January 2, 1874

They rode out in the pre-dawn frost to the hills beyond Stout’s Box X ranch; named so because of Stout’s cattle brand shaped like a Confederate battle flag. Ariko told Hunter about Stout’s sins against Rainwater. His men were rowdy and disrespectful of persons and property jeopardizing life and limb and Stout did nothing to rein them in. The straw that broke the camel’s back was when Ty and the wolves took over the mayor’s saloon—the Lucky Nine. A shootout ensued with a few townspeople injured and when a posse went out to the Box X, Stout refused to let them serve justice and another shootout ensued. From that moment on, Stout and his people were banned from Rainwater.

Additionally, many people had turned up missing from the area—mostly Blacks, Mexicans, and Natives—and though most suspected Stout and counted it as another mark against his name, it still wasn’t enough for authorities to pursue too urgently. They’d had their fill of Joe Stout and they weren’t willing to put themselves out on a limb for the type of people that were missing.

“He’s probably building up his corral of zombies and sparing some as playthings for his wolves to hunt and the Princess to feed on,” Ariko said.

“But why amass zombies here?” Hunter asked. “This isn’t the South where you need huge numbers of slaves to work the fields. This is cattle.”

“He needs them to attack my village,” Taak said. “You say he knows about us and where we are? In war it’s best to strike early and fast and in great numbers. This is what he’s doing.”

The low full moon rode the horizon over the Box X illuminating the main ranch compound of white post-and-plank box buildings arranged in a horseshoe off the main house as cattle grazed on the range beyond.

Among all this was a woman in a long black dress carrying a parasol taking a nighttime stroll.

“That must be Princess Junko,” Ariko said looking through a spyglass. “She doesn’t want the sun to catch her by surprise.”

Spread around the ranch were several full wagons and palettes of items covered in tarps looking like they were ready to move. “Looks like we caught him in the midst of moving,” said Taak whose eyes were able to pierce the dim distance in perfect clarity on their own.

“I’d wager that now he knows about your village, that’s where he’s heading,” Hunter said.

Taak acknowledged with a nodding grunt.

Then somewhere out on the range, two pistol shots rang out causing a stirring on the far end of the herd. “That herd might stampede soon,” Hunter said. Then a howl went up first from one side of the herd and then from another and then another. “That must be Ty Boyd and his wolves.”

Ariko put down her spyglass and turned to Hunter. “Why would they be stampeding the herd?”

“They’re not,” Hunter replied. “They’re trying to stop it. Someone else is out there.”

The escalating howls turned into barks as the herd began to shift toward the main compound picking up speed as it went. Stirring people lit up the compound below and a warning bell rang.

“Now we know what put Stout into the open desert,” Hunter said.

Ariko was glued to her spyglass in fascination. “And there is no way Rainwater is going to allow him any refuge.”

“We should ride now and take advantage of this chaos,” Hunter said.

Taak nodded but Ariko had reservations. “I need to make sure the Princess is safe,” she said. “The sun is about to rise.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“Okay. Tend to yours,” Hunter said. “In fact, since he knows what you can do, he’ll want to kill you most of all. It might be best for you to stay out of his sight. Just don’t hold back from using your powers if things look bad for me and Taak.”

“Okay,” she said. “When and where do we meet if it comes to that?”

“Stout moved his whole operation here from Omaha around the middle of 1871,” Hunter said. “That puts him far enough away from Taak’s people to buy us all some time. We can meet there.”

Ariko nodded.

The sun was starting to rise as the cattle slammed into the ranch in a dust cloud of destruction. A fortunate few were able to get out of the way of the stampede on horses, but the herd jostled and broke the simple wooden structures others tried to climb and most who did were trampled.

From a distance Hunter saw Junko sans parasol smoking and charring in the rising sun huddling behind the remains of a post. Riding parallel with the herd, he snatched a tarp off one of the palettes and dove off his horse tackling Junko with it. “You’re safe,” he said through the cloth. “But I will tell you this: I’ve seen the future with Ariko. You know she can do that. And Stout doesn’t love you. He isn’t capable of loving anyone. In less than six months he’ll sacrifice you for gold.” He got no response from under the tarp. “Stay put.”

