Day Long surveyed the lay of the land. He and Nathan squatted in a cluster of pygmy junipers, concealed from view, on a low escarpment above the farm. Stunted pinyon pines rose behind them. Carrion birds circled above. Below, the scene of slaughter around the farm buildings was clear even at their distant vantage.

Nathan slapped the ground. “This is a bad box, a damned bag of nails.”

His fists clenched, Day Long spat. “They been dry gulched. Best we take care.”

Having returned to their horses, the scouts led the animals with due caution, on the approach to the farm. They passed a dead Comanche stallion and closer to the farm, four dead warriors.

Day Long crouched and studied the ground. Between two of the slain warriors lay a pistol—Teven’s. He passed the weapon to Nathan as the blonde scout spied the newly dug graves within the farm.

“Look.” Nathan pointed.

Day Long nodded. “Bone orchard.”

Standing beside the graves, Day Long rubbed his chin. “That be Van an’ Teven, old Catholic Semos for sure, what likely put the owners of this here place to their final rest.”

Nathan scanned the farm. “Comanche must have killed the grangers and returned when Van and the others rode in.”

“Or hid out there an’ waited.”

“No, that's more like the Apache.” He pointed at the dead warriors around them. “Those ain't Apache.”

Day Long took the reins of his grulla. “You see anything else?”

Nathan grimaced. “No. All seems to have happened beyond them outbuildings.”

“So they took their horses. We've only seen the one. Where'd they go? Who took ‘em?”

“Comanche.” Nathan gestured at the bodies as if it was obvious. He shrugged. It was fairly obvious. “Van’s as likely to catch a Tartar.”

Day Long shook his head. “Sure Van and Lord Gray coulda cleaned their plows. Killed ‘em all.” He extended his arm, knelt by a fallen Comanche, and pointed at a long welt that opened into a split in the skin of the warrior's body. “Look here, see? Slash of Van's black snake on this one.” He stood and pointed at another body. “And that one. Teven put down a few. Wounds are clear as day.”

Nathan sighed.

Day Long continued. “Now, those four by the dead horse we passed, they don't look like they died the same way.”

Nathan raised an eyebrow.

“There's plenty of blood soaked into the ground and dried on the sage.” Day Long added.

“Saw that.”

Day Long thrust his thumb over his shoulder. “Only shod tracks I seen are riding in. Maybe some older unshod ones riding out. Comanche as like. When they killed the grangers.” His arm swung around toward the makeshift cemetery.

Nathan rubbed the back of his neck. “Except for the spore around the dead horse and four Comanche out there. Unshod, but riding in then back out. Lack of horseshoes suggests Indians.”

Day Long mounted his grulla. “We follow the trail left by whoever else done showed up.”

Nathan heaved himself up onto his saddle. “Do we wait for the sun?”

“Can't. We follow the spore best we can. Herd will be well past us, the longer we take. Young Har will be fit to boil over.” He paused and grinned. “What's a matter Silver Hair, can't come it? You ain't no shave tail, so don't be a croaker.”

“Of course we can do it.” Nathan pouted. He gave a dismissive wave of his hand at the Black Seminole and kicked his mount into a canter.

*

Christian sat hunched in his saddle, rocked by the gentle sway of his gelding. Marcos rode twenty feet to his right. The drive continued at a steady pace in an eastward journey. The natural course of the valleys and canyons between broken mesas and escarpments channeled the herd. The younger Har brother was blind to the natural beauty surrounding him. He thought only of Teven. Had Apache attacked? Where else could he and Van be? Was Juan Semos loyal or did the old Mexican betray them to the Gasentos?

Sende.

The remuda followed parallel to the herd at a safe distance from the ill-tempered longhorns. Christian stared back through the dust raised by the passage of the cattle, lessened by the thicker growth of grasses and brush along the wide plain. He glanced at Marcos and motioned his intent, turning away, toward the north and the spare horses.

Sende rode near the head of the remuda, between it and the herd. Two vaqueros assisted to the far side and rear. She looked over as Christian galloped in a circle to ride parallel with her, three feet to her side. He spoke almost at a yell. “The hell’s goin’ on?”

“Going on?” She cast her head about, confused. “The remuda are in order, Mr. Har.”

“Not talking about the horses.” Christian waved his hand. “You and your lot tryin’ to pull a scoop on us?”

“A scoop?”

“Lyin’ about runnin’ from the Gasento family. Or maybe you’re tellin’ half-truths and hope sellin’ the herd is a way out. Maybe move clear to California. Someplace far from the slaver bastards.”

