Chapter 3

  Silas kicked dirt over the coals and saddled Whisper. The mare's breath misted in the cold air.

  Time to find this ghost.

  He mounted Whisper and turned north, following the trail. The pines closed in around the trail, their massive trunks blocking out patches of sky. Whisper's hooves rang against stone where the path turned rocky.

  After two hours of climbing, Silas found the first sign of human presence. The remains of a campfire, carefully banked and scattered. Nearby, he discovered boot prints in a patch of soft earth.

  He dismounted and studied the site. The fire had been positioned for concealment. No unnecessary debris left behind. Even the horse droppings had been scattered.

  Whoever it was knew the wilderness.

  Beyond the old campsite, the trail forked. One path continued up the main ridge, wide enough for a horse. The other branched off into thicker forest, barely more than a game trail winding between towering evergreens.

  Which way would someone go if they wanted to disappear?

  Silas chose the narrower path. It led deeper into the forest. Whisper's ears constantly swiveled as they climbed higher, listening to the normal forest sounds, wind through branches, small animals in the underbrush, the distant call of birds.

  The trail wound around massive boulders and fallen logs, climbing steadily toward the high peaks. At each turn, Silas caught glimpses of the endless wilderness stretching in all directions.

  Then he found something that made him rein Whisper to a sharp halt.

  What the hell?

  Ahead, partially hidden by a fallen tree, metal glinted in the filtered sunlight. Silas dismounted and approached, rifle ready in his hands.

  It was a trap.

  Someone's been hunting bigger game.

  The trap had been sprung, steel jaws clamped shut on a massive paw. Coarse dark fur covered five fingers that ended in black claws. Like the one from Tom's shop.

  Same as the tracks at Henderson's place.

  The paw had been there for days, decomposing in the mountain air.

  Silas knelt beside the trap, studying it. Someone had modified it. Reinforced the spring mechanism and hammered silver spikes into the teeth. Silas sketched the trap and the caught paw in his notebook.

  Who set this? The ghost?

  A sound from the forest made him look up. Whisper was pulling against her tether, eyes rolling white with fear.

  Time to move.

  He mounted and continued up the trail, but the feeling of being watched intensified with each step.

  The path climbed through a series of switchbacks, rising toward a rocky clearing where the trees thinned enough to let in patches of weak sunlight. By the time he reached it, the sun was already touching the western peaks.

  Need to make camp soon. Don't want to be caught in the dark on these trails.

  As he scouted for a good campsite, something in the trees caught his eye. Pale against the dark pine bark, half-hidden behind a massive trunk.

  Silas dismounted and approached carefully, leading Whisper by the reins.

  It was a body. Or what was left of one.

  The man had been dead for weeks. Scavengers had been at him. Torn clothing hung from bones picked clean. A rifle lay nearby, the stock splintered. And all around the corpse, claw marks gouged deep into the surrounding trees.

  Poor bastard.

  Silas knelt beside the remains, studying them. The man's boots matched the prints he'd found at the old campsite. Same worn soles, same size.

  A leather pouch lay scattered nearby, its contents spilled across the pine needles. A few coins, some bullets, and a folded piece of paper. Silas picked up the paper.

  It was a letter, written in a shaky hand:

  "Mary - The stories are true. Found tracks, signs. If something happens, know I tried to make these mountains safe again. - Your loving husband, Jacob"

  Jacob. Had a wife waiting for him.

  Silas folded the letter and slipped it into his coat.

  The afternoon light was fading. Silas looked around the clearing, then back at Jacob's remains.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Can't stay here. But can't go much further either.

  He led Whisper to the far edge of the clearing and chose his spot carefully, good sightlines, his back to granite boulders, close enough to the stream for water.

  As he unsaddled Whisper. Birds called from the branches. Squirrels chattered in the pines. A woodpecker hammered somewhere in the distance.

  He built the flames higher than necessary. As full darkness settled over the mountains. The normal evening sounds grew quieter.

  Silas settled against a boulder with his rifle across his knees, coffee brewing over the flames.

  That's when he started to feel it. Eyes watching from beyond the firelight.

  Now something's out there.

  Minutes passed.

  Silas fed another branch to the fire. The flames leaped higher, pushing back the darkness. Whatever was watching stayed just beyond the light.

  Waiting.

  The crickets stopped and the owl went quiet.

  A twig snapped in the darkness. Then another. Closer.

  Footsteps coming from the darkness beyond the firelight.

  And then it walked into the light barely twenty yards away, it stood watching him.

  Dear God.

  It was massive - easily over six feet tall standing upright. Dark fur covered a frame part man, part wolf. Elongated head, mouth full of yellowed fangs.

