Charles West - Day of the Wolf

“I reckon,” Skinner said, laughing again. He knew Buck wouldn’t leave without Boyd. He was just letting off steam. They stepped up in their saddles and turned back toward the Star of Deadwood.

Twenty minutes at a steady lope brought them to the busy collection of huts, tents, and rough buildings that made up the center of the town of Deadwood. Forced to slow their horses to a walk because of the congestion of horses, wagons, and a bull train, they continued on until within fifty yards of the Star. “Just like I figured,” Buck said. “Yonder’s Boyd’s horse tied up at the hitchin’ post, and us settin’ up there waitin’ on him. I’m gonna thump his ass for sure.” He gave his horse a kick with his heels and hurried it along to the saloon, where he pulled in beside Boyd’s sorrel and dismounted. Skinner guided his horse in on the other side of Boyd’s and stepped down. The two of them were about to step up on the narrow stoop when the door opened and four men came out carrying a body.

“I reckon that’s what them shots was about,” Skinner commented with a grin as he and Buck stood aside to give the four men room. In the next instant, the two brothers froze when they gazed down at the corpse and recognized it as Boyd’s.

Buck grabbed the arm of the man holding Boyd’s left leg, almost causing him to lose his grip. “What the hell?” the man exclaimed as he scrambled to keep from dropping his share of the load. He had started to offer Buck a piece of his mind until he saw the unbridled fury in Buck’s eyes and thought better of it.

“Who did this?” Buck demanded. All four men turned to look at Marvin Sloan, who had followed them out the door.

“Hold on, mister,” Marvin exclaimed in reaction to the accusing glare in Buck’s eyes. “It ain’t the fault of anybody here. The fellow that done this is long gone.”

“Somebody better start tellin’ me what happened to my brother,” Skinner demanded, “and I mean right now.”

With all eyes still focused upon him, Marvin hurried to assure the two sinister-looking strangers that he was in no way implicated. “We’re all awful sorry for what happened to your brother, but it was between him and another fellow. Didn’t nobody else have nothin’ to do with it. And the fellow that done the shootin’ took off.”

“He had to sneak up on Boyd to put them two bullet holes in him,” Buck said, his voice low and accusing as he suddenly cranked a cartridge into the chamber of the Winchester he was clutching tightly. “Who done it?”

“It was a fellow named Wolf,” Marvin blurted, at once afraid Buck was going to start shooting indiscriminately to vent the anger obviously working up to a boiling point inside him. “And he’s done gone, took off right after he shot him.”

“The low-down son of a bitch,” Skinner growled, almost beside himself when he heard the name of the killer. Wolf, the man they had searched for so long, and now they had to add the name of their own brother to the list of his victims. “He had to bushwhack Boyd, or he’da never got the jump on him,” he said to Buck.

“Your brother got off a couple of shots,” one of the men carrying the body offered in the hope of providing some consolation to the two irate strangers. “He was wounded pretty bad when he took off.”

Over the initial shock that had paralyzed him for a few moments, Buck began to think clearly. It couldn’t have been much more than half an hour after they heard the shots when he and Skinner started back down the gulch heading to the Star. Wolf couldn’t be that far ahead of them, and if he was wounded, he might not be in any shape for hard riding. “Which way did he head out of here?” Buck demanded.

“Yonder way,” one of the men replied, pointing toward the lower end of the gulch.

Buck cocked his head toward the man and asked, “What kinda horse was he ridin’?”

“I don’t know,” the man said.

“He was ridin’ a bay and leadin’ a red roan,” another man volunteered, eager to appear helpful, since both brothers were still threatening with rifles ready to fire at the first sign of hesitancy on the part of anyone questioned. “And there was a whore went with him.”

“Ain’t nobody mentioned the fact that your brother took the first shot.” Standing in the doorway, watching the drama unfolding, Lorena wasn’t going to let them omit that fact. “Your brother tried to shoot Wolf in the back, without no warnin’ or nothin’—just out-and-out murder was what he was tryin’ to do. But he got killed instead.”

“Who the hell are you?” Buck asked.

“Somebody who saw the whole thing happen,” Lorena replied. “And I know for a fact that Wolf didn’t know your brother from Adam, and he sure as hell had no reason to shoot him except to defend himself.”

“That son of a bitch is gonna know us before this is over,” Buck snarled. “He’ll learn the same lesson anybody else learns that messes with the Dawson family.” He was in the process of getting worked up to administer a dose of punishment to the mettlesome whore when Skinner spoke to remind him that they were wasting time while Wolf was getting away. “Right,” Buck responded. “Let’s get goin’.”

“What about Boyd?” Skinner asked. “Ain’t we gonna take care of him?”

Concerned only with catching up with Wolf at that point, Buck paused to stare at the corpse of his late brother, which was still being held off the ground by the four men. “Boyd would want us to get the man that murdered him,” he said. “There ain’t nothin’ we can do for him now.” Thinking to appease Skinner, he asked Marvin, “Where were you takin’ him?”

“To the undertaker for a decent burial,” Marvin quickly replied, although his initial instructions to the four volunteers had been: “Haul his ass outta my place, and dump him somewhere far enough away so we don’t smell the stink.”

“All right,” Buck said, satisfied. “When we get done with his killer, I’m comin’ back to see that he’s been took care of proper. If he ain’t, I’ll be takin’ it outta your hide.”

“Yes, sir,” Marvin said. “We’ll see that he’s given a proper restin’ place. Course, there’ll be some expense involved that you may wanna settle with the undertaker.” His remark caused Buck to glower menacingly in his direction, prompting Marvin to quickly retreat. “But that’s somethin’ for a later time.” He took a step back. “We’ll take good care of your brother.” In the saddle then, the two Dawson brothers rode down the narrow street toward the lower end of the gulch, following the one road that led to the hills north of the town. Marvin watched them until sure they were gone for good, then instructed the four pallbearers to take Boyd’s body to the barber, who was also the undertaker. “Tell him to bury him and put some kind of tombstone on the grave. Tell him his brothers will pay him when they return.” He paused, then added, “And tell him I ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.”

Chapter 12

Rose could feel the blood seeping through the layers of Lorena’s petticoat bandage wrapped around Wolf’s waist, and she was afraid the life was going to drain out of him before they could reach a place of safety. She had no experience in treating wounds, but she felt certain that he desperately needed to rest, to lie still, and maybe the blood would stop pumping from the wound. She pleaded with him to stop and let her make camp so she could try to do what she could to take care of him. But he continued on, refusing to stop until he found a place that suited him. He was not sure who was chasing him—even if they would be coming after him at all—but he knew he was in no condition to fight them. Someone had said the man he had killed had brothers and would be seeking revenge. It was all a mass confusion in his brain, helped not at all by the growing feeling of dizziness, probably from the loss of blood. The fact that Rose was riding in the saddle behind him was puzzling as well. He could not say why she had insisted upon coming with him, but he had not felt strong enough about it to resist, and he was convinced now that, without her, he might not have been able to remain upright in the saddle.