Charles West - Day of the Wolf

After some thirty minutes had passed with all quiet on the prairie before them, Lorena moved over beside Wolf from her position behind the front wheels of the wagon. “Reckon why they ain’t been shootin’ at us? You think they figured it ain’t worth it?”

“I expect they’re hopin’ we think they’ve gone and hitch up the wagon,” he said. “We oughta hear somethin’ from ’em before long.”

There was still no indication that the Indians were there until the sun finally sank into the far hills, leaving the prairie bathed in a soft half-light. It wasn’t long before the first of many random shots came from the very spots Wolf had pointed out. Billie Jean prepared to return fire, but Wolf told her she’d just be wasting cartridges. “As long as they’re lyin’ low behind that rise, you ain’t likely to do anythin’ but kick up some dirt. They’re gonna have to make a move to get at us, so save your cartridges till then. Just keep your head down and your eyes peeled. It frustrates Injuns when you don’t pay no attention to ’em.”

Though mere speculation, Wolf’s assessment of the Lakota’s frame of mind was right on the mark. Frustrated by the loss of five of his party, Iron Hand was seething, impatiently waiting for darkness to fall. A war chief was judged by the welfare of his warriors, and it appeared that his medicine was not strong. Five dead from a party of twelve did not inspire others to follow him into battle. Growing angrier by the moment, he felt compelled to prove the strength of his medicine, until finally he could hold it in no longer. “I will sit back here like a frightened woman no more!” he exclaimed. “Their bullets cannot hurt me!” He jumped to his feet and charged straight at the wagon, firing his Spencer carbine as he ran. Two of the other warriors, inspired by his bravery, leaped up to follow.

Iron Hand made it to within thirty yards of the wagon before he fell as a result of four almost simultaneous shots that stopped his upper body cold while his feet ran out from under him. The other two warriors quickly retreated to the safety of the rise amid a hailstorm of lead around their feet. The remaining warriors looked then to Red Blanket for council. “I think we have seen enough of this white man’s medicine to know this is not a good day for us to fight,” Lone Buffalo said. “I think we should go and leave this white man alone.”

Red Blanket could not disagree. Half of the twelve warriors that had left the village were dead. Still, it did not seem honorable to leave without some retaliation for their losses. “I say we should go back to our ponies,” he said. “Then I, and anyone who wants to go with me, will climb up the hill behind them and catch them watching for us in front of them.”

Back in the gully, Wolf and the three women waited, watching for any movement in the rapidly growing darkness. After a few scattered shots over fifteen minutes before, there was no more shooting from the prairie. “I expect I’d best climb up the back of this gully in case they’re thinkin’ about sneakin’ up behind us now,” he said. “Might not be a bad idea if one of you kinda keep an eye on the horses while the other two keep watchin’ the prairie.” He started to leave then, but paused to say, “Only thing is, I don’t wanna get shot by one of you when I come back.” He looked at Billie Jean, who had moved from her position to watch the horses. “Maybe I’d better give you a little birdcall, so you’ll know it’s me—like this.” He whistled a couple of low notes.

“What kinda bird is that?” Billie Jean questioned. “I ain’t ever heard a bird that sounds like that.”

“It don’t matter,” Wolf said impatiently. “That’s the signal I’ll make.”

“All right, then,” Billie Jean said. As he disappeared into the darkness of the gully, she turned to Lorena and commented, “Ain’t no bird makes a sound like that.”

The gully became more and more narrow the farther up it he climbed until it was little more than a ditch at the top, where it opened out on a domelike hilltop. Wolf crouched in the darkness and strained to scan the many clumps of sagebrush that dotted the backside of the hill and the prairie beyond. There was nothing moving that he could see, but he continued his sweeping surveillance, back and forth across the area within range of his eyesight. They’ll come, he told himself, although he was not sure that they would. They might decide their medicine was bad and call it an ill-advised raid. He didn’t have to wait long for the answer, for suddenly his gaze stopped on a small clump of sagebrush that wasn’t there before. As he stared at the dark form near the bottom of the low hill, it moved, making its way to stop again behind a larger bush. Wolf quickly scanned back and forth again in an effort to spot any more dark forms moving. There were none—one warrior alone, which made Wolf speculate that the remaining warriors were having doubts regarding the wisdom of persisting.

Red Blanket was less than halfway up the back of the hill when the clump of sagebrush several yards above him suddenly exploded with a burst of Wolf’s muzzle flash. The surprised Indian was knocked backward to roll over and over before settling at the foot of the hill. Wolf inched his way down a little farther to locate himself behind a thick bush about ten yards above the body. When they heard the gunshot, this warrior’s companions would surely investigate, so he pushed the barrel of his rifle through the middle of the bush and trained it on Red Blanket’s corpse. He would wait now to find out what the other warriors would do. If they decided to storm up the slope, he would be ready to eliminate more of their number. By his count during the Indians’ initial charge on the wagon, there had been twelve warriors in the party. With the body now lying below him at the foot of the hill, that left only five to be accounted for. The high number of casualties should surely discourage further attacks, but he would have to wait to see. At least there had been no more sounds of gunfire from the gully where the women were watching.

Soon he spotted several dark forms moving toward the foot of the hill. As they came closer, he was able to make out individuals and take a count. There were five, all that remained of the original war party. Suddenly his situation changed, and he questioned his decision to hide behind a bush for cover. If they discovered him, he couldn’t be sure of getting more than one, possibly two of them, before they got him. Darkness was a good cover, but it wasn’t much when it came to stopping a bullet. It was too late to retreat now; they were about to find their dead brother. There was nothing he could do but remain stone still.

“Here!” Lone Buffalo whispered when he almost stumbled over the body. “It’s Red Blanket!” He knelt beside the body to determine if he was alive. In a moment, he was joined by the other four. They stood around him, all peering up into the darkness, searching for any sign of Red Blanket’s killer.

The one man squatting behind a bush a few yards above them remained still, hardly daring to breathe. Although they all seemed to look right at him, he knew they couldn’t see him, and the thought went through his mind that he could possibly kill two or more of them while they stood bunched together over the body. And then get the hell shot outta this bush, he told himself, and decided it was not worth the risk.

“What should we do?” one of the warriors asked Lone Buffalo. “We should have all gone with him.”

“And we might have all been killed,” Lone Buffalo said. “This was surely bad medicine to attack the wagon. Seven of us have been killed. How many more of us have to die before we know that we should not have made war on this wagon?” He reached down to take Red Blanket’s feet. “Help me carry him back to our horses. Then, if we can, we must pick up the others and take our dead back to our village, and leave these white demons alone.”