Longtree was just riding down the slope from the nondenominational cemetery outside town when he saw the smoke of a campfire in the hills. He'd gone up there to examine the graves of the murdered men for no other reason than he thought he should.
There wasn't much to see.
The markers had all been hewn from wood being that none of them were men of means. Snow had fallen since their burials, covering the graves. The markers were blanketed with melting ice.
Then he saw the smoke and thought he should investigate.
Maybe it was from the fire of some freelance prospector who might know something of the murdered men…or the rustlers. It was worth a shot.
After leaving Bowes that morning, he had talked with some of the widows of the victims. He learned nothing new. They were in mourning and he wasn't about to push them for seamy details concerning the dead.
Longtree urged his black up a rise and through a stand of pines. He could smell the air-fresh, cool-and the smoke of the fire. He also caught hints of bacon and coffee.
He approached the camp slowly, cautiously.
It paid to be careful, particularly with a murdering beast on the loose. People tended to be quick with their guns when they heard someone or something coming.
The closer he got, still out of visual range, he could hear the steady whacking sound of an axe splitting wood. The chopping kept up as he got closer and closer, moving the black along at a slow trot over the slushy ground. He came to a small opening in the trees, a rabbit darting off into the brush.
The chopping stopped.
The world was silent.
Longtree could see the fire and a team of horses picketed near the treeline. An old mud wagon was pulled up near a small army tent. There were a few rifles leaning up against it-a Winchester and a Sharps "Big Fifty". Steel-jawed traps and pelts of every description hung from it. There was a woodpile and enough kindling to last for a week.
But there was no one in sight.
Longtree grimaced. "Rider coming in," he called out.
He stopped the black by the wagon and tethered it. He warmed his hands by the fire and looked around. He knew the owner of the camp was hiding in the trees, getting a bead on him. But the fact that he hadn't shot yet meant he probably wouldn't.
"Who are you?" a voice called out and it was familiar somehow.
It came from behind him, but the marshal didn't turn around. "Joe Longtree, deputy U.S. Marshal," he said.
He heard the man swearing as he came out of the trees. He didn't seem too happy to have the law visiting.
Longtree snaked a hand inside his coat and withdrew one of his pistols. He made no menacing moves with it, he just kept it handy, his hand on the butt.
"What the hell do you want?" a gruff voice asked.
Longtree turned very slowly.
He found himself staring at a bear of a man, his shirt open, his chest gleaming with sweat. He was bearded and carried an Army Carbine. It was pointed at Longtree's head.
"I only came to warm myself," the marshal said.
"Warm yourself somewheres else, Longtree," the man told him.
The way he said it made the marshal sure this man knew him. But from where? The voice was familiar, but nothing more. Maybe without that beard. Then it came to him. This was Jacko Gantz.
It could be no other.
Ten years ago, before Longtree was a lawman, he'd been hunting men for money. There'd been a five-hundred dollar bounty on Gantz for robbing stages in the Arizona Territory. Longtree had caught up with him at a saloon in Wickenburg after three months on his trail. There'd been some shooting. Longtree took a bullet in the shoulder, Gantz caught one in the leg and one in his gun hand.
This took the fight out of the road agent.
Longtree cuffed him and got the both of them to a doctor. Three days later, he delivered Gantz to Phoenix and placed him in the custody of Tom Rivers, then just a U.S. Marshal before his appointment to chief marshal. Gantz, after his trial, had been sentenced to ten years in the Arizona Territorial Prison at Yuma.
"When did you get out, Gantz?" Longtree asked.
Gantz kept the gun on him. "Two years ago, Longtree. I did eight long years in that fucking hellhole. Thanks to you."
Longtree's face betrayed no emotion. "I only did my job."
"Yeah, you sure did, you sonofabitch," Gantz said angrily. "Eight years of my goddamn life. Eight years. And what happened to you in that time, Longtree? You became a lawman, a federal marshal. How the hell did a breed like you swing that?" He laughed through clenched teeth. "Rivers got you that appointment, didn't he? He's a big wheel now, so I hear."
"I'd appreciate it, Gantz, if you'd lower that rifle."
Gantz kept it where it was. "Oh, I bet you would, Marshal, I just bet you would." His eyes never left Longtree for a moment and in them was a hatred that burned black. "I thought about you a lot in prison, Longtree. Didn't a day go by that I didn't think about killing you. And now, look what's happened? I got your sorry hide in my sights."
"Drop that weapon," Longtree said flatly.
"Or what? You gonna shoot me down unarmed like you did-"
"You weren't unarmed, Gantz. I took a bullet in the shoulder as proof of that."
"I oughta shoot you down like a sick dog," Gantz grumbled.
Longtree's eyes narrowed. "Drop your weapon, Gantz. Now. This is a U.S. Marshal ordering you to drop your weapon."
Gantz just stared at him. Longtree had his Colt aimed at the man's belly. They stood like that for a few moments, neither saying a word. Longtree squatting by the fire and Gantz standing with his carbine pointed at the marshal's head.
"You must be a real fool, Longtree," Gantz said. "Badge or no badge, I pull this trigger and I'll scatter your brains for a hundred yards."
"Maybe. But the second you shoot, so do I. And my bullet goes in your belly. And if you think you can make it down to Wolf Creek gutshot, then you're a bigger asshole than you look. You'll bleed to death long before."
"Maybe it's worth it."
Longtree raised an eyebrow and stood up very slowly. "Maybe. But even if you live, you'll spend your days as a hunted man. Killing a federal officer is a serious offense, Gantz. The law'll hound you to an early grave."
Gantz said nothing. The barrel of his carbine was still pointed at Longtree's head. He licked his lips.
"If you're gonna shoot, then shoot!" Longtree shouted in his face. "Pull that trigger, boy! Shoot, goddammit, shoot!"
Gantz looked uncertain. He lowered the carbine, smiling. "Never said I was going to."
Longtree made like he was going to holster his pistol and then brought it up in a vicious arc, cracking Gantz along the side of the face with the butt. Gantz went down with a cry, blood running from a gash in his cheek. Longtree pulled the carbine from him and kicked him in the ribs.
"I could have you back in prison for this, Gantz." He ejected the shells from the rifle and tossed it in the woods. "Do it again and I will."
Gantz sat up, moaning and pressing a trembling hand to his wound. "You sonofabitch," he gasped. "You didn't have to do that."
Longtree ignored him, lighting a thin cigar. "Why are you here?"
"To get that animal. To get the bounty."
Longtree spat in the dirt next to him. "All you're going to do is get yourself killed, hear? If you're smart, you'll haul ass out."
"No law," Gantz murmured, "against hunting a dangerous animal."
"Nope. But there is one against endangering the life of a federal officer."
"I didn't mean nothin'."
"Keep out of my way, Gantz. If you fuck with me again, I'll kill you deader than deerhide."
Gantz nodded.
Longtree untethered his black and climbed back on, riding off. He knew this wasn't at an end. Not by any stretch. He had a killer beast on his hands. A sheriff who was a violent drunk. And now Gantz.
There'd be some dying before this mess was wrapped up.