3
Longtree next did what he dreaded: he went to the Sheriff's office.
He'd dealt with countless local lawmen in his tenure as a federal marshal. They came in all varieties as did all men. Some were kind and friendly, glad for his assistance. Others were suspicious, yet helpful. Still others were like Lauters: arrogant, hateful, self-serving. They saw the advent of a federal man in their territory as an insult, the government's way of saying they weren't doing their job. And nothing could be farther from the truth.
Longtree fought through the vicious winds and entered the jailhouse. As he feared, Lauters was there. Without the heavy coat on, he was still a large man, earning his nickname of 'Big Bill'. He was a powerful fellow, Longtree decided, both physically and psychologically. But well past his prime. He was fat, bloated almost, having the look of a man who drank heavily on a daily basis. His face was puffy and white, the eyes bloodshot, blood vessels broken in his nose.
He was a veteran alcoholic. There was no doubt of this. Longtree, a man who'd battled the bottle himself, knew a drunk when he saw one.
'Morning, Sheriff,' Longtree said.
Lauters just glared. His pale lips spread in a frown. They didn't have to go very far. 'Well, well, well, the Marshal has come to save the day.'
Longtree suppressed a grin. Lauters was drunk. 'I need a little information on the murdered men.'
'Well, you won't get it from me.'
'C'mon, Sheriff. What's the point of this? You know the law; you have to cooperate. Help me out here and I'll do my best to stay out of your hair.'
'Yeah, I know the law, mister,' Lauters said slowly, his eyes not quite focusing. 'I know the goddamn law and I don't need no yellow sonofbitch like you to tell it to me. Damn breed.'
Longtree sighed and put his hat on the desk. 'You got a deputy?'
'None of yer fucking business.'
Longtree sat down and stared at the man. Obviously, he'd been doing some checking to know that Longtree was a half-breed or 'breed', as he called it. That meant that he probably knew everything there was to know. Not that it mattered.
'You're wrong there, Sheriff, it is my business. I'll ask you again: Do you have a deputy?'
'Goddamn breed. You know how many injuns I've killed? Do you?'
Longtree grinned sardonically. 'Know how many white men I've killed?'
Lauters stood up, swaying a bit. 'I oughta take yer sorry ass out back and teach it a lesson.'
'Nothing you can teach me, Sheriff. Nothing at all.'
'Wanna slap leather, boy? You wanna-'
'Sheriff.' The voice was stern, authoritative. It belonged to a white-haired man with a drooping gray mustache. 'That'll be enough now. We got enough problems around here without you being put in your own jail.'
Lauters grimaced and staggered into the back room. Another man came out, shutting the door behind him. He was tall and thin, not more than thirty, wearing a deputy's badge.
'I'm Doctor Perry,' the old man said. 'This here's Alden Bowes. We're pleased to meet you.'
Longtree shook hands with both of them.
'What you're seeing there,' Perry said, stabbing his thumb at the back room, 'is the wreck of a good man.'
'Too bad,' Longtree said.
Bowes shrugged. 'He never used to drink, mister. Maybe a drop or two on Saturday night, never more. I swear to God.'
'I believe you,' Longtree said. 'The fact remains that he's in a bad way now. He's a menace. A man in his position can't go around in a drunken stupor. He'll kill someone eventually.'
'He wouldn't do that,' Bowes affirmed.
'You don't think so?'
Neither Perry nor the deputy bothered arguing the point.
'I gotta get back,' Perry said, tipping his hat. 'Marshal.'
Longtree took out his tobacco pouch and rolled a cigarette. 'I don't know what you might think of me, Deputy, or what the Sheriff has filled your head with, but-'
'I draw my own conclusions on a man, Marshal.'
Longtree nodded, lighting his cigarette, a cloud of smoke twisting lazily away from his face. 'We've got us a major problem here, Deputy. We've got a slew of killings and they ain't gonna stop the way Lauters is doing things. You and I, we'll have to work together on this.'
Bowes leaned back in the chair behind the desk, knowing, as all did, it would soon be his chair. He scratched at his thin beard. 'I'm all for that, Marshal. But where the hell do we start? Folks around here are all for putting up a bounty on this animal. You know what that would mean? Every drifter with a gun who fancied himself a hunter would be crawling out in those hills, shooting any damn thing that moved and each other in the process.'
'Yeah, I figured they'd be thinking that way.' Longtree smoked and was silent for a moment. 'We've got to think this thing out carefully. There's no room for mistakes here. We're dealing with something much more dangerous than any animal I've ever come across.'
'What the hell is it, Marshal? What kills like that? What sort of beast kills like it… enjoys the act of killing?'
Longtree shook his head. 'Something's going on here. Something the likes of which neither of us have ever seen.'
'Like what?' Bowes asked.
'I'm not sure,' Longtree admitted. 'Not just yet.'
Bowes looked irritable. 'If you've got some idea, let me in on it. Christ, this is madness.'
'I'll keep my thoughts to myself for now,' Longtree said. 'No point in going off half-cocked or making myself look foolish.'
Bowes didn't look happy. 'Okay, have it your own way.'
Longtree would have liked to share his thoughts. But as yet, they were just thoughts. Half-formed ideas with no basis in reality. Yet. They were dealing with something horrible here. Something unknown. Something that didn't follow the rules, but set new ones. A beast that killed like an animal, but seemed to be almost following some indecipherable pattern. Once Longtree could figure out what that pattern was, they would be close to finding out what sort of killer they were dealing with.
'What's our first step, Marshal? Can you tell me that much?'
'I need to know about these men that were killed,' Longtree said.
'Why? They were just men.'
'I need to know about them,' Longtree maintained. 'If there was anything they might have had in common.'
'You aren't suggesting that this beast picked these men to kill, are you?'
'Could be,' Longtree told him. 'I just don't know yet. I won't overlook anything at this point.'
Bowes shrugged and talked at some length about the victims.
He covered a lot of the same ground as Wynona Spence had. Abe Runyon had been a railroad man, quick with his temper and fists. Not well liked. Cal Sevens had worked at the livery where he was killed. He was a newcomer to town, been there only a few years and kept mostly to himself. Charlie Mears lived at the Serenity Motel. He was a miner and had been fired from the mines for drinking. But he always seemed to have plenty of money and some suspected he was a highwayman. Pete Olak was a woodsman who cut firewood for a living. He had contracts with a few hotels and the railroad. He had been married with two kids and was well-liked. George Reiko was little better than a drunk. He lived with the Widow Thompkins and never seemed to do much but drink and gamble. Nate Segaris had a little spread outside town and had gone to seed since the death of his wife. He had a few horses. Gambled a bit. Drank with the miners and ranch hands on Saturday nights. Curly Del Vecchio was an
