Charles West - Day of the Wolf

“We’ve got you watching over us,” Rose offered with a contented smile.

“I ain’t gonna happen along every time you three do somethin’ dumb like this,” he retorted in exasperation with the naive young girl. “What are you goin’ to Deadwood Gulch for, anyway? I thought you were settled at Fort Laramie.”

Rose and Lorena both looked quickly at Billie Jean in response to the question. Billie Jean shrugged sheepishly. Then Lorena answered, “It’s a long story, but to give you the short version of it, you remember that tall, lanky bitch named Mae? Well, Billie Jean was talkin’ to a customer and Mae told her he was one of her regulars and to keep her hands off. Then Billie Jean told her…” She paused then and looked at her. “What was it you said?” Without waiting for an answer, she went on. “Anyway, it was somethin’ that Mae didn’t particularly appreciate, and she called Billie Jean a bowlegged buffalo cow.” She laughed. “I remember that one. So Billie Jean flattened her. Laid her out cold right in the middle of the saloon floor.”

Wolf wasn’t surprised. He knew that Billie Jean liked a scrap as well as anyone, but it didn’t seem like reason enough to leave. Seeing that it was puzzling to him, Billie Jean went on to explain, “Smiley kicked us out. He said the colonel at the fort was already looking to put him out of business on account of too much trouble at the saloon, especially since that little run-in you had with that sergeant. We told him that the army didn’t have anything to do with his saloon, long as it wasn’t on the post. But he said they could sure as hell keep the soldiers from coming. And he said there wasn’t no trouble until the three of us showed up—”

“That ain’t the real reason,” Lorena interrupted. “Mae and her pals wanted us outta there, and that skinny bitch has been takin’ care of ol’ Smiley’s needs with no charge. She musta threatened to shut off the pump if he didn’t get rid of us. I’m bettin’ that’s the real reason.”

“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” Billie Jean resumed, “’cause we heard about the big gold strike in Deadwood Gulch, and it’ll be better for us to set ourselves up for business right from the start. Up there, with all those rutty miners striking it rich, it’ll be a helluva lot better than working our asses off for soldiers’ pay.”

“I expect you’d best move your asses away from this place before those warriors come back,” Wolf said. “They might wait till dark before comin’ back to get their dead, and they might not. If they find out there ain’t but one of me, they might decide to try us again. Only, this time they’ll hit us from both sides.” He was of the opinion that the war party might have been low on ammunition after their raids on the mining camps in the mountains. This could account for the conservative attack upon the wagon instead of an all-out assault while it was vulnerable.

“Now that you’re here,” Rose suggested hopefully, “maybe you can lead us to Deadwood.”

“I don’t know where Deadwood is,” Wolf replied.

His response seemed to surprise them all. They had come to believe that he knew everything there was to know about the territory. Disappointed, Lorena told him that it was a gulch in the northern end of the Black Hills, and that the freighter she had talked to said that he had made two trips up there with all manner of supplies. “I know there’s a heap of people already up there, and we might as well be the first in our line of work to join them.”

The frown on his face revealed his lack of enthusiasm for helping them find another in a long list of boomtowns that threatened to ruin the grandeur of the mountains. They waited expectantly for his decision while he battled with his conscience. Like it or not, he surrendered to his sense of what was right, knowing he couldn’t abandon them to try to find the gulch by themselves. “If they’ve been drivin’ wagons up there, I reckon I oughta be able to follow their tracks easy enough.” He thought of the deep wagon tracks he had seen earlier, running up the valley, and figured they were probably the freighters the women were supposed to meet. He told Lorena as much.

“Why, those low-down lyin’ bastards,” she fumed when he told her how far ahead of them they were. “They told me they would wait till we got there. Dammit, we waited for them when we thought we were early.”

“Nothing we can do about that now,” Rose chimed in, still cheerful about the prospect of having Wolf to look after them. “We don’t need them anyway. Isn’t that right, Wolf?”

He shifted his dark eyes toward her and commented dryly, “Don’t ever hurt to have a few extra rifles handy when you’re ridin’ through this country. Let’s get started. We’ve still got a few good hours of daylight left, and we need to find a good place to camp tonight. Those Lakota warriors ain’t likely to go back to their village without the bodies of the ones we killed. They’ll be back. Best we’re not here when they come.”

Billie Jean was the only one who thought to ask the question that no one had thought to ask when he first appeared. “Do you know Ned Bull is on your trail?”

“He was,” Wolf answered. “He ain’t no more.” The noticeable void that followed told of the disappointment all three felt. Realizing this, he told them of the circumstances that had led to Ned’s death, and the part he had played to ensure his revenge. “I didn’t kill Ned, but I didn’t get there soon enough to keep him from gettin’ killed. He was my friend.” His confession of innocence brought a welcome relief to the women. Even though they had tried to help him escape, they would never have condoned his killing of the deputy marshal.

Chapter 10

Joe French propped his shovel against the side of the sluice box and picked up his rifle from the bank of the stream. “Oscar!” he called out. “We got company.”

At the other end of the box, Oscar Morris responded at once. “Where?” he asked, alert at once while wading ashore to fetch his own rifle.

“Comin’ up the stream, ’bout halfway down to that tree lyin’ over it,” Joe replied, his eyes never leaving the figure on horseback, partially hidden by the leaves of the plum bushes that lined both sides of the stream.

“How many? Can you tell?” Oscar asked while straining to catch sight of them.

After a long moment, Joe answered, “Just one.” He kept his eyes on the solitary figure making its way up toward their claim. “Keep your rifle handy.” There had been reports of some Indian attacks upon small claims along this stream, but they were in the lower part of it, closer to the valley. “It ain’t no Injun,” he called out a few seconds later. Relieved but still cautious, he walked a few paces farther up on the bank to await the arrival of the visitor. In a couple of minutes he was joined by his partner. “Looks like a drifter,” Joe remarked, “but he’s comin’ on in. That one you saw a-settin’ up on the hill the other time just watched for a spell and moved on.” He didn’t have to remind Oscar how that had spooked both of them into staying awake all night to stand guard.

“Might be the same feller,” Oscar said, even though it had been back before the winter set in, “but this’un ain’t wearin’ animal hides.” Further speculation was interrupted when the visitor hailed the camp.

“Hello there,” Buck Dawson yelled. “All right if I come on in?”

“If you’ve got peaceful intentions, come in, and welcome,” Oscar replied.

“Well, my intentions are peaceful,” Buck replied, and started his horse walking again toward the sluice box. “Havin’ any luck?” he asked in greeting as he pulled up before the two miners.