Charles West - Day of the Wolf

Ned got up again and started walking toward the darkness beyond the clearing, boldly presenting his back to the still-startled fugitive, confident in his assessment of the young man’s conscience. Wolf turned to watch him, holding the carbine firmly, unable to figure out the trick, if there was one. Maybe, to play it safe, he should take the opportunity given him to put a bullet in the middle of the broad back now fading into the dark trees. He couldn’t pull the trigger. A few moments passed, and then Ned reappeared, leading a packhorse and carrying Wolf’s Henry rifle in one hand. “Here you go,” he said, and casually handed the Henry to Wolf.

Unable to erase the look of bewilderment from his face, Wolf mumbled, “’Preciate it.”

Understanding Wolf’s confusion, Ned paused before untying his coffeepot from the pack. “Look, young feller, I’ve been huntin’ outlaws and murderers for enough years now to tell the really bad ones from the others. And it’s plain to me that you ain’t one of the bad ones. I figured you were gettin’ a sour deal after I talked to your lady friends and that bartender in the saloon. That soldier jumped you and you fought back. There wasn’t no reason to throw you in prison for fightin’. To tell you the truth, the main reason I came after you was just to see if I could track you—that and the fact that I was ordered to do it. And I figured if I turned the job down, they’d just send somebody else. Then somebody would have ended up dead, either you or him, and there wasn’t no sense in that.” His coffeepot free then, he paused another moment before going to fill it with water. “So you can take off from here to wherever you had in mind. I’ll tell ’em I lost you.” He grinned. “And they’ll pay me anyway.”

Wolf stood by the campfire, scarcely believing the events of the past few minutes. He gave serious thought to whether or not he was witnessing the actions of a crazy man. Maybe Ned Bull’s being too long on the trail of murderers and thieves had finally worn a soft spot on his brain. He looked down at his prized Henry rifle, then glanced at the bay gelding standing near the water, grazing quietly. Would Ned attempt to stop him if he suddenly made a move to saddle his horse and depart? He was genuinely perplexed, but with his rifle in hand, he felt he was now able to deal with whatever bizarre move the deputy marshal made next.

With a coffeepot full of water, Ned climbed back up the bank to find Wolf still standing where he had left him, and the look on the young man’s face told him he was troubled over his unexpected not-guilty verdict. So he attempted to set his mind at ease. “Look here, partner, I know you’re kinda wonderin’ if I’m crazy as a tick, just ’cause I got the jump on you and let you go. Well, you can stop worryin’. I ain’t crazy. I’ve just been at this business long enough to know the law—in your case, the army—doesn’t always get the right of things. You don’t deserve to be punished for kickin’ that bully’s ass, and I got no intention of arrestin’ you for somethin’ that I’da done in the same fix. I know you’ve been livin’ on your own or with a tribe of Injuns most of your life, and I figure you’ll make out all right as long as you stay away from the soldiers. So you go on back in these mountains where you belong. I’ll be headin’ back to Fort Laramie in the mornin’ and I’m wishin’ you good luck.”

Wolf finally realized that Ned was sincere in his statement, and he immediately relaxed his guard. “I reckon I’m obliged,” he said. “I’ll slice some more meat off that hindquarter. I sure would like some coffee.”

Ned chuckled. “Now, that’s more like it. We’ll have us some pretty quick.”

Before the night was over, a mutual feeling of trust was established between the two men, although they were as much opposites as two men could be. As Ned had suspected, Wolf was almost completely naive in regard to the sanctity of the Black Hills, and was unaware of the recent discovery of gold in the hills. In answer to Wolf’s insistence that the Black Hills were protected from white infringement by treaty, Ned told him the true status of that sacred area. “I know it ain’t right,” he explained, “but the government sent an army regiment in here last year, and they brought back reports of findin’ gold. And once the word got out about it, prospectors started sneakin’ in, and a big strike was made over on French Creek, fifty or sixty miles north of here. Now, I know the Lakota and the Cheyenne think the Black Hills is where God lives. But the white man worships gold, and they now know for damn sure that the Black Hills is where gold lives, and there ain’t no way the army is gonna be able to keep ’em outta here.”

It was sobering news for Wolf and something that he was going to think hard on. It was difficult for him to believe that these rugged mountains might be consumed by gold-seeking intruders. “But there’s a treaty, signed by the government,” he protested again.

“Don’t matter,” Ned replied. “Gold is more powerful than the government or any treaty they signed. I heard talk back at Fort Laramie that a strike at a place called Deadwood Gulch has already brought in so many prospectors that the army has given up tryin’ to run ’em out.” Seeing the trouble his enlightenment had brought to Wolf, he felt compassion for the simple child of the forest. “I know it ain’t right, but gold is king, and I don’t reckon that’ll ever be any different.” He paused again, studying his new friend’s reaction for a few moments before asking, “So, what are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know,” Wolf replied. “Keep movin’, I reckon. Maybe move on up into Montana, up in Blackfoot country. There can’t be gold everywhere.”

Ned continued to study the disillusioned young man for a while before deciding to ignore his principle of minding his own business and give Wolf some advice. He had already decided that he liked the free-spirited young man, and he truly wanted to help him. “Ain’t none of my business,” he began, “but are you sure you want a life alone, till you get so feeble you can’t make it on your own anymore, and you just have to lie down and wait for the wolves, or coyotes, to come to start feedin’ off your bones? Hell, if you find someplace where there ain’t no white settlers, where you gonna buy cartridges for that Henry rifle? You’ve already been livin’ by yourself too long. If you don’t like livin’ with white folks, you’d be better off goin’ back to live with the Crows.” He paused to judge the effect his words were having, if any, before suggesting, “Instead of makin’ the army your enemy, you oughta work for ’em. They ain’t likely to find a scout that knows the country better’n you do. At least you might have enough money to keep you in cartridges and other supplies.”

“That don’t make sense,” Wolf said. “The army wants to arrest me. Ain’t that why they sent you after me?”

“I can take care of that,” Ned replied.

“How?”

“I’ll tell Colonel Bradley you’re dead, tell him I had to shoot you. If you was to buy you some decent clothes, somethin’ that didn’t look like you sewed ’em yourself, and cut that long hair, maybe grow a mustache, that would help a lot. Hell, I bet ol’ Bradley wouldn’t know the difference. I doubt he has much to do with the scouts he’s got now. We’d have to change your name, though. Wolf ain’t a fittin’ name for you, anyway. What is your real name? Do you remember?”

“Course I do,” Wolf replied. “It’s Tom Logan. I wasn’t that young.”

“Tom Logan,” Ned echoed. “Nothin’ wrong with that. Just to make sure, you could stay clear of Fort Laramie, ride on up to Fort Fetterman, and try to get hired up there. I’ll bet you wouldn’t have no trouble signin’ on at Fetterman. They’re always lookin’ for good trackers, and most of the civilian scouts don’t wanna work there because it’s a hard-luck post. Seems like they’re always short of supplies, ain’t no place in the world where the wind blows colder in the winter, and there ain’t nothin’ to keep the soldiers from desertin’ except a hog ranch on the south side of the river—which means a soldier has to swim the river if he wants to see any of the gals at that establishment, since the fort’s on the north side. Whaddaya think?”