Skull Moon

Ryan had put together an army of over sixty men that would ride at first light against the Blackfeet camp. That problem would be solved, but as for Longtree…that was another matter entirely. He had to be killed and soon. There wasn't enough time to bring in a professional killer and most of those wouldn't care too much to go after a federal marshal, particularly one with Longtree's reputation for cunning.

No, there was only one man for the job.

Ryan himself.

He considered himself a businessman, not a killer. He wasn't fast with a gun, but he was a good shot. Something he'd picked up in the sixties as a buffalo hunter. And he wouldn't need to be fast…he planned on shooting the marshal in the back. It was the way most professionals did it, he knew. Safe, sure. The accepted method.

But it had to be done tonight.

And doing it would mean leaving the security of the ranch.

That was dangerous. But it was equally as dangerous letting Longtree live. He knew the truth of who the rustlers were and who lynched that injun. It was only a matter of time before he obtained the proper warrants. Ryan was a powerful man and he could probably block said warrants for a time, but not forever, not without looking damn guilty.

He devised a plan.

He found one of the men on watch. Cal Shannon. Shannon was a good man, but he liked the wild life and this is what Ryan needed.

"Cal," he told him, "I need you to ride into Wolf Creek for me."

Shannon's eyes lit up. He knew he could stop for a drink and maybe a round of quick fun at Madame Tillie's. "But the watch…"

"I'll get another man."

"What do you need, sir?"

Ryan told him. He was to go see Wynona Spence, the undertaker, and check on the progress of the monument. Have Spence put in writing the progress she was making. Then he was to go to the Serenity Hotel and procure a case of their best champagne. After that, there were some dry goods needed. But before he did any of that, he was to track down Marshal Longtree and tell him to ride up to the ranch immediately. And after these things were done, he could spend the night as he chose. Ryan even slipped him some money.

"No hurry to come back in the morning," Ryan said. "Have a good time. You need a day off, I think."

Shannon hooked up a wagon immediately and rode off.

Ryan took his guns and rode off a few minutes after Shannon was gone. He found a good spot on the trail to spring his ambush. Then he waited. The spot he'd selected was a shelf of rock rising a good twenty feet above the ground. Ryan could lay up here and shoot Longtree in the back as he rode by. There was no margin for error-if he didn't kill Longtree, Longtree would kill him. He had no doubt of that.

But there would be no error here.

Ryan had a Sharps 1875,. 50 caliber. The "Big Fifty" as it was called, a buffalo gun. It could drop a bull with ease. No man would live if hit. And Longtree wouldn't live. It was dark, but the moon was full. Plenty of light to shoot and die by.

Ryan waited.

He figured, at best, it would take a good thirty or forty minutes before Longtree would arrive. He only hoped Shannon could find him. If he couldn't, this entire plan was doomed to failure. It would mean that Ryan would have to go into town himself and shoot the marshal and such an idea was ripe with dangers. But the cold fact remained: Joseph Longtree had to die.

There were no two ways about that.

Ryan wetted his lips and waited for his victim, knowing when the time came, he'd better be damn sure it was Longtree he was shooting and not someone else. The idea of murder didn't sit well with Ryan and if some innocent was killed by accident…no, that was unthinkable.

The wind began to pick up slightly. It had a warmth to it. A mere hint of heat to dispel the cold. It wasn't possible, he knew, but there it was blowing on him, driving the chill from his bones and starting a fire of madness in his brain.

It can't be, he told himself repeatedly, just can't be.

But it was. A warmth that seemed to burn hotter by the moment, an almost feverish heat. A trickle of sweat rolled down Ryan's temple, his shirt clung to his back, an obnoxious gassy smell filled his nose.

By God, what is this?

Then a shadow fell over him: huge, nameless.

3

Skullhead stood over Ryan, his skin crusted with sores, scant irregular patches of coarse gray fur blowing in the wind. A sickening warmth oozed from his skin in sheets. He'd slipped up the back of the rock outcropping Ryan laid on with a preternatural silence and now he stood at his full height, staring down at the former vigilante with bleeding eyes, his huge skeletal tail whipping like a serpent.

A suffocating stench issued from the beast's hide and it was this, more than anything, that often froze its victims in fear. Skullhead drew in sharp gasps of breath, his head reeling with savage appetite. His stomach growled. His tongue trembled fatly in his mouth.

His lips parted, a guttural bark ripping forth.