Skull Moon (20 page)

When it was over, she said, "I'm your woman now."

They held each other before the fire, their lips brushing in soft kisses and caresses. Moonwind stayed with him until just before dawn. When she left, she kissed him and rode off quietly, so as not to disturb his sleep.

With what came next, it was better she wasn't there.

Just before first light, Longtree heard a horse coming. He was half awake at the time and the slow trod of the horse's hoofs told him danger was near. Whoever was coming, was coming very slowly. Longtree worked himself quietly from his bedroll, donning his coat and strapping on his pistols.

The rider stopped just outside the weave of trees that ringed the little arroyo. The horse was tethered and the rider approached now on foot. He was being very quiet, pushing his booted feet down in the snow very slowly so as to make little sound.

But Longtree heard him, all right. He'd been a scout and he knew all the tricks of stealth--how to use them and how to know when someone else was using them. This fellow wasn't especially good. If he had been, he would've picketed his horse a half a mile away and come on foot, sneaking into camp to do whatever it was he'd come to do.

But he hadn't. Longtree decided this man was no professional, much as he thought he was.

Longtree hid in the same outcropping of rocks he'd hid in the night Lauters and his posse had come. It was an excellent place to hide during the night, but now with day breaking...it was less than desirable. It was defendable, all right, but there was no escape route from it if things turned bad. Behind him was sheer rock rising twenty feet and much the same to either side. Longtree didn't like it. He always sought a place with cover and a backdoor to slip through if it came to that.

In the grainy, pre-dawn light, he saw the man ease through the trees into camp. He suspected it could only be Lauters or Gantz.

It was the latter.

Gantz carried a shotgun and pistols on either hip. There was no question as to why he'd come. He approached Longtree's bedroll cautiously and, when it was in plain sight, aimed the shotgun at it. Cursing, he lowered the barrel, realizing it was empty.

"Drop it, Jacko!" Longtree called out, knowing it was a mistake.

Gantz threw himself to the ground and fired in the direction of the marshal's voice. The blast loosened some debris over Longtree's head, but did no real damage. Longtree shot back, his own bullet kicking up snow and dirt inches from Gantz' head. Gantz rolled away behind a tree.

"Give it up, Jacko," Longtree called out, "before this gets any worse."

Gantz' only reply was another round from the shotgun that exploded more debris from the outcropping. Longtree didn't shoot back. He wasn't going to waste the ammunition until he had a clear shot at the man. This was about to become a lethal cat and mouse game, a waiting game. Longtree wasn't going to say anything else; let Gantz believe he'd been hit if the man was fool enough to think that.

"Throw out your weapons, Marshal," he said. "I just wanna talk..."

Somehow, Longtree didn't believe that.

He kept quiet and said nothing.

This affair could end only one way and both men knew it. If Gantz was taken alive he'd be going back to prison and Longtree knew he wouldn't let that happen. So, one of them had to die. It was an ugly situation. Gantz had the upper hand here. He was in the treeline and he could move around in there at will, under heavy cover, while Longtree could go nowhere. And there was nothing stopping Gantz from slipping around the other side of the arroyo and shooting down on Longtree. Nothing at all. But if Longtree tried to escape, there was no cover until he reached the trees. Easy pickings either way it seemed.

It all depended on how smart Gantz was.

Longtree could see part of the man's elbow sticking out from behind the tree. At this distance, hitting it was unlikely, but worth a chance. At the very least, it might scare the bounty hunter out into the open for a split second...long enough to put a bullet in him.

Longtree took aim and squeezed the trigger.

The bullet missed its mark by a few inches, gouging free bark and making Gantz dart for fresh cover. The next bullet Longtree fired caught Gantz in the leg and solicited a howl
of pain from him. It probably wasn't much more than a flesh wound, but it was something.

Within seconds after the bullet had hit, Longtree came charging from his hiding place, both pistols drawn and firing, slugs ripping apart the brush Gantz was hiding in.

But Gantz was no fool.

He saw what the marshal was doing and he wasn't about to let it happen.

