Longarm and the Wolf Women by Tabor Evans

ago. When prospectors started rushing into Diamondback Canyon after a man named Hjelmar Petterson found a nugget in his placer diggings worth four thousand dollars. Magnusson has several cabins up there. Apparently, he got tired of the company, so he and his girls went to work killin’ most of the prospectors in their area. Eight men dead in three weeks. A couple witnesses claimed the girls got them to let their guard down, and ole Magnusson went in either shootin’ or swinging a pick. They stripped the bodies, took all valuables, and vamoosed.”
    â€œThey pretty much stick around the Diamondback?”
    â€œPretty much. Magnusson was one of the first to settle the canyon—him and about three Basque sheepherders—after the French fur trappers disappeared about twenty years ago. His last Indian wife is buried near Skull Pass. I figure that’s why he’s staying.”
    She sighed and threw back her shot, gritted her teeth as the coffin varnish hit her stomach. “Good luck finding them. I’ve been up and down that canyon twice now, and found neither hide nor hair. Magnusson’s got about three or four other cabins, some in the Mummy Range, some in the Neversummers. Some claim they’ve even seen him and those wolf girls as far south as Ute Creek Peak in the Mummy Range. They haul an old teepee around on a travois.”
    â€œWhat about the girls?”
    The marshal snorted. “They’re pretty . . . and wild.”
    â€œMust be something in the water around here.”
    â€œAnd men, bein’ men, can’t resist ’em. I hope you can resist them, Longarm, cause I hear tell they’ll give you a hard-on that’ll last a lifetime.”
    â€œBusiness before pleasure,” Longarm said, feeling his ears warm at the lass’s salty talk. He’d been around farm-talking females before, but none of them filled out their blouses half as well as this gal did. “Both of ’em have Indian blood?”
    â€œYeah, but only one is dark. The other must’ve taken after Magnusson’s Norski side. She favors a Viking queen.” Merle snorted again. “They’re quite a pair. If you ever catch sight of ’em, you won’t forget ’em. Just don’t forget yourself and try to fuck ’em.” She clucked and threw back the rest of her drink.
    The whiskey was so bad, Longarm decided to have another shot to numb the dull ache this alley-talking looker was setting up in his loins. What was it about pretty women with blue tongues . . . ?
    When he’d refilled his shot glass and taken another sip, he grated, “You drink this shit daily?”
    She smiled. “Jake claims it has healing properties.”
    Longarm took another sip and shook his head. “I reckon I don’t have anything to heal.” He lifted the glass to the window to see if anything solid were floating around in the hooch. “You really think old Magnusson and his wolf women are going to be that hard to track?”
    â€œYep. ’Cause I’ve tried. The canyon’s out of my jurisdiction, but the county sheriff ain’t worth puke. I tried, all right, and came up empty.”
    â€œA man might have an easier time . . . since it’s men they’re after.”
    â€œChew that up finer.”
    â€œIf I was to go up the canyon rigged out like a prospector who aimed to stay awhile . . .”
    The marshal stared at him pensively, nodding. “It’s worth a try, I reckon. You ever been up that country before?”
    â€œTime or two, but I wouldn’t say I know it.”
    â€œYou’ll need a guide.”
    â€œGot one in mind?”
    â€œGot one already arranged. My uncle, Comanche John Blassingame. He’s been at loose ends lately, needs a job to keep him from drinkin’ too much and carousing. He was prospecting up the St. Vrain, but then his diggings dried up.”
    â€œHow much he charge?”
    She hiked a