Then, just as the hunter and her mount rode into range, black fingers struck the deputy's upheld hand, and the torch flew out of his grasp. It sailed end-overend through the falling snow before landing in a nearby drift. The wendigo wailed in anger and lunged at the lawman, knocking him to the ground. Cora heard a terrified shout from beneath the sinewy body as man and monster wrestled. She brought Our Lady to a halt and raised the revolver. The man's cries rang in her ears, but she pushed them away. If she missed, those cries would be his last.
The Colt leapt in her hands. A piercing shriek filled the air as emaciated limbs recoiled in pain. The monster wheeled around to face her, eyes blazing. Cora pulled back the hammer and fired again. The sacred bullet missed its mark as the wendigo leapt at her in a blind fury, mouth open, fingers grasping. Her third shot caught it in the shoulder, but the impact wasn't enough to stop it from crashing into her. Our Lady of Virginia screamed in terror as they fell beneath the monster's weight.
Cora managed to get her boots clear of the stirrups before the mare went down. Our Lady let out another whinnying cry, righted herself, and bolted into the night. Coming to rest with her boots beneath her, Cora realized her hands were empty. The wound in the wendigo's shoulder belched a thick grey smoke into the winter air. It struggled to get the wounded arm beneath it, to put weight on it and attack her again, but the limb seemed useless. Air hissed between its teeth as it floundered in the snow.
Taking advantage of the monster's pain and confusion, Cora searched frantically for her fallen revolver. Snow flew in her face from the wendigo's flailing limbs. She ducked under the sweep of a twisted arm, then jumped over a kicking leg. As she landed on her hands and knees, her fingers felt the butt of her Winchester. It must have fallen out of the saddle scabbard before Our Lady of Virginia ran off. Cora picked up the rifle and turned toward the wounded monster. The gunshots drowned out the eerie wailing pouring from the blackened lips. She pumped round after round into the living corpse, emptying her magazine. Once the rifle started clicking, she flipped it around, gripping the barrel in her gloved hands. She waited until the wendigo's yellow eyes turned toward her again, then swung with all her might.
She heard the crunching of bone as the stock buried itself in the blackness where Jules Bartlett's nose had been. The wendigo jerked its head backward, wrenching the Winchester's barrel from her hands. Rising to its full height, the creature gripped the rifle with its good hand and pulled. After a few seconds, the wooden stock slid out of its face with the sound of grating bone. It tossed the rifle aside with a hiss of hatred, then dropped down onto its good arm. The wicked head lowered as it swept its yellow gaze across the snowy street, searching for the troublesome woman.
The demon eyes came face-to-face with the big Colt.
Cora squeezed the trigger. The revolver bucked in her hands as the consecrated bullet struck the wendigo just above the left eye and burrowed deep into the undead skull. Its wail sent gooseflesh rolling up her arms as it pitched backward, grotesque limbs flailing. Cora pulled the Colt's hammer back and circled around the fallen monster until she could see its face again. The evil eyes were pale, fading to the color of ash, but they still saw her. A faint hiss bubbled from between its teeth. The wound in its forehead trailed smoke like a dying fire.
Cora raised the pistol and fired again. When the smoke cleared, the great beast was silent.
Holstering the revolver, Cora took a deep breath. The wendigo lay dead at her feet, snowflakes gathering in the gray wisps of its hair and beard. Her saber rang faintly in the stillness. Gripping the hilt in both hands, she brought the blade down on its neck. There was no splashing of blood as the sword cut through the mottled flesh and frozen bones.
Firelight flickered over the pale corpse. Looking up, Cora saw Marshal Duggan and Deputy Sanchez approaching on foot. Sanchez still had his torch, and the marshal held a rifle at the ready. She waved them over. Together, the three of them looked