Excerpt: Blood Runs Wild and Deep (tentative)

The horse’s hooves churned the rocky desert soil under the full moon, the clear air broken by its pounding as it raced over open terrain. Riding close to the neck, a lean figure moved in rhythm with the beast. Long dark hair streaming behind her, expression clenched against the whipping night air. She rode and death followed.

Silent as she, it held the form of a Navajo scout and his pony, looking as determined to catch her as Jane was to avoid it. The beats of their horses’ hooves created an urgent soundtrack to the impending fight, accented by the snorts of their mounts. Cacti blurred past, and Jane urged her bay faster. Lather rose on its neck, its nostrils blowing bellows as it obeyed. She glanced above, noting the moon and not too distant ridge to the east. Ah. Chicory Canyon. About a mile off, if she could reach it first. The scout was maintaining, gaining a bit as she’d not started on a fresh horse. Jane murmured to Bly, brushing him with her palm and hoping his footing would hold in the moonlight until they reached a safer spot to face off.

A tomahawk thunked into the ground a few feet to her left and Jane gritted her teeth, keeping Bly on track as he startled. As the scout passed, he swept low to the side and plucked it from the dry earth. He’s getting impatient. Not good. A pissed Indian was one thing, an Indian losing his cool was entirely more dangerous. She knew this Navajo by sight, a skilled but still inexperienced warrior. He wanted blood, especially white blood. Unfortunately, she had plenty. His narrow face painted, he looked like a devil in the moonlight. She risked a glance and blanched at how close he was, almost close enough to pull her down. His eyes and teeth flashed white as his war paint. Since most of his tribe had fallen to the great white evil, he wore his paint all the time. Jane wouldn’t be able to negotiate out of this, or outrun him. One of them would be dead by sunrise. Sweat prickled across her body and she gripped Bly’s sides with her knees for both greater speed and comfort.

Larger rocks studded the desert floor as they began a gradual slope into the three-sided canyon, and both horses had to slow to avoid stumbling. Rock formations stacked higher around them, the space between them narrowing until each horse had to weave through single file at a fast trot, and Jane grimaced. Not much farther. The moon was high, illuminating the small geological bowl carved into the southwest, and Jane found what she searched for as she passed through the entrance of the canyon proper. She wheeled Bly to the right, a sharp ninety degree turn, and giyupped him to a full gallop, aiming straight for an opening in the rock face a few hundred yards off. Not even a cave, but more of a slit between shifting behemoth rocks.

The scout yipped behind her, having reached the open canyon, and his cry spoke of his renewed enthusiasm. Clearly, he didn’t know what Jane did. She hoped not, anyway. The pursuit devolved into a flat out race, Jane vying for the cave and the scout inching closer to reaching her flying hair. She skidded Bly to a sliding stop less than two yards from the wall and slammed to her knees at the narrow slot just as the Indian drew reins and flowed from his horse like liquid mercury, knife drawn and teeth showing in a snarl. Frantic, Jane groped just inside the black space. Nothing. Not here. Oh, God. She pulled her hunting knife from her hip sheath with her left hand as she kept searching with her right. He wouldn’t kill her quickly, she had a few moments. She hoped.

“Na. Quone’kee tiohee kah,” the scout spat at her as he slowed to standing, glowering into her face. His slim frame still but for the fringe on his leggings fluttering a bit in the breeze. His long braid swung behind him, the tip reaching below his knee, and he smelled of fresh sweat and horse, much like Jane. His eyes travelled over her with contempt, but hardened when they lit on her hair. She shuddered, and her heart sped faster as her right hand closed on a bundle in the crack. Had to stall, just a second or two.

“Listen, Indian,” she swallowed. “I’m not the Great White Evil.”

His face impassive, he raised his knife and sliced into Jane’s upper arm with two quick swipes. A criss-cross of blood seeped through her chambray shirtsleeve, then quickened to an ooze. She hissed and stiffened, but remained still as possible. She didn’t speak his tongue. She unrolled the bundle and did her best to hide the glint in her eye as the butt of her father’s pistol landed solid in her grip. She sent a quick prayer that she’d left it loaded, and sank onto her haunches, raising her right hand as if to press against her wound.

The scout’s eyes widened at the last moment before she fired, the stench of gunpowder and smoke wafting in the air between them. He didn’t fall right away, but took a step closer, his blade reflecting the moonlight, and then sank to the ground, the neat hole above his right eye beginning to fill and flow over. Jane sagged against the rock face, her breathing shaky, biting back a gasp. She crawled to the now still body, gazing down at her first kill, and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. Her spit had dried up several minutes before, and she wished hard for a whiskey.

The expanse of sky above her, the sharp tang to the night air, the distant call of a lone coyote all came together for Jane. This moment. She would never be the same again. She slid her glove from her hand and wiped at her bleeding arm. Her fingers came away wet, and she pressed her fingertips to the dead man’s forehead, then swept over his eyelids to close his eyes with a gentle respect. She understood now the urge to take something from him, a token of this communion. In a way, they were closer than she’d ever been with another human being. Already his skin felt cool, and his body had a stillness, a sunken quality, as if he’d sloughed off his flesh and moved on. His pony nickered. She used his knife to cut through the end of his braid and tucked it inside her shirt pocket, wiping her fingers off on her sleeve. She checked her arm. Not too bad. Bleeding was sluggish already.

Jane stood, her knees unsteady, and brushed the dirt from her legs. She took a deep breath, and then leaned over to throw up the contents of her stomach. Not much. Some jerky from that morning, before all of this had begun. A soft muzzle blew into her hair, and Jane smiled. Bly nibbled at a lank of hair.

“Yeah, I’m all right.”

She straightened and gathered the rest of the bundle from the crevice, packing it into her saddlebag. The scout’s body was heavier than she’s expected, but she managed to heave it over his pony’s back. Pulling the spare harness from her pack, Jane fit it over the pony’s head and climbed back into Bly’s saddle, looping the tie over her horn. The sky was beginning to lighten, and the nearest town was about three hours’ ride. They couldn’t stay here, no matter how tired they were. Dawn was coming, and Jane had to set this dead man aright before then.

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