  Head tilted, nostrils flaring.

  For several heartbeats, neither moved. Its ears swiveled constantly, listening for sounds. When it satisfied itself that Silas was alone, it took a step closer to the fire.

  It began circling slowly, staying just at the edge of the light. Silas tracked it with his rifle, but the dancing flames made aiming difficult. It moved in and out of the bright spots.

  Lips pulled back, baring yellowed fangs. Those yellow eyes studied him.

  Moving before Silas could blink, it launched itself across the fire, scattering burning logs and sparks. Silas got off one shot as it leaped.

  The bullet took it high in the shoulder, spinning it sideways as it landed.

  It rolled with the impact and came up snarling. Dark blood streamed from the wound. Silas levered another round and fired again, this shot catching it center mass as it charged. The bullet punched through fur and flesh.

  The creature was on him before he could work the lever again. Claws raked across his ribs as he threw himself sideways, rolling behind the granite boulder. He came up firing, putting three more rounds into its chest and stomach as it tried to follow.

  Bullets just piss it off.

  Dark blood splattered the rocks, black in the firelight. The creature's snarl turned to something like laughter.

  Silas worked the lever. The action jammed, brass casing stuck halfway out. He dropped the rifle and drew his revolver, backing further into the rocks as it stalked him through the scattered, dying flames.

  It moved slowly now, head tilted. Blood dripped from multiple wounds. Silas's gun hand shook harder under that unblinking stare.

  Silas fired twice more, both shots hitting center mass. It staggered but kept advancing through the dying light. Muscles bunched under blood-matted fur. Behind it, the last of the scattered logs flickered and died, plunging them into near-total darkness.

  Silas raised his revolver. Come on then. Let's finish this.

  A rifle cracked from beyond the camp.

  Stopping mid-charge, it looked down at the hole that appeared in its chest. Dark blood welled from the wound and kept flowing, not clotting like the other bullet holes.

  For a moment, the creature stood frozen in the dying firelight. Then it toppled backward, hitting the ground with a heavy thud that echoed across the clearing.

  Dead. One shot and it's dead.

  Silas kept his revolver trained on the motionless form.

  How?

  Footsteps crunched on pine needles. Someone approached from the forest. Silas turned toward the sound.

  A figure emerged from the forest, tall, lean, moving carefully through the shadows. In the faint glow of embers, Silas saw a weathered face and graying hair. The man carried a rifle that caught what little light remained, its metal surfaces gleaming dully.

  The man approached the dead creature, nudging it with his boot. "You hurt?"

  Silas holstered his revolver. "Scratched up some, but I'll live. Thanks to you."

  The stranger nodded and slung his rifle across his shoulder. "Don't thank me yet."

  "What kind of gun was that? My bullets barely slowed it down."

  "Kind that works." The man's gaze moved past Silas to the dark forest. "Heard the shooting from half a mile off. Pack'll smell blood soon. Move."

  Pack. There are more of them.

  Silas studied what he could see of the man's face in the dying firelight. "You're him. The ghost."

  The man's expression didn't change for a long moment. "Been called that before."

  "I've been looking for you. Marshal Silas Crow."

  "Territory man." The stranger walked toward the treeline. "Come asking about devils... nobody believes in."

  Silas hurried to keep pace. "Hard to deny them now. I've seen them and what they can do."

  "You ain't seen half of what they can do."

  "Maybe not. But I've seen Henderson's place. Read Pike's files. I know you've been fighting them."

  "Who's Pike?"

  "The sheriff. They killed him few nights back."

  "Another lawman dead."

  They moved through the darkness. The stranger led, Silas followed the sound of his footsteps.

  "Badges don't stop claws," the man said.

  They reached Whisper. The mare was pulling against her tether.

  "Smart horse," the stranger said. "Knows when to be afraid."

  A sharp whistle. Another horse appeared from the darkness, a big gray stallion.

  "Will you help me?" Silas asked.

  "Help you what?"

  "Help me stop them. You know how to kill these things. That puts you ahead of everyone else who's tried."

  The man was quiet for a long moment. "You got any idea what you're asking?"

  "I'm asking you to teach me what you know. So maybe the next family doesn't end up torn apart."

  The words hung in the air between them. When the stranger spoke again, his voice was rough.

  "We'll talk at my cabin. If you can make the ride."

  "I can make it."

  "We'll see." The man mounted his horse. "Stay close. Keep quiet. These mountains... they listen."

  Silas followed the soft sound of hoofbeats on stone and the occasional creak of leather. He could barely make out the stranger ahead of him. The trail wound upward through country he couldn't see.

  Behind them, the scent of blood spread through the forest.

  The pack would be coming soon.