The stampede was starting to thin out and he stood up to see a Black man on a horse towing a small covered cart and wearing a marshal’s badge destroying anything left intact by throwing sticks of dynamite lit on his hefty cigar. Who is this! he asked himself impressed at the amount of ruination this man had wrought upon Stout in just a few minutes’ time.

“Dammit!” he heard Stout exclaim off to his left when taking in all the devastation. “Ah was so busy packin’ up and lookin’ fer tha Jap, tha savage, n’ tha cowboy that I fergot this was tha day that negra destroyed mah damn ranch.”

The marshal threw a stick of dynamite at Stout who dove out of the way to avoid the time and inconvenience of reassembling himself. Hunter watched and began to shout a warning as a man set upon the marshal but before Hunter could get the words out, the marshal turned around like a flash and caught his attacker in midair by the throat throwing him through a section of remaining wall followed by a stick of dynamite causing the man to burst into a fine red cloud settling down upon a maroon splotch on the ground.

Then the werewolves—claws and fangs not fully receded in the rising sun—attacked the marshal from the back with one biting him on the shoulder. Hunter jumped in to help and a silver bullet from Taak galloping in with his Joslyn rifle decapitated the one on the marshal’s back. Taak sped in and leapt from his mount blasting the shoulder off another wolf with his wendigo tomahawk.

Hunter was busy trying to sink a silver-plated knife he had improvised last night into Ty but he was pleased to see that the marshal was holding his own shattering a werewolf’s arm barehanded. Then he looked around a moment later and the marshal was gone.

“Where is she, Stout!” the marshal shouted as the two closed on each other.

“Yah poor dead mutha?” Stout said with a satisfied sneer. “Ah had mah handlahs take tha zombays out ta tha desut ta attack an injun village then Ah’m gonna play catchup. You c’n have ‘er back when Ah’m done.”

The Marshal ran at Stout shouting and drew a huge Bowie knife.

Stout laughed. “Ya couldn’t best me when I owned ya and ya couldn’t best me at Furt Wagnur in Charlestun in yer fancy Yankee monkeh suit and ya won’t best me now!”

The two clashed and locked with the marshal overpowering Stout and cutting his throat to the spine.

Even with the werewolves’ strength waning in the rising sun, Hunter fought to wrest his knife from Ty while worrying for Taak who was spent and getting savagely mauled in spite of his leather forearm bracers and jacket made from the impenetrable skin of the uncegila serpent. Without them he would be dead. Even in human form, a werewolf’s jaws were still strong enough to crack bone. But then with one loud bang! the werewolf fell dead to the ground beside Taak. Ty saw that the marshal had fired the shot and tried to run and got a silver bullet in the back.

“Akay Durant,” the marshal said extending two solid hands to help up Hunter and Taak.

“Hunter.”

“Taak.”

“Where’s Joe Stout,” Hunter asked with urgency in his voice.

“I killed him before coming to help you,” Akay said.

“No. He’s not dead,” Hunter said with wide eyes.

“Well, yer raht about that,” Stout said from behind them now standing on the small cart the marshal had brought with him, tarp removed to reveal a gatling gun. He laughed before letting loose and blasting them to pieces.

While Hunter lay on the ground recovering, Stout came out from behind the Gatling gun and hopped off the cart breathing hard from the excitement with a smile and manic look in his eye. Savoring the moment, he drew his LeMat revolver and judiciously fired all nine rounds in the cylinder and the twenty-gauge round in the second barrel as he advanced taking four fingers, a hand, the top of the left foot and an eye.

Then he leaned down close to Hunter and took out his suicide injector. “Ah’m gonna do what ah shoulda done fawty yeahs ago,” he said as the nanomachines flooded into Hunter’s neck.