Charles West - Day of the Wolf

The object of their search was closer than Buck thought. About one hundred feet above him, near the top of the mountain, the wounded man and the young prostitute lay on a rocky ledge, watching their pursuers. Wolf was tempted to touch off a couple of shots, but there was no clear line of sight to ensure his accuracy, and a miss might put Rose and him in a position hard to defend. Something he was forced to consider as well was his still-weakened state. His aim was not as steady as he would have liked, and the recently cauterized wound greatly hampered his ability to move freely. Added to that was a heightened sense of responsibility for Rose’s safety, so he decided to sit tight and hope the two men would move off down the mountain and follow the obvious trail he had purposefully left for them.

Ignoring a great deal of pain, he had led Rose down the slope, angling back toward the bottom of the canyon, making no effort to hide their trail. After reaching the bottom, he took pains to avoid leaving tracks then as he led the horses back up the slope to a place where the pines were thickest. Counting on his pursuers’ eagerness to overtake him, he hoped they would not notice that he had doubled back through the forest of pines to return to the stream once again. After climbing back up the stream to their camp of the night before, he had continued past until reaching a rocky ledge. The entire effort was enough to exhaust him, so he positioned himself where he could see their camp below them and instructed Rose to take the horses back farther around the crown of the mountain, where, hopefully, they would give no announcement of their pursuers’ horses. All this was a precaution in case they were, in fact, being followed. And now, watching the two men below them, he had proof that his precautions had been worthwhile. In no condition to fight, he had to satisfy himself with at least the opportunity to get as good a look at his two stalkers as he could from that distance. He felt certain that there would be a day of reckoning between them. His foremost hope was that it would not come before he had been able to regain some of his strength.

“They’ve gone,” Rose whispered when Buck discovered the obvious trail down through the trees, and was quick to alert Skinner. The tone of her voice betrayed the bravado she was trying to display. “We’ll be all right now.”

He nodded slowly to reassure her but kept his eyes on the little clearing below and made no move to pull back from the ledge. “We’d best wait here awhile longer, in case they found where we doubled back and figured out where we’re hidin’.”

An hour passed, and then another. Still there was no sign of the two men who hunted him. Finally, when his weary eyes threatened to close on him, he decided they had successfully evaded their pursuers. “It’s time to go now,” he said, and struggled to get to his feet.

She was there immediately to help lift him. “Lean on me,” she insisted. “I may not be big, but I’m strong.” She slipped under his arm and strained to shoulder his weight. His weakened condition would not allow him to puzzle over the girl’s eagerness to help him. For now, his only concern was to reach his camp by the waterfall where he felt they would be safe.

With Rose to help support him, he walked to the horses and managed to climb aboard the bay. Instead of returning to the canyon they had ridden the day before, he continued around the crown of the mountain and descended the other side to what appeared to be a box canyon. He had killed an elk in the canyon before the passes had been closed last winter and knew there was a narrow passage at the end that led to a long valley. Once they reached the valley, they would be less than half a day’s ride from the cross canyon where he had made his camp. Upon reaching the valley, however, he found he was too weary to continue on that day, so Rose was called upon once again to make their camp, a chore she eagerly accepted. After the horses were cared for, and a fire showed a healthy blaze, she carved off more of the smoked venison to roast for him. Feeling that there was no more immediate danger from the two men who had been trailing them, Wolf found it easier to relax and accept the nourishment his wounded body needed. On this night, Rose made no pretense of remaining on guard. Instead, she slid under the blanket beside him and snuggled close to his body. Although weak and exhausted, he was sharply aware of her slender warm body next to his. He was not certain how to interpret his feelings.

He awoke the next morning feeling a little steadier, and even though any twisting motion he made brought a stabbing pain in his side, he was convinced that he was beginning to heal. Rose, too, noticed the signs of improvement, and she went about making his breakfast in a more cheerful mood, even to the point of chiding him about his meager supplies. “The first chance we get, I’m going to buy some coffee,” she said. “I need coffee to get my day started.” She pretended to scold. “Maybe you are used to living like an Indian, but I’m not.”

He shrugged, then winced when it caused a sharp pain in his side. “I have coffee beans in my camp,” he said. “You can have coffee tonight.”

“It’s a good thing,” she joked, “because I might be too cross to live with unless I get some.” She smiled then in case he didn’t realize she spoke in jest. She was almost lighthearted with the new sense of safety since losing those who had pursued them.

With plenty of time to reach his camp, they saddled up and moved off down the valley. It was early afternoon when they came to the cross canyon he had told her about. Though uncomfortable sitting up in the saddle, he felt well enough to make the ride with no stops to rest. Entering the cross canyon, they rode only a little over one hundred yards before coming to a notch in the mountain on their right. Looking toward a hole in the thick forest above when he pointed, she saw the falls created by a sheer drop in the rushing stream from a ledge about seventy-five feet above the canyon floor. As a precaution, he hesitated before riding through the narrow opening in the rocky face of the mountain base while he scanned the trees, then checked the ground to make sure there were no fresh tracks to indicate anyone had visited his camp while he was gone. Satisfied then, they rode in.

“By God,” Buck swore. “Them Injuns mighta thought this son of a bitch was a spirit or somethin’, but nobody said he could take off and fly.” His frustration was growing by the moment, and he had to vent his anger on someone. “Where the hell did he go? You’re supposed to be so damn good at trackin’.”

“Don’t get your back up at me,” Skinner retorted. “I don’t know how he done it, but he ain’t left no tracks up this canyon, else I’da found ’em.” He knelt down again to reexamine the game trail down the middle of the narrow valley. It appeared to be an often-used path and there should have been tracks on the bare ground. “He musta rode on the grass beside the trail,” he speculated, although he could find no evidence of hoofprints to substantiate the thought. He got to his feet then and gazed along the path toward the mountains ahead. “Well, there ain’t no tracks headin’ back the way he came,” he announced. “He’s headin’ for someplace he’s got in them mountains at the end of this canyon. He’s been headin’ for it ever since he doubled back offa that road outta town.”

“So we’d best quit wastin’ time and get on up this trail,” Buck finished for him. “He’s good, but there’s bound to be someplace up ahead where he ain’t gonna be able to hide his tracks.” His irritation was such that he wanted to make some move that might allow them to catch Wolf, even though there was no visible evidence that the man had actually gone past this point in the valley. Skinner had no alternative plan to suggest, so he stepped up in the saddle and followed his brother, who was already moving away at a fast lope.