still. After a few moments, he caught Jack's eye and nodded. The two lawmen turned and walked back to their horses. The marshal's mare whinnied, eager to leave. Duggan patted her neck, keeping his eyes on the clearing while Jack climbed into the saddle.
Without warning, a wave of gooseflesh rippled up the marshal's arms. Jack must have felt it, too; his gloved hands curled around the rifle's barrel. Duggan placed his boot in the stirrup and lifted himself into the saddle. Drawing his Colt, he peered through the trees. The air around them felt colder. The horses began fidgeting, stamping their hooves in the snow. Duggan could hear his own breathing and the creaking of the leather saddles, but nothing else. It seemed like an ordinary winter morning in the Rockies, but something still wasn't right. The fine hairs at the base of his neck pressed against the red bandana he wore against the cold. Somewhere, hidden in the trees, something was watching them.
Turning to his deputy, Duggan gave a single nod. The two men pulled their horses around and kicked their sides. The animals needed no encouragement, trotting between the trees toward the edge of the forest. Once clear, they broke into a gallop. As the clearing shrank in the distance behind them, Duggan felt the chill and malice melting away like ice on a spring river.
The marshal didn't say much on the ride back to town. In fact, he didn't say much for the rest of the day, which was fine with Jack. After seeing something like that, the deputy needed time to mull it over. Aside from breaking up a midday saloon fight and sending a dispatch to the county sheriff about the morning's discovery, both men spent the day in silence. Duggan put Jack on the porch of the mar shal's station for the afternoon "to keep an eye on things outside." Jack knew the marshal would be keeping an eye on the bottle of whiskey in his desk. The old man was funny about people seeing him hit the bottle. Probably had something to do with being released from his duties a few years back on account of a drunken binge. Or maybe it was because Duggan's reputation had gone downhill since he'd shot a miner outside the Purdy Brothel a few months back for causing a ruckus. Trouble was, folks in town had favored the miner over the marshal, though Jack had never held the shooting against his boss. In a town like Leadville, lawmen learned to shoot first.
A powerful thirst started tugging at Jack's throat. From his post, he could see the front door of the Pioneer saloon down the street. The big two story building called to him, its shiplap walls and glass windows promising shelter from gruesome memories. It wouldn't suit an on-duty deputy to be seen standing at the bar, though, no matter what kind of morning he'd had. Jack tipped his hat toward the saloon, offering a silent promise of the evening ahead.
"See anything, kid?"
Jack leaned his head back to look at the marshal. "Not a thing, sir. Seems everybody's hiding from the cold."
"Just as well," Duggan replied, his voice thick. Jack could smell the whiskey on his breath, but his eyes were still clear. "Don't want folks running about today."
Jack didn't need to ask, but he did anyway. "On account of what we saw this morning?" The marshal nodded. "Never seen you get so wound up over a bear, sir."
Duggan looked down at his boots. "That wasn't no bear that did that, son."
"No?" Surprised, Jack felt a familiar chill creep up his spine and tried to shrug it off. "Pack of wolves, then?" The brim of the marshal's hat moved from side to side as he shook his head, but he didn't look up from his boots.
"You think bandits did it?" Jack asked, incredulous. No outlaw gang, no matter how ruthless, would do that to a pair of lone wolfers. Most outlaws wanted money, not carnage. They wouldn't hesitate to shoot a man for being poor, but they wouldn't spread him across the landscape for it, either.
Duggan looked up and met his deputy's gaze. Jack could feel the marshal taking stock of him, those blue eyes asking themselves if he measured up. The deputy shifted his weight in the chair, waiting for the verdict. A horse whinnied inside the livery across the street.
Finally, the marshal sighed, his breath filling the air between them. "No, that wasn't the work