A Serpent In Turquoise. Peggy Nicholson

knee crested the ledge. She rolled inward to land on her back, panting in the dirt, clinging to the burro.

      Noses only inches apart, they glared at each other, upside-down to right-way up. Poquita gave a snort that summed up her opinion.

      “Are we having fun yet?” Raine found the lead, gave the beast some slack. She shifted to lean against the cliff. Arms clasping elbows to hold in her shudders, she gazed out over the drop-off. “Whew, that was a close one.”

      After a long, disgruntled pause, the burro noticed the same clump of weed that had started the trouble. While she swallowed it, grubby roots and all, Raine muttered, “But what d’you think, was it an accident?”

      Whether that shove had been a silent “gringa, go home” or mere clumsiness, it was over, the runner long gone. So they went on their way—slowly at first, till Raine’s knees stopped wobbling. Another hour’s walk brought them again to the canyon floor. The river had twisted to flow due west, and the sun was setting straight down this slot in a bonfire that dazzled their eyes. “Next thing that looks like a swimming hole, we’re stopping,” she assured the jenny.

      At the moment, the path cut through a field of chest-high green weeds. The river ran somewhere off to their right, but Raine preferred not to bushwhack. “With our luck, there’re werewolves or witches out there, and I’ve had enough excitement for one—Hey!” She staggered backwards as Poquita crouched on her haunches, yanking the lead. “What the—?”

      An eerie buzzing filled the hot air. The burro squealed and scuttled backwards, dragging Raine with her.

      The fine hairs stood straight up on her arms as her slower instincts kicked in. Rattler! But where?

      When it came to snakes, anywhere was too near. They retreated another five yards, then wheeled, peering wildly. Raine shielded her eyes with a palm against the glare—and there it was. A diamondback—a big sucker, easily as long as Raine was tall. He lay coiled in the middle of their path, shaking like a meth-crazed marimba band.

      “Good spotting!” Raine rubbed the burro’s fuzzy ears, which for once, were standing straight up at attention. “That’s two I owe you.”

      Poquita whuffled and jerked at her lead, trying to swing right around.

      “No, no, we can’t go home yet. Not for a silly snake. We just scared him is all.” Raine leaned to scoop up a fistful of pebbles. “Snakes are all cowards at heart. Go on, shoo!” She tossed the gravel underhanded.

      The snake struck at the missiles. He slithered a yard closer—and coiled again. The burro squeaked and retreated, hauling Raine with her.

      “Great. We have to meet the tough guy.” Raine scooped up more rocks to pelt him. “Go on, beat it! Don’t make me break out my blowgun.”

      The snake struck and advanced—assumed the position and rattled his intentions.

      This would be a whole lot less amusing once the sun went down. “Okay. If that’s the way you want it.” Raine chose a rock the size of a cantaloupe—and bowled it down the trail. “Scat!”

      That broke the thug’s nerve. He flinched at the oncoming menace, then whiplashed off into the bushes at a speed that made Raine gulp. But once he started moving, he’d keep on going. She patted her heart a few times; it refused to be comforted.

      That went double for the burro. When Raine tugged on her lead, she flattened her ears and engaged the parking brake. “Hey, this is no time to play the diva. Get over it. He’s gone. We get past this field and we’ll call it a day. Find a nice waterhole, take off your saddle, settle in for a lovely night of grazing. How’s that sound?” Raine rubbed the spot beneath the ear strap where the burro liked to be scratched. “Good girl, you ready now? Then why don’t we—”