The morning sun came up simmering, so boldly that decision was made to drive the cattle before the midday heat. Jeff stayed behind until the sun was overhead, using the time to pen some letters, but looking often toward the town, which, aside from the wavering of its image through the evaporating dew, showed no motion nor indicated any life. Reluctantly, he took to his saddle, and set out after his stock.

They stopped often, allowing the herd to graze and take water, and by mid afternoon they’d reached the mouth of a tight canyon. Benny thought it best to push on through, judging the distance could be accomplished by nightfall. Unfortunately, the terrain was uneven, and the narrow confines stretched the herd out, so the hands struggled mightily to prevent the drive from coming to a complete standstill. The sun had set and the first rays of the moon appeared, when the herd crept from canyon to valley.

That’s when Jeff first heard the wolves. They echoed faint and far off, but so plaintive as to slice the soul. Benny rode back to Jeff wondering, “You want us set those traps, Major? Clerk said ‘as soon as you hear…’”

Jeff was surprised by Benny’s consternation. “Let’s get the rest of the stock out of this canyon, shall we? How close…?”

“’Nother fifty yards at most. Sorry, but somethin’ ‘bout that howl set my nerves to jangle.”

Benny struck at the broad rumps in front of them, but the cows hardly needed the encouragement; the piercing cries had quickened their hearts as well. The howls seemed to be getting louder, closer, at an unnatural pace. Jeff whipped the cattle forward now, then abruptly left the stragglers and galloped after Benny to the open valley.

Benny was already at the supply wagon, pulling out the torches and the traps.

“Post the torches thirty feet apart!” he barked. “Set traps at them rocks. Below that ledge. Then below that ridge.”

Jeff pulled his rifle from its scabbard and dropped from his mount. The panicked horse reared, threatening to bolt into the dark. Jeff gave his reins to a hand who tied the horse to the supply wagon.

A second hand pitching a torch was nearly run down by the frightened stragglers. He lit the torch and waved it to divert them, only to clear a path for a gaping maw. Jeff saw a black blur, a flash of white teeth, then a scarlet explosion opened the man’s chest and left his severed head dangling by a cord. The brute gorged itself then tossed the human shell aside.

Jeff fired, dropped to the ground and fired again. The full arsenal of the cattle drive was opened upon the beast, which wailed, thrashed, charged and finally fell.

“What beast out of hell…?”Jeff gasped, then was slammed to the ground, a dark mass upon him. Sulfurous breath steamed his neck, saliva drooled on his face. Jeff fought to refill his lungs, his hands flailed, tearing at black bristles, covering knots of muscle. The jaw snapped shut inches from his throat. Again, a loud snap, just below his chin, then the enormous head craned skyward, letting loose a tortured howl.

Benny latched a shotgun, the loud click drawing the beast’s attention. It leapt from Jeff and clamped its fangs on Benny’s forearm. The Sergeant screamed, but jammed the shotgun under the monster’s chin, and falling backward, flicked the trigger, detonating the hellion’s skull.

The men retreated to the supply wagon, which, despite the brake locked in place, the team had dragged a full thirty feet. Benny, a dead arm at his side, tumbled into the wagon and searched for something to bind the torn flesh. As one cowhand grasped the teams bridles, two others wielded torches to discouraged the monsters’ advance. Jeff considered cutting his own horse loose, but judged these beasts capable of running him down. How many wolves were left? Were they surrounded? Or were the wolves out feasting on the herd?

A guttural snarl brought an answer. Jeff spied a huge beast glowering and panting beyond the glow of the torches. But the crack of a distant rifle brought a yowl. Again a shot, again a beast’s complaint.

“There, Major,” Benny cried. Up a wash to the base of the cavern wall, a lamp marked the entrance of a mineshaft. A small figure crouched and fired.

“Defensible, sir.”

The team continued to fight, rocking the wagon, as two exhausted hands struggled to contain them. Soon the frenzied horses would pull the wagon apart. Jeff ordered the men into the wagon bed as he took the reins. He released the brake and the wagon lurched forward, with a burst of rifle fire at the wolves in pursuit. The wagon nearly tipped as Jeff urged the team hard to the right. The figure at the mine gave covering fire, but the beasts kept pace. The team struggled on the upward grade, over the rough stones of the wash. Their dark pursuers gained, and with a leap, one beast was aboard. Quickly it lunged forward, snapping its jaw on a cowboy’s shoulder, and with a bound, hauled off his quarry, devouring him amidst agonized cries.

