Coyotes & Curves (3 page)

Red knows someday he’ll walk away from here…alone.

“What’s that?” Bob asks, looking up from the wound he’s been nursing with long strokes of his tongue; making sure to clean it well. Even small pokes from a prickly cactus could turn your leg into a gangrene mess if you left it dirty; allowing it to fester up.

Several packs have run thin over the years, due to injured animals who neglect taking care of the little things. Although this was a close call, and really just a good grazing, Bob will lucky if it doesn’t leave him limping around on three legs for the rest of his days.

The shaking becomes stronger, and all heads turn towards the two windows, as the building rattles the glass; nearly bringing it out of the pane.

“Well boys – the Cavalry has arrived,” Red sneers. His lip is raised exposing his teeth and a low growl rumbles out –the hairs rise on the backs of everyone present inside of the room – except the stranger; who stands tall and erect in the corner of the room surveying the situation— his duster pulled to the side, exposing the big iron pistol hanging at his side.

Coolly he puts the finishing touches on a rollie cigarette, with a lick from along tongue, before striking a match and lighting the skinny smoke. “I think I’ll wait outside,” he states. “You boys look like you have private business to attend to.” He pushes himself off of the wall and heads for the door as the room watches, silently.

“Danny, Bob, you get out too… and one of you go find Alistair. Tell him to get his weasel ass over here,” Red commands.

The three men exit the room, and Danny makes his way across the dirt road in search of the mayor; who is most likely having an afternoon drink in the saloon. Jake, the apparent new edition to the crew, having survived his initial meeting with the sheriff, stands next to the door; and Bob occupies the lone seat that Red vacated earlier.

The Cavalry arrives in a cloud of dust making Bob and Jake both fan the air and cover their faces; attempting to keep the dirt from filling their suffocating nostrils.

The first man off of his horse is a shifter, Old Bob knows well; Major Kearney of the U.S. Calvary. And following him are twenty men; including his second in command, Lieutenant Malcolm Dunn – Both men are Badgers; and known for their extreme anger, and unbridled fits of rage.

All of the men following the Major have been hand selected from some of the most influential and highest ranking families of the East Coast Shifters – Some with linage from the old countries – as far away as the Middle East and beyond – Hundreds and even thousands of years in the making.

The short stocky Major’s spurs jingle loudly as he stomps across the wooden boards with the air of a man twice his size –
because the fight of the animal within him is
. The Major’s been witnessed in battle; ripping a man’s throat out with his bare hands. Some had claimed to have seen him actually biting at the throat of an enemy – this later being sighted as hallucinations brought on by battle fatigue. Whatever it was, he was a monster. However, most people saw him as an evil necessity, including the higher shifters located in Washington; who believed he would be the perfect man to remove the Indians from the lands containing their precious Gold fields… and the miners; who will be replaced by shifter loyalist working the mines –supplying money for
The Cause.

Kearney is the man charged with removing anyone who stands in the way, and he intends to get the job done.

“Where the hell is that boss of yours!?” he screams, kicking the chair out from under Bob, who tumbles to the ground; half shifting quick enough to regains his feet before turning back– a hatred glow to his yellow eyes.

“Got Dern, Major, why’d you go and do that fer?” he mummers, slapping dust from his britches. “He’s inside.”

Before the words finish leaving Bob’s mouth, Kearney is in the room with his Lieutenant, following close behind. The two men enter the room swiftly, slamming the door closed behind them.

Red and Jasper are ready and the four men face off – circling in the center of the room, glaring, sniffing, and lightly clawing at the floor; all fighting the urge to turn, as the hairs stand upon their backs and they fight the
beasts
within. They slow, with growling becoming squealing, and yelps followed by long sniffs; in efforts to read the others actions and intent… Red and Jasper slowly acquiesce, falling into a slightly submissive stance – Red being more on the defensive; sensing the old Badgers need for blood.

WASHINGTON D.C.

