Now for the unpleasant part. Picking up the rabbit by its hind legs, she hurried back and set to work. The rabbit's blood smelled faintly of old coinage, and she wrinkled her nose. After a few unsuccessful attempts, she managed to loop the twine around the joints in the hind legs. The rabbit almost seemed to twitch and dance as she tied the knot around its ankles. Despite herself, she pictured the March Hare from Mr. Carroll's story dancing headless in her hands, waving his tea kettle about in one bloody paw. The image made her shudder, and she nearly let the knot slip as she looped it around a second time.
Finally, the ordeal was done. Wiping her hands on her trousers, she stepped back to evaluate. The hare hung upside down, blood still dripping from its neck. Swallowing back a sudden impulse to vomit, she tucked the twine into one of her own saddlebags. By the time she pulled herself up into the saddle, Cora was already several hundred yards ahead. The carcass bumped into her leg as she spurred her horse into a trot.
"Get it sorted?" Cora asked as she rode up.
"I believe so," Victoria said. She lifted the twine for Cora's inspection.
Cora barely glanced at the hare. "Why, you're a regular grizzly trapper."
"I don't appreciate your sarcasm."
"Weren't sarcasm, neither," Cora said.
Victoria opened her mouth to reply, but the smirk on Cora's lips made her think twice. The old hunter was baiting her. Victoria dropped the conversation and the hare, turning her attention to the landscape before them. Nothing had changed except the length of their shadows, which had started to grow as the sun climbed downward from its noonday spot.
Hours later, as the sun approached the horizon, Cora pulled her mare up short. Lost in the haze, Victoria didn't notice. She kept plodding toward the setting sun until the hunter's voice brought her around.
"Hold up a second," Cora said.
Victoria started, jerking the reins back. Her horse snorted in protest. "What is it?"
Cora held up a hand to block the sun's glare. Crow's feet deepened around her eyes as she squinted into the distance. "Looks like we might be getting some weather up ahead."
"What do you mean?" Victoria asked, turning to look for herself.
"That line on the horizon there," Cora said. "That looks like more than a little trouble."
Victoria could barely make out the dark grey smudge in the distance. "Are you sure? It can't be more than a light shower."
Cora's laughter rolled back at them from a nearby hill. "I don't reckon we've ever seen one of those around these parts. Here, it's either parched or flooding, and nothing in between."
"Really?" Victoria asked, looking at the withered plants surrounding them. "It doesn't look to me as though these plants have ever seen so much as a sprinkle, much less a flood."
"Just you wait," Cora said. "You're about to see the sky boil up all angry and menacing in half the time it takes you to blink. When it does, we'd best be close to this ranch of yours, or the going will get a good sight harder."
Victoria squinted into the sunlight. They stood on a small hill that spilled down into a wide plain before them. In the distance, she could see rust-colored cliffs rising from the desert floor to form the sides of a small mesa. The shape of it looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't be sure if she'd actually seen it before or if it just looked like one of the countless others they'd ridden past. "I do think we're getting closer."
Another laugh. "We'd best be, Vicky. If you've been playing me for a fool, we'll find out just how good you are with that shiny new gun of yours."
"A fine test that would be," Victoria answered. "You know I've never fired a gun in my life."
"Time to change that, I reckon," Cora said. She pulled her own revolver from its holster. The sun glinted on the nickel finish. "Go on, draw."
Victoria gently wrapped her fingers around the wood grip of her gun. Taking a breath, she slid it from its leather cradle. Cora had picked it out specifically for her back in Albuquerque, saying it was best suited for a fine lady. Except for its new, unused polish and shine, it looked exactly like Cora's revolver, which she called a Colt .38. Victoria knew the number had something to do with the bullets, but she wasn't sure what.