He wondered what Prudence Lee would say if be asked to sleep on her couch; not that he was about to ask her such a foolish thing. There was no way he was going to get out of spending another night under Nan Durler’s roof, without it looking odd as hell to her husband.
“Someone just rode up outside,” said Calvin Durler, breaking in on Longarm’s worries.
Longarm said, “I heard it. Sounds like an unshod pony. One of your Blackfoot, I suspicion.”
The two men excused themselves from the table and went out on the porch. Rain Crow was sitting his pony in the last rays of the sun. He called out, “I have found the Paiute Ghost Dancer. He told some people he was going off alone to make medicine. He told them he was calling on the ghosts in a place where Indians had fought a good fight. When I thought about it, I knew where the place had to be.”
Durler looked blank, but Longarm nodded and said, “That abandoned homestead. It’s the only battleground of the Shining Days on this reservation.”
Rain Crow nodded and said, “Yes. Long ago, the Indians won there. The legends say the white settler fought well before they overran him. The Paiute must have thought to meet the ghosts of those who fell in the old fight. Instead, he met Wendigo!”
Both white men looked surprised and Rain Crow nodded. “Yes, the man was dead when I found him. He was wearing his medicine shirt, too, but it did no good. Perhaps Wovoka’s medicine was only meant to protect us from white people.”
Longarm raised an eyebrow and said, “You sort of grin when you tell your tale, Rain Crow. I didn’t know you found the Wendigo so infernally funny!”
“Wendigo is not what I’m laughing about. When I first found the Paiute out there, I was very frightened. But it came to me, riding in, that the Wendigo didn’t want a no-good white man’s Indian like me. He came for a Dream Singer who said the spirits were his friends.”
Chapter 13
It was dark by the time Rain Crow had led Longarm and Calvin Durler out to where he’d left the body. But the Indian had his bull’s-eye lantern and Durler had brought a big coal-oil lamp from the house.
The Paiute Dream Singer’s beheaded cadaver sat propped against the sod walls of the old house in what was left of his pathetic buckskin medicine shirt. The garment had been slashed to ribbons, too, and the dead man’s entrails lay in his lap.
Longarm left the others to fiddle with the body as he circled the entire site with Rain Crow’s bull’s-eye, sweeping the prairie sod with the beam carefully and walking slowly. Then he shook his head wearily and walked back to join the others, saying, “I can see where the Paiute came in. I can see where Rain Crow came and went. I found some fresh rabbit shit, too. That’s all the sign there is.”
Durler shook his head and said, “We’re in trouble. I was just getting used to your notion about the railroad right-of-way.”
The lawman nodded. “I know. I like it too, but we’re a good three miles from the tracks, this time. If he wasn’t riding that rabbit, he must have flown in and out on a magic carpet.”
“It’s black as a bitch out here, Longarm. Are you sure you couldn’t have missed something?” Durler asked.
“Not a hell of a lot. We’ve had some wind since I was out here last.”
Durler asked what that was supposed to mean. Before Longarm could answer, the Indian snorted in annoyance and said, “There has been no rain. The dry grass is dusty. Don’t you people look at the earth you think you own?”
Longarm explained, “There’s a film of dust on the north side of nearly every stem and blade. Nobody’s been over this ground for at least a full day. When was that last north wind, Rain Crow? About this time last night?”
“Later than this. You read sign well, for a white man.”
“There you go, Cal. You’ve got two expert opinions against the simple scientific fact that what we’re saying isn’t possible.”
He shined the bull’s-eye beam near Durler’s boots and added, “You see where you just walked through this dry straw, Cal? According to all the rules of evidence, before we got here, two men came in and only one rode out. If I didn’t know Rain Crow had good alibis for other such killings, I’d have no choice but to arrest him. I’d have no trouble selling it to a grand jury, either. Anyone can plainly see no other human being came within a country mile of this dead Paiute before we got here!”
Rain Crow protested, “I did not do it! What kind of a fool would kill a man and leave his own sign? If I wanted to fool you-“
“Hold on, old son,” Longarm cut him off. “I’m not accusing you. Just reading the sign as it was left for me. Hell, I know you could have dragged some brush through the dusty grass or maybe left some false sign, if that had been your notion.”
“I don’t like to be accused, even in fun. Everyone knows I did not like the dead man. If you keep talking like that, the people will say I killed him!”
Durler asked, “You think that was the intention, Longarm? To somehow frame Rain Crow for the killing?”
The deputy pulled at a corner of his mustache. “I don’t know. Whoever killed this poor medicine dreamer had no way of knowing who’d find the body. As far as that goes, the ants and carrion crows might well have picked this old boy clean before anybody ever found him. We’re way the hell and gone out on the prairie and-Son of a bitch! That doesn’t make sense, either!”
“What doesn’t make sense, Longarm?” Rain Crow asked.
“The Wendigo’s reasons. Up to now, I’ve been working on the notion that these spooky killings were to scare the Blackfoot. All the others were killed and messed up where they’d be found quickly. This poor bastard might never have been found at all. It looks like pure, crazy spite-work, after all! You’d best see about getting this body back to the agency for burial. I hope you boys won’t take it unfriendly, but I’m riding into Switchback, straight from here.”
“You think the killer’s in Switchback?” said the agent.
Longarm shrugged. “Don’t know where he is. Don’t even know how the son of a bitch got in or out of here. Might know more if I could ask some questions. As you see, that Paiute ain’t talking much.”
Leaving the two of them to dispose of the remains, Longarm mounted and rode for Switchback in the dark. He didn’t really have his next moves planned, but at least this got him out of spending the night at the agency, and somebody might have noticed something unusual.
The moon was rising as he rode down the slope into the dimly lit streets of Switchback. It was still early and a rinky-tink piano was playing “Garryowen” in the saloon. Some old boy had probably requested it after reminiscing about old times. The Seventh Cav had marched to Little Big Horn to the strains of that old Irish jig and every time someone said “Indian” in Montana, some fool was bound to bring up Custer.
The land office was closed, but the railroad station wasn’t. He tethered his chestnut and went in to send a progress report to Denver, knowing Billy Vail was likely having a fit. Then he asked the railroad telegrapher, “When was the last train in from the west, this after noon?”
The telegrapher said, “There was one about noon. Eastbound passenger express will be coming through in an hour or so. It don’t figure to stop here, but we can flag her down for you if need be, Marshal.”