were suddenly to take to the plains and live out in the elements like the Indian, within a few hundred years or so we'd probably look much like them."
"I don't doubt it. My father was English. In the summer he was dark as any Indian. Only in the winter did his skin pale."
"Fascinating," Wynona said sincerely.
"Did you examine the other bodies?"
Wynona nodded. "Yes, sir, I did. In some depth."
"Tell me what you found."
Wynona spoke in some detail of the victims. She gave Longtree very detailed information not only on the physical remains and their condition, but on the men themselves. Their habits and lifestyles as best as she knew them.
"Abe Runyon, Cal Sevens, Charlie Mears, Pete Olak, George Rieko, Nate Segaris, and finally Curly Del Vecchio," Longtree read from his notebook. "All men. Odd that this beast hasn't gotten a woman or child. It's almost like its killing selectively."
Wynona raised an eyebrow. "I doubt that. We're dealing with a beast here, Marshal, not a reasoning being."
"I'm not so sure of that."
"You don't...I mean, you don't think a man is responsible for any of this?"
"No, not a man, I don't think."
"You mean a beast which... reasons?"
Longtree did not comment on it.
Wynona considered it. Yes, all men...but it had to be a coincidence, right? It could be nothing else. The idea of a creature that selected its victims...now that was frightening. She'd never even contemplated such a thing. But now that she had, she feared it would never leave her brain.
"Well," Wynona said, "you've certainly given me food for thought. Dark food, at that."
Longtree thanked her for her help and left.
Wynona shrugged and went back to the cadaver of Nate Segaris. "Well, Nate, back to work. Did I ever tell you that I was well-acquainted with your mother? No? It was when you were off fighting the war..."
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,
"I don't doubt it. My father was English. In the summer he was dark as any Indian. Only in the winter did his skin pale."
"Fascinating," Wynona said sincerely.
"Did you examine the other bodies?"
Wynona nodded. "Yes, sir, I did. In some depth."
"Tell me what you found."
Wynona spoke in some detail of the victims. She gave Longtree very detailed information not only on the physical remains and their condition, but on the men themselves. Their habits and lifestyles as best as she knew them.
"Abe Runyon, Cal Sevens, Charlie Mears, Pete Olak, George Rieko, Nate Segaris, and finally Curly Del Vecchio," Longtree read from his notebook. "All men. Odd that this beast hasn't gotten a woman or child. It's almost like its killing selectively."
Wynona raised an eyebrow. "I doubt that. We're dealing with a beast here, Marshal, not a reasoning being."
"I'm not so sure of that."
"You don't...I mean, you don't think a man is responsible for any of this?"
"No, not a man, I don't think."
"You mean a beast which... reasons?"
Longtree did not comment on it.
Wynona considered it. Yes, all men...but it had to be a coincidence, right? It could be nothing else. The idea of a creature that selected its victims...now that was frightening. She'd never even contemplated such a thing. But now that she had, she feared it would never leave her brain.
"Well," Wynona said, "you've certainly given me food for thought. Dark food, at that."
Longtree thanked her for her help and left.
Wynona shrugged and went back to the cadaver of Nate Segaris. "Well, Nate, back to work. Did I ever tell you that I was well-acquainted with your mother? No? It was when you were off fighting the war..."
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,
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