Running-Deer cautiously circled the old house as she searched for any sign of her prey.
Clearly having still bled from his injuries, he should have stopped to care for himself; something else that white people often did, without much thought given to those who might otherwise have been hunting them down as they rested.
The town Sheriff would have called it a rule of finger.
She paused, mid-step, and almost kicked herself for having gotten it wrong as rule of thumb. While she'd gotten better at their language, the things white people often said in passing still made little or no sense on many occasion.
Dark empty windows looked back as she moved past.
She circled twice before she rediscovered her quarry's trail as it led off and away from safety of shelter.
This white man was proving more of a challenge than she would have otherwise expected from one of his kind.
Off in the distance another shot rang out, only to waste yet more ofhis precious ammunition; perhaps as evidence that his wounds had brought infection to his senses from loss of blood.
She could only hope.
As she moved toward the direction of the gunfire, she took one last look at the building behind her.
Something about the whole scene bothered her.
He should have stopped.
Why had he not? Even a white man would not have been entirely that stupid.
Angered at such distraction, she found focus and moved on.
In time the spirits would reveal what they would of this man once she caught up to him.
She smiled for the first time as she recalled the wording of various wanted posters that she'd seen posted on the walls of their office.
Dead or alive, one way or the other, in the end this white man would be hers for the taking.
She was sure of it.
YOU ARE READING
Welcome to the Weird Wild West. The streets here are dusty and lead often runs hot as the women are fast and the cards prove even faster. All around you there are people who are not as they appear and others who watch them. Supernatural and mortal...