Jean could hardly believe the appalled expression wrenching the handsome features of her husband's rugged face. He was staring at her, but frighteningly not seeing her, she realized. Whatever it was all about, the knowledge of it had actually drained the blood from his chiseled features!

"Wh-what is it, Mark?" she hesitantly asked, sitting upright in the bed and pulling the sheet up over her nakedness as he hurriedly bolted to the floor and began to dress.

"What... ? Oh... an accident, Honey... there's been an accident... nothing for you to worry about," he managed after a moment, as if her were pacifying a child.

He was lying and she blew it, that thought alone sending an icy chill along her naked spine. He would never he, only to protect her, or keep her from worrying... "A-Annie Purcell, you said... and... and did he maul her... please, Darling, tell me the truth... ?"

"Damnit, Jean, it's nothing for you to concern yourself with!" he snapped as he strapped on his holstered pistol, then went to the closet and brought out his shotgun. His sharpness of tone, rather than offending her, only added to her anxiety. "Just go to sleep... and I'll be back as quick as I can..."

He started out the door, then, as if on second thought, crossed the room to close their bedroom window, that surprising act almost completely unnerving her.

"Why did you do that?" she brusquely questioned. "Would you like to have me suffocate here in my ignorance, too?"

She saw him swallow tightly and move toward the bed, bending down to kiss her. "Please, Baby... I can't explain now... there isn't time. I've got to get over to Doc Emory's," he said, stroking her back as he warmly kissed her lips. "Just trust me and do as I ask... all right?"

"Al-all right, Darling... I'm sorry..."

"I know... now try to get some sleep... and don't worry."

"I-I'II try," she promised as he smiled back one last time before disappearing through the doorway.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Some dozen men in hasty dress had gathered in front of the Doctor's house when Mark drove up. Most of them were carrying rifles or shotguns, and the others, he assumed, were armed one way or another. He snapped his own shotgun into its accessible bracket and stepped from the patrol car.

"Hello, Mark," a naselish voice he recognized as Fred Clark's greeted, the tall, thin man approaching him. "I found her... stumbling along Cypress Street, naked as a plucked little jay-bird and filthy dirty, poor kid..."

"Had she been mauled, Fred?" Mark questioned, repeating the question that Doc Emory had not answered.

"Hell... couldn't tell for sure," the other replied. "Didn't see any blood, but she was crazy, hysterical... moaning that the goddamned brute had raped her! The wife and I both heard her scream. We only live a hundred yards or so from that cellar, you know... !"

"Is Link inside?" Mark interrupted him.

"Yeah, and right ready to kill," the informant said. "Cripes, I never saw him so wild, Mark... !"

The tall deputy pressed through the gathering, moving up the walkway toward the lighted porch. He still couldn't believe it, and would not until Doc Emory repeated his affirmation. Cripes, such goddamned things didn't happen, except in old wives' tales!

"Come in, Mark," Mrs. Emory invited in a hushed voice, opening the door in her night robe. "They're in the living room. The poor girl is sleeping... Doctor gave her a sedative."

"Thanks, Mrs. Emory," Mark nodded, moving toward the raised sound of Link Morgan's gruff voice. The barrel-chested, unshaven man was dressed in his usual non-uniform of khaki shirt open at the collar, leather hunting pants and boots. He'd been drinking; his small colorless eyes were bloodshot and his shock of white hair uncombed. To Mark, he always looked like a man in his sixties, rather than pre-fifty, the result, undoubtedly, of his own dissipation.

"Hello, Doc," Mark greeted the slight, mustached physician first, then with a nod: "Link. What happened... how is she... ?"

"I'll tell you what happened, Blakely! That goddamned wild sonofabitch dog raped my niece, and I'm going to hang its hide as high as that bitch on the flagpole in front of town-hall! Only first, I'm going to rip the bastard's nuts off!" Link bitterly snarled, addressing the fact that Mark had warned him against taking an armed posse into his jurisdiction again for any reason.

Mrs. Emory had started to enter the room, but quickly left at the Chief of Police's lurid choice of words. Mark bit at his lower lips, forcefully controlling himself. He said: "What are your findings, Doctor?"

The slight, aging bald man solemnly nodded, giving medical credence to the broad-shouldered police-chief's ranting version. "No doubt about it, Mark... the beast actually attacked her. Its animal semen was present in my examination. Surprisingly, it didn't harm her in any other way... oh a few scratches, but they could have occurred when it tore the clothing from her. Actually, she's suffering mostly from shock. I've given her a sedative. She's sleeping in my office..."

