Charles West - Day of the Wolf

Adding to their frustration, the valley ended at a rocky pass between two more mountains, the floor of which was almost solid rock. Skinner cursed the luck. “There ain’t no way I can find a track across this stuff,” he complained as he dismounted to closely examine the rock for signs of a scar left by a horseshoe, or damage to the grass growing in the cracks here and there. He looked up at Buck, still in the saddle. “I ain’t got no idea in hell which way he went.” He stood up then and considered their options. There were two. At the end of the short pass, there were two canyons, one on either side of a steep mountain. He waited for Buck to decide which one they would follow.

“It don’t make no sense,” Buck complained as he considered his choices. “The man couldn’t just fly away—two horses to boot.” After a long moment, he picked one of the canyons and said, “You just keep your eyes peeled. He’s gonna slip up somewhere.”

“What if that ain’t the one he took?” Skinner asked.

“Then, by God, we’ll come on back and go up the other one.” He whipped his horse then and continued on. Skinner mounted and followed and both men went unknowingly farther and farther from the object of their hunt.

Chapter 13

Another night served to improve Wolf’s condition noticeably, no doubt aided by the peace of mind and sense of security he felt in returning to the seclusion of his camp. His wound seemed to be healing as well as could be expected, and there was no lack of attention from Rose, who strived to anticipate his every need—even to the point where he had to insist that he didn’t require all the care she offered. By the end of the second day in camp, he was able to move around enough to take care of the horses. Luckily, food was no problem, for he had plenty of meat cached in addition to the remainder of the venison he had planned to give Billie Jean. Even though he felt confident that they had lost the two men seeking to overtake them, he would have avoided using his rifle had they needed food in case their pursuers might be close enough to hear the shots. To Rose’s disappointment, Wolf felt it was time to talk about her return to Deadwood, thinking she must surely be anxious to rejoin her friends.

“You’re not really well yet,” she argued. “You still need someone to help you.”

“I’m all right now,” he assured her, astonished that she could not see that he was getting around on his own with a great deal less pain. “I’m healin’ up fine.” Then remembering, he added, “Thanks to your help.” He was not oblivious of the degree of help she had provided. Although his initial thought after first being shot was to escape to the mountains and hole up to heal, he had to admit now that it would have been a difficult time for him without her. “I wanna thank you for takin’ care of me,” he said then, realizing that he had not really shown his gratitude for her sacrifice. After all, she had placed herself in harm’s way when she really had no obligation to do so.

She smiled at him and said, “I could take care of you all the time.” The puzzled expression on his face told her that he didn’t understand what she was hinting at. “Don’t you ever get lonely out here in the mountains by yourself?” she asked.

“No,” he replied. The thought had never crossed his mind. He had always been alone since he was a boy, except for the time spent in the Crow village. It was a natural state of being for him, and the few times he had complaints were the occasions when he had come into contact with other human beings.

“I don’t guess a man would be interested in me ’cause of what I’ve been doing up to now,” she suggested wistfully. “But I could change that in a second. I would make some man a good wife. I know I would.”

Slow to realize the implication of her comments, he was suddenly hit with the impact of what she was leading up to. He shrugged and thought a few moments before he responded, “I don’t see any reason why you wouldn’t make a good wife if you set your mind to it,” he said.

“Are you saying that you could forget about what I’ve been doing and start all over?” Her pleading eyes told him what he feared she was suggesting.

“I’m sayin’ that what you’ve done in the past shouldn’t be held against you—that a man would be lucky to have you as a wife.” Before she had time to jump to the wrong conclusion, he was quick to add, “I think it’ll happen for you someday when the right feller comes along. I hope it does, and I hope it ain’t a man like me, so you won’t have to live like a coyote on the run.”

She bit her lip, trying to hide the disappointment on her face, but he had definitely given her his answer. She should have known better, she told herself. He had never shown the slightest interest in her, and she felt like scolding herself for being interested in a man who was little more than a wild animal. She was a whore, and she would die a whore, although she had thought there might be a chance that two misfits might make a strong union. “Well,” she said, anxious to change the subject, “I think I’ll finish the last bit of coffee in that pot. You want any more?”

He shook his head, knowing he had disappointed her, but in all honesty, any thoughts of a union with the young prostitute had never taken root in his mind. The idea of taking any mate had never struck him, and he felt bad about rejecting her. “Rose,” he said, looking directly into her eyes, “if I was lookin’ to take a wife, I’d be askin’ you,” he lied. “But I care too much to have you, or any woman, in danger from the likes of those two that was followin’ us. And they’re gone right now, but they’ll be lookin’ for me, so that’s the reason I’m takin’ you back to Deadwood, where you’ll be safe—just as soon as I’m well enough to ride.”

She smiled and nodded her understanding of what he was trying to put in as charitable terms as possible. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said. “I think you misunderstood what I was saying. I don’t regret living with Lorena and Billie Jean. It’s better than being tied down to some man.” It was a subject best dropped, so they both sought to busy themselves with something else. For the next two days, they pretended the conversation had never occurred, and when Wolf told her that he was ready to take her back to Deadwood, she made no attempt to dissuade him.

While Wolf’s gunshot wound was rapidly healing, the nagging wound that was Buck Dawson’s frustration continued to fester, leaving him in a constant state of bitterness and impatience with every blind canyon they searched. His obsession with seeking vengeance for the deaths of his brother and cousins had even caused friction between him and Skinner, for he blamed Skinner for failing to track the wild man called Wolf. Reining his horse up at the boxed end of another narrow gulch, he complained yet again, “This ain’t gettin’ us one damn foot closer to that bastard. We’ve rode everywhere a man could ride a horse in these hills, and you ain’t found nary a track. I reckon you’ve met your match when it comes to followin’ a trail.”

Skinner turned his horse’s head, preparing to go back the way they had just come. “So you’re blamin’ me for there not being no tracks to follow, I reckon,” he responded with undisguised irritation. “I swear, I’m about to believe the son of a bitch is a ghost. If there were tracks, I’da found ’em. So don’t be jawin’ at me about it no more, ’cause I’m sick of hearin’ it.”

“Don’t go gettin’ your back up,” Buck said, realizing that Skinner was close to a boiling point. He knew he could whip his brother in a fistfight, and he knew Skinner knew it. But he also knew that Skinner would see to it that he got his share of licks in, so he backed down. “If there ain’t no tracks, there just ain’t no tracks, and we could hunt these mountains till hell freezes over and we ain’t liable to stumble on that bastard’s camp.”