The Brazos Devil was still bellowing as Singh hacked at it. The creature’s arms had completely encircled the Sikh and were crushing him mercilessly. Blood welled from Singh’s mouth and nose as his bones splintered and his organs were pulped. But his arms kept rising and falling with the curved blade, which was now dripping with gore.
Longarm saw Catamount Jack appear at the other side of the clearing, behind the Brazos Devil. The mountain man lifted his Sharps, sighted, and pulled the trigger. The bullet slammed into the monster’s back and knocked it forward. Its arms lost their grip on Singh and he slid limply to the ground. Ponderously, the Brazos Devil swung around toward Catamount Jack, whose eyes widened in shock.
“Luther?” said Catamount Jack.
The Brazos Devil roared and stumbled toward the mountain man. Longarm emptied his .44 into the creature’s side, staggering it but not knocking it down. The thick brown fur was covered with blood now from the bullet and sword wounds, but the Brazos Devil was still on its feet, still bent on mayhem. Longarm wondered if it could be killed.
But if it drew breath, cold steel could kill it. Longarm jammed his gun back in its holster and ran forward, bending over to snatch up the sword Singh had dropped. He wrapped both hands around its hilt and lifted it over his head as he lunged at the Brazos Devil. With a primitive yell of his own, he drove the blade into the back of the creature as hard as he could. This close, the stench of the beast was almost enough to overpower a man.
The Devil had just reached Catamount Jack, who had drawn a Bowie knife from a sheath at his waist. Catamount Jack plunged the Bowie into the creature’s chest at the same time as Longarm attacked from behind. The Brazos Devil roared in pain and rage and flailed around with its arms. One of them clipped Longarm and knocked him backward, off his feet.
“Get back, Pa!” Lucy called, and a second later the Sharps boomed yet again. Longarm heard the thud as the slug struck the Brazos Devil, but he didn’t know where the shot had landed on the creature. All he knew was that the monster was still on its feet, even with a Bowie knife sticking out of its chest and the Sikh’s sword protruding from its back. It looked around at the circle of humans around it, then threw back its head and let out a pitiful howl that died away into a whimper. It stumbled a couple of steps, then went to its knees. The Brazos Devil gave a shake of its shaggy head.
Longarm got to his feet and watched along with Catamount Jack and Lucy as the creature fell slowly onto its side like a huge tree. Its breath rasped harshly in its throat for a few seconds, then stopped. A shudder went through the massive body, but after that it was utterly still.
“I reckon he’s dead,” Catamount Jack said into the hushed silence that followed. “Poor son of a bitch. Hope he’s found peace at last.”
Longarm looked at the old mountain man with a frown. “I heard you call it Luther. You knew that … that thing?”
“He’s not a thing,” Catamount Jack said solemnly. “He’s a man. Leastways, he used to be. Him and me, we was friends a long time ago, back in the days when the buffalo still roamed the plains.”
Longarm was still out of breath, and his pulse was hammering in his head. He started to reload his gun with cartridges from his shell belt, and looked around as he did so. Lord and Lady Beechmuir were standing nearby. Booth’s arms were around Helene, and she was crying as she pressed her face against his chest. The Englishman was doing what he could to comfort her. He appeared to be all right.
Rainey was dead, of course, and so were Singh and Ghote. Longarm felt a touch of regret as he looked at the Sikh’s crushed, misshapen body. Singh had been a hell of a fighting man, upholding the reputation of his kinsmen.
Longarm holstered his gun and turned back to the fallen Brazos Devil. Catamount Jack had hold of one of the man’s feet. With a yank, he dislodged the clawed extremity. It was a boot of sorts, Longarm saw now, with what was evidently the paw of a bear attached to it.
“Them tracks we saw put me in mind of these special-made boots ol’ Luther used to wear,” said Catamount Jack. “I never thought it could be him, though. We used to hunt buffalo together, up in Kansas and the Texas Panhandle. I lost track of him ‘bout six years ago, round the time the last of the big herds disappeared. He weren’t right in the head even then, I reckon. Sometimes he claimed he was a buffalo. That’s why he dressed in them skins.”
“What was his name?” Longarm asked quietly.
“Luther Barcroft.” Catamount Jack shook his head. “Ain’t no tellin’ how he wound up down here in the Brazos country. Must’ve just drifted around after he lost his mind, gettin’ farther and farther away from folks.” With a sigh, Catamount Jack added, “I ain’t sure I’d feel right collectin’ a bounty on an old friend like this, but I reckon you and me and Lucy got it comin’, Marshal. And that feller over there who had the sword, if he’s got any kin that can claim it.”
“We don’t have to worry about that,” Longarm said bleakly. “There won’t be any bounty. Nobody to pay it. Thorp’s dead.”
“Dead?” Lucy repeated in surprise as she came up to them. “What happened to him?”
“I found his wife,” Longarm said. “She’s dead too, though. It’s a long story, and it’s sure not pretty.” Catamount Jack opened the breech of his Sharps and started reloading it. “You mean to say ever’body’s dead ‘ceptin’ us three and them two English folks?”
Longarm nodded. “Looks like it.”
Catamount Jack shook his head. “I reckon I’ve had enough of monsters and such.”
“So have I,” Longarm said tiredly. “So have I.”
“I’m still not sure I’ve got the straight of all of it,” Marshal Mal Burley said late that afternoon. He and Longarm were in the little office in front of the jail in Cottonwood Springs, and Longarm had just explained everything that had happened. He didn’t blame Burley for having trouble grasping all the bizarre turns this case had taken. Right from the start, when Longarm woke up facedown in that grave, the whole business had seemed like the kind of nightmare a fella would get after eating some bad beef.
Maybe that was it, Longarm thought with a faint, weary smile. Maybe the whole thing had been just a bad dream.
