After a quick meal, they rode briskly to the prospector’s claim. The moon was squinting towards half now, so they didn’t expect the hombres lobos. They worked by lantern light to chisel silver ore from a thick vein in the shaft, then set to work melting it down.

The prospector smiled into the gleaming liquid, then turned to Jeff. “The creatures take a lot of lead b’fore they go down. I’d be might curious to see ‘em pocked full of silver bullets.” So the men dipped their bullet tips into the melted ore. It was tedious work, especially considering the arsenal they’d brought with them. They labored into the day and by noon were so thoroughly exhausted, they crept into the shaft to escape the light and heat and get some much-needed sleep.

It was twilight when they climbed out of the shaft and warmed some grub on the dying fire. Afterwards, the prospector bit the end of a twig down flat and started to pick his teeth.

“You got a plan, Major?”

“Working on it.”

“Well, you be sure to let me know.”

***

Their first stop was the Dry Goods store. They climbed the back stairs to the upper apartment and rapped on a window pane. A lamp brightened and drifted towards the door. A curtain parted and the googley eyes of the nervous clerk peered out. Jeff removed his hat and the merchant, his mouth momentarily as wide as his eyes, started throwing the bolts. He jerked the door open and ushered Jeff inside. He registered a look of distrust as the prospector squeezed through the door.

“Didn’t expect to see you back here,” he whispered.

“I guess you didn’t.”

“My advice on the traps was helpful?”

“Would have been if we’d taken it. If you’d been clear about what we’d be up against.”

The clerk slumped into a chair, demoralized.

“Would you sooner have believed in werewolves?”

“Why haven’t you left?” Jeff asked, unable to purge a tone of accusation from his voice.

The clerk groaned, then rolled his eyes. “There’s no way out. Tried to leave once, a few of us. Becky, the saloon gal, didn’t seem right her being mixed up in this. They hunted us down. A pack of them surrounded us. Snarling and growling. I thought we were dead for sure, or at least they’d bite us. Infect us with their madness.”

“But they just herded you back here?”

He nodded, ashamed, admitting, “We’re part of the illusion that this is a normal town. They need some of us for that.”

The prospector squinted, not quite trusting the testimony. “Why didn’t ya run when there wasn’t no moon?”

“They don’t need the moon,” he sighed. “Near as I understand, they can’t resist the moon; when it’s up they have to change. But they can bring it out when it suits them. Or when they’re provoked.”

The prospector leered at Jeff, no doubt wondering how he’d fashion this information into a plan of attack.

“How many are there?” Jeff asked.

“Hard to say. New ones come in. Occasionally one’s killed. You kill any?”

“Handful. Now c’mon, you’ve got to be clearer. Are they most of the town? Half?”

“The town’s down to maybe twenty people. The wolves’re at least half.”

“Who’re the leaders?”

“Mitchum. The saloonkeeper. Most of the crowd that hangs out there. You’re not planning on shooting that place up? They got a full house, riders off the trail tonight.”

Jeff bit his lower lip. “I’m not planning on shooting anyone who doesn’t deserve to be shot.”

The prospector snorted. “How we gonna tell? If ever there was a case of shoot first an’ ask later, it’s here!”

“I thought you said you were tired of shootin’ men,” Jeff admonished him. “There’s a way to tell. Unfortunately, it requires getting mighty close.”

“I can help with that,” the clerk offered. “There’s certain precautions I take.”

***