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to solve the mystery of the vanishings.
    Small wonder, then, that the tavern was packed.
    Fargo had a corner table to himself. He drank and played solitaire and grew tired of the endless stares and fingers jabbed in his direction. His mood wasn’t helped any by the presence of Doucet, who swaggered around as if he were somebody important.
    “I am sorry,” Liana said at one point as she was refilling Fargo’s glass to the brim with her best whiskey. “I never expected this.”
    “Makes two of us.”
    Liana bent so her mouth was close to his ear. “I am also sorry about Doucet.”
    “Why? What is he up to?” As if Fargo couldn’t guess.
    “He is going around telling everyone how he clashed with you over me,” Liana related. “And how for the good of everyone, and out of the nobleness of his heart, he spared you.”
    “Leave the bottle.”
    “Don’t let him get to you. He loves to hear himself talk. Most will know there must be more to his story.”
    “Leave the bottle anyway.”
    The afternoon dragged. By three Fargo was wondering if Namo would show. By four he was willing to bet Namo wouldn’t. By five he was so tired of being stared at that he was about to get up and go for a walk when the door opened and in came a man holding a small girl in his arms. A boy of twelve or so trailed after them. Instantly the tavern fell quiet, completely, utterly silent. No one talked. No one whispered. No one so much as breathed loud.
    The man holding the girl was rake thin but all sinew. He sported a clipped beard much like Fargo’s. He paused and surveyed the room from end to end.
    The boy said something to him and they threaded through the throng toward the corner table.
    “You are the only outsider here so you must be him.”
    “And you must be Namo Heuse, the gent who wrote to me.” Fargo introduced himself.
    The rake-thin Cajun said quietly, “I wasn’t sure you would come. I wasn’t even sure you got my letter. Then I got your reply, and here I am.”
    “I have a fair idea of why you wrote to me,” Fargo said. “But there’s one thing I don’t know. Why me ?”
    “I read about you in the New Orleans newspaper. About the time you tracked some killers in Missouri and saved a woman’s life. The paper said the army considers you the best tracker and scout alive. It said you can find anyone or anything, anywhere, anytime.”
    “Don’t believe everything you read.”
    Namo pulled out a chair and set his daughter down. “This is Halette.”
    “How do you do,” Fargo said.
    The girl sat ramrod straight, her cherub face blank, her hazel eyes fixed unblinkingly on the wall.
    Namo sadly frowned. “She hasn’t spoken a word since her mother disappeared. All she does is sit and stare. I’ve taken her to a doctor and two healers but they are unable to help. They say she might come out of it with time but there’s no telling when.” Namo indicated the boy. “And this is Clovis. Don’t let his age fool you. He’s a good hunter. He’s killed just about everything that walks, crawls and flies in the Atchafalaya.”
    “That’s a lot of killing.”
    Namo pulled out the chair next to his daughter and sat. “You say you have some idea of why I sent for you? I take it, then, you’ve heard about my wife, my sweet Emmeline.”
    “Her and the others who have disappeared, yes.”
    “Disappeared, nothing. They were killed by a swamp beast. I know. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”
    “If you were able to get that close on your own, why send for me?” Fargo wanted to know.
    “You don’t understand. I’ve hunted it every day since my wife vanished. Every day from dawn until dusk for the past two months. Sixty days, and all I have to show for it is that one glimpse. Only for a second or two, with night about to fall.”
    “What do you think it was?”
    Namo hesitated. “I’m not sure. I know what it wasn’t. It wasn’t an alligator and it wasn’t a bear. It wasn’t a cougar or a bobcat. It was much too