Several times, Henry looked over his shoulder, back toward the homestead, to see that black smoke curling into the heavens, but he saw no pursuit from the dead. At least, none within sight. Annie had slowed them down after a short while, saving the strength of the horses until they needed their speed once again. Henry also kept a thoughtful eye upon his hands. They had still shook, uncontrollably, for some time after they had left the Drifters far behind.

After a while, Annie veered away to the side, moving down terrain until they came to a creek, the water passing by in a lazy trickle, wending its way through the bleak, austere surroundings, broken only by the odd bush and cactus. There, Annie dismounted, allowing her horse to take a drink in the fresh waters.

As Henry set his horse beside the other, Annie had pulled out the map that the dying man had given her, unfolding it and turning on the spot, eyes squinting as she looked out across the land, searching for matching landmarks. When her eyes lit upon a small mountain to the west, she rubbed her nose as she stared, as though she could see every detail upon those slopes. Every movement.

"Is the map accurate? I admit, my skill at navigation is in dire need of education." He came to stand by her shoulder, looking down at the scrap of paper. The map had few details and even fewer words. "Could you, perhaps, enlighten me?"

"Granite Peak. Last mountain along the Sierra Prieta." She tipped the brim of her hat upward, nodding toward the mountain. "Damn."

Though the word reeked of concern, she showed none upon her features. After a few more seconds, she spat to the side before holding out the map for Henry to look at. For all intents and purposes, the map showed little more than a few scratches and single words. An upturned 'v' indicated the mountain. A line, wiggling as though an arthritic hand had scrawled it, indicated the creek beside which they stood. On the north face of the mountain, a large 'X' showed where the man needed to go, had he lived.

Other markings and scratches showed less important landmarks, but the mountain had one word written beside it, 'Grannet', making all other indicators obsolete, as far as Annie were concerned. She knew the terrain and the landmarks and had no need of details such as 'old Dwite's grayv', or 'Pritti Mary'. If that peak before them was, indeed, 'Granite Peak', then that appeared to be the one the map showed, if spelled incorrectly.

"Why, I believe we could reach this indicated position by nightfall, should we make good time." Without looking at him, Annie took the map from Henry's hand. He lowered the now-empty hand. "Or we could take a more leisurely approach and fall upon Shipton's hideout come the morning?"

"Whether we fall upon it during the day or the night ain't the problem." She shook her head, leaning down to retrieve the reins of her horse that dangled against the ground as the horse drank. "Shipton never intended that man to reach him. I fully doubt that map leads to Shipton's hideout, but to a place where that man would have died without Shipton dirtying his hands."

"How so?" It seemed a cowardly method of thinning the ranks of an outlaw gang, but, then, outlaws were not known for holding a fair and balanced justice.

"That there?" She tapped the 'X' on the map before folding it and tucking it into the pocket of her pants. She mounted, tugging her horse's head from the creek. "That's Skinchanger country. Has been for a while. Shipton intended that man dead, one way or another."

She guided her horse away from the creek, causing Henry to scramble for his own horse, taking several attempts to clamber into the saddle before turning to follow the woman. At a lazy, thoughtful pace, she followed the creek northward, her eyes looking toward Granite Peak as though watching for an attack by the lupine Skinchangers.

Those creatures held their own terror about them, though a terror tempered by the knowledge they had no control over what they had become. When the night of the Starfall had returned to peace, the first Skinchangers had no understanding of the curse that had befallen them, nor the knowledge of how they had come to this dreaded disease that ravaged body and mind.

No-one truly understood what brought about the change. A Skinchanger could live their life with no knowledge of their disease, then, a scare, a heated argument, the light of the full Moon, anything that could elevate certain humours within the body and the ill-fated victims would succumb to a terrible transformation.

Bones would break and reform. Skin fall from flesh, only to regrow with thick, lupine fur upon their bodies. Minds would devolve into something primal, feral, where the only thing that could sate a new, ancient instinct was to feed upon the flesh of humans. For Skinchangers, unlike Drifters, any flesh could fill their bellies, but it was human flesh they desired more than any other, torn apart by fangs and teeth grown from reformed, extended muzzles.