"You mean, the dog literally ripped the clothing from her?" Mark asked in disbelief.

"You're fucking well told he did!" Link roared, raising a waterglass half-filled with liquor to his lips that he had undoubtedly wheedled from the doctor. He gulped half of it, breathing in shortened rasps as he glared at the deputy. "Shredded the goddamned panties and everything else right off her, and Fred Clark was there when I gathered 'em up! I tell you again, Blakely, that devil from hell's got to die! It ain't enough that the pack is killing the sheep, now they're attacking young, innocent girls and fucking 'em like bitches! You tell me that bastard ain't some kind of evil spirit Tom Satan, himself... ?"

"You're talking like an ass, Link!" Mark short-temperedly replied. "I don't know the answer but there has to be one! Maybe... maybe Annie can give it to us when she's herself again..."

"You go to hell, Blakely!" the powerful man snarled, stomping about the room, then gulping the remainder of his drink. "I, for one, ain't waiting for that evil sonofabitch to attack another girl in Crescent Valley! I aim to do something about it, whether you lay sanction or not! I'm forming a posse and going out... !"

"There'll be no posse, Link... unless I call for them," Mark calmly interrupted him. "I won't tolerate the brutal torture of animals, even vicious ones, the way you did last night. Out there is my territory, and I intend to guard it. I don't intend to have a bunch of liquor-whipped maniacs riding those hills with rifles and shotguns. If you remember, Link, that's the way my father died... !"

"Wh-what the hell are you saying, boy? That was an accident!" the huge man spat, well aware of the deputy sheriff's meaning. "Christ, could I help it if he wore a jacket the same color as that cougar? You... you think I meant to shoot him... ?"

"Here, here... both of you, stop!" Doc Emory stepped in. "You're letting this get the best of you. I know it's a horrible situation, but you must try to work together... for the good of the community!"

Mark tightly swallowed. He wasn't pleased with his own outburst. "Of course, you're right, Doc. I'm sorry," he said, watching the little man's slow, understanding smile. "I'll place a call to the conservation department immediately. This is their problem..."

"Problem!" Link blurted. "Their problem! You go to hell, Blakely! This is my problem, and every man, woman, and child in this valley! That fucking brute raped my niece and I don't intend to sit back while some square-headed tree-planter decides to do something about it! You've got twenty-four hours, deputy, and you better hope to Christ that son of Satan doesn't attack another girl!" he roared, slamming his glass down hard onto a table before storming toward the doorway. There, he turned one final time. "I warn you... twenty-four hours... and then I defy any man in this valley to stop me!" Mark stood straight and silent, listening to the big man's heavy foot-falls, and finally the unnecessary crash of the front door shutting behind him. In all truth, if everything Doc had said was accurate, he was hardly sure he could blame the police chief... except that he was drunk, or nearly so...

"He's upset, Mark," Doc said, breaking the silence. "You know Link... spontaneous and gruff. He only knows one way..."

"An outmoded way, I'm afraid," Mark replied, sighing and taking a half-turn around the room.

"Would you like a drink?" the physician invited.

"No thanks. I'd like a bit more information, though."

"Shoot."

"Y-you're certain the dog actually raped her? "

The little man made a shrugging motion. "How certain can you be? Intercourse, yes. The presence of the dog's sperm... yes... absolutely!"

"But he didn't hurt hers Doc," the deputy enthusiastically pressed. "You said there were no marks of such..."

"None. Positively none! And I am as amazed as you are, Mark. It... it seems almost diabolical, doesn't it?"

"I-I don't know, Doc... Christ, I really don't know what to think," Mark heard himself reply his mind whirling. "Those... those crazy tales that women like Granny Obert whisper... about the brute having done the same thing a hundred years ago... damn! How old is she, anyway?"

"Ninety four-five-six... somewhere in there... she would, or could remember," Doc Emory softly answered. "She's mentioned it to me, you know... the leader, I mean, with that old Roman medallion around his neck..."

"Do you believe it, Doc?"

The little man offered an excusing smile. "I'm a doctor, Mark... forty years a practitioner... I believe only what I see, feel, taste... know to be fact."

Mark felt a cold shiver move over him. Ridiculous, he angrily thought... except that he had seen the medallion, too! He said: "Her mentality... Granny Obert's, I mean, what would you say to it, Doc?"

