Only 06 - Winter Fire

began to sift through the darkness once more. The night creatures were picking up their normal business of finding food, spurred on by the chill and the coming winter.
    A pack rat hurried across an opening between a man-high sagebrush plant and the smaller shrubs that grew ten feet away. Instants later an owl swept by on noiseless wings. There was a tiny, frantic squeal and the beat of wings on dirt.
    The owl lifted into the night. Outlined against the stars, a pack rat hung limply from the bird’s talons.
    An owl called from the brush at the back of the cabin. Another owl answered.
    Silence returned, as deep as the night itself.
    The critters are no more fooled by those hoots than I am , Case thought dryly.
    He judged that the calls were about ten yards closer to the cabin than the first round of false hooting he had heard.
    Suddenly the silhouette of a man moved against the stars. It was just for an instant, but it was more than enough for Case to see and note the man’s location.
    A hundred feet away, another shadow moved.
    At least two , Case decided. Not Culpeppers, unless those boys have started wearing Mexican-style headgear .
    Wonder where they left their horses?
    Within a thousand yards of the cabin there were only a few places that had enough cover to hide horses.
    Bet they came down that ravine a few hundred feet beyond the privy , he thought. They’re too damned lazy to walk a step farther than they have to .
    Crouched over, he went quickly and silently across the cleared area around the cabin. He eeled through the brush and grass until he was past the privy.
    Keeping the outhouse between himself and the areawhere he had seen the men, he straightened and moved swiftly toward the ravine that opened out onto the flats just beyond the cabin.
    Three horses waited in the ravine, tied to the skeleton of a dead juniper.
    Hell’s fire , he thought. Horses .
    He had been hoping to see mules. It would be easier to take the Culpeppers on one at a time in the dark than head-on in a gunfight the way he had at Spanish Church.
    Less risky, too.
    Ab must be more patient than he used to be. Too bad. It makes him more dangerous .
    A quick, careful circuit of the mouth of the ravine told Case that no one had been left behind to guard the animals.
    An empty whiskey bottle gleamed in the starlight just beyond the juniper’s twisted, dead branches. Gnawed bones from a rabbit had been tossed near the bottle.
    Guess those boys waited here awhile , he thought. Hope it was long enough to get impatient .
    Impatient men made mistakes.
    A few minutes of soft talking and slow moving assured the horses that Case, despite his strange scent, meant them no harm.
    The animals stood quietly while he cut their reins free of the bridle. He used the braided leather to hobble the horses. Then he loosened the cinches and removed the bridles entirely.
    If any raider made it back to his horse, he would have the devil’s own time getting away.
    Now , Case thought, it’s time to see how drunk those boys really are .
    He made no more noise on the way back toward the cabin than he had on the way out. In fact, he was so quiet he nearly tripped over the first raider.
    â€œRusty?” whispered the man. “What ’n hell you doin’over here? You’ll get your turn on that gal after I break her to—”
    The words ended an instant after Case’s knife slid out of its sheath. He caught the dead man and lowered him to the ground.
    Then he crouched, listening.
    The night was far too quiet.
    There were too many memories welling up, darker than any night.
    Air is too dry , he thought distantly. No trees rustling softly. No lush green. No campfires burning a hundred feet away .
    But one thing hadn’t changed. Death still smelled the same as it had during the War Between the States.
    A hooting sound came from his left.
    Nothing moved to his right.
    Case kept quiet. The last time he had heard two men calling, that had been the pattern—one hoot, one answer.
    He was hoping that the dead man wasn’t one of the outlaws who had been calling back and forth.
    The hooting came again from the left.
    Damn , he thought. I’d better answer .
    It was hard, but he tried to mangle the hooting call of an owl as badly as Moody’s men had.
    A faint stirring sound came from the left.
    Brush rubbing over buckskin , he thought. The raider must be in that clump of big sage off to the left .
    Slowly,