Read Night of the Wolves for Free Online Page B

door.
    Brendan looked at Cody and blocked her way.
    “There’s no reason for you to be seeing this, miss,” he said.
    “Don’t be ridiculous. I might be able to help. I’ve seen my share of war injuries. I’m not in the least delicate.”
    Behind her, Cody Fox cleared his throat. “I’m a medical doctor with a Harvard degree. If he needs help, I’ll be there to do what I can.”
    Alex wasn’t about to be stopped. “I’m going with you,” she said stubbornly.
    She saw Brendan look at Cody, waiting for his approval before moving. She wondered what was so powerful about the younger man that Brendan deferred so readily to his authority.
    “Whatever you wish,” Cody said impatiently. “The situation is undoubtedly dire, so we need to hurry.”
    With Brendan in the lead, they headed along the wood-plank sidewalk that had been built beside the main street to let people avoid the mud and muck of the broad dirt road. When they reached the end of the walk, they headed out into the street and across to the building that housed the combination dentist and barber shop.
    A crowd had gathered there, but no one had approached the man lying facedown on the ground.
    “Coming through,” Brendan announced.
    The crowd backed away, white-faced and tight-lipped.
    “Why isn’t someone helping him?” Alex asked, looking around the crowd. She saw people she recognized, who quickly lowered their eyes.
    Cody hunkered down by the man, turning him over. Alex felt a quickening in her heart, followed by relief when she realized she didn’t know the man. He was about forty, and he wasn’t going to need a doctor. He had a huge bloodstain on his shirt, and his eyes were open and unseeing.
    “Is he from around here?” Cody asked, looking around.
    “I don’t know him,” Alex said.
    A man stepped forward. One she did know. Jim Green, the local mortician and photographer.
    “He’s not one of ours,” Jim said. He was a kindly old fellow with silvery hair and matching old-fashioned muttonchops. “He must have come in with the outlaws.”
    “Who shot him?” Cody asked.
    Another man cleared his throat. Ace Henley, who ran the livery. “I was up in my loft, and I got in a few shots when they were whooping and hollering and blowing holes in the sky.”
    Cody studied him and nodded. “That’s good. That’s what we’re going to need—a plan to get everyone into a position from which to fight, for next time they come in like they did.”
    “What’ll we do with him?” Brendan asked, nodding toward the corpse.
    Strange question, Alex thought. He was a dead man. Bury him. Even an outlaw had to be buried. What the hell else were they going to do with him?
    “The usual,” Cody said, rising, dusting his hands on his jeans.
    “It’s getting dark,” Brendan commented.
    “So it is. I’ll get him over to the mortuary. Fellows, you got a place we can bury him?” Cody asked, looking from person to person in the crowd. “Might as well get him in the ground tonight.”
    “There’s no preacher tonight,” Jim said. “Though I don’t rightly know if a preacher would say the words over…such a…one.”
    The two men exchanged a meaningful look, as if acknowledging a shared but unspoken truth. Alex wondered uneasily what was going on and whether it had anythingto do with the strange state of affairs she’d found at the boardinghouse when she arrived that afternoon. Garlands of garlic decorating the windows and wardrobes, and an abundance of crosses hung in every room. Just what was going on here?
    “He was a man, a man who had a soul at some time,” Cody said. “We can say some words, and when a preacher comes, he can say those words all over again. Now, let’s get him out of the street before night comes on.”
    “Right,” Jim said, and cleared his throat. “It’s all over town how you two saved the place, mister. We’re right grateful.” He doffed his broad-brimmed hat in Cody’s direction and nodded to Brendan. “I’m