I'm in!
It's a perfect knife to carry when I'm working late in the barn and the Midnight Dog Soldiers come through my acreage. They ride quietly, always on dark, lightly spotted horses, wearing subdued headdress, and carrying long war lances and clubs and bows. Their faces and bodies are always dark even in the brightest moonlight and their hooves leave only the faintest tracks that are gone by sunup. They usually come from the south and east, moving downward from the highest point of my smaller field where it rises to 7000' above sea level. They travel west across the large field unhindered by fence or gate and then cut south again towards Pikes Peak. My horses always wicker to them and jostle for position as if to say, "Come get me, take me with you!" and they are excited all the next day. I never interrupt the riders, but I watch quietly from the barn as their silhouettes pass across the stars that crowd the horizon. If I get that tingle up my spine around sunset in the summertime that usually precedes a visit of the Midnight Dog Soldiers, I will leave a small offering by the west fence: Usually small bags of dried corn, tobacco, and some deerskin and sinew for moccasin repairs. The offerings are always gone on nights I see them, and on other nights when the horses make their pleas.
Zieg