Dragging his injured leg, he hobbled from the trees, bullets zinging past him, shotgun held out and firing. Longtree hit the dirt, felt the first burst of buckshot scream over his head, the second erupt snow and dirt in his face. He rolled and came up firing. The first and second bullets punched holes in Gantz' stomach, blood gushing from the wounds. The third and final bullet ripped into his chest.

Gantz staggered forward, dropping the shotgun, trembling fingers reaching for the pistols at each hip. His bearded face was pale, compressed into a rictus of agony and hatred. He tried to speak, but blood sprayed from his mouth and froze on his beard, his gasping breath frosted in the air. He staggered and went down on one knee, his eyes rolling back white. With a final coughing, gagging wet gasp of air, he fell forward into the snow. His blood steamed in the chill temperature.

He was dead when Longtree reached him, the crunchy snow red with his fluids.

"Shit," Longtree said, flipping the dead man over with his boot.

He'd wanted very much to take Gantz alive. He wanted to ask him why he'd let this happen, why he'd been pushed into such action. These were questions Longtree never tired of asking and the answers were often less than satisfying. But he always asked them, good or bad.

With a sigh, Longtree turned away.

He'd killed more men in his time than he liked to think about. And each time, death left him feeling the same--empty, hopeless, physically ill. There was never anything to be gained from violent death, only pain and suffering and guilt. But that was the way of this land; it respected nothing else.

Longtree went up into the treeline and retrieved Gantz' horse. He slung the dead man over the saddle and roped a blanket over him. That done, he broke camp and packed up all his things and led Gantz' horse into town.

He wouldn't be coming back here again. Tonight he would stay in town and every night after. Next time when a gunman came after him, he might not be so lucky.

But, ultimately, it wasn't men that worried him.

"You should've known better than to be up there, " Sheriff Lauters said to Bowes. "You should've known better than to listen to that damn breed."

Bowes hung his head. "That's not important, Sheriff. Because what happened up there--"

"Enough!" Lauters snapped. "I ain't listening to your goddamn ghost stories no longer. Christ, Deputy! What's come over you? Before this you were the most level-headed man I knew!"

"I saw what I saw."

Lauters sighed and popped the cork from a fresh bottle of rye. He upended it and gulped, stopping only when he began to cough and gag. " I don't know," he gasped, "what you and that marshal are up to, but it had better stop. Monsters rising from the grave...
shit!"
Lauters pulled off the bottle again, his hands shook and he made gagging sounds, as if he could barely hold the liquor down.

"I'm sorry, Sheriff, that you think I'm a liar, but I saw what I saw. And the last thing I'm going to say on the matter is that these murders are more than we can handle."

"This country can't throw anything at me I can't handle," Lauters insisted. "Not a goddamn thing.''

There was a blast of cool air and both men turned to see Longtree standing in the door. "Nothing a bottle can't help you with, eh, Sheriff?"

"You sonofabitch," Lauters growled, his hand sliding down to his gun. "You started all this mess, you--"

"I wouldn't draw that unless you wanna die," Longtree said calmly. "Never met a drunk in my life I couldn't outdraw."

Lauters hand stopped. "You threatening me, breed?"

"No, sir, I'm warning you," Longtree said. "I'm warning you that if you ever again try anything as stupid as you did yesterday, I'll fucking kill you. And be within my rights."

Lauters clenched his teeth. "Maybe we ought to settle this out back."

Longtree opened his coat, fingers tapping the butt of one of his Colts. "If you've got the stomach for it, Sheriff."

"All right now," Bowes said, stepping between them. "None of that here. You're both lawmen and you're both doing the same job, so knock it off."

"What do you want here, Longtree?" the sheriff asked.

"A fellow by the name of Jacko Gantz tried to kill me today," Longtree announced.

Lauters just stared, his eyes bulging. A touch of color spread into his cheeks, then fled. He said nothing. He touched his tongue against his lips.

"That's the fellah you were telling me about, wasn't it?" Bowes asked.

Longtree nodded. "His body's outside."

Lauters licked his lips. "You killed him?"

"He didn't give me much choice."

Lauters pushed past him and went outside.

"If I didn't know better," Longtree said, "I'd think the sheriff was disappointed Gantz didn't succeed."

