Men stood aloof of Wade Morgan. Not that that there was anything wrong with him. He was just different. He liked the nighttime and was one with that which lived in the darkness. And the song which he whistled chilled men to the bone. It was a mournful sound, kindred to the wind soughing through the pines on a dark, windy night. Then the notes gradually began rising higher until they took on a wild, savage tone. It reminded one of an eagle bolting out of the sky upon its prey. Then with its claws gripping its quarry, would let loose a wild scream before ascending back to its domain.