As the rest of the pack joined in a feeding frenzy, the pursuit lagged and the wagon reached its goal. A grizzled prospector winked at Jeff, then hunched and fired down on the pack. The horses were too tall for the mineshaft, so Jeff freed them to gallop for their lives.

“Weapons and ammunition!” Jeff cried as Benny and the last few hands carried the depleted arsenal into the mine. Jeff considered their fragile state, and grabbed a pair of canteens. The prospector shooed the men into the shaft, then getting off one last round, retreated from the advancing pack. Benny tossed away his shotgun; a sidearm was the only weapon he could fire. The men waited, recovering their breath, as the snarling pack surrounded their den.

“They don’t like the mine,” the prospector chuckled. “Don’t like it at all. You’d think critters that den up’d charge like the Mexes at San Antone. But no, they don’t like it. Hear ‘em complain?” Indeed, Jeff noted a change in tone to the howls: plaintive, frustrated, even defeated. He pushed against what he thought was the wall, but it gave, then pushed back. A small donkey kicked in annoyance, then moved aside allowing him to crouch and tend to Benny’s wound. “That’s Eloise,” the prospector croaked, “She might nip at ya, but otherwise she’s kindly. Jest watch where you sit. For a lady she’s not particular ‘bout her needs.”

Jeff passed the canteens around, as they listened to the prospector relate his knowledge of the beasts. “I been here working this claim some eight months. Had just blasted a ways into the rock the first time they come. I heared ‘em, so I decided me and Eloise’d sleep in the shaft rather’n the tent. Then when I see’d ‘em, I ‘bout near soiled m’self. Wolves the size of black bears.”

“Why didn’t you pull out?” Benny asked.

“My claim. I shouldn’t tell ya, seein’s ya got me outnumbered, guns drawn, but this vein? Whoo-eee! I spent three nights and days in the shaft that first time. Never heared the beasts durin’ the day. At night, even though I’s to’ve nodded off my watch, they never did breach the opening there. Then I stopped hearin’ ‘em at night. Finally had to come out to fetch water. Didn’t see nor hear ‘em for ‘nother month. Then, same thing. They come gather out yonder, but never charged the mine. Then I picked up another pattern. They only come round when the moon’s up full. So y’know I’d be tucked way inside the shaft.”

Jeff didn’t like the odd bend to Benny’s arm. “We’re going to have to set that.” He turned to the prospector. “You got anything to use as a splint?”

“Might break up a crate yonder,” he said, pointing back to a pile of supplies. “You’re a lucky man, Mister. Wouldn’t ‘spect a man to get bit and live.”

***

The men spent a sleepless night in the mine, at one point shaken by the wails of slaughtered cattle, as the predators abandoned their human prey and greedily consumed a number of cows. They listened to increasingly distant howls, that vanished completely with the first rays of dawn.

Crawling from the shaft, Jeff surveyed the valley, strewn with carcasses of his prize stock. None of the horses were visible among the slaughtered. A grey cluster smudged the distant horizon where the exhausted herd stood, Jeff reckoned, at probably a two-hour march. All the men could walk, but, without horses, they’d never move their supply wagon. Jeff had the men load themselves with supplies, including the weighty bear traps, then tramp off to meet the herd. With any luck, the horses would be among the cattle. Worse come to worst, they’d walk the cows to the next town.

Jeff was surprised when the prospector started packing up Eloise. “I’m a comin’ with ya,” he crowed.

“Sure you want to abandon your fortress?”

“Gotta make the trek sometime. Re-supply. Deposit this here silver. Lord on’y knows where them beasts go when they ain’t a hauntin’ these hills. If I gotta cross ‘em elsewhere in Malpaís, I’da rather you gents was with me.”

With that the men moved out. The sun at their backs cast shadows that shortened as the day progressed, withdrawing completely under their feet, then growing behind them as the sun dropped into their eyes. It was just afternoon when a horse came trotting toward them, Benny’s mount, its chestnut flanks marbled with foam. Benny called for him, then reached for the bridle, but the horse spooked, skipped sideways, then turned and broke back toward the herd.

