Free Marshal of Hel Dorado by Heather Long Page B

little to
calm him. Their trackers were picketing their lines, creating a strong
perimeter. The posse wouldn’t move again with the sun sinking down behind the
escarpments. They’d learned their lesson that first night when the Gang had
turned on them, injuring, hampering and turning back the other search parties.
           All but this one.
           Cody studied the young who leaned back
against his saddle, his shaded gaze still seeming to see straight to where Cody
was lying. Full darkness was only minutes away, the sun setting fast this time
of year, the hot desert would come to life as the creatures scurried out to
hunt, to drink and to roam.
           His nose twitched as he caught another
scent on the breeze. The musk of fur, sand and sun. He let the rumbling growl
escape his throat and it carried until the scent thought better of continuing
up towards his rock.
           He saw the coyote in a flash of movement.
It was small, scrawny and hardly a threat. But the heavy teats swinging below
suggested that it was female and it had pups nearby. Cody apologized mentally,
he would leave the bitch and her pups be soon enough.
           The sun was a dying thought on the horizon
when Cody rose to his haunches. Stretching, he shook himself thoroughly,
scattering the sand and dust that lay on him like a blanket. His claws clicked
on the rock as he padded his way down the escarpment. The Gang of Seven was camped
on the far side of the curving canyons, waiting for him.
           Cody reached the desert floor and weaved
his way through the rocks, six-foot cacti and scrub brush. He circled the
posse’s camp, moving downwind. He wanted to scent the leader.
           A rabbit froze in his path and he showed
the desert bunny his teeth and it fled. Despite his rumbling stomach, he wasn’t
interested in hunting for food. He could eat when he returned. Sour sweat stung
his nose and he fought the urge to sneeze. Horses nickered to each other as he
crept.
           His belly sliding lower to the ground.
           Even downwind, horses seemed to know when a
predator was close. His brothers told him that his wolf form was huge, bigger
than his wilder brethren and that his legs were thicker, more bear than wolf.
Cody didn’t care for the descriptions, his sandy blonde fur stood out
everywhere but the desert. His size gave him considerable advantage in fights
and even ranchers thought twice about shooting him if they came across him in
the course of his wanderings.
           No one touched his wolf body, despite
craving physical affection, he only allowed the brothers and Scarlett to get
that close and only with Scarlett would he lay like a pup at her feet, her
fingers stroking his fur.
           The hair on the back of his neck bristled
again. Leaving Scarlett tortured him. He wanted to get back to her. A flash of
red hazed his vision. If he slaughtered the posse they could just turn back.
           But there were twelve riders and they were
all armed. If they spread out more, he could pick them off.
           Or maybe he only needed to kill one of
them.
           As though conjured by his thoughts, the
wheat haired leader of the group rose to stride out into the gathering dusk.
           Cody’s lips curled back into a wolfish
smile and he crept onwards, circling wider, on a course that would bring him
upon their pursuer. Maybe he only needed to take out that man.
           Then they could go back for his Scarlett.
           A flare of red and blue scattered the
darkness, then narrowed to a thin orange light. Cody found his target sitting
atop a large rock, a rifle leaning comfortably against one arm, smoking a
cheroot that smelled of tobacco leaves and cherries.
           Fighting the urge to sneeze, Cody circled
further, studying the boy. The darkness was no obstruction to his vision,
flattened and two-dimensional, as it seemed in his wolf form.
           “Hello.” The