Skull Moon

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."