The dark figure stood unmoving, his hands clasped behind his black. A gentle breeze stirred his black coat. His sable hair tied back tight beneath an inky, flat-topped cordobes hat. Not a speck of dust marred his jet black attire. His boots as dark and unspoiled as when crafted. He stood, as if rejected by the land around him.

Teven watched, equally silent and still, as the lead skinwalker raised a hand to the tense shifters. Perhaps an act of habit, a former human muscle memory, the hand gesture didn't disprove Teven's suspicion of telepathic communication between the creatures. How soon until they found him out? He decided to follow the lead of each skinwalker and do as they did. Each diablero stood unmoving, their grim horses too, unnatural in their stillness, so silent, the ever-present, distant rush of mountain air across the arid plain thrummed in Teven's ears.

Panic. Perhaps the attention of the shifters, so focused on the stranger, meant none would notice his sheen of cold sweat. Teven swallowed out of habit, thankful for the bandana which hid the movement of his Adam's apple.

*

Christian jerked the bandana from his face and squeezed his nose between thumb and forefinger. Ahead of him, Red, the lead steer and number one shifter suspect, led the herd onto the steep and narrow slope down into the wide canyon below. Sende rode beside her brother Hernan, the chuck wagon left near a copse of cottonwoods, the draft animals nearby, already grazing.

"Are you sure you are doing the wise thing, Señor Har?" Hernan said.

Christian wiped his face with the bandana. "Wise? Dunno. Paranoid maybe." He shook his hand toward the herd. "If the scouts didn't run into more shapeshifters, then you can be sure the beasts are after us. Like I said."

Sende glanced at her brother. "But surely by now, the diableros would have attacked."

Christian grunted. "Why bother?" He turned to stare at the mestizo siblings. "They are, what you call ‘em?"

"Diableros."

"Yeah, sure. Shapeshifters. They could be down there right now."

Hernan frowned. "Among my cousins? In our cousins?"

Christian watched the swing and flank riders guide and funnel the herd. "Sure. But more likely, pretendin' to be them beeves."

Sende crossed her arms, uneasy, she looked down into the canyon. "And we leave the ganado here?"

"Yeah, leave the cattle here." Christian smiled. "Way I see it, if they's shifters, then we can ride hard for town. Take an hour or so at a gallop. Sure faster than another day at the pace of the beeves. We hole up in town."

Sende and Hernan shared a skeptical glance.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"If Day Long and Nathan show up with your cousin, my brother, an' Van, then we ride back here." He spurred his horse forward toward the edge of the abutting cliff. "If the shifters are down there now, they'll have taken the herd by the time we return. If not, we'll round up the beeves and continue to Santa Fe and north."

Sende and Hernan sat uneasy in their saddles. Christian watched the vaqueros spread out on the canyon floor, the tail riders still half a mile back along the thinning bulk of the herd passing him and the mestizo siblings. It would be several hours before the entire herd and most of the remuda filled the box canyon.

*

Aleya wiped the sweat from her brow. The damned corral posts taking the better part of the day from her. Her father was due for dinner along with her friend Rebecca, all come to help entertain Teven's wife Jessica. No burden there. To the contrary, Jessica was well read and possessed of many tales of exotic lands around the world. Places Aleya might never see. She released the canteen from her belt and removing its cap, drank deep.

The ranch outbuildings almost complete, pleasant sounds of carpenters at work caressed her ears. The thin, cool mountain air filled her lungs after the refreshing mouthfuls of water. She hesitated, fumbled the canteen, and looked back toward the outbuildings. Had someone called her name? She stood silent for a moment.

No. The hammer falls and rhythmic rasp of saw blades continued.

She secured the cap of her canteen and placed it on the ground.

Taking up the shovel from where it leaned against the previous post, she sighed and began to dig the next placement.

*

On his besieged mindscape, Van faced the skinwalker. It stood on the spirit form of the ranch land, four steps from Aleya as she worked, and a threat to both. Observed from the spirit realm, Aleya burned as a beacon in Van's heart and brought clarity to his mind as the diablero continued its possession of him.

"We control you, and all your kind, who are blinded to our world. Your fears are plain to us, they shine as bright as do your ancient souls."

Van balled his fist. The wraith assault in the Crimea, tales of Greek, Roman, and Celtic myths, Van knew a hidden world existed, and run from it to the New World. Fool he to think the same wouldn't be found in the Americas. Trouble followed all of his days.

"I've no greater fear than living this life, haunted by war and the likes of you."

The diablero grinned, waggled its finger, its eyes gleamed. "That is not your true fear."

*

Cristian watched the tail riders drive the final cattle into the canyon. To his left, Sende and Hernan waited with their cousin Marcos, waving the dust from their faces. On the far side of the narrow slope, which led into the canyon, the remaining vaqueros waited. The hundreds of cattle milled and grazed on the grasses below, unaware of the unnatural threat Christian suspected hid among them.

Christian waggled his hand at the wrist, signaled the party to ride out. As the vaqueros set out, Sende rode up beside him and a terrible wave of guilt, a pressure in his chest, caused Christian to slouch in his saddle. He raised his open hands, staring at them. "Come to America and live on the frontier, sure. Join the cattle run, it'll be an adventure." He sighed. "Idiot, I could be helping build the ranch."

The years spent painting the peoples of northern France at work in their lands, Christian supported himself working as a carpenter. He found he excelled at it and more, he enjoyed it. The insight it brought him improved his art and outlook. Still, when his older brother returned from war, Christian found himself drawn into Van's vision of starting anew.

Van, as much a brother to him as Teven. Like Teven, taken by the skinwalkers.

Minutes passed before Sende roused him from his thoughts. "If we lose the herd, you will have lost everything."

Christian stared past his hands, down into the broad canyon, his back to Sende. His leather gloves creaked as he balled his hands into tight fists. "Fuck those skinwalking bastards."