Charles West - Day of the Wolf

By the time McPherson could reload his single-shot Springfield, Wolf was rapidly riding out of range in the early evening light. The lieutenant’s horse was not only regal in appearance, but it could run as well, and Wolf held it to a full gallop as he raced along below the bluffs, giving the horse no rest until coming to a bridge crossing the Laramie. He drew back on the reins and guided the Morgan up the bluffs to cross over the road leading into the fort. Back down to the river’s edge, he continued at a lope, promising the horse that he would haul him back to a walk before much longer. He had escaped for the time being, but he had been forced to leave his rifle behind, and he could only imagine the rush to form a posse to pursue him. Got to get off of this sandy riverbank, he thought, knowing his trail would be easy to follow, so when he came to a short road leading up from the river, he swung the horse up from the bluffs again. At least I can mix my tracks with the tracks on the road, he figured.

With still no sign of pursuit yet organized behind him, he reined the horse back to a walk as he passed a row of buildings that looked like houses, although there was no sign of anyone about. Just as well, he thought. When he passed the last of the buildings, he veered off the road and set out at an angle to intercept the road that led to the hog ranch. After striking the road, he followed it to a point he remembered to be a mile or so from the saloon where he had been arrested. He dismounted then and turned the horse back toward the fort. With a little encouragement in the form of a couple of sharp swats across its rump, the chestnut Morgan started back down the road at a trot. He didn’t plan to add horse-stealing to whatever charges the army was already piling up on him, and he counted heavily on the reports that Lorena was keeping his horse for him. On foot now, he broke into a trot himself, a way of travel that he had ample experience with when he was a boy in the Wind River Mountains.

It was approaching darkness when he reached the Three-Mile Hog Ranch, a fact he was thankful for, and he hesitated a few moments when he didn’t see Lorena’s wagon. Then he spotted it parked beyond the last in the row of eight cabins. With the evening just beginning, he figured the women would all be working their trade in the saloon, so he didn’t waste time in an effort to be stealthy. The soldiers would surely come to this place to look for him, especially since he had left tracks that pointed in this direction. So he went directly to the wagon and climbed into it, hoping his saddle and the rest of his possessions were stored there.

He had figured correctly, for in the back of the wagon he found his saddle and saddlebags. His spirits were dampened only by the empty saddle scabbard where his Henry once rode. In his mind, it was a heavy loss, for he could not survive without a rifle. He hopped back down from the wagon and was in the process of pulling his saddle out when he heard the low warning: “You can stop right there, mister.” He turned around to face the solid, square figure of Billie Jean, her Sharps carbine pointed at him. Before he could speak, she recognized him. “Wolf! How the hell did you get here?” Before he could answer, she got a better look at the back of his head. “Good Lord in heaven!” she exclaimed. “We need to do something about that cut on the back of your head.” She stepped closer again. “That’s a nasty-looking wound.”

“I ain’t got much time to fool with it,” he replied. “There’ll be soldiers come lookin’ for me. Where’s my horse?”

“In the corral back of the barn,” she said. “How’d you get out?”

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you sometime when we can sit down by the fire and drink a cup of coffee. Right now I’ve got to get my possibles and get outta here.”

She stepped back and watched him pull his saddle out and heft it up on his shoulder. Noticing the empty saddle sling, she asked, “Where’s your rifle?”

“In a gun rack in that army jail,” he answered. “There wasn’t no way I could get it.”

“You need a rifle,” she said. “Here, take mine. You can’t go off with nothing for protection or to hunt with. There’s more cartridges for it in the cabin. I’ll get ’em while you get your horse.” She slipped the carbine into the saddle sling. “It’s loaded.”

He was grateful beyond his ability to express it, so he simply replied with a simple “’Preciate it. I’ll try to pay you back for it, but it might be a while.”

“We’ll worry about that later,” she said as she hurried off to get the cartridges, and he headed for the corral.

Certain that Lorena and Rose would be cross with her if they weren’t told that Wolf was there, Billie Jean ran inside the saloon to get her two friends. It was early enough in the evening that Lorena was not engaged in any negotiations, so she found her standing at the bar, talking to Smiley. “Come on,” Billie Jean called from just inside the door. “Hurry up!” she encouraged as she motioned.

“What is it?” Lorena responded, but Billie Jean didn’t answer. Instead she simply increased her motioning until Lorena gave in and walked to the door. “What in the hell is eatin’ you?” Lorena demanded.

“It’s Wolf. He’s done broke outta that army jail and he’s saddling his horse right now. Where’s Rose?”

Lorena’s attention was captured right away. “She’s in the cabin with an early customer, that young soldier that works in the administration center. I think he’s fallen in love with her.”

“Well, we ain’t got time to wait for her,” Billie Jean said. “I let him have my carbine, and I’m fixin’ to get him some cartridges to go with it. I hope that’s all right with you, since you’re the one that really owns it. The soldiers took his rifle.”

“Oh, hell yeah,” Lorena said as the two prostitutes hurried back toward the corral. “I reckon we owe him that much. You go ahead and get the cartridges. I’ll be at the barn.”

The bay gelding, standing near the back of the corral, threw his head up alertly at the first sound of Wolf’s low whistle, then trotted straight to his master, waiting at the gate. “You ready to travel, boy?” Wolf greeted him as he slipped the bridle over the horse’s ears. The bay stood patiently while he threw the saddle blanket and saddle on him and tightened the girth strap. He was leading the horse out of the corral when Lorena showed up, followed a few moments later by Billie Jean, carrying a sack of ammunition and what looked like an old bedsheet. Like Billie Jean, Lorena was appalled to see the open wound on the back of Wolf’s head. “Who did that piece of work?” she wanted to know.

“That marshal,” Wolf replied.

“I don’t mean that,” Lorena snapped. “I know who knocked you in the head. I mean who shaved that big patch outta your hair?” She stepped up behind him to get a closer look. “They put some kind of grease on it but didn’t bother to bandage it up.”

“The doctor did that,” Wolf explained. “He was wantin’ to stitch it up, but I had some other business to tend to, and there ain’t no time to bother with it now. I’ve got to get on my way.”

“The hell you are,” Billie Jean insisted. “You can wait five minutes while I slap a bandage on your head. You’ll be catching flies, and bugs, and everything else in that open cut.” She started ripping the sheet into strips. He took a quick look in the direction of the road to the fort and decided to accept her doctoring. “Get down on your knees so I can see what I’m doin’,” she ordered. “You’re too damn tall.” As she fashioned the bandage around his head, she and Lorena questioned him about the details that led up to his escape.