Then, once bellies were filled, Skinchangers would lope away, find some quiet place in which they could sleep and digest their gruesome meals, waking the next morning with no understanding of what had occurred, nor why they were in states of undress. Skinchangers were the most pitiable of the creatures born of the Starfall. They were also the most vicious and deadly. Few survived a Skinchanger attack. None would return as Drifters. There were never enough pieces left to reanimate.

"We have similar communities back East." Henry considered consulting his notebook, but doubted Annie would have any interest. "Most are decent, God-fearing folk. They would rather live out in the wilderness than risk family and friends."

"That and they ain't exactly pretty after a few of them there changes." Annie dipped a hand into her vest pocket, pulling out a half-smoked, half-chewed thin cigar, placing it between her teeth. "Them bodies look less and less human each time. And if'n they survived a Skinchanger attack, in order to become one, they's more likely as not got a whole bunch'a scars about 'em. Whole bunch."

She struck a match, leaning over and cupping the cigar as she lit it, shaking the match and tossing it to the side once extinguished. The white/grey smoke drifted from the tip of the cigar and then puffed out in a cloud as she released the smoke from her mouth. She smacked her lips, looking at the cigar before returning it to her mouth.

As to the Skinchangers, Henry had no desire to walk among any that suffered from that malignant disease. He felt a great swell of pity for those poor folks, but not even they understood the many and varied reasons for their changes. A wrong word, an imposition of fear, a pitying glance. Anything could start a transformation and then little short of concentrated rifle fire could bring down one of those beasts, and he and Annie did not have that firepower between them.

"Then where will your investigation take us next? Another town? Back to Prescott?" He took a look around. They couldn't return to Prescott the way they came but, perhaps Annie knew another way. "I have much material for my article and I would, if you would assent, like to join you on any further excursions you make in the near future."

"My investigation takes me up that there hill." She pointed toward Granite Peak with the cigar, held between thumb and forefinger. "I reckon it best you make your way back to Prescott, Mr Pierce. This ain't gonna be an easy ride from here on out and I do not care to have your blood upon my conscience."

Henry couldn't deny the thought held its attraction. He could, he supposed, make his way back to Prescott unaided. The Drifters, though formidable, could not outrun a horse, regardless of how fast they become when the feeding frenzy came upon them. He could ensure he strayed away from thick brush and trees, watch every crevice and crack, take to higher ground when possible. For certain, it would not be a journey of ease, but he felt a modicum of confidence that he could make it.

But, then, he would not see this formidable woman in action again, for he doubted she would allow him access like she had granted him on this journey. This, he felt certain, was a one time only deal, never to come again. Besides, he had marched into danger before for a story. A good reporter would never shy away from certain death with a story on the line. He licked his lips, shifting in the saddle to look back toward Prescott.

The last trails of the smoke from the burned homestead had started to dissipate and curl away, the fire set by Annie dying and becoming nothing but embers. He could see the timbers of the house, within his mind, collapsing in upon themselves, the roof falling, smokestack stack tilting, swaying before it tumbled to bricks and soot. If he left now, his story would be like that house, a shell of what it was, what it could have been. If he left now, he would leave with only half the story told.

"No. If it pleases you, I would care to continue upon this righteous quest." He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. "But I would ask that, should I succumb to the attentions of a Drifter, or a Skinchanger or, Heaven help us, a Murcie, that you would grant me the peace you refused of that man back at the farm? I do not intend dying, but, if I must, I would like to die as a man."

"Well, alright." With the cigar clamped between her teeth, Annie squinted one eye, pointed her index finger toward Henry, thumb upright, before dropping the thumb, like the hammer of a gun. "Right between the eyes. You have my word."

That did not sound near to comforting, but Henry took it for what it was. Annie had no reason to care whether he became a Drifter, got torn apart and devoured by a Skinchanger, or bled dry by a Murcie. He was, to her, an accessory. Nothing more. That she would give her word meant something, or meant little. He still knew so little of the woman and the only way he could learn more was here, in her presence.

He simply hoped he did not have to die, or worse, to find out what kind of a woman she was.