of slurred cursing. They rose in pitch until the roar of a 12-gauge cut them off. The shot echoed in the street, causing a few to duck for cover, and Jack knew Mart Duggan and his on-duty deputies would soon arrive to break up the fight. As a lawman, he knew he should fetch the marshal himself, even if he was off-duty. It was his responsibility and might earn him another free drink from the bartender. Had it been any other night, he might have done just that. Duggan could probably use another hand in keeping the rowdy miners under control. Still, that's what he had the on-duty deputies for. Let them deal with the situation.
He had somewhere else to be tonight.
His boots crunched through the dirty snow, leaving footprints in a straight line away from the Pioneer. He wondered how many times he'd left a sober trail from the saloon since he and the marshal found that clearing. No more than the fingers on one hand could count, he was sure.
The thought of what Cora Oglesby had said about the monster wouldn't leave his mind. She seemed sure of herself, and was probably as good a shot as she claimed to be. If she, a self-proclaimed expert at dealing with monsters, could be bested by this one, what chance did the rest of them have?
He glanced over his shoulder, more in response to his thoughts than to any sound or sense of danger. The street behind him stretched out into the shadows of the night. Lanterns and candlelit windows floated in the darkness, strongholds of warmth in the cold expanse. He imagined the creature watching from its mountain. To those hungry eyes, the town would shimmer like a glowing feast in the dark night. It was a wonder it hadn't started making a habit of preying on lonely men wandering the streets.
Men like him.
His pace quickened as he tried to put thoughts of the monster out of his mind. Cora Oglesby had told them she would take care of it, and he had no choice but to trust her. She was gone now, though. Off on a train ride up to Denver with her husband. It occurred to him that he'd never actually met the man married to such an unusual woman. He would have thought that her husband would have been as loud as she was, but maybe he was the quiet one of the pair. Jack couldn't figure out how that would work for a married couple, but he'd never been married himself, so he couldn't call himself an authority on the subject.
The thought of marriage put a bit of a bounce in his step. He was on his way to visit the girl he intended to marry one day, and maybe tonight would be the night he would win her over. He had stayed out of the Pioneer because he knew she didn't take to the smell of whiskey on a man's breath. Staying sober was a strain, especially with the thoughts of Leadville's local terror running through his mind, but she was worth it.
Annabelle Rose. He whispered her name, enjoying how it felt on his tongue. He could picture her bright blue eyes looking his way, a smile on her lips. Honey-colored hair spilled down around her face in gentle waves. Her cheeks would be flushed, their red blossoms standing out against the creamy whiteness of her skin like the sunrise peeking over the mountains. She would say his name in her soft voice, extending a small hand for him to kiss.
Yellow lamplight spilled across the snow on his boots. His thoughts of Annabelle had carried him all the way to her. He adjusted his hat and smoothed down his mustache, planning out what he would say in his head. His nervous hands, having made him as presentable as they could, began fingering the bullets in his belt. Taking a deep breath, he tried to stop them from shaking and reached to open the front door of the Purdy, one of Leadville's finest brothels.
A rush of warm air enveloped him, carrying the scent of flowers and the plinking of another piano. Red carpet flowed up the central staircase of the house like a trail of rose petals. Elsewhere, the floor's polished shine reflected light from dozens of candles hanging in ornate candelabras. Around the room, paintings of gray-haired men watched him from the walls. Jack had never taken to such paintings himself, but most people