Charles West - Day of the Wolf

Lorena turned to look at Wolf as if wondering herself. “Him? He’s our guide—brought us from back south of Horse Creek, saved our scalps from flyin’ on some Injun’s lance.”

“Is that a fact?” Esther spoke up then. “Maybe he’s ready to try something new for a change.” She flashed an impish smile in Wolf’s direction. “How ’bout it, Slim?”

The proposition was overheard by a soldier seated at the table Mae and Esther had just come from. Feeling he had a prior claim, he was quick to express it. “Esther, get your ass back over here!”

“Keep your shirt on, Carl,” Esther said. “I’m talking to somebody.”

When the soldier started to get up from his chair, Rose, seeing trouble brewing, spoke on Wolf’s behalf. “Tell your soldier there’s no need to get upset. Wolf wouldn’t be interested in partying. He doesn’t do stuff like that. He doesn’t even drink.”

Her comment served to bring the attention of everyone within earshot to focus on this strange individual who didn’t drink or carouse with women. The soldier whom Esther had called Carl was especially interested in such a man. “Well, what the hell’s he doin’ in here with us men?” he insisted, and looked around to appreciate the round of chuckles his question had sparked. On his feet now, he pointed a finger at Wolf and ordered, “Get your ass outta here before I decide to stomp you into the floor.” Standing over six feet tall, and built big in the shoulders, the soldier presented a formidable problem. Already uncomfortable in the noisy smoke-filled room, Wolf did not understand why the soldier was threatening him. He remained silent, preferring to ignore the obviously drunken bully.

Seeing Wolf’s confusion, Lorena sought to intercede. “Leave him alone, soldier. He’s not lookin’ for any trouble. Why don’t you go back to your table and have another drink with Esther?”

Mistaking Wolf’s lack of response for cowardice, Carl would not be dissuaded. “Like hell I will,” he ranted. “The son of a bitch tried to take my girl, and if he don’t get up outta that chair and get outta here, I’m gonna throw him out myself.” He walked up to the table and pointed at Wolf again. “Get up from there!”

Still perplexed, wondering what he had done to cause the soldier to become so violent, Wolf continued to sit there for a few moments more before answering. “I have no quarrel with you. I ain’t done nothin’ to you. I think it’s best if you go back to your table and leave me alone.”

“Oh, you do, do you?” Carl retorted. “Well, we’ll see about that!” Thinking to pull Wolf up out of the chair, he reached across the table. It was a serious mistake in judgment. Wolf did not understand barroom bullies or drunken brawls. The only fighting he had ever been involved in was one enemy fighting another, and was a fight to the death. He didn’t understand the provocation that caused the soldier to attack him, but he assumed that he meant to kill him, so it was a matter of who killed who. The soldier was not prepared for the fury he had unleashed upon himself, for the stoic figure in the faded buckskins exploded into action, clutching the arm that reached for him and forcing it backward until Carl screamed out in pain when the bone broke. Pulling the injured man over the top of the table, Wolf slammed him facedown to the floor and was immediately on top of him. Stunned by the pain, Carl was helpless as Wolf grabbed a fistful of his hair and smashed his face against the floor. He drew his knife then and pulled the soldier’s head back, preparing to cut his throat.

“No!” Rose screamed, and grabbed his wrist. “Don’t kill him! You’ve done enough!”

Wolf hesitated. “He woulda kilt me,” he said.

“No,” Rose pleaded, “he wasn’t trying to kill you. He just wanted to fight, that’s all.”

Wolf looked around him. The saloon was dead quiet, and all around him were stunned faces. It had happened so fast that no one was prepared to take any action to come to the unfortunate soldier’s aid. “Rose is right,” Lorena said calmly. “He’s just a bully lookin’ for a fistfight. Let him go. You don’t want the army after you for murder. They’ll stand you in front of a firin’ squad.” Still filled with the rage that had overcome him, he tried to make sense of what had just happened, and realized that he had lived in a world of wild beasts and Indians far too long. He had lost all contact with the civilized world of his father and mother, remembering little of his childhood. Anytime he had fought before, it had been to purposefully take a life or to save his own.

He released the injured soldier and got to his feet. The shroud of shock that had paralyzed the astonished barroom slowly began to dissipate, and he heard a few mutterings of outrage from Carl’s fellow soldiers. He walked quickly to the bar, reached over, and retrieved his rifle as some of the patrons went to help the wounded man. A voice in the middle of the spectators spoke. “There weren’t no call for that. He broke his arm.”

“He’da killed him if she hadn’t stopped him,” another declared.

“He should have left him alone,” Rose argued. “He didn’t know if the man was out to kill him or not. He was just protecting himself.”

Wolf glanced at the young woman. He was grateful for her attempt to plead for him, but there was a steady increase in the grumbling among the soldiers, and he was not going to hang around to see if she could convince them to leave him alone. He cranked a cartridge into the chamber and held the Henry ready in front of his chest. “I didn’t come here to hurt nobody,” he said, “but I ain’t sorry about that feller’s arm. He had no call to come after me. Now, you folks just go on with your drinkin’ and whorin’, and you won’t see me no more.” He backed slowly toward the door, his rifle ready to fire at the slightest provocation. Step after cautious step, he backed away from the unfriendly faces staring at him in angry silence. And then they disappeared—everything went black as his head felt as if it had been split open brief seconds before he crumpled to the floor unconscious.

Deputy U.S. marshal Ned Bull stood over the body sprawled half inside the saloon door, still holding the Colt .44 he had used as a club by the barrel. When the injured man showed no sign of life, he replaced the pistol in his holster. “Damn, Marshal,” Smiley remarked, “you hit him pretty hard. You mighta killed him.”

“Might have at that,” Ned replied, unconcerned. “Hell, that gal that ran over to the hotel to interrupt my supper said there was a wild man fixin’ to shoot up the place, so I didn’t think about askin’ him politely to hand over his rifle.” He continued to stare down at the prone figure, just then beginning to show signs of coming to, and considered what he should do about him. “You say he broke that feller’s arm?” He stepped aside to let a couple of Carl’s friends pass as they helped the injured soldier out the door on their way to the post hospital.

“Sure as hell did,” Smiley replied. “He jumped on him like some kinda wild animal.”

“Is that a fact?” Ned replied. “Well, he ain’t no responsibility of mine. I’ve got other business to attend to. I suppose some of you boys oughta tie him up before he wakes up good, then take him to the guardhouse. I expect the army will wanna hold him awhile for assaultin’ that soldier.”

Fearing another violent reaction when Wolf regained consciousness, Smiley went immediately to fetch some rope from the back room. When he returned, he placed Wolf’s hands behind his back and tied his wrists together with plenty of volunteer help from some of the soldiers. “We oughta hang the son of a bitch,” one of them remarked.