Wolf in Shadow

'Good morning to you,' said Griffin. The leader of the trio, a young man with dark eyes, forced a smile that was at best wintry.

'You are settling here?'

'Why not? It is virgin land.'

The man nodded. 'We are seeking a rider named Shannow.'

'He is dead,’ said Griffin.

'He is alive,' stated the man, with a certainty Griffin could not ignore.

'If he is, then I am surprised. He was attacked by a cannibal tribe to the south and never rejoined his wagon.'

'How many of you are there?' asked the rider.

'Enough,' said Griffin.

'Yes,' agreed the man. 'We will be on our way — we are just passing through these lands.'

The riders turned their horses and galloped towards the east.

Madden joined Griffin.

'I didn't like the look of them,' volunteered Madden. 'You think we are in for trouble?'

'Could be,' admitted Griffin.

'They set my flesh crawling,' said Burke, coming up to join them. 'They reminded me of the cannibals, 'cepting they had proper teeth.'

'What do you advise, Griff?' asked Madden.

'If they are Brigands, they'll be back.'

'What did they talk about?' inquired Burke.

They were asking about a man named Shannow.'

'Who's he?' asked Madden.

'He's the Jerusalem Man,' said Griffin, avoiding a direct lie. He had told none of his wagoners of Jon Taybard's true name.

'In that case,' said Burke, 'they'd better hope they don't find him. He's not a man to mess with, by God! He's the one that shot up the Brigands in Allion. And he gave Daniel Cade his limp — shot him in the knee.'

'Don't mention Shannow to the others,' said Griffin.

Madden caught Griffin's expression and his eyes narrowed. There was something here that remained unsaid, but he trusted Griffin and did not press the point.

That night, just after midnight, fifty riders thundered down on the settlement, riding at full gallop across the eastern pasture. The front line hit the tripwire in the long grass and the horses screamed as their legs were cut out from under them. Men pitched through the air. The second rank of riders dragged on their reins, stopping short of the wire. Shots exploded from twenty rifles, ripping into the raiders; twenty men went down, plus several horses. A second volley from fifteen pistols scythed through the milling riders, and the survivors galloped away. Several men who had been thrown from their mounts set off at a run. Individual riflemen picked them off in the bright moonlight.

As silence descended, Con Griffin reloaded his pistols and walked out into the pasture. Twenty-nine corpses lay on the grass, and eleven horses were dead or dying. Madden and the other wagoners joined him, collecting pistols from the fallen; they were revolvers and cartridge-fed.

'What will they come up with next?' asked Burke, thrusting a revolver into his belt.

'Look at this,' said Griffin, staring down at the corpses. 'They are all dressed alike — like an army in the old books. There's something very wrong here.' He turned to Madden. 'Mount up and follow them. Don't show yourself. And take no chances. I need to know where they are from — and how many there are.'

Donna Taybard moved alongside Griffin, slipping her arm through his.

'Who are they, Con?'

'I don't know. But they frighten me.'

'You think they will be back tonight?'

'No. But if they do come, Jacob will let us know.'

'Come home then. Eric will want to hear all about it; he'll be so proud of you.'

Griffin pulled her close and kissed her lightly on the brow. He wanted so desperately not to tell her about Shannow, wanted her to go on believing he was dead. They had become close after Shannow's disappearance and he had made a special fuss over Eric, which meant he was often invited to eat at the Taybard wagon. Then one night he had proposed to Donna, expecting a refusal and prepared to wait for her to change her mind. Instead she had accepted, kissed him and thanked him for his courtesy.

Few men could have been happier than Con Griffin at that moment. For days afterwards he had walked with her in the evenings, holding hands in the moonlight, until finally Donna herself precipitated the move he longed for. They had walked to a shallow stream and she turned to him and put her hands on his shoulders.

'I am not a fifteen-year-old maiden,' she said, loosening her dress.

And they had made love on the grass beside the water.

Since then Con Griffin had slept in Donna's wagon, much to the disgust of old Burke who did not hold with such flippant behaviour. Eric had adjusted well to his new father and seemed relaxed in Griffin's company. For his part Griffin taught him to rope, and to track, and to name the trees, and which of them grew near water. And they talked as man to man, which pleased Eric greatly.

'What should I call you?' asked Eric.

'Call me Griff.'

'I cannot call you Father. Not yet.'

'It would be nice if you could, but I will not worry about it.'

'Will you make my mother happy?'

'I hope so. I will try very hard.'

'My father couldn't.'

'It happens sometimes.'

'And I won't be cruel to you, Griff.'

'Cruel?'

'I was very cruel to Mr Shannow. And he saved my life. I wish I hadn't been; he told me he was very lonely and he wanted to be my friend.'

That conversation was in Griffin's mind now as he stood with Donna. He walked her away from the corpses to the canvas-covered wagon beside their home plot.

'Donna, there is something. . The riders. .'

'What? Come on, this is not like you.'

'Shannow is alive.'

'No!'

'I believe that he is. Use your talent — try to see him.'

'No, he's dead. I don't want to see him with maggots in his eyes.'

'Please, Donna. Otherwise I'll never be able to rest, wondering if the Jerusalem Man is hunting me.'

Her head sank down and she closed her eyes. Immediately she saw Shannow, limping through a village. Beside him was an old man, balding, who was smiling and chatting to Shannow.

Donna opened her eyes. 'Yes,' she whispered. 'He is alive. Oh, Con!'

'I will. . of course, release you. . from. .'

'Don't say it. Don't ever say it! I'm pregnant, Con, and I love you.'

'But you and he. .'

'He saved me, and Eric. And he was very lonely. I didn't love him. But I never would have done this to him — truly I wouldn't.'

'I know.' He took her in his arms.

'There's something else, Con. All the people with Jon are to die.'

'I don't understand.'

'I am not sure that I do. But they are all doomed. I saw skulls floating above all of them, and dark shadows in the distance with horned helmets like those riders there.'

'Today's drama has affected your talent,' he assured her. 'The important thing is that Jon Shannow is alive. And when he comes here he will be looking for you.'

'Con, he will never understand. I think he is a little insane.'

'I shall be ready.'

The following day Shannow rose early, refreshed despite his troubled night. He pulled on his woollen shirt and a thick pullover knitted for him by Curopet. Over this he added his ankle-length leather coat and a pair of woollen gloves. Then he belted on his guns and hefted his saddle over his right shoulder before making his way across the village to the makeshift paddock where the gelding stood. There he rubbed down the horse and saddled him.

The day was bright and clear as Shannow rode from the sleeping village. He steered the horse high into the hills to the north, picking his trail with care on the slippery ground. After an hour he found a different route and returned to the village, where he fed the gelding and removed his saddle. He was cold through, and bone-weary. By the time he dumped his saddle back in the hut, he was ready to drop. Shrugging out of his coat, he picked up the ball of hide and squeezed it two hundred times. Then tossing it aside, he stood. His hand dropped to his pistol and flashed up, the gun leaping to his hand, cocked and ready. He smiled; not so fast as he had been, but already fast enough. The rest would follow.