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

asked.
    â€œHe did it last night.”
    â€œCan we do it today?” Clint asked.
    â€œI don’t see why not?” Dekker said. “I’ll take you now, and fill you in on the way.”

EIGHTEEN
    Two brothers had been out hunting the Wendigo after the creature had been blamed for three deaths already.
    â€œLarry and Billy Lawrence,” Dekker said. “Twenty-something, both of them. About a year apart. Fancied themselves crack shots because they could shoot jackrabbits. The boys went out a few days ago, but only Larry came back. He got me, and we went out to get his brother’s body.”
    â€œHow was he killed?” Clint asked.
    â€œI’ll let Larry tell you the same story he told me,” Dekker said, “and Fiddler.”
    â€œFirst, let’s see the body,” Dakota said.
    â€œIt’s been at the undertaker’s for days,” Dekker said. “Gettin’ kinda ripe.”
    â€œWe’ll take a look at it,” Clint said, “and then the undertaker can bury it.”
    Dekker led them to the undertaker’s office.
    â€œAlbert has been the undertaker here for over twenty years,” Dekker said.
    â€œCloser to thirty,” Albert said. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Dakota. And you, Mr. Adams. You’ve certainly provided enough work for me and my kind over the years.”
    â€œDon’t believe everything you hear, Albert.”
    â€œWell, you gave me some work yesterday.”
    â€œThey’re more interested in work you’ve still got to do, Albert,” Dekker said. “They want to see Billy Lawrence’s body.”
    â€œWhen will I be able to bury that poor boy?” Albert asked.
    â€œTomorrow,” Dekker said, “you can bury him tomorrow. Now show them the body.”
    â€œCome with me.”
    â€œI’ll wait here,” Dekker said. “I’ve seen it too many times.”
    Clint and Dakota followed Albert to a room in the back. As they got closer, the smell got stronger. Clint recognized the smell of death. Dakota gagged for a moment when they reached the door. The odor didn’t seem to bother the undertaker.
    â€œWill you be all right?” Clint asked her.
    â€œYeah, I’ll be okay,” she said. “Let’s go.”
    There was no door, only a curtain. Albert pushed it aside and they entered. The undertaker walked to a body on a table, covered by a sheet. He drew the sheet back.
    â€œTake it off completely,” Dakota said.
    It was barely a body. It had been torn to shreds. An arm and a leg had been torn off and were lying on the table with it. Great chunks had been taken out of the body. If the legend of the Wendigo was true, the young man had been eaten.
    â€œEnough?” Clint asked.
    â€œYeah,” Dakota said.
    â€œCover it up,” Clint said, “and get the poor bastard buried as soon as possible.”
    â€œHis brother can’t afford—”
    â€œI’ll pay for it,” Clint said. “Give him a good coffin.”
    He took Dakota’s arm and led her out of the room. “I’ve never seen anything like that,” she said when they reached Dekker.
    â€œNeither have I,” Dekker said.
    â€œThat makes three of us,” Clint said. “Let’s get some air.”
    Outside they started walking, Dekker guiding them to see the other Lawrence brother.
    â€œEver see a bear do that, Dakota?” Dekker asked.
    â€œNo, never.”
    â€œDo you believe in the Wendigo?” Dekker asked her.
    â€œI never really did . . . until now.”
    â€œClint?”
    â€œI reserve my opinion,” Clint said.
    â€œBut do you know of an animal that’s ever done that?” Dekker asked. “A big cat, maybe?”
    â€œNo,” Clint said. “Never.”
    â€œSo then maybe old Fiddler is right,” Dekker said. “There’s a Wendigo, and he can kill it.”
    â€œI guess we’ll find