Charles West - Day of the Wolf

“Where are you headin’ from here?” Lorena asked.

“I ain’t sure, maybe the Black Hills,” he said. “I spent a winter up there a few years ago. There were plenty of deer and elk up there and plenty of places where a man could lose himself. The Injuns call the hills Paha Sapa. They say it’s a sacred place and they’ve got a treaty with the government that keeps white folks out, so I don’t reckon the army will follow me there. It don’t make much difference if they do, ’cause there’s plenty of hills and woods to hide in.”

“Which way would that be?” Lorena pressed.

“Yonder way,” he said, pointing to the north.

“All right, I just want to make sure we send the soldiers off in some other direction when they get here.” She reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out two coins. “There’s forty dollars gold there. That’ll help you a little. You take care of yourself, boy.”

He didn’t know what to say. He wanted to tell her how much he appreciated the gift. She interrupted him before he started. “Don’t worry about it. I know you ain’t good with words. Just don’t lose your scalp.”

“I’ll try not to. Much obliged,” he finally managed before he climbed into the saddle and turned the bay’s head north.

“I know you are,” Lorena muttered as they watched him until he faded into the darkness.

“What are you doing out here in the dark?” They turned to see Rose walking toward them. “I was looking all over for you.”

“Sayin’ good-bye to Wolf,” Lorena replied. “He broke outta that army jailhouse.” She observed her young friend’s obvious distress. “He had to get away before an army patrol shows up lookin’ for him,” she explained. “There wasn’t any time for long good-byes.”

“You were busy, anyway,” Billie Jean commented.

“That’s right,” Lorena said, knowing full well that Rose was overly disappointed to have missed a chance to see Wolf. “How is that little private you’ve been entertainin’ gettin’ along? I swear, I believe you’ll have him proposin’ to you before long.” She winked at Billie Jean, although it was so dark by then that Billie Jean probably did not see it. “That’ud be a sight better’n pairin’ up with a drifter like Wolf, wouldn’t it?”

“There ain’t no doubt about that,” Billie Jean quickly agreed. “Men like him would just as likely strike out for someplace without telling anybody they’re going and you never see ’em again.”

“I’m not wanting to settle down with anybody,” Rose insisted. “And I sure as hell don’t wanna be a private’s wife. I’m not any more interested in Wolf than you two. It’s chilly out here,” she said in closing. “I’m going in by the fire.” She turned abruptly and started toward the door of the saloon. In the darkness, her two friends could not see the disappointment in her face.

Chapter 5

Lieutenant Colonel Bradley looked up when the big deputy marshal strode into his office. “Oh…Bull,” he acknowledged, “glad we were able to catch you before you got away.” He motioned toward a side chair across from his desk. “Sit down.”

“Mornin’, Colonel,” Ned responded. “I was almost gone when your man caught me. What did you wanna see me about?”

“I’m sure you heard we had a prisoner escape last night—that Wolf fellow.”

“Yeah, I heard,” Ned remarked. “Heard he stole the O.D.’s horse.”

“That’s right, he did. We recovered the horse. It came trotting back to the stables this morning, but we don’t know if the prisoner fell off or turned it loose.”

Ned pictured Wolf as he said, “I’d bet he turned the horse loose, ’cause I doubt he fell off.” He patiently waited for the colonel to get to the point of the meeting.

“Well,” Bradley began, “the prisoner’s still on the loose. We sent a patrol down to that hog ranch to see if he went back there, but they got there a little too late. He had been there and picked up his horse and was already gone by that time. Lieutenant Willis was leading the patrol and he talked to one of the prostitutes who’s supposed to be a friend of Wolf’s. She said he had come there that night and took his horse, and said he took off in a hurry along the North Platte, heading west. Lieutenant Willis followed the river for about four miles, but he said it was too dark to see any tracks to confirm that to be the fugitive’s line of flight.”

It wasn’t difficult for Ned to see where this interview was heading. “So you’re wantin’ me to take over and try to track this fellow down. Is that it?”

“I don’t have the time or the troops to waste on it right now,” Bradley explained. “But I want that man caught and brought to justice. I figure that it’s more in your line of work to track men like Wolf down.”

“Well, I reckon I’ve had a heap of experience in that part of my job,” Ned admitted. “But I’m kinda surprised you’re makin’ such a fuss over catchin’ this fellow. He ain’t done much but get in a fight with one of your soldiers, has he? Seems to me you wouldn’t wanna waste time on a saddle tramp like that.”

“It’s a matter of principle,” Bradley replied. “He escaped from army custody, and that doesn’t look good on my—I mean, the post’s record. More than a barroom fight, though, he’s wanted for assault on one of my sergeants, escape from federal custody, and stealing a horse. I want to let him and every drifter like him know that they’ll answer for that.”

Ned listened patiently before responding. “I’m sure you understand that I don’t operate independently. I’ve been ordered back to Omaha as soon as my business here was finished—which it is.”

“I appreciate that,” Bradley remarked, “so I telegraphed your headquarters in Omaha last night and requested you to be reassigned to track down this fugitive. I received the federal marshal’s change of orders this morning. So it looks like you’ll be delayed in returning to Omaha.”

Not surprised by the sudden change of assignment, Ned shrugged his indifference. He had no particular desire to return to Omaha right away, and it made little difference to him in what part of the territory he worked. He had no family to return to, and really no family at all except for a brother who lived in Denver and whom he had last seen four years ago. Besides, this fellow Wolf held a particular interest for him. Ned was sure the Indian-raised man would offer a genuine challenge to his skills as a tracker. “If I run this fellow to ground,” he asked, “where am I supposed to take him? Back here?”

“Well, I assume so,” Bradley replied, “since this is where he escaped from.”

“Just wanted to be sure. A fellow like that could be hard to catch up with—might be chasin’ him a long way. Could end up closer to some other military post where it’d be easier to turn him over to them.”

Bradley thought about it for only a second before saying, “I guess it doesn’t really matter where you take him, just as long as you catch him, although I would prefer it to be here if possible.”

“I’ll do my best,” Ned responded as he got up to leave. They were not empty words. Ned Bull always strived to do his best, and in most cases that was better than anybody else’s best. He had been employed in the U.S. Marshals Service for over fifteen years. During that time, he had seen many deputy marshals come and go, some of their own volition, many others feetfirst in a pine box. He naturally credited good luck with his long tenure, but that was only part of it. Ned was a patient man, and not given to taking foolish chances. He was a skillful tracker and, not least of all, a dead shot with a ’73 Winchester.

Outside, he untied the reins from the corner porch post and turned the red roan away from the porch before climbing aboard. “Well, Brownie,” he addressed the horse, “I reckon we’d best go right back out to that hog ranch. We’ve got a job to do.” He aimed Brownie’s head at the corner of the parade ground and the road that led to Three-Mile Hog Ranch and started on the hunt for Wolf, his sorrel packhorse following on a lead rope tied to his saddle. The sorrel was already packing the supplies needed for a long trip, so there was no time lost to that chore.