Charles West - Day of the Wolf

“Not so much as a feller would dance a jig over,” Joe replied. “We keep hopin’, though.” He wanted to brag about the discovery of gold in the wide stream, and the fact that they were sluicing at the rate of almost fifty cents a pan, but he decided he’d better keep their success quiet. As far as he had been able to determine, he and Oscar were the only ones to have found this rich little stream, at least for half a mile in both directions. “If we don’t find some pay dirt pretty soon, I reckon we’ll pack up and look somewhere else.”

“There’s a bunch of fellers in a gulch a couple of miles back that way,” Buck said, pointing to the east. “They was all findin’ a little color. Trouble is, there’s too many of ’em goin’ after it. Ain’t enough to go around. Now, me, I’m more like you fellers. I’ll find me a spot where ain’t nobody else been.”

“That’s what we done,” Oscar said. “Get it before somebody else finds out about it and turns it into a glory hole.” A look from Joe caused him to add, “Course, we ain’t found nothin’ here, so we’ll most likely move on up the mountain.” Thinking it best to change the subject then, he said, “There was a feller that came by our claim a few months back, but he didn’t come on down to the camp—just sat up there on the side of the hill and watched for a while. Then he up and left. That wasn’t you, was it?”

“Course it weren’t him,” Joe interrupted before Buck could answer. “That feller looked like an Injun, wearin’ skins for clothes and sneakin’ around in the trees.” He turned to Buck. “He didn’t think we saw him, but we caught a glimpse when he crossed that little clearin’ in the pines up there.” He pointed to a small opening in the trees a few hundred feet up the mountain.

Buck’s interest was captured right away. He remembered the description that Boyd had given of the half-wild man called Wolf. It would be one hell of a coincidence if the man just described by Joe French was the man he and his brothers hunted. There were a good many men wearing buckskins on this side of the Mississippi, but what if they had been lucky enough to have stumbled upon his trail—even after this length of time? “No,” he said, “your partner’s right. It weren’t me, but it might be somebody I know. Was he on a horse?”

“Well, like Joe said,” Oscar replied, “we didn’t get a real good look at him, but he was leadin’ two horses—least that’s what it looked like to me.”

“That’s mighty interestin’,” Buck said, and turned to look again at the small clearing in the trees above the stream. When he turned back to face them, he had his .44 pistol in his hand. Both men tensed at once, too surprised to react quickly enough, although Joe started to pull his rifle up closer to him. “I wouldn’t even try it,” Buck warned. “I’d cut you down before you raised it above your pecker. Now, suppose you just drop them rifles right there on the ground, and we’ll make this as easy as we can?”

Though startled by the sudden change in the friendly stranger, Joe recovered enough of his nerve to protest, “Mister, we done told you we ain’t hit no pay dirt, so there ain’t no use to try to take somethin’ that ain’t here.”

His words were met with a broad smile from Buck. “I don’t believe you’ve been honest with me. I believe you boys have been pullin’ a lot of gold outta this stream. All I said was that I wanted to see it. Hell, if you make it easy on me, I’ll cut you in for a share of it. Now, I think that’s fair enough.”

“You must be plumb loco, mister,” Oscar said, recovering some of his nerve as well. “As far apart as we’re standin’, you might get one of us with that pistol, but the other’n is bound to get off a shot. Did you think about that?”

“I did,” Buck answered thoughtfully. “That’s why my brothers are settin’ on the slope behind you with their rifles sighted right on your backs. Now, you make the first move toward those rifles, I mean wiggle a finger, and they’re gonna cut you down like winter wheat.” He raised his voice a little. “Ain’t that right, boys?”

“That’s right, Buck.” The words came back from the pines on either side of the stream, almost in unison.

The rifles fell to the ground at once. “That’s playin’ it smart,” Buck said. Then he raised his voice once again. “Come on in, boys.” In a few moments, Boyd and Skinner emerged from the trees above the stream, their rifles trained upon the unfortunate prospectors. “These two fine-lookin’ fellers are my brothers,” Buck continued, a broad smile on his face again.

“Damn you,” Joe snarled. “We ain’t got nothin’ to steal—not enough to kill a man for.”

“You’ve got the wrong idea, friend,” Buck replied. “We’re not murderers. We’re just partners. We don’t wanna kill anybody unless we have to. So you just dig out that gold dust—wherever you got it hid—and we’ll just take our share and leave you the rest. And if you come out with all of it, and don’t make us have to look for it, why, we’ll be on our way. And you’ll never lay eyes on us again. Ain’t that right, boys?”

“That’s right, Buck,” Skinner replied, “we only want our share.”

Joe and Oscar looked at each other helplessly. Both men knew that they had little choice but to comply. And both men also desperately hoped that the three outlaws were intent upon robbing them only. Perhaps, if they did as Buck instructed, they would be satisfied to take what gold they had and leave them with their lives.

Growing impatient with the miners’ reluctance to give in, Buck demanded, “What’s it gonna be? You takin’ the easy way or the hard way?” Boyd and Skinner moved in a little closer to them.

“All right, dammit.” Joe spoke for them both. “We’ll give you the dust if you’ll take it and leave us in peace.”

“Fair enough,” Buck said.

“Come on, Oscar, we’ll get our pokes from under the rock, and let these gentlemen get the hell on their way.” They picked up their shovels and walked back up the stream to a rock about the size of a full-grown cow. The three brothers followed close behind, their rifles trained on the two, and stood, watching eagerly, as Oscar and Joe began digging at the base of the rock.

After a sizable hole had been dug, they unearthed a canvas bag, and then another. When one more bag was exposed, they stood back and Oscar said, “That’s all there is. That’s all of it.”

“Is that a fact?” Buck replied. “Tell you what, why don’t you widen that hole a little bit? You mighta forgot a sack or two.”

“That’s right” Skinner said, “it’s easy to forget how many sacks of gold you buried.” His comment brought a chuckle from Boyd and Buck.

“All right”—Joe exhaled wearily—“but there ain’t no more pokes under this rock.” He and Oscar set in to widen the hole. After half an hour more, with the hole now a trench all the way around the rock, Buck let them stop digging.

“Looks like you boys were right,” he said. “And you ain’t hid none under no other rocks. Right?” Both men nodded enthusiastically. “And you swear on your mama’s soul?”

“I swear,” Oscar said.

Buck nodded in return, and the broad smile returned to his face. He looked at his brothers again and gave one final distinctive nod. It was the signal they expected, and both rifles barked suddenly, dropping Joe and Oscar to the ground. The firing did not stop until they were sure the two were dead. Buck stuck the toe of his boot in Oscar’s chest and rolled him over to drop in the trench freshly dug. “You ought not swear to a lie on your mama’s soul,” he said. Then, directing his younger brothers, he said, “Let’s get busy and find where they hid the rest of their dust.” Boyd and Skinner each grabbed a shovel and began searching for likely places to hide gold dust, while Buck went to rummage through the prospectors’ tents.