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Isom huddled near the fire outside the tepee where Doc sat
with Miss Kitty. It was still night time,
and suddenly he felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck as he felt that
he was being watched. The old man looked
slowly around him, searching the darkness for the culprit, when he heard an
arrow whiz by and land with a thunk in the wooden pole of Miss Kitty’s
tepee. Isom jumped, his eyes as big as
saucers, and he saw a rather large bird screech and take flight, wings
outstretched against the stars.
Two
young braves hurried towards him, speaking urgently as Doc emerged from the
tent, an alarmed expression on his face.
“What in Sam Hill is going on out here?” Doc sputtered.
Isom listened for a moment, then turned to Doc and explained
in a low voice, so that the sick young woman could not hear them inside, “These
men say that was a screech owl, the messenger for the witch doctor who made Miss
Kitty sick.”
“Messenger? Why,
that’s just a bunch of…”
“It’s what they believe, Doc,” Isom insisted. “They say that there owl was sent by Kotori
to spy on his victim. They tried to kill
it with their arrow and said if they’da been successful, it woulda killed that
evil witchdoctor that is tryin’ to hurt Miss Kitty.” Isom finished worriedly, “They say the curse that’s
makin’ her sick may not be broken just yet.”
Doc narrowed his eyes at Isom as he listened incredulously,
but didn’t argue. He simply ducked back
inside the teepee and sat anxiously beside his dearest patient, taking her
wrist in his hand to check her pulse.
Isom settled outside, near the fire, to keep a wary eye out
for whatever might emerge from the darkness next.
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Sitting in a splintery, rickety chair leaned back against
the wall of the shack, Carter Groves watched in fascination as Kotori worked in
front of the fireplace. His Indian companion
had warned him that the marshal’s woman was not yet dead, but how he knew that,
Graves was not sure. He’d found it best
not to question the witchdoctor about things he just didn’t understand and
probably didn’t need to. Titus Crow was
living proof of that... Well, dead proof
anyways, Graves snickered to himself, thinking of the little loudmouth half
breed moldering in his grave out back of the shack. He watched with an involuntary shiver as Kotori
threw tobacco and other evil smelling substances into the roaring fire. Again, he saw the Indian draw forth more blazing
red hair from the pouch around his neck and chant in his native tongue as he
added it to the flames, watching it crackle as it incinerated. Kotori slowly turned and looked at Graves
with black eyes glimmering in satisfaction.
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Isom heard Doc calling frantically for him from inside the
tepee. The old farm hand quickly
entered, and his heart dropped into his stomach at what he found. The beautiful young woman lay sallow,
sweating and writhing in her bed of buffalo robes, calling out incoherently in her
sleep.
“Quick, go find Soaring Eagle!” Doc had to hold her down on the bed. “She’s taken a turn for the worse!” he
exclaimed with an agonized expression.
Isom knew that Doc was at his wit’s end and anguished because he didn’t
know how to help Miss Kitty.
Even Isom started
praying feverishly in his head as he dashed off in search of the Cheyenne
medicine man.
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At a silent signal, Matt kicked the door in and bolted
inside, gun drawn as his eyes darted around searching for the Indian
Kotori. Virgil followed with his pistol
cocked and aimed steadily at Carter Graves.
The white outlaw’s eyes bulged in fear as he raised his hands in
surrender. “Don’t shoot!” he cried,
voice quaking in terror.
Kotori was nowhere in sight.
Matt kept his gun at the ready, turning in every direction, heading into
the back room, but there was no sign of the man. Suddenly, window glass shattered behind Matt
and Kotori burst in, shards and splinters flying in all directions. He grabbed the tall lawman around the neck,
knocking the gun from his hand, and pulled a gleaming knife aimed toward his
throat. Matt flipped the man over his
back and onto the floor with a thud, but Kotori deftly rolled away and jumped
to his feet again, slicing through the air toward Matt with the knife.
The Indian laughed and hissed in broken English, his white
teeth gleaming against dark skin, “Your woman, she gonna die anyway.” With a roar, Matt jumped on the man,
wrestling him to the ground and making him drop his knife. Kotori strained to reach Matt’s abandoned gun
on the floor and pointed it directly at his heart. Matt grabbed for the gun while Virgil, still
holding his pistol on Graves in the other
room, heard a shot fire out. Anxiously,
he called out, “Matt!”
The lawman answered, “I’m okay.” He rolled off Kotori’s body and said flatly,
“He’s dead.”
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Isom woke with a start as the first rays of the rising sun
appeared over the horizon. The two
Cheyenne braves he’d seen earlier approached and one of them was carrying
something. It was a dead screech owl,
and the young brave carried it carefully by the feet so as not to slice his
skin with its sharp talons.
Isom’s mouth dropped open as he searched in vain for the
arrow wound. “Did you boys kill it?” he
asked in their native language.
“No,” they answered solemnly. “It dropped dead out of the sky, in
mid-flight.”
tbc
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