Charles West - Day of the Wolf

Ned took a few paces back toward his horses when the two strangers rode up from the riverbank. Walking their horses up before him, they both dismounted. Mace glanced behind Ned and, seeing no fire, remarked, “Looks like you musta just been fixin’ to make camp.”

“Nope,” Ned replied. “It’s a little too early in the day to make camp. I just stopped to rest my horses for a spell. I was just fixin’ to ride on when you fellers showed up.”

“Which way are you headin’?” Beau asked. “North or south?” He took a few steps off to his left, trying to appear casual as he did it.

Ned responded with a wry smile as he answered, “South, headin’ to Fort Laramie.” He brought his rifle up to waist height, holding it in both hands now. “How ’bout steppin’ back over close to your partner there? I got a bad eye on that side and I can see you better when you’re closer together.”

Beau froze.

Mace smiled, suspecting that the big man’s eyes were as sharp as his. “I don’t blame you for being careful with strangers in this country,” he said. “Me and my brother was thinkin’ the same thing. It don’t pay to take chances. You don’t have to worry about me and my brother, though. Ain’t that right, Beau?” It was too late. He hadn’t meant to drop the name, and he caught the slight narrowing of Ned’s eyes and knew he recognized it. He had no choice but to try to carry on with the charade. “Well, I reckon we’ll be on our way. If you was headin’ north, we coulda rode together, but you ain’t, so good luck to you.” He stepped back up in the saddle then. “Come on, brother. We’d best be gettin’ started. We’ve got a piece to ride before sundown.” Beau hesitated, looking uncertain. When he looked up at his brother, he found Mace frowning at him. “Let’s go,” Mace repeated firmly. Although reluctant, Beau got on his horse, trusting that Mace had no intention of permitting the man to ride away.

“Well, now, you boys have a nice ride, and good luck with your prospectin’,” Ned said. He had never laid eyes on Mace or Beau Taggart, but he was pretty sure that was who they were. Along with their late brother, they were wanted in Oklahoma, Wyoming, and Texas. The problem was that he was in no position to arrest them. If he tried to, one of them was bound to get off a shot before he could secure them both. He had no intention of letting them go free, but his chances were better if he let them ride on, then followed them and made his move while they were sleeping. It did not occur to him that they had been tracking him or that they had any idea he was a marshal. And it was unlikely that they knew of Arlo’s death. Most likely they thought he was in jail in Cheyenne.

He remained there, watching the two Taggart brothers ride off through the cottonwoods that lined the river until he could see them no longer. Then he hurried to climb into the saddle and give Brownie a kick. In case they had stopped to watch him, he plunged his horses into the river and crossed to the other side, where he kept going, heading south. He figured, if they were suspicious and were now watching him, they might think he had no interest in them. It was not the best of situations for making an arrest, and certainly one he would never brag about, but it was the best he could come up with, given the circumstances. He didn’t stop until he put a low line of hills between himself and the river. “We’re gonna have to wait here a spell,” he told Brownie, “and let ’em get a little head start.” There was still no suspicion in his mind that they knew he had killed their brother. Leaving his horses below the brow of the hill, he crawled up to the top where he could see his back trail and make sure they didn’t take a notion to follow him. He waited for over an hour before deciding it was safe to get on their trail again while there was still plenty of daylight left. He didn’t want to take a chance on the two of them getting too far ahead, causing him to lose their trail in the darkness.

“There he is!” Beau exclaimed. “Just like you said.”

Mace moved over from the other side of the ravine to join his brother. “There ain’t no doubt he’s that damn deputy now,” he said, “or he wouldn’t be tailin’ us. What was his name? Mr. Ned Bull?” He snorted a short laugh. “Ridin’ right into the little party we’ve got waitin’ for him.”

“Yeah,” Beau said excitedly. “He can change his name to Mr. Dead Bull now.” They both laughed, eager to complete the assassination.

“Don’t get too anxious,” Mace warned. “Let’s let him ride on up in the mouth of this ravine, so there ain’t no chance he can run.” When Beau assured him that he would not be too quick to shoot, Mace returned to his position on the other side so they could have Ned in a cross fire between them. With their target moving in according to their plan, they waited. “This is for Arlo,” Mace said.

Down on the floor of the valley, Ned approached the line of rugged brakes, cautiously scanning the terrain ahead as he followed a clear trail of the two horses. It occurred to him that the trail might be too obvious, so he paused to consider the narrow ravine that lay ahead. After a moment’s concern, he decided he was probably getting a little too cautious in his old age and continued on. The closer he got to the mouth of the ravine, however, the more hesitant he became about riding between those narrow walls when he could not see the top of the defile. “I don’t like the look of this,” he finally told Brownie, and swung the roan’s head to the side. “We’ll go around and pick up the trail on the other side.”

“Damn!” Mace swore. “He’s onto us. Get him before he gets out of range!”

It was unnecessary to tell Beau a second time. The eager young outlaw squeezed off two rounds before Mace could take proper aim. The first shot missed by a short foot. The second caught Ned in the shoulder, causing him to turn to the side. Mace’s shot slammed into the big deputy’s back, and he fell forward on Brownie’s neck. Startled, the horse bolted. The wounded man could not stay in the saddle and came off hard, the impact with the ground knocking the breath from his lungs.

“Hot damn!” Beau shouted, and ran down the slope of the ravine to finish the job. Mace was only a few steps behind him. “We got us a U.S. marshal!” Beau shouted in childish delight, moments before the .44 slug slammed into his back and sent him sprawling face-first on the gravel of the rocky defile. In a panic, Mace dived on the ground beside his brother. Dragging himself around on the loose gravel of the ravine, he lay flat, using Beau’s body for a shield. He strained to make himself as flat as possible while he tried to figure out where the shot had come from. Looking back toward the top of the ravine, he saw a lone man standing there, but only for an instant before he disappeared. It was long enough to sear the image into his brain—an Indian, he thought, wearing animal skins and wielding a rifle. Although there only for a brief moment, the image of the hunter who had shot his brother would remain in Mace’s mind from that moment on. Foremost in his mind now was to remove himself from danger. In his haste to save himself, he almost forgot about Beau, so he quickly shook Beau’s body and blurted, “Are you gonna make it?” But there was no answer from the corpse, already on its way to wherever bushwhackers go. Certain now that his brother was dead, he forgot all thoughts about the deputy marshal, driven by the one desire to save himself from the fate Beau had just met. As fast as he could manage, he pushed away from the corpse and tried to drag himself to a gully formed at the bottom of the ravine. As soon as he was free of his brother’s body, a series of shots kicked up dirt around him. Certain to be hit at any minute, he got to his hands and knees and scrambled to the gully as fast as he could. Luck was with him, for the only shot that found him tore through the sole of his boot as he went into the gully headfirst.