Coyote: The Outlander (with FREE second screen experience) Read Free

eyes, rubbing the sand from his lashes. “He did not know his foe and could have been injured in his attempt to capture the Plzovar.” He glanced at her, his face placid but his dark eyes burning.
    “The Plzovar was no real threat with me around. I wasn’t going to let it bite the poor man.” Coyote fumbled with the breast pocket of her shirt and produced a fat, brown cigar. She rolled it between her fingers and sniffed, letting a contented smile grace her face.
    “He could have injured someone with his shots.” Caesar’s voice was soft, but his words stung.
    “Fine, it was irresponsible. I shan’t do it again, even if the guy was a beef-headed coot who needed to be taught a lesson.” She put the cigar in her mouth and lit it, blowing the smoke in rings.
    “You have a strong urge to teach any man who reminds you of being a female a lesson.” Caesar rubbed the neck of his horse and didn’t look at her as he spoke.
    “I don’t mind being reminded that I’m a woman,” Coyote said, her voice terse. “In fact . . . I quite like being a woman.” She took another long toke from her cigar. “It’s when they treat me as inferior that I get a little . . . sensitive.”
    Caesar sat up straight and shook his head. “This is the way of the world, Coyote. Everyone is assigned a place by society, and those within that society will accept these places as a form of truth. You cannot decide your place does not suit you without having to face the consequences of judgment.”
    “So you are saying it’s my job to deal with their ignorance?” Coyote let her breath escape between her teeth, and a hint of anger rose in her stomach.
    “I am saying that your actions will get reactions.” Caesar steered his horse into the small town, and Coyote followed. She looked around at the dirty wooden buildings, and an instant dislike for the place overcame her. Perhaps her foul mood did not aid her judgment.
    “What’s this place called then?” she said, steering away from her conversation with Caesar, though she still felt unsatisfied. “The Rat’s Behind?”
    “I believe its name is Opossum’s Hole.” Caesar’s face didn’t betray any mirth, but Coyote laughed.
    “I wasn’t that far off then, was I?” She stirred her horse in the direction of the music she heard. “If that isn’t a saloon, I’ll eat my hat.” The thought of a stiff drink did her good, and her bad mood lifted enough for her to smile again.
    Minutes later, they dismounted in front of the most miserable looking saloon Coyote had ever come across. One of the swinging doors hung loose on its hinges, and a dirty sign with a badly painted opossum on it told them this was the Opossum’s Hole.
    “I can only imagine what they mean by Opossum’s Hole.” She turned to Caesar. “Don’t opossum live in trees?”
    Caesar nodded and Coyote shrugged. She eyed the painting on the sign with some suspicion, muttering something about it being the ugliest opossum she had ever seen, and how she was sure to get nightmares. She was determined to hate the place, and when she stepped inside the saloon, she had a suspicion she would get a reason soon enough.
    The saloon went quiet as they entered. The twenty or so patrons that sat slumped into their wooden seats, their eyes bleary with what Coyote suspected was an overabundance of alcohol, all turned and stared at them. There wasn’t a smile on anyone’s lips, and Coyote rolled her eyes.
    “I can tell this is the welcoming sort of saloon,” she whispered at Caesar, who moved slowly and deliberately as if trying to disappear into the shadows. Caesar had the gift of remaining unnoticed if he wanted to, but in this saloon, her partner stuck out like a sore thumb.
    Coyote walked toward the bar, where a tall, skinny man with unhealthy, pale skin was pouring drinks. A toothpick dangled between his horsey teeth, and his narrow, wrinkled face betrayed no kindness. He squinted at her through one open eye and leaned