Then the werebeast fled.
Percy immediately mounted the nearby horse, pulled me up behind him, stood in the stirrups, pointed ahead and shouted, " The werewolf!" There was instantaneous chaos. The horse galloped in circles while Percy fired off several shots in random directions. It was all I could to do regain control of that horse from the second place. Slapping my glove smartly onto my mare ' s flanks, I charged after the beast. Wind lashed against my face, but I was heedless of any possible injury.
In my wilder fantasies, I had dreamed of something very like this: riding through the dusk of an expansive horizon in the company of a handsome man, our weapons loaded with silver, our nerves teased by danger, until— running up beside us was a pack of wolves! It was, perhaps, less desirable to have that man hanging precariously over my lap like a sack of wet cats.
We were quite in an abandoned expanse of terrain.
" Mr. Longville," I called, " it seems I require your aid in a small matter." I handed him the reigns, then aimed my tiny weapon. The beast was in my sights, but as we galloped, more beasts came from the darkness. They were wolves, but real actual wolves, not werewolves. They began to follow further off, to avoid the weapon. We had lost sight of the large werewolf by that time, and my eyes again began to play tricks on me for one of the following wolves looked rather less like the others, like a marionette, or again, like an animal pretending to be itself.
There was a small gated homestead only a short distance off and we made straight for it. The horse leaped over the small gate, and the fence blocked our pursuers. The night had fallen and rushing out of the house with a lantern came that exotically handsome young native man who had visited the town earlier with Old Squaw Frew— or should
I say Mrs. Little Wolf. He steadied our horse and his lantern cast light towards the fence.
Just outside the lantern’ s cast, strange dark figures appeared. It could not have been the wolves for every feature seemed suddenly elongated and more human. They seemed to be actively trying to scale the short fence but were weirdly unable to get over the top. I have seen the effect before— in a school of fish vying for a treat in a pond— but never with wolves. But they were shadows, not wolves.
" There is an evil spirit after you," the boy said, helping us off the horse. He led us into his small home and barred the door behind us.
" Thank you for your help," I said most politely. " May I ask what you mean by evil spirit?"
" I can tell you no more," the young man replied, looking out the window. He let us sit down.
His home was one room, clean but shabby. " You are not American?" he asked. " No, we are travelers. We are on a world tour where our group hunts the most vicious and depraved monsters! I have seen you in town," I mentioned, hoping to sound friendly. " My name is Philomena
Dashwood, and this is my traveling companion Percy Longville."
" Around here the folks call me Thunderboy. I was brought into this world on the night of a powerful storm."
I felt that the introduction held some native mystery, and I did not want to offend him with more questions.
" It is a very pretty name," I smiled, observing our surroundings.
" If you are not American, and you intend to destroy monsters, perhaps you have come to the right place."
On the mantle I saw a photograph of a young man and an old woman.
Percy exclaimed, " Oh, no! Missus Dashwood, isn ' t that the old woman who came to meet us in