Free Hawthorne: Tales of a Weirder West by Heath Lowrance Page A

single-mindedness, relentlessly, inevitably. Hawthorne prepared another arrow just as they gained the bottom of the ridge and started to climb up. The green glimmer of their spiders shot to and fro with maniacal energy.
    Gritting his teeth, Hawthorne aimed at the top of the nearest shaggy head and released the bowstring. He was close enough to hear the thing's creaking moan as it fell back, dead, to the dirt below.
    He took another arrow from Anpao. Only one more remained in her hand.
    One of the two remaining creatures cleared the top of the ridge, pulling its lanky white body over the edge, staring blankly. It reached out one cadaverous hand and gripped the leg of Hawthorne's trousers.
    Hawthorne jerked away, kicked the creature in the face, and swung the bow around to aim. He released the arrow point-blank, and it thudded so solidly into the thing's face that the tip peeked out from the back of its skull. It slumped backward and tumbled down the rocky incline, its spiders dissipating like fog.
    Anpao shoved the last arrow into his hand and he nocked it, pulled back the bowstring to slay the final creature. He took a step toward the edge, peered down, all his senses keen for the kill now.
    The last
Iktomi
was nowhere to be seen.
    His eyes skipped over the bottom of the ridge. Nothing, only the still forms of the dead, sprawled out in the dirt. He stepped quickly to the other end, looked down the steep incline, saw nothing.
    "Where—" he said, and Anpao screamed.
    The last
Iktomi
dropped down from an overhanging tree in front of him, knocking the bow from his hands. It wrapped its fingers around Hawthorne's throat in a vise-like grip.
    No spiders this time, no shimmering monsters taking solid form to seed him, only the iron grip of the demon's hands, choking out his life. It lifted him off the ground by the neck, squeezing, and Hawthorne flailed and kicked his legs. He pried at the strong fingers, punched and kicked, but the creature's grip only tightened.
    Black eyes burned with glee. White hands throttled him, and Hawthorne knew he was going to die. His long journey would end here, in the middle of a dark forest in the Black Hills of South Dakota, and his bloody purpose in life would be forfeit.
    Hawthorne heard a sound through the pounding of blood in his head, a soft
thwip
—and the demon's face went blank.
    The grip around his throat slackened and he fell to his knees. The
Iktomi
, an arrow jutting from its neck, tottered on its feet. The black eyes focused briefly on him, and then it toppled over the side of the ridge.
    The girl still held the bow in shooting position, and her face was white with fear. Hawthorne stood up, rubbing his throat. As he watched, Anpao lowered the bow, took a deep breath. Tremors began to rack her body and she dropped the weapon and looked at him.
    Drops of fresh rain spattered down on their heads from out of the dark sky, sporadically at first, and then with force, and they only stood there on the ridge until they were soaked to the bone.
    After a time, Hawthorne said, "Maybe I'm not the only one for the job after all."
    She shook her head. "No. If I had it, if I had that hate, it's gone now. It died. It died with the last of those demons."
    He glanced down at the bodies of the Spider Tribe, littering the base of the ridge, and gazed again at the girl. He said nothing.
    The rain turned silver in the moonlight and Hawthorne turned his face away from it.
     
     
     
     
    †



-
Part One
-
The Scarred Man
     
     
    Charlie Peeples never slept well, even though he had the old station house to himself. He lay there on his rickety wooden cot and stared at the cracks in the ceiling and the cobwebs in the corners and felt anxiety in his bones. He felt the fear that the Sisters would call upon him in the night and kill him.
    He would imagine them in their lair, directly below him, in the dank dirt cellar. Did the Sisters even sleep? Eyes wide open and staring, Charlie Peeples could see them in his