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souls.”
    Adolf growled. The sound happily human. He kept silent after that giving the gunslinger time to think. Werewolf packs sometimes had some sort of esteemed brotherhood, which small groups lacked. Hunting in Valhalla was a common theme. When a new member joined, or infected as Jed thought of it, then they were branded a new name. A name for the pack. Jed tried to think what Adolf or Hemming could possibly mean. It would hold special meaning, their new names. They were either Scandinavian or Germanic for sure. Beyond that Jed had little idea.
    Night descended, blanketing the land in darkness. No clouds crept in the sky to block the pale moon. The stars were like lanterns shining far away. Desert nights were strangely bright. Many gunslingers had trouble sleeping at night. The darkness was where their toughest enemies lay. Though their experience at fighting in the night was useful when they chased human men. Jed had little trouble sleeping. Of course that did not help him when he had to stay awake all night looking after Adolf.
    His captive spoke up croaking, “Can I have some water? Just a little sip?” Adolf’s lips were cracked and his face was peeling. Even if he was a werewolf, he might not survive tomorrow in his state.
    Jed stood up, first stretching his limbs. Grabbing his canteen and keeping his gun at hand, he walked over. The water trickled down to Adolf’s mouth. Suddenly, he lashed out with his foot, striking the gunslinger on his face. Jed moved with the blow spinning around. Adolf was already moving. His hands had turned into claws, cutting through his bonds. Jed fired a shot and missed. Adolf was half transformed as he jumped behind a large rock.
    Jed drew his other gun. From behind the rock there was a cracking sound. It went silent and Jed realized Adolf had already transformed. The transformation was too quick. Adolf had even been able to control it long enough to cut his bounds. He had severely underestimated Adolf. He was not a new member of a pack. A werewolf with that capability was old. Perhaps even half a century old.  
    Running away was not an escape plan. Jed cursed himself for being a fool. It had been a trap. A blur ran out from the rock. The gunslinger held his fire. His hands were crossed so his right wrist was over his left hand holding the Kruger. The position gave added accuracy and support for the large revolver.
    A bone chilling howl sounded somewhere in the night. The walls of the canyon echoed the sound. Where once the canyon seemed bright and open, night had enveloped it into a dark room. He ignored the baying of his chestnut. Keeping eyes open, he waited for any imperceptible movements and hoped he would see them. The werewolf streaked to the side. The guns trailed and he tightened his fingers on the triggers. The light of the campfire came into view and Jed turned away.
    The damage was done. His night vision was ruined. Now the night was darker than he could have imagined. Someone had snuffed out the lanterns in the sky. This beast was smart, retaining some of its human intellect. Jed was brought back to the night he had first hunted a werewolf. How terrifying that had been. Except his father had been with him. Tonight he was alone. Focusing back on the moment, Jed scanned the night. It would strike soon, before his night vision returned. But where, was the gunslinger’s quandary.
    Hindsight revealed the obvious choice. The werewolf was canny and Jed berated himself the instant it happened. The werewolf leapt over the campfire. Barely, Jed saw the action from his peripheral. A jumping darker shape on a dark sky. The gunslinger rolled to the side. Claws, sharp as daggers, scrapped his shoulder and arm. Shots ranged from the two guns, as he went to his knees. A furry arm slashed and Jed fell backwards. Blood flowed from lacerations in his chest.
    More shots fired. Adolf fully standing charged forward. While it may have reached close to Jed’s height it was much wider and