second hand appeared, followed by a

thin arm. Blackened veins wormed their waybeneath the sickly flesh as the hand settled onto thetunnel’s floor.

The first hand moved again, long fingers curling asthe arm flowed into the dim light. It was long, toolong to be human. The pale limb stretched from theedge of the light almost to her boots, yet she stillcouldn’t see the creature it belonged to. She kept herrevolver pointed into the darkness, at where thisthing’s body must be. As much as she wanted toshoot the hands as they approached, precautiondemanded that she wait until she had a clear shot.Besides, she wanted to know what she was shootingat.

A round shape edged its way into the lantern’slight, and Cora swallowed back a cry. It was the faceof a frozen corpse. Ashen skin hung from the cheekslike old leather. Wisps of a gray beard still clung toits jowls, framing a row of pointed teeth that glintedat her from black lips. Between the yellow eyes wasa pit, lined by cracked skin, where a nose had oncebeen.

Only the eyes were alive, burning from withintheir dark pits. They regarded her with murderousintensity, and the teeth clacked together in anticipa-tion.

Cora had seen enough.A bright flash erupted from the barrel of her Colt.

The gunshot filled the tunnel with thunder as the sil-ver bullet found its mark between the creature’seyes. Cora pulled back the hammer and fired a sec-

ond shot into the cloud of smoke, then holstered herrevolver and turned toward the ladder. Her coldlimbs sent spikes of pain shooting through her body,but she forced them into action. The lantern dangledfrom her left hand as her boots slammed into thewooden rungs. With each step, she expected to feelthe grip of those long black fingers closing aroundher ankles. The gunsmoke burned her lungs, andshe began gasping for breath.

She reached the top and pulled herself out of themineshaft. The sunlight was still streaming throughthe cabin’s tiny windows. She rose to her feet, pulledher gun, and aimed at the smoke-filled opening.Thinking better of it, she set the lantern on the floorand pulled her saber free of its scabbard as well.Then she waited.

The hands were the first to emerge from thesmoke, grasping at the cabin’s floor with black fin-gers. Long white arms followed. When the creature’sbody lurched into view, a shaft of sunlight caught itsribs, outlining them in hideous detail.

Yellow eyes turned toward her. Cora fired, thebullet punching a smoking hole in the creature’scheek. It wailed in anger, mouth yawning open farwider than seemed possible. Cora unloaded herremaining three shots. Her bullets struck it in theneck and chest, sizzling through icy flesh. It cried outat each impact, but the silver rounds didn’t seem toslow it down.

By now, she could see the entire creature. Its headand torso were man-sized, but the limbs were long

and grotesque. The cabin’s low ceiling forced it tocrouch like a giant, four-legged spider. Its woundsseeped a thick black fluid that pooled in the raggedbeard and ran between its ribs like tar. It was injuredbut far from dead, and her revolver was empty.

With a sinking feeling, she realized that she’d letit get between her and the cabin’s door. No way outbut through the creature now staring at her withdemon eyes. She returned its gaze in the dim light,listening to the clacking of its teeth as she grippedher saber. Then a flash of recognition washed overher, and the air left her lungs in a rush.

The monster had the face of Jules Bartlett.A pale arm shot toward her, black fingers out-

stretched. Cora slashed with her saber, carving adeep gash across the creature’s palm. The force ofher blow knocked the hand away, and it smashedinto the cabin’s wall. Picks and shovels rattled ontheir hooks. Her saber flashed in a beam of sunlightas she brought it down on the creature’s forearm.The blade bit through the thin flesh but stopped coldat the bone, the jolt sending a spike of pain throughher arm. The sword fell to the floor with a clatter.

Cora jumped backward as the black fingers camefor her again. Her boots landed on a fallen miningpick. She stumbled for a moment, lost her balance,and fell heavily on her back. Knowing those fingerswere closing in, she flailed her arms in a panic. Herhand found what felt like a metal handle. Thinkingit was her saber, she swung it with all her might atthe ghastly face as the monster bore down on her.

To Cora’s surprise, the monster recoiled as thelantern shattered against its face, spilling flame ontothe cold skin. Taking advantage of its distraction, shegrabbed the pick near her boots and came up swing-ing. The crunch shook her bones as the pick burieditself in the creature’s skull. A wail of anger filled thesmall cabin as the creature stumbled under theimpact, and Cora saw her chance. Leaping over aflailing leg, she rolled across the floor and made forthe open door.

Once outside, she sprinted for Our Lady, who waspulling at her reins in a panic. Laying a hand on themare’s neck, Cora whispered a few words in her earbefore drawing the Winchester from its saddle hol-ster. She chambered a round and swung the rifleback toward the cabin. The hideous face gnashed itsteeth at her through the open door. It seemed hesi-tant to follow her into the sunlight, which suited herjust fine. The rifle butt kicked against her shoulderas she fired, and another wail of pain erupted fromthe cabin’s interior.

Cora pumped the action and prepared to fireagain, but when the smoke cleared, the creature wasnowhere in sight. Keeping the gun raised, sheapproached the cabin. Mindful of the reach of thosepale arms, she kept her distance from the open doorand strafed back and forth, peering into the darkbuilding.

Nothing.Cora crept back through the cabin’s door, rifle at

the ready. The room was empty except for a trail of

dark sludge leading back to the trap door. Coraallowed herself a small smile of victory. WhateverJules Bartlett had become, she had driven it backinto the cold darkness of the mines.

She recovered her saber and revolver from wherethey lay and emerged back into the sunlight. Herfrightened mare was still fighting with the hitchingpost. Cora kept an eye on the cabin’s door as shestroked Our Lady’s neck, quieting her. She slid therifle into the saddle sheath, untied the reins, andswung herself across the horse’s back.

The mare needed no prompting to turn away fromthe cabin. Cora kept a steady hand on the reins tokeep her from breaking into a gallop. Looking backover her shoulder, she thought she could make outa dark shape looming in the doorway. Her cold fin-gers pulled fresh rounds from her belt, ready toreload her revolver in the blink of an eye, but theshadow did not follow her into the mountain air.

When the cabin disappeared from sight, the chillstarted leaving her body, and Cora gave Our Ladymore slack. The mare picked her way down themountain as the hunter began kicking herself. Sheshould have figured out that something was wronglong before the chill started digging into her bones.None of the lanterns in the cabin or the mine hadbeen lit. None of her calls out to what she thoughtwas an injured miner were answered. She had beenso irritated by the thought of saving Jules from hisown stupidity that she had nearly fallen victim toher own.

Our Lady descended further into the trees. Coragave the mare’s sides a soft punch with her heels,urging her to hurry back to town. She was sure shecould hear the sounds of a warm fire and a bottle ofwhiskey calling her name.

THE DEAD OF WINTERby Lee Collins

384 pp paperback and eBook

UK/RoW/Ebook: November 2012

North America: November 2012

more? angryrobotbooks.com

Lee leecollinsfiction.wordpress.com

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