There was a light, cool mist in the air by the time Lauters made it out to Mike Ryan's ranch. Ryan had one of the largest ranches outside Wolf Creek and he was, without a doubt, the richest man in that part of the Montana Territory. He had some seven hundred head of cattle at present and twice that amount in another ranch near Bannack. He owned several hotels in Nevada and Virginia Cities as well as a variety of dance halls, saloons, and gambling halls. He was a major stockholder in several copper and silver mining companies and sat on the board of directors at the Union Pacific Railroad.

Ryan was waiting for Lauters as he rode up.

"What happened, Mike?" Lauters asked.

"Hell broke loose, Bill."

Ryan had dispatched a rider to fetch the sheriff. At the time, Lauters was at Spence's undertaking parlor with Longtree and his deputy, having a look at the man Longtree had killed. He was glad to be called away. He had an ugly feeling Longtree knew damn well that he'd had something to do with Gantz' attack.

A ranch hand brought the two men mugs of steaming coffee as they walked through the grounds. The ranch was like a little city. Ryan's huge white house sat serene and omnipotent on a hill overlooking everything, its great carved pillars and fancy latticework gleaming in the weak sunlight. Below, was a sprawl of buildings--bunkhouses for the men, livery barns, log barns, outbuildings, a fine insulated ice house set in a low hill, a smithy's shop, a cookhouse twice the size of Lauters' home, and an intricate network of working corrals stretching off towards the horizon.

It was all very impressive.

"Tell me what's been happening in this town, Bill," Ryan said. Ryan had only arrived back in Wolf Creek the day before after some six weeks spent touring his various holdings.

Lauters laid it all out for him. About the killings and the inhuman nature of them, putting special emphasis on who the murdered men were. He spoke of Longtree and Bowes and the death of Gantz.

"That injun's gonna be trouble, I take it?" Ryan said.

"More than you can imagine, Mike."

Ryan nodded. "A federal officer, too. That could make things difficult for us. He's not some sodbuster no one will miss."

Lauters nodded, knowing this all too well.

"But every problem has its solutions." Ryan said this with total conviction.

They came to a corral near the house and Lauters saw the reason he'd been called...or one of them. This was where Ryan kept his racing horses. These animals had been, once upon a time, his pride and joy, but now...now they were so much meat. Lauters was looking at the slaughtered remains of some five thoroughbred horses. They had all been disemboweled and decapitated, the flesh stripped down to muscle, the hides ripped free and draped on the fence. They were partially eaten, but food didn't seem to be the primary reason for this carnage. The heads lay in the frozen mud, staring up with bulging eyes.

"I loved these animals," Ryan said calmly. "I truly did. Much as a man like myself
can
love. Whatever did this...is as good as dead."

"Looks like the work of an animal, but..."

"But with a man's twisted intelligence behind it," Ryan interrupted. "An animal will kill for food, to protect itself, but only a man kills for the sport of it. Only a man does something like this."

"Longtree's got it in his head that we're dealing with something that might be a little of both, so I hear."

"Tell me," Ryan said. He wasn't asking, he was demanding.

Lauters told him everything Bowes had said, even the bit about what they'd seen up at the burial ground. "A load of crap, if you ask me."

"Deputy Bowes doesn't strike me as the sort of man who makes up tales."

"Yeah, but--"

"But nothing, Bill. Longtree might be a pain in the ass, but he's right about one thing--we've got ourselves a monster here."

Lauters just stared.

"Don't look at me like that, Sheriff," Ryan snapped. "The evidence speaks for itself. I was in Virginia City last night and...that
thing
must have come for me. When it couldn't get me, it got what I loved best--my horses. Tonight it'll probably come again, maybe for me, maybe for you."

Lauters swallowed. These were things he had thought about quite a bit, but had dismissed as fantasy. Hearing another man say them made it all that much harder to brush them aside.

Ryan turned away from the bitten, clawed horses. "It came last night...and no one heard a thing." He threw his mug of coffee into the snow. "I have nearly a hundred men here, Bill, and no one heard a goddamn thing. I've heard horses die, I've heard the sounds they make when a hungry wolf pack sets on them...it carries for quite a distance. Anything that can slaughter five horses and do it silently, is no mere animal, no man."