“We aren't working with the Gasentos. We are working for Señor Van.” Sende smiled. “I have heard Señor Long call your brother Lord of the Gray. Have your family not owned slaves?”

“Our name means ‘gray’. We've not owned slaves that I know of. Servants certainly in older times. Our family is well off, true.”

“So why are you here?”

“Something new. I couldn't make my own name in the Old World.”

“And Señor Long?”

Christian laughed. “Señor Loco? What of him?”

“Was he not an African slave?”

That gave Christian pause. “I don't know. I'm not sure if he's part Seminole or among those what found sanctuary among them in the ever barrens of South Florida.”

They rode in silence.

Sende spoke first. “My side of the family are the people your kind call Apache. Apache and Zuni. Slaves bought or captured by the Gasento Family long ago.”

“And the Semos name?”

Spanish settlers? Peasants. Tenant farmers indebted to the Gasentos? I don't know. They stole that from us too. Our history, our identity.”

During Spanish rule, land grants, as concessions from the Spanish crown, granted settlement and grazing rights on vast tracts of land, while retaining title with the crown. The Gasento family established their rancho in Nuevo Mexico, focused on cattle, with mining north, investigating mineral deposits in the Zuni Mountains. Their small tract was granted after their role in the clearing of Apache from the region, earning further land grants after the Spanish Reconquest of New Mexico from the Pueblo tribes fifty years later, in 1693.

The Spanish surrounded Santa Fe and called on the tribes to surrender, promising clemency if they would swear allegiance to the King of Spain and return to the Christian faith. Don Gregorio de Gasento contributed additional men to the Spanish forces and retained a place of power in the region until recent decades and the sale of lands to the United States.

Christian studied the young woman. Sende was on the run, just like Van. What did that say about those that followed him?

*

Day Long threw his fist up, his elbow bent. Both scouts came to an immediate stop. The ears of their horses twitched. Nathan's gelding blew through its nostrils. The blonde scout looked at Day Long.

The horses bucked as Van and Teven emerged from a thick cluster of junipers, their clothes bloodied and torn.

“Van!” Nathan spurred his mount forward. Day Long shifted in his saddle.

Van glanced back at Teven and the two men sat on the ground, appearing winded and relieved.

“Got any water?” Van said.

Nathan loosed his canteen from his saddle gear and tossed it to Van.

Day Long watched as Van drank deeply before passing the canteen to Teven.

“Comanche attacked.” Van said.

Nathan slid down from his horse. “This far west?”

“Panateka.”

Day Long laughed. “Those are the Honey Eaters clan, well dang, fancy you of all people crossin’ paths with yer own kind.”

Van frowned back, confused.

Nathan raised his palm in a questioning gesture. “Señor Semos?”

Van shrugged. “Comanche took him, we'll get him back.”

Day Long cocked an eyebrow.

Van and Teven exchanged glances.

Day Long touched at a foxhead totem worn on rawhide around his neck. “Come on honey man, what's that nickname Aleya calls you?” He gestured at Teven. “Huh, Lord Gray, you know it.”

Van glanced at Teven. “We've no time for this. As we said, the Comanche are about and they have Juan. If we drive north, we can avoid them.”

Nathan frowned. “After we find Juan Semos.”

Van nodded. “Yes, of course. If we can. Come now, we'll have to share the horses.”

Van and Teven stared at the two scouts with their eyes focused.

Day Long spat, drawing his axe. “Aw hell, shapeshifters! I hate me some skinwalkers, brethren!”

Nathan whirled around. “What now? Shapeshifters?”

Day Long grimaced. “Simon pure, brethren. Think on it. Van takin’ a swig of water before ol’ Lord Gray? Come now, Silver Hair, no way in hell. Van would go without before ever takin’ a swig first.”

Nathan stared at Day Long.

Van and Teven stood, their eyes locked on the scouts.

Day Long scoffed. “The hell they starin’ at us for? Silent as all hell. I'll tell you, they're tryin’ to get in our heads.”

Nathan lay his hand on the butt of his repeater in its saddle sheathe. “So how do we kill them?”

“What? I don't know.”

Nathan frowned. “You're the one always going on about the owl men. The stinky?”

Day Long shot a withering glance at the blonde scout. “Stikini witches are real.”

Nathan flapped his hand toward Van and Teven. “They're all real.”

Day Long turned to study Van and Teven. Where they shapeshifters? “They might be possessed.” He looked directly at the possible doppelganger of Van.

