Free Skinwalkers by Bear Hill Page A

The cow’s rotten blubber covered him like a blanket, but his own body had caused a slight gap to open between the dead cow’s belly and the ground. Through it, he saw the settling waters of the creek and heard the baying of the fast-approaching hounds.
    In no time, the dogs were scrambling down the slope leading to the creek bank. He felt them fall upon the cow carcass. Two of the dogs splashed into the creek bed to root at the cow’s belly. The dogs wormed their muzzles into the gap. But much to the boy’s relief, they could press in no farther. Stuck beneath cow’s blubber, the dogs couldn’t open their jaws to bark or bite, so they stood there snarling at the smell of him. The boy whimpered as he felt the dog’s hot, fetid breath wash over him.
    “ What are you doing there?“ one of the approaching white men called. “Get on out of there!“
    The boy felt things that squirmed and wriggled climb onto his body. He clasped his hand over his mouth to keep from screaming.
    “ That dead cow ain’t fit to eat, you stupid mutt,“ another man said. The boy heard the men enter the creek bed. Seconds later, the dogs’ muzzles disappeared from beneath the cow, yanked away by their masters. “Come on! We got to find us that runaway nigger.“
    After what seemed like an eternity, the men and their dogs left, heading on down the creek to continue their search in vain. But the sound of the dogs’ barking and the sight of the yellowed fangs within their snarling, wrinkled muzzles would stay with the boy for the rest of his life.
     
    T he bounty hunter shook himself. He was no longer a boy trapped beneath a dead cow. But the white men’s dogs were trying to kill him again. But that wasn’t true either. The fur-covered creatures invading the saloon weren’t the white men’s dogs. They looked and acted like coyotes—and men—and yet they were neither. Regardless, people were dying and if he didn’t act quickly, he’d join them.
    The bounty hunter’s Henry rifle boomed into action, dispatching beast after beast as they spilled through the saloon’s bat-wing doors. He was pleased to see a bullet ended them almost as easily as it did a human. On the trail of that thought, came another: What an abominable horror that would be—if they didn’t die like regular folk, but needed something special—like some magic charm or ore—to kill them.
    The creatures continued to attack. Some galloped straight for the soldiers while others scampered up the walls with impossible speed and agility to drop onto their prey.
    From the corner of his eye, the bounty hunter saw the townspeople follow his lead and take up arms against the attackers for both good and ill. Jimbo and Wilson successfully unloaded their pistols into several of the coyote creatures, sending them yowling and twitching back to whatever hell they came from. Hank was not so lucky. He reached for his gun and it fired while still in its holster. The bullet struck the toe of his boot and he dropped to the floor. He grabbed his foot and yelled in pain while Robby struggled to protect them both with cover fire. The bounty hunter halted firing when the captain burst from the fog to sprint by him, bloodied and screaming.
    Seeming to perceive the damage the bounty hunter was doing, one monster left the carcass it was feeding on and charged, its lupine form closing the distance between them in two massive leaps. The coyote-thing’s muzzle opened impossibly wide to reveal massive, razor-sharp teeth. They closed over the end of the bounty hunter’s rifle and the head attached to the jaws disappeared as the gun unloaded. Each of the creature’s yellow, serpentine eyes flew across the room in opposite directions, ropes of bloody nerves trailing behind.
    Two more beasts advanced to replace their fallen brother. The bounty hunter fired. His heart sank as he heard not the ear-numbing boom of his Henry rifle, but the metallic, mocking click of an empty bullet chamber.
    The coyote