The Valley of the Wendigo Read Online Free

killin’,” she said, “and it has a price on its head. That’s all I gotta know.”
    â€œOkay, then.”
    â€œOkay.”
    She stared at him, playing with her half-full beer mug.
    â€œWhich of these hotels has got baths?” she asked.
    â€œI’m in the Northwood Hotel,” he said. “I believe they have facilities.”
    â€œYeah,” she said, “okay.” She finished her beer, slammed the empty mug down on the chair. “Gotta take care of my horse first.”
    â€œI’m not in a hurry,” he said. “I don’t think anybody’s going out after this thing until tomorrow.”
    â€œWe’ll,” she said, “I’ll see ya after I take care of my animal, get a room, and, uh, take a bath.”
    â€œI’ll be right here,” he assured her.
    He watched her walk out, and realized that from behind—wearing a man’s shirt and trousers—she cut an impressive figure. He was very interested to see what the bath was going to reveal underneath all that grime.

SIX
    Fiddler picked out his packhorse. To the surprise of the liveryman—who told Fiddler just to call him ’ol Jed— the Cree did not pick out one of the better, more expensive horses. He took a ten-year-old nag that stack was thinking about gettin’ rid of.
    â€œWhy that one?” Stack asked Fiddler. “It’ll likely get ya where yer goin’, but it won’t get ya back.”
    â€œI am hunting a Wendigo,” Fiddler said. “I do not expect this horse to survive.”
    â€œYa mean ya expect it to get eaten?”
    â€œI hope it does.”
    â€œOh, I get it,” Stack said. “Yer usin’ it as a pack animal, but yer also usin’ it fer bait.”
    â€œI will pick it up in the morning,” Fiddler said.
    â€œSure thing,” Stack said. “I’m here at first light, anyway.”
    Fiddler nodded and left the livery. His next stop— what was to be his first, but was now his last—was the sheriff’s office.
    Dakota was on her way to the livery, walking her horse, when she saw Fiddler coming toward her.
    They stopped in the middle of the street to talk.
    â€œHey, Fiddler.”
    The old Cree did not look surprised to see her.
    â€œDakota,” he said, nodding.
    â€œNot surprised?”
    â€œNo,” he said. “I would have been surprised if you had not come.”
    â€œWhere ya off to?”
    â€œThe sheriff’s office,” Fiddler said, “although I do not think the man means to be very cooperative.”
    â€œI don’t think so either,” she said. “He was just in the saloon tryin’ to talk Clint Adams into goin’ huntin’.”
    â€œClint Adams?” Fiddler said. “He does not hunt.”
    â€œFor the right amount of money, anybody hunts, Fiddler,” she said, “but so far Adams ain’t bitin’.”
    â€œAre you goin’ out alone?” Fiddler asked her.
    â€œUnless you wanna take me with you.”
    â€œI hunt alone,” he said. “You know that.”
    â€œYeah, I know,” she said. “Then I guess I’ll be goin’ out alone.”
    â€œYou should not hunt the Wendigo, Dakota,” Fiddler said. “You are not experienced.”
    â€œI’m an experienced hunter, Jack,” she said. “You know that.”
    â€œBut you have not hunted the Wendigo.”
    â€œCan it be killed?”
    â€œYes, but—”
    â€œThen I can hunt it, and I can kill it. I need the money, Jack,” she said.
    â€œI understand.”
    â€œI gotta take care of my horse and get me a room,” she said. “You camped out?”
    â€œNorth of town.”
    â€œI’ll come have some coffee with you.”
    â€œI would like that.”
    The two friendly competitors continued on their way.
    Fiddler entered the sheriff’s office, found the man sitting behind his