An hour later, the carnage at Sheriff Lauters' farm was discovered. And as the fates would have it, Lauters discovered it himself. He was sober when he rode out to the farm, his hurt arm bandaged and aching. He knew something was wrong when he'd rounded the little hill that overlooked his spread.
I had a funny feeling, he said later, a tickle at the back of my neck…
He'd paused up there on the hill. What he saw was a cold, unnatural stillness enveloping the grounds. The boys weren't out tending to things. No chickens squawked, no pigs squealed, no horses whinnied. No trail of smoke issued from the chimney.
What he found was slaughter. His family murdered.
Longtree could pretty much put together the rest. Lauters had rode into town and informed everyone, before collapsing with hysteria. He was now at Dr. Perry's, sedated. Perry said he'd sleep until evening.
Longtree toured the crime scene, his stomach in his throat. The remains of Lauters' eldest son, Chauncey, were discovered in the barn, mixed in with those of several pigs, two horses, and a blizzard of feathers from the chickens. In the house, a body ripped like a bag of meat and cast about was thought to be what was left of Lauters' wife, Abigail. Upstairs, were the headless corpse of Abigail's cousin Virginia Krebs and a collection of pitted bones thought to belong to Jimmy Lauters. The youngest boy, Jo Jo, was nowhere to be found. The window to the children's room was broken outward, so it was thought the fiend leapt out with the three-year old in tow. Bloody, inhuman footprints nearly covered by snow wound out into the distance.
Alden Bowes was, for all purposes, the sheriff of Wolf Creek now. He knew Lauters' family well and none of it was easy for him. But he had a job to do and do it he would.
"I can't believe this," Bowes kept saying. "What kind of animal does something like this?"
"No animal," Longtree said.
Bowes narrowed his eyes. "These people had nothing to do with that lynching, Marshal. I think… this puts your little theory to bed."
Longtree frowned. "Not at all, Deputy. It couldn't find him, so it went for his family."
Bowes paled and walked off, joining Spence and Perry as they examined the atrocities in the barn. Longtree didn't blame the man for how he felt; the other victims were bad enough, but this…this was obscene. No other word could be applied here. Women and children. Longtree had seen plenty of killing in his time. Enough to turn most men sick with the awful potential of their fellow man. But never had he experienced the aftermath of such gruesome savagery before.
Longtree joined the others in the barn.
Perry was examining a human femur stripped of flesh. There were huge indentations in it. "Teeth marks," he said in disgust. "This thing must be incredibly powerful. I've seen the leftovers from a grizzly's meal…but never anything like this…" He coughed then, fighting against tears.
"It must be insane," Wynona Spence said, "this beast. Even a pack of hungry wolves stop…they fill themselves and let the scavengers have the rest. But this thing…by God, it eats and eats. It kills for pleasure, for the fun of it."
Longtree lit a hand-rolled. "You better get a posse together, Deputy. You get some men and tracking dogs on that thing's trail, you might find it. Trail's still fresh."
Bowes nodded. "You coming?"
"I'll join you later. Something I have to follow up first."
Bowes got on his horse and rode off.
Longtree pulled Perry aside. "I hate to add insult to injury, Doc, but when this is wound up, I may have to arrest the sheriff."
Perry didn't look surprised. "Why?"
Longtree told him about the masked gunman. "I figure you dug a bullet out of Lauters' arm last night, did you not?"
Perry nodded grimly. "Just wait until this is over, son. Do that for me. I suspect the sheriff is guilty of a great many crimes around here." He looked back at the litter of bodies. "God help him," he sobbed. "Oh, Jesus, Marshal, the children…"
Longtree watched him walk away stiffly, wondering just what the doctor knew and what he didn't know. And feeling for him, this entire town, a great compassion.