Charles West - Day of the Wolf

Rose could not understand why he would not stop to let her tend his wound. They had crossed several streams that looked to be suitable places to camp since leaving the road that led to Spearfish and turning back into the heart of the mountains. Still Wolf pushed on. “What are you looking for?” Rose finally asked.

“I’ll know it when I see it,” Wolf answered weakly, not sure himself, and unable to explain the natural animal instincts that drove him to retreat to his den to heal. He wanted to reach his permanent camp deep in the mountains by the waterfall, but he knew he was not going to make it, for it was a day’s ride from Deadwood, and he was already spent. Finally, when images before his eyes began to alter in their shapes, and the dark pines seemed to have developed fuzzy outlines, he knew there was little time left before he would be useless in selecting a camp. Moments later, when following a game trail, and coming to another sizable stream, he uttered one word, “Here,” and turned the bay’s head up the stream, even as he began to lean heavily in the saddle.

Not sure if he was dead or just unconscious, Rose held him tightly to prevent his falling from the saddle. Equally frightened and determined, she let the bay continue up the slope, following the stream, until she came to a small clearing about two hundred yards up the side of the mountain. “This will have to do,” she announced, and drew back on the reins. While trying to steady Wolf in the saddle, she slid off the horse and prepared to help him down. Bracing herself to catch his weight, she gave a gentle pull on his arm. The weight was too much for her. She collapsed under his body, and they both went sprawling on the ground. The jolt seemed to revive him somewhat—enough to express concern for his horses. “Unsaddle the horses,” he said feebly.

Pulling herself out from under him, she told him, “The horses can wait till I take care of you.” Taking charge then, she paused a moment to evaluate the spot they had landed in, and decided it was as good a place as any to make his bed. He was too much for her to move without help, anyway, so the decision was not that difficult. Relieved to see that the bleeding appeared to have slowed down, she refolded the bandage to press a dry portion over the wound. “Do you have a blanket?” she asked then.

“Pack,” he answered.

She waited a moment to see if he was going to say more. When he did not elaborate, she went to the packhorse and looked through the packs without success before realizing that his one blanket was rolled and tied behind the packsaddle. She untied it and spread it over him. “That’ll help you till I can find something to make a fire,” she told him. “When I unsaddle your horse, I’ll put the saddle blanket under you.” He placed his hand on the small deerskin pouch on his belt. Understanding, she untied the pouch and found flint and steel among the items inside. She had seen him build enough fires to know what they were for. Glancing back at the packhorse, she was at once thankful for the quantity of smoked venison Brownie was carrying, for she was not confident of her ability to hunt for food—and he was going to need plenty of good meat to build up his blood.

When she had searched through his packs for the blanket, she had found no pots or pans for cooking, so she took the hand axe she had employed to chop limbs for the fire and fashioned a spit to roast some of the deer meat. Resting a little easier at that point, Wolf was reluctant to eat, but she insisted and badgered him until he finally downed a small quantity to pacify her. “You’ve got to build your strength back,” she lectured him. “I’m not going to let you lie around and die on me.”

“I don’t plan to,” he said weakly. It was enough to encourage her. She gave him a firm nod to let him know that she meant business, and left him to take care of the horses. When she returned to his side, it appeared that he was asleep, so she placed some more limbs on the fire and sat down beside him. Without opening his eyes, he said, “Bring me my rifle, the Winchester, off my saddle.” He paused then as if talking exhausted him, then said, “That Henry on the packhorse is loaded if you wanna hold on to it.” She did as he said, although she feared that if they were attacked, he would be of little use, as weak as he appeared to be.

In a short time, night descended upon the rugged mountains, filling the canyons and valleys with a deep stillness that seemed to give weight to the darkness that closed in around the little stream and the two souls close by the tiny fire. The wounded man slept, having given in to the weariness caused by his loss of blood. Helpless against any who might seek him out, he lay defenseless. Knowing this, Rose sat beside him, holding the Henry rifle, determined to remain alert and to watch over him. She shivered in the chill night air and tried to draw warmth from the dying fire. There was only the one blanket, so she laid the rifle down after a while and hugged herself against the cold. Another hour passed and the last of the limbs she had been able to find before darkness set in were reduced to glowing ashes. Finally she gave in and crawled under the blanket with him, pressing close to his body. I can still remain alert, she told herself. And the horses will help me listen and warn me if anyone comes near .

When the first needles of morning light found their way through the thick dark branches of the pines that covered the slope, Wolf woke to find Rose fast asleep, her body tightly pressed against his, her arm around him. The fire had long since gone out, but the slight girl’s body seemed to generate enough heat to keep both of them warm. At first alarmed that he had been so vulnerable to any trouble that might have found them in the night, he tried to rise to look around him. The pain that immediately shot through his side forced him to lie back. The movement was enough to awaken the sleeping girl.

“Oh!” she exclaimed when she realized she had fallen asleep, and she scrambled out from under the blanket. “I was cold,” she rushed to explain. “I was gonna keep watch. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Well, we’re still here,” he responded, “so I reckon it don’t matter. I’m still in bad shape, and I’m hungry.” He considered that an encouraging sign. “Maybe you can get the fire built up again, and we’ll see how bad that wound is.” He paused to think the situation over. “I think you might have to see if you can cut that bullet outta me.” When he saw the immediate look of despair on her face, he said, “I might be able to do it myself, but you’ll have to help me.” He forced himself to roll over on his good side, but not without considerable discomfort. “First thing, though, I need to get to the bushes.”

Puzzled at first, she realized then that he meant he had to answer a call of nature. “I need to pee, myself,” she said. “Here, I’ll help you.” She took his arm and prepared to help him up. With her assistance, he was able to get to his feet. “You can go right there by that bush,” she suggested, pointing to a serviceberry bush a few yards away.

A look of despair quickly spread across his face. “I reckon I need to go by myself.”

“You don’t look like you can make it by yourself,” she said, but his frown of concern remained firmly in place. “Don’t be silly,” she chided. “I’m a prostitute, for goodness’ sake. Don’t you think I’ve seen a few tally-whackers before?”

“You ain’t ever seen this one,” he insisted defiantly.

“Come on before you fall down,” she goaded impatiently, took his elbow, and began walking him toward the stand of berry bushes. When they reached them, however, he refused to take care of business until she left him and returned to revive the fire.