CHAPTER NINE
Three slavering beasts are watching me.
The hound of the Baskervilles was bad enough. I didn’t see him coming, and he startled me when he began howling. Silhouetted against the sky, he looked like a wolf, and I thought he was calling down the whole snarling pack. As it turned out, I wasn’t far from right.
Now I have become a zoo exhibit for Billy Bob and Bubba. They are big men. Their rolled sleeves reveal brown forearms and big, square hands that are a relief map of tendons and blood vessels. The tall one has a drooping mustache like a western Marshall. The other wears a curly beard that makes him look like a satyr.
The satyr is half in love with me already, but I’m not sure if that’s a good thing. Alone with him, I might be able to work my feminine wiles, be home in an h
