An Occurrence in Crazy Bear Valley by Brian Keene

Clara or Crystal. They watched the sun’s descent in silence, and as darkness fell, so did their mood. The temperature outside dropped with the sun. The wind blew in off the river, cold and savage. Soon, their breath fogged the air, even inside the cabin.
    “Well,” Morgan said, “now we’ll see. Now they’ll come.”
    Johnson frowned. “Never thought I’d say this, boss, but I sure do hope you’re wrong.”
    “Me, too,” Morgan agreed. “Me, too.”
    The others didn’t respond.
    Morgan assigned first watch to Johnson, Parker and Clara. They were to wake up Gunderson, Morgan and Stephens for the second watch. Only Crystal was allowed to sleep through the night. If the others saw this as a sign of Morgan going soft on the girl, they didn’t mention it. The only complaints centered around Stephens’ horse, which stood between the kitchen table and the bunk area, looking mournful and forlorn.
    “Jesus,” Parker moaned, fanning his nose, “that damned horse smells almost as bad as you do, Stephens.”
    “Considering how much time Stephens spends farting,” Johnson said, “the horse has probably done absorbed it all.”
    “I just hope it don’t shit in here,” Clara said, her nose wrinkling. “Who’s going to clean it up if it does?”
    “I reckon you are,” Stephens said.
    “With your face, maybe,” Clara shot back.
    The comment earned a round of laughter, but they quickly fell silent again. Johnson, Parker and Clara blocked the front door with logs and bags of grain, and then took their positions near the window. The others lay down in their bunks, fully-clothed except for their boots. All of them kept their weapons within reach. Morgan blew out the lamp, plunging them into darkness except for the soft, orange glow from the tip of Parker’s cigarette.
    The night was still and sullen, and it passed slowly. There were no owls or insects. No birdsongs. Even the wind seemed to have died down, and the sounds of the river were muted, distorted by the darkness.
    Eventually, Clara fell asleep in the chair, her head drooping low until her chin rested between her ample cleavage. Her breathing became soft and shallow. Occasionally, her nose whistled. After a brief consultation, Johnson and Parker elected not to wake her until it was necessary.
    It became necessary soon enough. Slowly, the musky stench of the crazy bears filled the clearing, wafting in through the window. Parker, who had been hunched over in front of the window, clutching a long rifle in his hands and staring into the darkness, sat up and winced.
    “God damn,” he said, fanning his nose. “That stinks to high Heaven.”
    Johnson had been pacing the floor, walking in slow circles around the table in an effort to stay awake and alert without disturbing the others. He’d patted the horse on the nose each time he passed it. Now, he paused in mid-step and sniffed the air.
    “Shit.”
    Parker raised the rifle. “Yeah.”
    Johnson nudged Clara’s shoulder. She jumped, startled, and then glanced around with wide eyes.
    “What is it,” she gasped. “What’s wrong?”
    “They’re here.” Johnson turned to the others and raised his voice. “Up and at them, ya’ll. We’ve got company.”
    “Light the lantern,” Stephens said, jumping to his feet.
    “No,” Morgan countered. “Leave it out. Ain’t no sense attracting even more attention. We can work in the dark. We’ve done it many times before.”
    Morgan, Gunderson and Stephens rolled out of their bunks and quickly put on their boots, weapons in hand. Crystal woke as well, her expression terrified. She stared at the others’ pistols with obvious envy.
    “Can I have a gun?” she asked, her voice timid.
    Morgan arched an eyebrow. “Do you know how to use one?”
    She nodded emphatically.
    “Okay,” Morgan said. “I reckon we could use you. Stephens, give her your pistol.”
    The fat man gaped. “Well, then what the hell am I supposed to use, Morgan?”
    “I want you to use