Duncan Dakota felt his horse shiver, and dismounted just before the beast keeled over and died. He wasn't entirely surprised; the horse was stolen, and he'd been driving the beast hard into the canyons, trying to shake the posse off his back. Maybe he shouldn't have gunned down that sheriff, but if the man didn't want a bullet in his pate he shouldn't have asked for Duncan's gun. Who'd've known a sheriff would have friends?
He took a few minutes to check the saddle, and came up with a half-full waterskin, a blanket, and not much else. Cursing the dead beast's owner under his breath, he rose...
A stone clicked against another stone, and Duncan spun. His pistol cleared leather, and he was ready to go down shooting, but...
He froze.
The thing in front of him was near to his own size, shorter but wider, hairless and pale. Its features were half-formed, almost melted, and it blinked strange, orange eyes at him. This it flowed forward. Duncan squeezed off a single shot, but by then it was too late. He fell back, screaming, as it surrounded him and overwhelmed his flesh, pouring in through mouth and nose and ears.
Duncan Dakota stirred on the sands of the canyon floor, then sat up slowly. He climbed clumsily to his feet, then looked himself over. "Oh yes," he said, tasting his new language, his new understanding. "You'll do nicely."
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