Narcotics were nothing to fool with.
Dependency came easily and he was already beginning to exhibit the signs of it: loss of appetite, euphoria after injecting, a building need that demanded more and more.
Damn, Perry thought, but I'm a fool.
He knew better than to be fooling around with the stuff, had seen countless men turned into addicts during the War Between the States, and yet he'd willingly started a progression of dependency that could only end in disaster. But his lower back troubles-which had started after he was thrown from a horse five years before and slammed against a rock outcropping-had gotten progressively worse. It had reached the point in the past few months where he could barely function. Getting out of bed was a task, examining a patient with all the bending and turning required, was agony.
If it hadn't been for the drug, he would've had to give up his practice some time ago. That and live the doubtful existence of an invalid, confined to bed for the remainder of his years.
Perry couldn't let that happen.
People depended on him and the lifestyle of the aged and infirm would've killed him faster than any drug could hope to.
He came to the church and forced himself up its steps. Inside, it was dark and quiet. He called out for Claussen a few times, but there was no answer. He made his way to the rectory and looked around. Claussen didn't seem to be there. Perry thought once of looking upstairs, but he had no intention of invading the man's privacy. That and the fact that it would be hell on his back.
In Claussen's study, Perry found the books he was looking for. He wasn't about to accept any of this monster nonsense, but only a fool dismissed something without a thorough study. He wrote a note to the reverend and took as many books as his back would allow.
As the doctor left, he thought he heard a moan from upstairs.
He dismissed it and went on his way.
29
Some time later, Abigail Lauters, the sheriff's wife, and her cousin, Virginia Krebs, came to the church and couldn't find the reverend. It wasn't like him to miss their bible study meeting.
'My God,' Abigail said, 'I don't like this. Not one bit.'
Virginia looked around the dim church and shivered. 'Maybe he's in the rectory. Poor dear's been working himself sick.'
So they went to the rectory.
'Where do you suppose he could be?' Abigail wondered.
'I do hope nothing's happened.'
Abigail touched the broach on her throat. 'I better tell Bill about this. He might know where he is.' She said this with a certain amount of distaste for she had precious little use for her husband these days. A drunk. A sinner. A poor father to their children. Reverend Claussen remonstrated him from the pulpit on Sundays and Abigail agreed completely. Something was killing people and all Bill did was drink. Shameful.
Virginia said, 'This is a bad omen. I'm sure of it.'
Neither of them thought of looking upstairs.
30
The reverend heard people come and people go. But he was in too much pain and suffering, too much humiliation to call out. Lauters had beaten him good. Beyond his shattered nose, nothing seemed to be broken but his pride. But he hurt all over. His face was a swollen purple and yellow mass of bruises. One eye was closed. He was missing two teeth. There was a lump on top of his head the size of a baseball and his nose was a bloody flap.
He didn't want anyone seeing him like this.
He heard the doctor come and go. He heard Lauter's wife and her cousin come and go. He was thankful that neither tried to look for him. To be seen like this…it was unthinkable. They would ask questions and how could he answer? If he said who did it, Lauters would expose him for what he was.
The reverend couldn't allow that.
There were only two possible choices: Either get out of Wolf Creek and give up all he had worked to build for so long or get rid of the man who had done this to him.
Kill Lauters?
It was unthinkable, yet it was exactly what he was thinking-kill the bastard. But how? How in God's name could he kill a man who was both handy with a gun and his fists?
The reverend wasn't sure. But it had to be done.
31
Longtree caught up with Lauters at the livery.
'I'd like a word with you, Sheriff,' he said.
Lauters grumbled. 'I ain't got nothing to say to you, Marshal. Just get out of my way.'
But Longtree wasn't moving. He was blocking the door. 'I wanna talk about the rustling ring. The Gang of Ten.'
Lauters wiped his mouth with the back of his fist. 'That's a local problem,' he said calmly. 'It's none of your damn business. You came to stop these killings, so get to it and keep your nose out of the rest.'
Longtree hadn't expected cooperation. It was the farthest thing from his mind. The only reason he'd tracked down Lauters was to put him on the spot, to hammer him with questions about the ring and the lynching and their possible connection. And see just what kind of reaction he would get.
'I'm thinking, Sheriff, that these murders and the ring are connected.'
Lauters licked his lips. 'If you think that you're just a damn stupid breed like I thought all along.'
'I wanna know about the Gang of Ten.'
Lauters' colorless face was touched with red now. 'About all you're going to know is a bullet in the belly if you don't get out of my way.'
Longtree ignored him. 'I've been hearing talk that these rustlers might be mixed up in a lynching a year back.'
'Out of my way, you sonofabitch.' Lauters' eyes were bulging now.
'Folks are saying you might know more than you're telling.'
Lauters' hand was on the butt of his gun. 'You little-'
'Why'd you send your deputy away that night?'
Lauters was trembling. 'Shut up! Shut up or I'll kill you! I swear to God I will!'
Longtree had to suppress a grin now. Not because he liked any of this, but because he was pushing Lauters' buttons and the man was reacting accordingly. Longtree had been a lawman for too long not to see that the sheriff was hiding a few things.
Then the ultimate question: 'Were you involved with the rustlers?'
Lauters took one step forward. 'You're a dead man, Longtree…'
Longtree pulled his coat aside so the pistol on his right hip was exposed. It wasn't a threat…just a warning. 'If you're planning to shoot me, Sheriff, you'd best think again.'
Lauters glared at him. There was a tic now in his lower lip. His huge hand was shaking on the butt of his
