"You know, we ought to give you a name," she said, looking back at the gelding. "Ben's too damn finicky about it. Been almost six months since we bought you, and he ain't settled on nothing yet. Course, you know that already." The horse didn't interrupt, so she went on. "You know, I think I'll call you Book. Maybe then he'll pay you more attention. And, if he don't like it, maybe he'll pick one he does fancy." She nodded to herself, and the matter was settled.
After bedding the horses down, she pulled the stable door closed and made her way back to the main building. As she walked, fatigue began settling on her shoulders like the falling snow. Her joints ached, making each step painful. Were it not for the cold, the ache would have been pleasant, a fitting reward for the end of a hunt. Tradition dictated that she and Ben share a bottle of whiskey and talk about the kill. Things they did right, things they did wrong, what they should remember for the future. It was their way of settling the matter in their minds.
Tonight, however, she didn't figure it was worth it. Ben was probably sound asleep, and the nearest saloon felt half a world away. There would be plenty of time for drinking and talking on the train.
Warm air smothered her cold limbs as she pulled the hotel door open and thumped up the stairs. She softened her step in the hallway, then eased open the door to their room. The hinges creaked as she slipped through into the darkness. She shrugged off her coat and tossed it into the shadows, followed by her hat. Her groping hand found a bedpost, and the cornshuck mattress rustled as she sat down.
Breathing a sigh of contentment, she began wrestling with her boots. Her cold feet burned in protest as she pulled them out. The smell hit her like a wall, and she covered her nose with one arm as she set the boots on the floor. She rolled onto the mattress, shoving her feet under the sheets. As soon as her head landed on the pillow, the bed seemed to grip her with invisible hands. She could feel her muscles twitching with each heartbeat, her blood carrying away the cold and the tension. Her fatigue was even great enough to forgo the need for a nightcap from the bottle she kept under the pillow. Instead, she let Ben's even breathing guide her into a deep, dreamless sleep.
NINE
It was well past noon when Cora opened her eyes. Sunlight glowed behind the window curtains, filling the room with a warm light. From outside, she could hear the sounds of horses and wagons rumbling through the street. Ben was already awake and planted in a chair by the window, reading. Cora blinked a few times to clear away the blur from her eyes, then lifted herself into a sitting position.
Ben looked up. "How was it last night?"
"Just dandy," she said, her voice thick from sleep.
"Did the wendigo ever show his face?"
"Yessir," she replied, nodding. "Got that face all shot up, too."
"So you licked it?"
Cora nodded again and recounted the previous night's events for him. As she spoke, she could feel the deep ache in her muscles that she knew would be there. Today's train ride would be uncomfortable. Ben listened intently as she told him about the final fight with the wendigo and how it took a full six shots to bring it down, even with the special bullets.
"Well, I missed twice," she said, "so it was really only four shots."
"Still," Ben said, "that was one tough critter. Tougher than the ones we usually sort out, anyway."
"We'll have to ask Father Baez to send a nice note out to Father Davidson for us. Or maybe you could write him one."
Ben's face lit up. He loved any excuse to put his vocabulary and penmanship to use. "I think I'll do just that."
"While you do that, I think I'll have myself a bath." Cora swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. "By the way," she said, "I named that horse of yours for you."
"You did?" Ben looked concerned. "What did you name it?"
"Book," she said, then unlocked the door and stepped out into the hallway.
Her muscles creaked as she made her way toward the community bathing room. Poking her head in, she was pleased to see it was empty. The hotel's bellhop had placed a