parts, but that don’t mean sensible folks have to take’em serious. Have you boys been converted to Mormons? Are you fixing to build octagonal houses or vote the Anarchist ticket? Hell, we got a white missionary gal out at the reservation trying to sell the Bible to the Blackfoot without much luck.”
“They say Sitting Bull’s interested in Wovoka’s new Ghost Dance notions.”
The deputy stuck a cheroot between his teeth, but made no move to light it. “I wouldn’t know what Sitting Bull’s interested in, but he’s way the hell over in Pine Ridge and he ain’t a Blackfoot. I’ve been bedding down out at the Indian Agency, and if we were fixing to have another war I’d likely hear about it before the boys in the saloon.”
Another hand asked, “What’s this Wendigo shit they keep jawing about? Did this here Wendigo kill Roping Sally?”
“The Wendigo is a spook. I’m betting on a flesh-and-blood killer. I aim to get the son of a bitch, and when I do he’ll likely die slow, gut-shot and begging for another bullet, if I have my way.”
“That’s too good for the shit-eatin’ hound! If we catch up with him he’ll die even slower. We been discussin’ whether to stake him on an anthill smeared with honey or whether we should start by stickin’ his pecker in a sausage grinder first. Roping Sally was a good ol’ gal, even if she was too stuck up to screw her pals.”
Before Longarm had to answer that, the coroner came out, wiping his hands on his linen smock and looking cheerful, considering.
He nodded to the three cowhands and told Longarm, “We’ve got a break, the last victim being white. Found a contusion just below the severed vertebrae.”
“You mean she was bruised on the back of her neck, Doc?”
“That’s what I just told you. Looks like she was rabbit-punched from behind, and if it’s any comfort to you boys, I’d say she never knew what hit her.”
Longarm frowned and said, “Doc, she was on a tall horse and likely riding at a lope! How in thunder can anyone rabbit-punch a rider from behind like that?”
“Must have ridden up behind her,” the coroner speculated.
“No, Doc, not a chance. We found the hoofprints where her buckskin slowed after she left the saddle. That bronc was loping when she fell. There wasn’t another hoofmark within a mile.”
“You must have missed something. I’m calling it like I read it. Roping Sally was knocked off her buckskin by a hard blow from behind, then slashed, gutted, and beheaded. The how and who is your department. Maybe the Indians are right and this Wendigo’s some sort of flying critter.”
“You don’t believe that, Doc. If any man knew how to fly he’d be too busy patenting the notion to go about killing folks. We’re likely missing his method, but flying ain’t it. I’ve been meaning to ask you something else about these killings, though. What in thunder do you reckon he wants with the heads?”
“Beats me. Maybe he’s taking up a collection.”
“You said you collect skulls, Doc. I don’t mean I suspicion you of being the Wendigo, for I was impolite enough to ask about where you were last night. I know about those papers you write for the Smithsonian, too. But, leaving your own Indian skulls aside, can you think of any other value a human head might have?”
The coroner scratched his head. “You mean a cash value? Not hardly. I can get old skulls for five or ten dollars from the medical supply houses. An interesting skull like Real Bear’s might be worth a little more to some museum. A white woman’s skull? Maybe ten dollars, cleaned and mounted properly. A man with a shovel could ride out along the old wagon trails and dig up all the bones he wanted without having to kill anybody. Hundreds of people died and were buried in shallow graves moving West a few years back.”
One of the cowhands nodded and said, “I know an old emigrant burial ground just a few miles away. Every time it rains some bones wash out of the ground where it’s gullied some.”
Longarm mused aloud, “No way the heads were taken to hide the identity of anyone. We know who all the victims were. Wait a minute—the killer never took Real Bear’s head! He was skinned instead of beheaded. How do you figure that, Doc?”
“Longarm, the man we’re dealing with is a lunatic! How should I know why he does the things he does? He’d have to be crazy as a bedbug to do any of it!”
The deputy shifted his unlit cheroot to the other side of his mouth, and chewed it pensively. “We both keep saying he, Doc. I keep calling the Wendigo a ‘he’ because I’ve never met a gal that ornery. Is there any chance I could be wrong?”
“You mean is the Wendigo a woman? You have been drinking some.”
Longarm pressed on, “Nobody’s seen the Wendigo. A woman, maybe smiling sweet, could get a lot closer to folks without arousing suspicion of unfriendly intentions. That young buck Gray Dog had a rabbit gun in his hand when he got jumped. Yellow Leggings was looking for the Wendigo, and packing a carbine. Roping Sally was riding armed and likely looking sharp about her. Not one of those folks would have just waited for a strange man, red or white, to announce his intentions.”
“I see what you mean,” the coroner said, “but a woman won’t wash. Not unless she was as strong as, or stronger than most men. Roping Sally may have been strong enough to cut those deep slashes and sever a spine with one cut that way, but we know she didn’t do it. You fellows know any other tomboys like Roping Sally hereabouts?”
The three hands shook their heads. One of them said, “Sally was as big a gal as we had out here, Doc. She could have whupped any gal and likely half the men in the county.”
“That’s my opinion, too,” the coroner agreed. “Longarm, your notion might work another way. What if all three victims met someone they knew? Someone they thought was a friend?”
Longarm shook his head. “The two Indians wouldn’t have been all that close with anyone Sally might have. She got along with Blackfoot, but I doubt she’d have let one get the drop on her. Besides, we found no sign near any of the bodies. I’ll allow a man could move across the grass on foot without leaving sign, walking creepy-careful, but wouldn’t you ask questions if even someone you knew came tiptoeing through the tulips at you?”
The coroner impatiently waggled an antiseptic-smelling hand at the deputy. “Let’s stay with who and leave the
