Wichita Werewolf

I am the werewolf of the county. No, it isn't a civil service position. No salary, pension, or health care plan. It is great to be the only Werewolf in Wichita in the summer of 1872. Of course no-one has a health care plan in 1872. Health itself is questionable; a little infection and you are gone. The sheriff has a salary, but no pension. I suppose that people think that if he lives until retirement, he isn't doing his job.

I can outrun all but the fastest horses, but it isn't usually necessary to run at all. People just think that I am an itinerant cowhand. Of course, half of the cattle supposedly slaughtered by wild animals are really dinner for yours truly. On the rare occasions that my dinner was interrupted, the cowboys bullets passed harmlessly through me.

However cattle are not my favorite dinner. I prefer more tender meat, women. I am conflicted about women. A medium sized woman can provide fine dining for a week. They are my favorite meal, but I need to breed. My wolf nose can tell me that she is in heat and fertile. If she is, I will forgo dinner and start the new generation of my kind. My strategy for finding women had been dependent upon the Wichita weather. Squalls come up unexpectedly and drench the Kansans, native and tenderfoot alike. I found a cave just off the stagecoach trail. When a wet woman rides by, I offer her relief from the storm. I have learned not to say cave. It makes women nervous. A dry hollow is a workable term. Once inside the cave, subduing her is easy. It is delightful having a pretty woman for dinner.

So far none of the trail women have been in heat. I need a new breeding policy.

I will now start my search in Wichita. There are more women leaving town on a number of trails than coming in on the most popular one. Now I try to find a fertile woman and follow her out. It is harder than you think. When I had a cold I followed an inebriated woman along the trail. I dragged her into the cave. She had a penis. I found I prefer cattle to males. You can live on man meat, but it is not luxurious dining.

Now, I'm tracking the new pretty schoolmarm.

Laura Burke and her husband Jeff followed Horace Greeley's advice and left Baltimore to ranch in Kansas. Laura earns extra cash as the only teacher in the one room school. Like most teachers, it's very little extra. The locals considered Jeff to be a tenderfoot. He can't grow anything and doesn't have enough cattle. More than one cowboy expects to steal Laura from him, as soon as she becomes hungry enough.

She is heading home to her tenderfoot husband alone from planning her lessons. I was able to get near her in the general store. She is both in heat and hungry. I am following one hundred feet behind. My wolf nose is better than sight, I don't have a cold so nighttime tracking is no problem.

Laura is a wanton woman. A delectable piece of meat encased in a noodle like wrap. She is ravishing, ravenous, and ravioli. You can see the wrap shimmering, whether it is organza or orgasm is uncertain. Her passion is not a fruit.

If she were not going alone, she might be in another profession. This isn't dinner; it's breeding.

Damn! there is a campfire ahead. Two men. They may be Asian or American Indian, but it's hard to tell in the dim light. Why is one guy wearing a mask? Is he a Chinese railway tunneler? What stage is he going to hold up at this time of night? Is he afraid of catching a virus? Anyway it is just him and his tracker. They can't hurt me.

She is stopping at the fire. Maybe she likes bad boys. I like that idea. I am as bad a boy as they get. Maybe she's just hungry. They are feeding her. This is going to take a while. Once she finishes, I will just snatch her and be gone before they can do anything but shoot me. They will be surprised when that doesn't work.

I grab her. The guy with the mask fires faster than I thought was possible. Suddenly there is a deep burning pain in my chest. This should not be happening. Only silver can do that. Who is that masked man?