Charles West - Day of the Wolf

Wolf shook his head and frowned. “I don’t know. That don’t sound like the kind of life I could stand for very long. I’ve always worked best by myself.”

“How do you know?” Ned insisted, even more enthusiastic about the plan the more he thought about it. If he had been inclined, he might have recognized the same trait in himself that prompted him to track Wolf down just to see if he could. “You might like scoutin’, and it’d give you a steady paycheck.”

“I reckon I’ll just go on up to Blackfoot country,” he finally decided.

“Well, I’ll be headin’ on back to Fort Laramie in the mornin’,” Ned declared. “You can always change your mind if you decide you’re tired of livin’ like a lone wolf. I’ll tell the colonel you’re dead, anyway. Maybe that’ll make him forget about you.”

True to his word, Ned saddled up the next morning and prepared to head back south. “You’re lookin’ pretty spry for a dead man,” he commented to Wolf as the two of them finished the pot of coffee Ned had made. “I can leave you some of these coffee beans, so you’ll have some for later on.”

“Thanks just the same,” Wolf replied, “but there ain’t much sense in me gettin’ used to havin’ coffee. There ain’t likely any place to get more where I’m goin’.”

They sat in silence for a few long minutes with no sound save that of Ned’s loud sipping of the hot liquid. Ned finally broke the silence. “Well, I expect I’d better get started back. You sure you don’t wanna ride back with me? I’d be glad to swing by Fort Fetterman before I go to Laramie. I’d recommend you to the commanding officer there to hire you on as a scout.”

Wolf could not help giving the idea some serious thought, but it still seemed so foreign to his nature that he had to decline. “I reckon not,” he finally said. Ned nodded his understanding, downed the last drop from his cup, and got to his feet. Wolf followed him to the edge of the water and stood there forming the words he wanted to say while Ned rinsed out his cup. It was not an easy thing for him, but the formidable lawman had given him back his freedom, and he felt obliged to say something to express his gratitude. When Ned stood up from the water’s edge and gave him a friendly grin, Wolf finally blurted out his thanks. “I ’preciate what you’ve done for me. I hope it ain’t gonna get you in any trouble with the army.”

Ned’s grin spread wider over his weathered face. He knew the difficulty Wolf had in expressing his feelings. “Don’t give it a thought,” he replied. “I don’t work for the army, so I don’t have to prove anythin’ to that colonel back at Fort Laramie. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll take that Sharps back to show him I actually did catch up with you.” Wolf nodded his approval. “You watch yourself, young feller. You’re liable to run into white men and Sioux Injuns in these hills, and they’re all probably gonna have their fingers on the trigger.”

“I will,” Wolf said. “You watch your back.” He remained standing by the river, watching until Ned rode out of sight. The big lawman had made a definite impression in the short time they had spent together. Wolf could not recall anyone else whom he looked upon with such respect other than Big Knife of the Crows. He wondered anew if he should give more consideration to Ned’s suggestion to seek a scouting job with the soldiers. Could Ned be right? Could he learn to live in the white man’s world, the world of his birth? Then he thought of his father and mother, something he had not done in many years. And he wondered if they would have wished for him the same as Ned had. He realized then that he had established Ned as more than a friend in his mind. He was more like an uncle—a wise uncle, maybe. I’ll think more on this, he told himself.

Chapter 7

Figuring he had ridden about ten miles, Ned decided to rest his horses at the fork where the Lightning and Cheyenne rivers joined. “This looks like the best spot to take a little rest, Brownie,” he told the red roan, and guided his horses over to a clearing in the brush that lined the river. “We ain’t gonna be here long, just long enough to let you get a drink and maybe a little break from haulin’ my big ass across this prairie.” He left the saddle on while the horse started nibbling at the grass near the water. Wouldn’t mind a little something myself, he thought, and went to his saddlebag to find a strip of jerky he had gotten from Wolf. The deer jerky made him think of the young man he had decided to befriend, and wondered if he was getting softhearted in his old age. Probably should have taken him back like the army wanted me to, he thought. “Nah,” he decided aloud. “They were wrong about that boy. I done the right thing.” Further thoughts were interrupted by a whinny from Brownie, echoed by his packhorse, alerting him to the possibility of company.

Walking up closer to the fork of the two rivers, he soon spotted his visitors. There were two of them, one riding a buckskin, the other on a spotted gray. He remained still, watching to see if they would continue toward him or turn and cross farther downstream. Judging by their gestures to each other, they had also detected his presence, no doubt alerted the same way he had been. It would have suited him just fine if they had made the crossing oblivious of him and continued on their way, but it was too late for that now. So he walked out of the shade of the cottonwoods and let himself be seen. They pulled up when they saw him standing there with his rifle in one hand.

“Howdy,” Mace Taggart called out. “No need for that rifle. We’re on our way north. Thought this looked like a good place to cross over.”

“It’s as good as any,” Ned called back. “Didn’t mean to alarm you with the rifle. Tell you the truth, I forgot I was totin’ it. Just a habit, I reckon.”

“Well, it ain’t a bad habit in this country,” Mace returned, “with the Injuns gettin’ all riled up.”

“What the hell are we waitin’ for?” Beau whispered. “Shoot him.”

“Keep your shirt on,” Mace whispered back. “At this distance, we might miss, and I don’t know how good he is with that rifle. Let’s find out who he is first.”

“That’s a fact,” Ned called out, responding to Mace’s comment. “Where you fellers headin’?”

“Headin’ up in the hills,” Mace replied. “Doin’ some prospectin’. Heard they’ve struck some gold up there.” They rode forward to the river’s edge. “Mind if we come across here?”

“Why, no, come on across. I sure as hell don’t own the river.” Ned kept a cautious eye on the two men as they entered the water. He couldn’t guess what they might be up to. Maybe they had someplace to go; maybe they were running from the law. He couldn’t say, but he doubted they were prospectors. They had no packhorse and no prospecting tools that he could see. Whatever their story, he wasn’t interested, just as long as they continued on their way.

“Look at him, Mace,” Beau insisted anxiously while trying to keep his voice low. “He’s a big’un, just like that whore said. I bet he’s that damn deputy. We caught him, Mace! We caught the son of a bitch!”

“Easy, dammit!” Mace growled, afraid his younger brother was going to get them both shot if he didn’t control his excitement. “He’s got the drop on us right now. You just simmer down till we find out if he’s the marshal or not. If he ain’t, he mighta run into him up ahead somewhere, and he can tell us where he saw him.” He paused to look at Ned again with a cautious eye before adding, “Then you can shoot him.” The two brothers were as opposite as night and day, although both placed little value on a human life. Where Beau was fiery and hair-trigger quick to act, Mace was cool and calculating. Mavis Taggart said of her eldest, “Mace is like a panther, patient on the hunt till it’s right to pounce. Then he’s like a lightning strike on the kill.” There had been a gleam of pride in the old woman’s eyes when she said it.