"Hmmmm, keen... especially for a woman her age, Mark. Very, very keen..."

"Yeah... I thought so... I've talked to her, too... but I wish she'd leave Jeannie alone," Mark said, slowly folding downward onto the edge of the davenport. "It... it can't be true... can it, Doc... ?"

The little man had poured himself a glass of wine. He quietly sat himself into a chair across from Mark, sipped first, then stared off beyond. "I truly don't know how to answer you, Mark. I've spent a lifetime in my profession and this is the first case of its nature I've ever encountered. I have to deal only with the facts, I repeat, that's the nature of my profession. Yours requires more, and that's your problem, if I may. But to answer you, Mr. Deputy Sheriff... can it be true... ? I say, everything is true until it's proven false... and that's the law of the universe!"

"But... but... it can't be, Doc? Christ, it can't be... !"

The little man smiled and nodded as he plucked at the end of his mustache. "I know," he said, "I know..."

Chapter 3

The fear that hung heavy over the town of Crescent Valley was reflected in the faces of its citizenry the following morning. On the streets, in the shops and within its several bars, men gathered to recount the terrifying rape of little Annie Purcell in solicitous tones punctuated with vile curses, their anger at Deputy Sheriff Mark Blakely for refusing to allow a hunting posse into the hills, an open vent for their concealed inner-panic. Something had to be done and right away! It wasn't just a matter of protecting their livestock any longer, not when a ferocious wild dog dared to slink into town and with incredible beastliness actually force a defenseless young girl to her knees and rape her right on the streets!

"Hunt the bastards down, I say!" a whiskey drinking, sallow faced customer at the bar of the Crescent Inn Tavern exclaimed with fist-thumping emphasis. "Chief Morgan's right! Take a posse into those hills and gun the sonsofbitches... !"

"Easier said than done, Dirk," a second drinker put in. "I was with 'em the other night when Link got the fawn bitch. That pack's as tricky's a bevy of minx. If it hadn't been that she was pregnant, the bitch would've gotten away, too... and she was running alongside the big German Shepherd with the gold medal..."

"You saw that medal... I mean actually saw it with your own eyes?" the first drinker questioned.

"Hell yes, I saw it! Didn't I say so?" the second one proudly insisted. "A big friggin' brute he is too, I'll tell you!"

"The way I hear it, the Purcell girl saw that thing around the dog's neck last night when it... it attacked her!" the first drinker said, his liquored eyes growing slanted, a certain lewd glint mingled with uneasiness mirrored in them.

"I hadn't heard that," the other replied; then, lowering his voice and leaning closer, he added with an obscene little grin: "But if it was that big bastard, she sure got that tight young pussy of hers full up with cock, I'll tell you... !"

"Watch it, here comes Link," the first drinker warned. "Morning, Chief. How's little Annie?"

"As well's can be expected," the big man glowered, accepting the space at the middle of the bar the group quickly made for him. "Poor kid's still half scared to death. Sits in a corner staring out the window when she ain't crying. Goddamnit, I'll tell you straight out, I'm going to get that fucking brute, and when I do it'll wish it'd never been born!"

"What do you mean, Link, a posse... ?"

"That's the only way, and you all know it as well as I do!" the burly police chief snapped.

"What about Mark Blakely, Chief?" someone questioned.

"He's got twenty-four hours to do whatever he's going to!" Link authoritatively replied. "And if he ain't brought in that beast and its raping pack by then, I'm getting together a bunch of guns to go up into those hills with me, and I guarantee you that I'll bring the fucking bastard back!"

You're right, Link... ain't he, boys?" someone loudly prompted, raising an enthusiastic clamor of approvals... as if in numbers they had lessened the uncanny menace they shared in fear...

While in kitchens throughout the town, and over backyard fences, women spoke in whispering, apprehensive tones, their unhideable anxiety causing their voices to tremble, as did those of the children and teenagers walking in groups toward the schools, their young faces ashen with frightened expressions. No one of the small town's populace had seemed to have been spared their share of the spectral horror, Jean thought, hurrying toward the Obert's down the street, determined to learn what she could from the withered, pipe-smoking old lady who stared blindly from her rocking-chair and spoke in an aged, cackly voice.

Jean had fitfully slept without Mark beside her the remainder of the night, and at dawn when he'd finally arrived home, his haggard face had frightened her. In reluctant bits and pieces while she'd prepared his breakfast, he'd choked out scraps of the abominable rape, leaving her to piece them together and stare at her young husband in shocked awe. Then, before she could question him further, he was on his feet and moving toward the door.

