Charles West - Day of the Wolf

“Ward and McPherson will bring your patient up,” the sergeant told Hartsuff. “I’m gonna run over to the mess hall before they close it up.” He turned to his two reluctant guards and said, “Keep on your toes. It’s the wild man he’s wantin’ to attend to, so you two stay with him till the captain’s finished.” He left then while Ward and McPherson went downstairs to fetch the “wild man.”

The two guards soon returned with the prisoner, who gave no indication of resistance, instead silently complying with their instructions to keep his hands clasped behind his head. “Well, mister,” Captain Hartsuff said, “let’s take a look at how that wound is healing.” Wolf glanced at his guards to see if there were any objections to his moving his hands, since they were directly over the wound. Realizing the cause of his patient’s hesitation, Hartsuff instructed impatiently, “Go ahead and take your arms down. I can’t look at your wound with your hands in the way.” Private McPherson nodded permission for Wolf to comply. “You two just sit down over at the table, and be careful with those rifles. You can see him over there and you’ve got plenty of time to shoot him if he runs for the door.” This last remark was delivered with an ample helping of impatience. McPherson and Ward did as the captain ordered and withdrew to a table across the crowded room from the officer of the day’s desk.

“Hey, McPherson,” one of the checker players chided, “you better watch yourself. Make sure he don’t go wild on you. He broke Sergeant Peterson’s arm, you know.”

Amid a smattering of chuckles from the other soldiers who heard the remark, McPherson answered, “He doesn’t look too wild right now. I reckon a night in the hoosegow mighta sobered him up.”

In truth, Wolf did appear totally subdued as the surgeon unwrapped the binding that held his bandage in place. However, he was taking note of everything around him. One of the first things he noted was the gun rack near the center of the room where the guards stacked their rifles when waiting to go on duty. At the end of the rack, his glance was captured by the brass receiver plate and the lever action of a Henry rifle—his Henry rifle, he felt sure. He could not count on how many more times he would find himself outside the locked cell room downstairs, so he felt desperate to evaluate his chances of escape. The main problem confronting him at that moment was the discomforting fact that he was in a room with perhaps twenty soldiers. On the other hand, this might work in his favor, since he doubted the lounging guards gave any serious thought that the prisoner might try to escape, with odds so heavily in their favor. His eyes switched back to the two soldiers at the table. Their weapons were the only rifles out of the gun rack—better odds, he thought, but still not in his favor.

“I suspected as much,” the doctor muttered to himself as he inspected Wolf’s scalp. “I should have put a couple of stitches in this wound yesterday. I thought it had a chance of closing up without them, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen.” He dabbed at the blood around the wound with the binding he had just removed, and continued to stare at it for a few moments more before declaring to the two guards, “I need to stitch him up, so I’m going to have to have him taken over to my surgery.”

There was an immediate look of concern on the faces of both guards. “Beggin’ your pardon, Captain,” McPherson said, “we can’t do that without Sergeant Wilson’s or Lieutenant Davidson’s permission. Can’t you just sew him up right here?”

“I could,” Hartsuff replied, “but I don’t want to. These aren’t the cleanest of conditions for closing a wound.”

“Hell, sir,” Private Ward interjected, “look at him. He’s been livin’ with Injuns most of his life, and they would most likely sew him up with the guts outta some animal. He ain’t used to clean conditions.”

Captain Albert Hartsuff was a compassionate man and he had little use for men who were not. “Just the same, Private, I think we’ll take him to my surgery.”

“Yessir,” McPherson responded. “Can you wait for a minute or two, so one of us can run over to the mess hall and let Sergeant Wilson know what you’re gonna do?”

“Make it quick,” Hartsuff said. “I’ve got other things to do tonight.”

Private Ward quickly placed his rifle in the gun rack and ran to the barracks mess hall to find Sergeant Wilson. When he returned, he was accompanied by Lieutenant Davidson, the officer of the day. Davidson was mounted on a bright chestnut Morgan gelding that he pulled up to the door of the guardhouse, then climbed down from the saddle and handed the reins to Private Ward to hold. “Hello, Albert,” the lieutenant said when he saw the surgeon step out of the door of the guardhouse.

“Jim,” Hartsuff returned.

“What is it you wanna do?” Davidson asked. When Hartsuff explained that he simply wanted to treat the prisoner in a more sanitary environment, Davidson expressed his concern. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea or not,” he said. “My orders were to be especially watchful for any sign of trouble from this prisoner because of his violent nature. Are you sure you wanna take him all the way across the post to the hospital?”

“Like I’ve been trying to tell your men, I can’t work on his wound here,” Hartsuff repeated, growing more irritated by the moment.

Davidson shrugged indifferently. “Damn, Albert, what’s so important about treating this fellow, anyway? To hell with his wound. It’ll probably heal up all right on its own, and I’d rather not chance something happening while I’m O.D. So let’s just put him back in lockup. He shouldn’t have been let out in the first place.”

“I believe I’m the one to decide what’s best for the injured man, Lieutenant, ” Hartsuff stated emphatically, emphasizing Davidson’s rank.

“Well, Captain ,” the lieutenant shot back, “I have a duty as officer of the day to see that my orders are carried out, and that includes not putting the men or the post in jeopardy.”

The two officers were oblivious of the fact that their heated exchange had caught the rapt attention of the guard detail. This included that of Private McPherson, the only armed guard watching the prisoner at that point, as well as that of Private Ward, who was holding the lieutenant’s reins. It was not often that the enlisted men had the opportunity to witness a seemingly frivolous spat between two officers, as evidenced by the grins of amusement on all their faces. While the officers stood toe-to-toe, glaring at each other, one among the spectators was not smiling. Wolf, no longer the center of attention, focused on Private McPherson, who was leaning forward in an effort to miss none of the fun, his rifle propped casually against his leg. Wolf shifted his gaze to Private Ward, standing just outside the door, inching closer so as to hear every word of the exchange. There was never going to be a better chance, he decided as he took another look in McPherson’s direction. The private was totally absorbed in the altercation, and thoroughly enjoying it.

As quick as a cat, Wolf suddenly sprang out the door, jerked the reins from Ward’s hand, and leaped into the saddle. His sudden move startled the horse, causing it to jump sideways, almost stumbling down the bluff behind the guardhouse before breaking into a full gallop as Wolf flailed it with the reins. The reaction in the guardhouse was chaotic with troopers scrambling to respond as they tried to draw weapons from the rack and hurriedly fumbled to load them. Trying his best to react, Private McPherson ran outside and aimed his rifle at the fleeing prisoner, who was already fifty yards away and getting farther by the second. “Don’t hit my horse!” Davidson screamed, causing McPherson to raise his sights and send his shot sailing over Wolf’s head.