Benny groaned, shifted his pack, and continued his silent march. Jeff watched the walking wounded with a heavy heart, remembering similar men he’d commanded, who’d given the last full measure. How was it that through four years of war he’d never suffered more than a scratch, while men around him had been dismembered, butchered by artillery, pierced by rifled fire and sliced by bayonets? And last night, his throat had lain bare, inches from the ravenous jaws of a beast, which leapt from him, preferring to maim another man, his friend. Was it fortune, or a curse, to have one’s health purchased with other men’s blood?

Other horses became curious and clopped towards the men. One of the cowhands had filled a feedbag hoping to lure the horses, and untied it now, taking a fistful of oats and extending his hand. Soon, a pair of geldings was secured, and Jeff had to decide how to proceed. They needed the wagon to be sure, but could these exhausted horses make a return to the mine, then bring the wagon back before nightfall? Could he order his men to make that trip knowing the danger?

The issue became moot when two men saddled up. “They know their duty,” Benny muttered. “Time talkin’ is time wasted.” But Jeff was not satisfied. He ordered one of the hands to dismount, swung into the saddle himself, and nudged the horse back towards the scene of the last night’s horror.

The hand accompanying Jeff was Calvin Rutledge, a Texan whose father’d fought with Sam Houston at San Jacinto. Tall and lean, Calvin generally focused his eyes and his mind far away. He wasn’t given to talk, but when he did speak, he was either disconnected from the conversation around him, or focused on some piece of minutiae the others felt irrelevant. This afternoon was no exception. “I seen a moose once rut a cow.” He waited on Jeff’s nonplussed reaction, then continued, “Wyoming territory, Army outpost ‘fore the war. Think you seen everything in this world, then you wake up one morning to a moose rutting a cow.”

Jeff quickened the pace a bit to discourage further discourse, but Calvin was not perturbed. “Don’t know if a calf come from it. Got transferred out. But thinking on last night, that’s what’s come to mind.”

“Why would you…?”

“’Cuz what if a wolf rutted a bear? Be something like those beasts last night, wouldn’t it?”

Jeff muttered something about species not mixing, which Calvin somehow interpreted to confirm his hypothesis: “Ain’t that just the point? God set down laws, which when they gets violated, brings out some freak as should be consigned to hell.”

“No, Calvin, you get nothing. You don’t get aberrant creatures. Or else the world would be filled with them. You just get nothing.”

“Well, Major, that weren’t no pack of nothing.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence, finally reaching the wagon, just as they’d left it. Jeff swung down from the saddle and patted his horse’s wet neck. He stripped the saddle off and tossed it in the wagon. Then he surveyed the valley, his heart sinking as he spotted the dried remains of their dead. He pulled a shovel from the wagon.

“Cal, get the team hitched. Then follow me down.”

Jeff step-slid down the wash to the dry valley and followed the wagon ruts to the spot where the hand, plucked from the rig beside him, had been dragged and devoured. There was little left but bone, baked by the sun and gathering flies. He dug a shallow grave and scooped it in, then, mumbling a few pious words, covered the remains. As Jeff tapped down the sand, Cal pulled up beside him with the wagon.

“S’pose we shoulda tended to that this morning,” Cal sighed.

Jeff nodded and hopped up beside him. He lay the shovel across his lap.

“Not to criticize. Needs of the living gotta come ‘fore the comfort of the dead.”

“Up ahead, Cal,” Jeff pointed to where the first hand had fallen. Cal snapped the reins and the wagon lumbered forward.

“’Nother thing I been cogitatin’ is, why d’you think that brute just jumped off’n you and unto Benny that way?”

“I don’t know, Cal.”

“I mean, it knocked you down, had you dead to rights.”

“I don’t know!”

The horses shrieked and lurched forward into soft sand, then frantically skipped sideways, nearly upsetting the wagon. Cal struggled to bring them back under control, but not before they’d bolted twenty feet.

“What d’you think, rattlesnake?”

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“Well, you was yellin’ at me, Major.”

Jeff jumped down from the wagon and sprinted to the spot of the disturbance. It was immediately clear what had frightened the horses. Below a thin layer of sand, a bloody arm was exposed. Jeff dug around the limb, unearthing a headless corpse. Fragments of skull and brain matter lay nearby in blood-matted sand. Jeff tugged the arm, rolling the lifeless torso, finding underneath a second victim. This corpse, like the first, was ghostly white and completely naked. The second, however, was riddled with bullets.

Jeff felt Cal towering by his shoulder. “These ain’t no wolf victims, are they, Major?”

“No, they’re not,” Jeff assented. “And I think our friendly prospector owes us an explanation.”

***