The High Shifter Council of North America

(Six Months Earlier)

“Kearney is our man, and he proved that with the Sand Creek Indian campaign!” An older gentleman growls; his white wig nearly falling from his head, which he straightens and continues on, with exposed fangs; fighting the urge to turn and settle it in animal form, “And, he’ll be the man to see this job gets done, also!”

“The Sand Creek campaign?” another contorts. “That was nothing more than an innocent slaughter of women and children,” the man adds with a look of disgust upon his face – the truth being told.

500 Native Americans – mostly women, and children – were massacred by the Major and his troops, that day. When confronted with the fact, that only a handful of shifters were found to be among the dead, and that the rest were considered innocents; Kearney only replied with, ‘There is No Innocents left in the World – only death to those who oppose the will of the council.’…

In the end it was decided that, Major Daniel J. Kearney would indeed be the man to remove the Indians and Miners from the newly discovered gold fields of the western territories.

~

“Well, that was quite an entrance, Major,” Red announces, walking to his chair and seating himself. Jasper follows, standing behind his bosses left shoulder – thumbs tucked into the front of his belt buckle, and nervously rolling his tongue around the inside of his mouth; forcing his lower lip out.

“Where’s that little shit bird? I told you to have him here.” The Major inquires roughly – His disdain for the weasel shift.

“Relax, he’s on his way,” Red speaks calmly; testing the old man’s patience – who paces quickly around the room – Calm, not being one his assets.

“Does he have them signed?”

“I’m sure he does,” Red assures – speaking of the deeds to all of the local mines; that Red and his men have acquired over the last few months… by any means necessary – most being the outright murder and forged signatures of such deeds, making the Council the owner of all productive claims; under an assumed named business, associated with the local Railroad.

“He better have – You’ve had long enough… and what about the girl?”

“Don’t worry, she’s with the tribe – Just like you said she would be.”

“You’re positive – it was her, for sure?” The Major asks, stopping to study Red’s face.

“Seen her with my own eyes – Close enough to taste her,” he adds, with a raised eyebrow and a devious smile; and seeing the questioning look on the Major’s face; he continues, “Spotted her walking about a mile from their camp.”

“And you didn’t grab her!” The Major yells, infuriated, the man would let such a prize slip through his hands.

“Nobody told me to grab her! – you said find her, not get her.”

“You stupid son of a bitch – the girl is the key! She’s the bait that will bring HIM out of hiding!”

WASHINGTON D.C.

The High Shifter Council of North America

(Six Months Earlier)

When the council first heard of
Mother Earth
, they had high hopes that she would follow them; and convince all of her followers to do likewise – But it didn’t happened that way. She outright refused them, stating, “Humans have just as much right to live on this planet as we do.” And when asked to at least, stop allowing humans to control their animals within, or even completely denying them as Skin Walkers all together… Her final answer was “NO.” leaving the council with no alternative other than, a complete removal of all changelings not loyal to the achievement of global dominance by the Shifter entity.

However Mother Nature proved to be a formidable opponent – she obstructed the movement, by empowering the indigenous people with shifter abilities and protection from harm; by using the sacred herds of Buffalo shifters – The Largest land massed shifter herds on the planet; and loyal to the Mother and her material essence… the great shifter,
Sogwili Wa’Toli.

The High Shifter Council seers had foretold of a girl who will come in the form of a White Buffalo, and lead her people to freedom.

“The mother of this girl – Must not be allowed to live – her name is Little Deer. Find her, and destroy her.”…

~

Red’s jaw is slackened, realizing his mistake at not taking the girl when he had the chance…But the girl was human. “She didn’t smell like a changeling to me,” Red announces; pondering how the girl figures in with the buffalo.

“She’s not!” Kearney screams… “But he is,” the major continues, deep in thought.

“Who’s he?” Red asks. But he doesn’t need to be answered; he’s heard the legends of Sogwili Wa’toli; and knows he’s the father of the legendary White bovine savior.

“It doesn’t matter! Just get the girl, before she leaves with the herds of buffalo.” Kearney demands; trying to silence Red, who continues pressing on.

