came up here after. I’ve got one bad breed at least to watch for, and if Johnny Hunts Alone isn’t the Wendigo, I’ve got a bad breed and God knows what else to catch. So you’re to stay clear of these parts, hear?”
“If you say so, sweet darling,” Sally murmured.
“Oh, Lord, that’s worse than honeybunch!”
“Could I call you huggy-bear, then?”
“Not hardly. Where’d you come up with all the crazy names?”
“I been thinking ‘em up all day. I suspicion I must be in love with you. Every time I think of you I get all fluttery. Let’s get on home. I’ve took a bath and bought me some fancy French perfume and, Jesus, I am purely horny as all hell!”
He noticed she wasn’t chewing tobacco, either. God! How had he gotten into this fix? More importantly, how was he to get out of it without looking like, well, the miserable cuss he probably was?
They rode side by side through the gentle evening light as Roping Sally planned their future together. Longarm didn’t try to stop her; it didn’t seem possible. She’d know soon enough what a shit he was unless he got lucky and somebody shot him before it was time to move on.
A distant voice called Longarm’s name and he turned in the saddle to see Rain Crow riding after them at a dead run. He and Sally reined in as the Indian joined them, shouting, “Wendigo! Wendigo! He has taken another!”
“In broad daylight? Who, and where?” Longarm said, astonished.
“A boy called Gray Dog went out to hunt rabbit on foot. When he did not come home for supper his people searched. They found him as we found Spotted Beaver. His gun was taken, along with his head. The other police and I looked for sign. There is nothing. Gray Dog was killed on the open prairie in broad daylight. There is no trail to follow.”
“I’d best ride back. Sally, I want you to go on home and bar your doors till I come to you.”
“Damn it, I’m riding with you! I’m a fair tracker and I can whup most men fair and square!”
“You do as I say, anyway,” Longarm insisted. “What these Blackfoot can’t track is likely tougher tracking than most stray cows, and whatever could take an armed Indian’s head off in broad daylight ain’t like most men.”
“Honeybunch, I want to help!”
“You’ll help most by locking yourself behind a good stout door. I don’t work alone because I’m a hero, I work alone because I don’t read minds, and when it’s time to move sudden, I don’t like to guess what a sidekick’s likely to be messing up.”
“You promise you’ll come to me soon?”
“Soon as I’m able, Sally,” he assured her.
“Do you really love me?”
The back of Longarm’s neck reddened as, aware that the Indian could hear, he put out a hand to chuck Roping Sally under the chin and murmur, “I ain’t all that mad at you, honey.”
Sally’s face lit up in a sparkling smile. “You get along home pronto, sweet love. There’ll be a light in the window for you and I’m taking another bath!”
She trotted east as Longarm fell in beside Rain Crow, loping west. They rode a mile in silence, then slowed their mounts to a walk to rest them in the gathering darkness. The Indian said, “The moon will rise soon. Almost a full moon, tonight.”
“Yeah. About that conversation back there, Rain Crow-“
“I wasn’t listening. Sometimes I have trouble understanding what white people are saying. So I only listen when it might be my business.”
“Sure you do, but if Washington ever allows you folks to drink, I’ll buy you one. How’d you find me, anyway? You came over the horizon like a rider who knew where he was going.”
Rain Crow shrugged. “I tracked you, of course. Agent Durler said you’d ridden to the old homestead, so I looked for you there. I saw where you’d moved things and walked over to the old well. I saw where you’d ridden east, so I followed.”
“You’re good, considering I’ve been riding over thick sod in dimming light.”
“Oh, it is easier tracking on grass when the sun is setting. The long shadows help me see where trampled grass hasn’t had time to spring back up. This time of the year many stems are dry enough to break off, too.”
“What about in green-up time, when the grass is springy?” Longarm asked.
“Easier. When the prairie is greenest, the soil is softer. Even antelope leave hoofmarks then.”
“But you didn’t find one hoofmark near that dead boy’s body, huh?”
“No. The light was perfect for looking, too. The boy had left some broken stems behind him as he walked. The grass was trampled near the body, as if by a struggle. That was all. The others think Wendigo must have flown away.”
“Maybe.” The deputy stroked his mustache with a long forefinger. “Leaving aside notions like hot-air balloons and such, how do you feel about soft moccasins? I was wearing army heels out there by the homestead, and not trying to hide my spoor. Was this murdered kid wearing boots?”
“He wore the leather shoes the B.I.A. issues us. I see your meaning. Our people are not used to the white man’s shoes, and in any case, they seldom fit right. Gray Dog may have scuffed more than a man in moccasins would have. But even so, Wendigo should have left some spoor!”
“Maybe he did. Meaning no offense, Rain Crow, a busted straw stem here and another one ten yards off ain’t hard to miss.”
