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Longtree had himself a room now at the Serenity Hotel in Wolf Creek. It wasn't much, but the bed was comfortable and there was a livery stable across the street for his black. There was a saloon just off the lobby and the food wasn't bad. The door bolted from the inside and the window was painted shut; it was very unlikely anyone could sneak up on him whilst he slept. And while he was awake, he didn't see that as a problem. All things considered, it beat the hell out of sleeping outside…particularly when there were men trying to kill you and maybe something worse. He enjoyed the outdoors, found it spiritually refreshing, but the white man in him often yearned for material comforts.

He'd gotten a pint of rum from the bar and lay on his bed now, sipping from it. He'd come to Wolf Creek under order from Tom Rivers. As a special deputy U.S. Marshal, he had no actual territory to call his own. He was merely sent wherever Rivers thought he was needed, where his skills as a lawman and former scout and bounty hunter would come in handy.

And Rivers had thought Wolf Creek needed him.

But Longtree wasn't so sure.

There'd been nothing but trouble since he'd arrived-with Lauters, with Gantz. And even without those two, this entire situation was well out of his experience. As a bounty hunter and then lawman, he'd brought in nearly every man he'd been sent after. There were few who'd escaped Joe Longtree. He brought them in alive, dead, and nearly dead. He was a hunter of men and he played this hand well. There was no one better at it. He'd taken in murderers, robbers, renegade Indians, road agents, bootleggers, and even entire gangs in his time. Longtree'd had some of the most vicious men (and women) in the west come at him with guns, knives, hatchets, clubs, even their bare hands. He'd been in a hundred near scrapes with death and escaped every time. Oh, he'd been shot several times, stabbed, beaten, and even hanged (that injury still pained him some, but he'd survived). As a scout, he'd even been tortured for three days after capture by a Cheyenne war party.

But this…this business was too much for even him.

It was a complicated affair. First there was the Gang of Ten, the rustlers, of which he was pretty certain only two still lived and Lauters was one of them. He was sure of this now. He even suspected Lauters had something to do with Gantz trying to kill him…but there was no proof. The rustlers, Longtree was sure, had been found out by Red Elk and before the Blackfoot could speak his piece, he was blamed for the murder of that Carpenter girl. But Longtree didn't think Red Elk was guilty…one of the rustlers had been. Arresting Red Elk and then lynching him killed two birds with a single well-thrown stone: the real murderer could go free and Red Elk's tongue would be forever silenced. The rustlers were probably pretty proud of themselves at the time for how easily they'd covered their tracks…until a year later.

Longtree took another drink, the rum filling him with warmth.

And what had happened a year later? Longtree wasn't entirely sure. The Blackfeet had sought revenge via the Skull Society which had called up some beast to kill the vigilantes. Longtree wasn't sure what this beast was, not really. According to Moonwind, some primeval monster that had once been worshipped by the Skull Society centuries and centuries before. Bowes and he had seen something like it at the burial ground that night. But the one on the loose was no zombie, no hulking mummy, but a creature very much alive…or something like it. Now Crazytail said that once the guilty parties were all killed, this Skullhead would continue killing. So who, Longtree wondered, were the real victims here? Red Elk and his people or all the innocents that would suffer because of the actions of a group of criminals and resultant actions of some blood-hungry Indians?

There seemed to be only one course of action: find out who all the members of this Skull Society were and arrest them. One of them had to know where this beast was…and if not? Well, then more problems. But Longtree couldn't arrest any Indians on suspicion of something like this. The Indian Agent in the district would go crazy. What did you arrest them for? he'd ask. Because, Longtree would tell him, one of them is harboring a monster.

It was ludicrous.

There was, really, nothing he could do. Nothing at all. His only hopes were to find this beast and destroy it. And when that was done, he was putting Lauters under arrest, too. If he could convince Tom Rivers to issue the warrant, that was.

Longtree corked the bottle. Enough drinking. He strapped his guns on, donned his coat and hat, and left his room, 1873 Winchester. 44 in hand. The sun was setting and the beast would be active again.

Time to kill it or be killed.

Outside, Longtree got his horse, saddled it, and rode out of Wolf Creek. Crazytail had said the beast would come after him, too, and the marshal was inviting it to. He started riding up to the Blackfeet camp.