The false Van locked eyes with the Seminole scout and Day Long was transfixed. Nathan watched as the body of Van collapsed and Day Long began to convulse. The Seminole scout fell from his mount and landed with a heavy thud, seized by fierce spasms.

The geldings bolted as Nathan switched his gaze to the second shapeshifter’s feet. The false body of Van, now a pile of blood, flesh, and fur lay beside the creature. In his effort to avoid eye contact and keep his distance from the shapeshifter, Nathan noticed the false Teven watched Day Long with a confused expression.

There was silence as Day Long grew still.

The first shapeshifter erupted from Day Long with a pitched scream of agony. Black, web-like strands stretched between the Seminole and the slick, naked body of the beast. In a final death rattle, its screech ended as the creature collapsed. In a flurry of disgust, Day Long swept his hands over his torso to pull away the remaining black strands.

Nathan returned his eyes to the remaining doppelganger’s feet. “Well hell, I know some nasty things come out of you, but that takes the cake. I think your foul innards done killed the thing.”

Day Long laughed, taunting the remaining, shaken, shapeshifter. “You tryin’ to get inside our heads?” He tapped his temple. “There's nothin’ but dirty thoughts in here!”

The creature avoided his gaze.

“Come on brethren!” Day Long turned and slapped his ass. “You want some of this?”

False Teven stepped back, hesitant.

Day Long whirled around and charged the beast. The creature slashed in defense as the Seminole batted its extended claws aside with his axe. Day Long gripped the false Teven and was face to face with the creature. “You gonna possess me? Come on inside, bitch.”

The shapeshifter pulled back its head and stared skyward.

Nathan, shocked, his volcanic repeater raised, watched wide-eyed. “What are you doing? Get out of the way. Let's shoot it in the head, an’ be done!”

“No bullet or blade made by man is enough to kill a skinwalker.”

“Say the Navajo.”

Day Long cursed. “And I'm inclined to believe ‘em.”

The shapeshifter sunk its claws into Day Long and the Seminole winced.

With a guttural snarl, the shapeshifter hefted Day Long above its head and threw him thirty feet to land with a sickening crack.

Nathan emptied his volcanic repeater into the false Teven’s face and chest, tearing holes in Teven’s former clothes and little else.

Retreating toward Day Long, Nathan fumbled with the caseless ammo and reloaded what bullets didn't fall from his hands as his adrenaline spiked and the shapeshifter sped toward the two scouts.

Nathan kicked Day Long. “Wake up, we gotta go!”

The shifter slammed into Nathan, both rolled past the unconscious Day Long into a bramble of juniper and rabbitbrush. The blonde scout flung his fist and struck the false Teven in the cheek.

“You're not fit to wear that face!”

The shifter responded with force which sent Nathan twisting up into the air, landing some ten feet away.

Winded and dazed, Nathan shook his head and struggled to draw air into his chest—the shifter already closing the gulf between them. The beast might be afraid of possessing Day Long, but was intent on Nathan, with the goal to weaken and perhaps knock him out. Unconscious, what resistance then?

Nathan punched the ground. Something killed the shapeshifter that entered Day Long, and whatever it was that killed the creature, Nathan did not have it. His vision doubled and darkness closed in from the edge. As the creature lunged, Nathan glimpsed movement behind the shifter as a voice called out, cold and wrathful.

“Emilio Roca Fuerte Vargos.”

The creature shuddered and fell, its false form of Teven shifted to the beast’s true face, a mestizo male, olive skinned with black hair, in his twenties. Day Long grinned and sank his axe into the shapeshifter’s skull.

Rolling away from the gore and yellow, puss-like blood of the shifter, Nathan sat up and tossed his arms around in utter confusion. His face contorted. Stunned. “What did you just do? What was that black string shit that came out of you earlier?”

“Outta me? Hells it was!”

Nathan held his head with both hands, elbows out. “Skinwalkers, damn if you killed them both.”

Day Long jerked his axe free. “That thing, the other one.” Drops of blood flew from the weapon as he gestured to the remains of the first fallen shapeshifter. “When it was in me. I remember. I know what it knew. I know its true name.”

“You know what it knew? In all of a few moments?”

“Some. I know both their true names. It turns ‘em back inta men.” Day Long shook the axe with abrupt jerks and wiped the blade. He harrumphed. The blood was now as red as any. He turned his head, almost owl-like, a broad grin bunched his cheeks. “And I know where Van and Teven are.”