“Have you tried negotiating with the herds? Maybe, they’ll work with us, and move along. The tribes will follow. All we’d have to do then is remove the miners – and, that’s all been taken care of… Right, Jasper?” Red sneers.

“That’s right, Major,” the slim cowboy acknowledges. “Took care of it; personally.”

The Major looks at the ill looking shifter with a look of distain – stopping the man from trying to impress him; any further.

“There will be no more negotiating – the Hunters are coming in; and the entire herd…dies,” he finishes with a smile.

“What!” Red questions loudly; surprised by the major’s proclamation. His skin crawls as the hairs rise upon his backbone; bristling against the inside of his shirt – Long nails retract back as Red desperately tries to calm himself. The major is prodding at him – goading him on and looking for a reaction. “Listen, Kearney – I had a good thing going here, before you and your men came along. You asked me to run off the miners, and I did. You told me to find the tribe, and I did. You want me to get rid of the girl, I will. But why kill off the whole herd? Let’s get the girl and call it a day.”

“What’s wrong, Red? You’re not going soft on me, are ya’?”

“The buffalo are the sustenance of the plains, Kearney – Without them, most of the plains inhabitants will suffer...or die,” he adds, unable to hide his disapproval.

“Exactly,” Major Kearney agrees, smiling.

“Soft, doesn’t have anything to do with it,” Red adds…

~

MANY MOONS AGO

It was early morning when the invaders struck the camp; moving through swiftly and cutting down the entire population in less than a half an hour. The Indian scouts had moved in first, scattering the horses, followed closely by the Cavalry brandishing curved swords and firing pistols; indiscriminately killing everyone they encountered. Bodies lie everywhere, tore to pieces and covered in blood; with buzzards moving in as the Evil ones began returning from whence they came – leaving only a few Indian scouts, with orders to kill any survivors.

The young boy was in shock, huddling closely to the, once beautiful, but now mangled body of his mother – lying dead before him – a sabre’s slash exposing her guts, which spill onto the ground into a pool of twisted intestines. The Indian toddler, on hands and knees, cries loudly – his wails becoming howls, as he shifts into a coyote cub – crying and yelping about, grieving over his mother’s lifeless body.

A lone Indian scout—having witnessed the boy turning— shouts frantically, waving his arms and dismounting his horse; intensely, frightened by the small ghostly entity. Quickly, he begins hurling multiple stones at the small cub. Hitting it abruptly, making it squeal; and chasing it away from the dead woman’s body and into the thick scrubby oaks surrounding the Indian camp – making sure it’s cleared out of sight, he remounts his horse and rides off in a gallop with dirt flying up from the hoofs of his bolting horse as they disappear from sight.

Alone the toddler waited for hours, thinking surely someone would return for him. But they never did. And so he wondered off alone; whimpering and crying as made his way into the darkness of an unknown world full of mystery and fraught with dangerous perils at every turn. He walked until his body could no longer travel; his muscle too weak from lack of food and water, and his mind becoming delirious and slowly succumbing to the animal inside – he lied on the ground and fell asleep.

“Awake, young Quan-tah.” The voice was deep and powerful, resonating inside of the boy; startling him into consciousness – his eyes opening, hoping to see the powerful square jaw of his father – But the face is not that of his father. It’s a large buffalo; who straddles over the tiny boy cub, staring down intently through large shiny black orbs. His mane is ruffled and matted, hanging loosely around a huge face; and a squared, black nose—wet and moist— sniffs with nostrils flaring.

“Me Quan-tah,” the toddler speaks, poking a small finger to his naked chest. His lips are parched and cracked, and his body covered with red scratches and small streaks of dried blood; coming from the hours spent alone traversing over the plains in the dark of the night (His little soul unknowingly shifting from the body of a less than three your old human, to that of a small coyote cub throughout the night in an attempt to survive.)

“Yes, little one, you are. And I am Sogwili Wa’Toli,” he spoke, slowly; filling the boy with the wisdom of a thousand years…