"You're not leaving now, Mark? Darling, you haven't slept all night. You must be exhausted..."

"I'm fine, Baby," he'd replied forcing a smile as he bent down to kiss her. "I've got some things to do... should be back in a few hours."

"Mark... please... there's something terribly weird and unreal about all of this, and I'm not exactly an educated scaredy- cat... but why don't you talk to Granny Obert... ?"

"Please, Jean!" he had snapped her up short. "I've got enough to contend with this morning without listening to a conglomeration of stupid myths. Why don't you bake a pie, or something? l won't be too long..."

And with that, he was gone, his patrol car "laying rubber" as the teenagers said, when he'd sped away from the curb. She'd been angry, but that, too, had soon passed once she had reviewed what he'd told her, the terrifying story bringing her to sit on the edge of a chair before the wrinkled, parchment-like skinned woman who puffed incessantly at a corn-cob pipe.

"Heh... !" the old woman grunted, her mouth spreading wide in a display of toothless gums. "I futured you coming Jean Blakely. Saw you in this old brain o' mine... an' I know why, too! It's him, Caesar, the wild one, ain't it, girl?"

"Th-the dog... the leader... yes. Is that his name?" Jean heard herself question, her voice trembling at the aged woman's revelations and tone, watching the other rhythmically rock her chair in tempo to her puffing at the pipe.

"Yes... that was his name then... and that's it now," she cackled. "You can see it on the medallion... the eagle, the symbol of the Roman battle standard... and the name... Caesar! Near... near a century ago, girl, when... when I was just a squallin' child, he came with his pack... but I remember... remember well! Yes... I remember well!"

"He... they... the pack came last night, Granny," Jean said, fighting the dryness of her throat. "A girl... a young girl was raped... actually raped by him, or one of them... !"

"It was him! He did it! Caesar... and I can tell you why!" the little wizened woman said, momentarily leaning forward. "They killed his mate! Link Morgan, that filthy brute killed Caesar's mate! Revenge, girl! That's what he come for, revenge!"

"But... but... my God, Granny, you're talking about... a... a dog!"

For a long moment, the aged woman didn't answer, only puffed unseeingly at her pipe as she rocked. Then: "Thinking, young lady... that's what I been doing. Tryin' to decipher the most positive way to make you understand." She doubtingly shook her head. "It ain't the same anymore... young folk just don't listen..."

"Please, Granny, tell me!" Jean pleaded.

Again, the old woman sat in silence, letting spurts of bluish, tobacco smoke out with colorless lip-popping sounds. Then: "All right, little golden girl, I'll tell you! But don't question me... just accept, or forget what I tell you. Understand... ?"

"Y-yes, Granny... I understand..."

"Well then, he ain't just a dog... oh, he's a dog now, and has been that for a century or more... but he ain't just a dog!"

"Wh-What... ?"

"Hush up and listen, girl, 'cause I'm only going to tell you this once!" the small, shriveled woman exclaimed. "What he was before, or what he'll be again, ain't important either. What he is right now is what counts! And he's a beautiful animal, wearing the medallion he once earned 2,000 years ago in battle! Yes, he raped the Purcell girl, and there may well be more! They won't catch him, stop him, shoot him... and neither will they drive him off! This was his valley a hundred years ago, and well do I remember that! A handful of people lived in the settlement, and my own daddy was the lawman! Posses went out to hunt the raiders when the sheep were killed, and time after time they rode in exhausted, and empty-handed. There was no catching the wild-pack, let alone its leader... a great German Shepherd with a medallion around its neck... !"

"M-My God! Are you saying that this... this Caesar was their... ?" Jean cried, spellbound in her spine-chilling, mesmerization.

"Hush, girl! Hear me out this one time!" the old woman insisted, lowering her voice. "Soon, my daughter will make you leave... so listen now! My mother was a Cherokee squaw. My father, an Indian trader, bought her and took her away from her people... brought her here and claimed land in the valley. When Caesar and the pack came, she warned him about what would happen, but he didn't believe her. Girls were raped, and scared, drunken men died in the hunt, shooting each other as they tried to destroy the pack! But there was no destruction, no elimination of that passel of wild beasts! Nothing... until one day they suddenly left of their own accord... but with them went my mother and several more Crescent Valley women and girls... went of their own accord because they wanted to... and to what, blonde girl? To what?... heh... what do you think?"