The Valley of the Wendigo

The Valley of the Wendigo by J. R. Roberts Page A

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Authors: J. R. Roberts
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to you about something.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWhat would you think of not hunting the Wendigo?”
    â€œWhy would I do that?”
    â€œTo stay alive.”
    â€œI’m not afraid, Clint.”
    â€œI know you’re not.”
    â€œThen why would I not go?”
    â€œI had a talk with Fiddler this morning,” he admitted. “He seems to think he’s the only one who can kill it.”
    â€œMy bullets are as good as his.”
    "He says you need more than bullets,” Clint replied. "You need magic.”
    â€œClint,” Dakota said, “you can’t believe everything Jack Fiddler tells you. He’d old.”
    â€œNo way I can talk you out of this?”
    â€œI don’t think so. There’s always the money to think about.”
    â€œOh, yeah, the money.” He told her what the sheriff had said, that she might be better off going for the bounty.
    â€œWell, like you said,” she answered, “let’s see what the mayor has to say.”
    â€œOkay,” he said, “have it your way.”
    She touched his arm.
    â€œI know you’re not scared for yourself, so you’re scared for me. That’s nice, but I’m gonna do this— with or without you.”
    â€œI get it,” he said. “Let’s go see Hizzoner.”
    Sheriff Dekker was waiting in front of City Hall.
    â€œAdams, Dakota,” he said. “The mayor’s waitin’.”
    â€œLet’s go,” Dakota said.
    They followed the lawman into the building and to the mayor’s office.
    â€œMayor Payne, this is Clint Adams, this is Dakota.” Dekker gestured.
    â€œAdams, this is a pleasure.” The mayor, a big, florid-faced man, extended his hand and Clint shook it. “Miss Dakota.”
    â€œJust Dakota.”
    â€œI must say,” he commented, “you’re not quite what I expected.”
    â€œOh,” Dakota said. “Well, Clint made me take a bath.”
    â€œI see.” The mayor wasn’t quite sure if that was a joke or not. “Please, both of you sit.”
    They each took a chair. The sheriff stood in a corner with his arms folded.
    â€œI understand you want the town to hire you to hunt this . . . this Wendigo thing.”
    â€œWell—”
    â€œClint and I think that together we can kill it faster than anyone else.”
    â€œWell, we certainly want this taken care of quickly,” the mayor said, “but we’ve already hired Jack Fiddler. He has a reputation for killing these . . . things.”
    â€œWell, that’s true, but Jack’s . . . been at it for a while.”
    â€œIs that your way of saying he’s getting old?” Payne asked Dakota.
    â€œI’m just sayin’ . . .” She trailed off and looked at Clint.
    â€œDakota is just saying that maybe you can use an alternative,” he offered.
    â€œYeah,” she said, “that’s all I was sayin’.”
    â€œWell,” Payne said, “I can tell you I wouldn’t mind having the Gunsmith—and Dakota—hunting this thing.”
    â€œThen you’ll do it?” Dakota asked.
    â€œI tell you what,” Payne said, “let’s make a deal. If you two kill the Wendigo, we’ll give you the bounty, and the town will match it. How’s that? A thousand each?”
    â€œI’m not interested in the money,” Clint said. “All the money will go to Dakota.”
    â€œWhatever you want to do with the money, that’s your business,” Payne said. “Is it a deal?”
    Clint looked at Dakota, leaving it to her.
    â€œIt’s a deal, Mr. Mayor.”
    â€œThe sheriff can tell you where this thing struck last,” the mayor said, standing up. “I wish you both luck.”
    They all shook hands and then they followed Sheriff Dekker out.
    â€œSheriff, did Fiddler get to look at the dead man and question the survivor?” Dakota

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