“Going to be the devil to pay,” Melanie said.  “No matter the excuse.  Northcote lost four horses, my paycheck gets hit with the tab. Leastways we’ve got a rule, how much I get to keep no matter what.  I won’t starve.”

“There’s a bounty on large predators,” Schroeder said.  “Mountain lions and bears too dumb to stay away from people are what’s meant.  But it’s large, and it’s for sure a predator. Bounty is by weight.”

A flare of a flashbulb and then another came from behind Winston.  He turned around, realizing that he was facing the Journal-Miner’s Editor.  An engine revving up further back had to be the photographer, making his escape before Winston could grab the film.  That, Winston thought, would have been terminally stupid, something Grandpa might have thought he could get away with, but I can’t.  And wouldn’t.  I had enough of Wilson and his political prisoners.

“Sheriff?” Ulysses Butler was the Journal-Miner’s Editor. 

How had he gotten here so fast? Winston wondered. He looked at the rail station clock-tower in the distance.  Time had seemed to fly while they were shooting, but it had been a good half-hour since the phone rang.

“That’s me, Mister Butler,” Winston answered.  “Always good to see you.” They shook hands.

“Would you care to comment? What are those things?” Ulysses asked.

“Giant spiders,” Melanie answered.  “Took down four horses.”

“They killed horses?” Ulysses asked.  “Oh, Miss Hayes.  A delight to see again our fair city’s greatest artist.  You arrived to draw them?”

“I was here guarding the corral,” Melanie answered.  “That’s my real job, at least until the boss finds out what happened and fires me.  Those things took down the horses and started eating.  I shot the horses to put them out of their misery.  I also took down six of the spiders.  They shrugged off rifle fire at their bodies.  .308 needs an eye shot to kill them.”

“You shot them in the eye?”  Ulysses asked.  “That’s good shooting.”

Melanie shrugged.  “Eyes are big.  Head doesn’t move much while they’re feeding. I was powerful lucky the barn phone is on the second floor—boss had his occasional office up there. I’d’ve run out of ammo before I ran out of spiders.  Bad deal.”

“We need a posse,” Ulysses said, “tomorrow morning, to hunt the rest of these down.  If there are more.”

“No,” Melanie said firmly.  “You need the Army. Or you’ll have a lot of dead men.”

“Ah,” Parkinson said. He stood nearer to a dead  spider, shining a flashlight on its carcass.  “Wondered why Browning worked, and your rifle rounds needed eye shots.  Look here. A bunch of dents, and then its shell broke open. But the one over there, one of the ones you killed, looks like your .308 made holes, each time you hit, went through, must not have reached anything vital.”