Sidewinder by Jory Sherman

to him and seemed as normal as any man, red or white.
    “Storm’s coming,” Brad said to Gray Owl as he stepped outside and saw the clouds building in the sky.
    “Much rain,” Gray Owl said.
    The Hopi seemed to taste the air as he gazed upward at the sky. In the distance, both men heard the faint rum blings of thunder, and when they looked to the north, they could see the elephantine undersides of dark thunderclouds.
    “Heap rain,” Gray Owl said again, his tongue flicking over his lips as if he had tasted the coming rain.
    An hour later, when Brad was dozing on a buffalo robe inside the shelter, he heard the whicker of a horse. He knew that the Indians had no horses with them. Gray Owl told him they had walked from the far butte somewhere deep in the mountains. He sat up and saw that Gray Owl was already outside, and the sky had darkened considerably. In a few minutes, the sun would be blotted out. As he got to his feet, he heard the sound of thunder again, closer this time, and he thought he saw a flicker of light in the distant sky, silver light, quick and elusive, as bright as quicksilver.
    He walked outside.
    “Wading Crow come,” Gray Owl said. “And two others. Three horses.”
    Brad’s heart quickened.
    “I don’t see them,” he said.
    “Listen. They come soon.”
    Brad listened. He heard dry tree branch crunch and a crackle of leaves, the ring of a horseshoe on stone. What? Half a mile? Quarter of a mile? Close, but he knew that sound carried far in the thin air of the mountains. They were at a higher elevation than his ranch, he knew, but not even close to timberline.
    Then he saw Wading Crow. The Arapaho was riding Ginger. And behind him, two more riders. He saw a flash of shiny burgundy and knew that was Julio’s horse, Chato.
    He could not see the other rider clearly, but his heart was racing.
    “Woman come,” Gray Owl said softly.
    “I can’t see her.”
    “Wait. You see.”
    And he did a few seconds later. His heart soared as he recognized Felicity. Just the jaunty angle of her hat and the way she sat her saddle told him that she was there, with Julio and Wading Crow. His throat tightened as he felt a rush of emotion.
    He raised his right arm to wave.
    Then the dark clouds hid the sun and it grew dark. The wind rose in high gusts, streaming powerful jets across the ridge. The shelter shook and rattled like a giant bird ruffling its feathers.
    And there, on top of Wading Crow’s head, was his hat. Brad’s eyes shone at the sight. Involuntarily he touched his hand to his head. It felt naked and was still tender. He smiled.
    A damned hat, he thought.
    Not my horse or my wife but my damned hat.
    And he felt very rich at that moment, as if he owned all the treasures of the world.
    Felicity waved, and something melted inside his chest. His knees turned to jelly, and his insides quivered and warmed.
    He waved back and choked up, unable to speak.
    Gray Owl looked at him and smiled.
    “Your heart soars,” Gray Owl said, and that was all.
    It was enough.
    And, it was true.

NINE

    Pilar gasped in horror as she watched Cholo chase his own tail, his foamy jaws snapping, teeth clacking. The dog was growling and howling at the same time.
    “ Loco perro ,” she shouted and grabbed her broom from beside the door. She ran outside, chasing Cholo, shouting and screaming, her calico skirt whipping about her legs, her sandals flopping with each leaping step.
    The dog saw Pilar and snarled at her, shrinking away like a shadow retreating under the sun.
    “Cholo,” she said, in Spanish, “what passes with you? Are you sick?”
    The dog snarled and charged at Pilar. She swung the broom and batted Cholo in the head. The dog yelped and cringed once again, glaring at her with feverish eyes.
    Frightened now, Pilar called out.
    “Carlos. Carlos. Come quick. The dog is crazy.”
    Carlos was behind his bunkhouse at the well, staring down at two other dogs, Pepe and Pelon. Pelon was already dead, and Pepe was