Free Skinwalkers by Bear Hill

Bob guffawed in a most uncivilized manner. “That, my dear boy, is exactly to the heart of the matter of which I would instruct you,“ Black Bob said coyly. “For you see, honor is not an affliction from which I suffer. I—!“
    At that very moment, the loud baying of hounds re-sounded outside the saloon’s exterior. La Femme La Lash rushed to the saloon’s bat-winged doors and peered cautiously outside. She returned her attention to Black Bob and uttered something to his person in the heathen language of the French. “Curses!“ Black Bob shouted angrily. “The demon dogs have returned! Even upon the horizon of victory, I am thwarted by forces from beyond!“
    “Black Bob,“ Deadshot Dan said most decidedly, “surely you can see the benefit of having Death and Doom on your side against monsters such as these. If these be hell’s hounds at our door, then I say let us put aside differences for the time being and face them together as comrades in arms. Agreed?“
    Black Bob grimaced as he turned the noble gunslinger’s words over in his mind. At last, he released the lovely Anna and nodded. “Agreed!“

Chapter 5
     
    THE ESCAPE
     
    T he bounty hunter—then only a young boy—raced through the woods on his calloused bare feet, tears leaking from his eyes as the sound of the baying hounds grew in his ears. He thought about the dog’s sharp teeth and the flesh-rending whips belonging to white men who ran behind them and quickened his pace. He leapt over deadfall and dodged low-hanging tree branches as he ran. It was summer and the night’s dew had made the forest floor soft and green. The boy was thankful for the giving earth. It would save his bare feet from agony. But he also knew it meant he’d leave tracks pointing the men and their dogs directly toward him.
    The boy changed course for a nearby creek bed. Within moments, he was splashing in its waters, swimming where he could, staggering across its sand and water-smoothed stones where he couldn’t. The uneven terrain slowed his progress and it wasn’t long before he heard the hounds closing in on him.
    A putrid stink filled the boy’s nostrils. He turned to see a dead cow lying on the creek bank, half in the water. The moon’s light revealed that the portion of the beast’s body not submerged was covered in buzzing flies.   The boy turned away just as he wretched.
    He had to get to the other side of the creek. Maybe the dogs would be able to pick up his scent on the opposite shore, maybe not. He decided he’d take his chances. Anything to get away from the dead cow and its rank smell.
    The boy took a step and had to stifle a yell as the rock beneath his foot gave way, causing his ankle to buckle under. He dropped to the ground, one hand over his mouth, the other at his ankle. Through the din of pain, he heard the dogs’ barking. They were close. Within fifty yards, probably. The boy cursed. What was he to do? He couldn’t run, but there was no way in hell he was going back to the cotton fields. Better to smash his head open with a rock from the creek bed. The boy picked up a stone, wondering if he could strike quick enough and hard enough to end himself with one blow.
    The boy caught the stench of the dead cow again and gagged. What a way to die , he thought. Next to a fly-eaten cow carcass . Then an idea seized him, one he found repulsive. But if he had to choose between it, the cotton fields, or certain death, it was really no choice at all.
    The boy dropped the stone and crawled up to the corpse. He turned his head but felt bile rise into his throat as he lifted the dead cow’s ample belly from the shore. Soaked with water, it felt like a bag of rocks. But he was strong, and right now his adrenaline made him all but Herculean. The boy strained and pushed as maggots dropped from the cow’s bulk to squirm in the sand. When he’d lifted its belly as far off shore as possible, he turned his back into the fur-covered fat and wriggled beneath it.