Charles West: Day of the Wolf

It was time then to decide what to do next. There was much to be done in order to return to his village, which was two full days’ ride to the Sweetwater River. The bodies of his four brother tribesmen would have to be taken home, as well as extra horses that were too valuable to leave behind. Big Knife clearly needed help, and although Tom was reluctant to stray far from his familiar territory, he agreed to go with him. Although Big Knife felt an urgency to leave before encountering another Shoshone party, they decided to wait until morning to start. There was a deer to skin and butcher if they were to have food for the journey, so Wolf set about recovering the carcass at once. After he had meat roasting over the fire, he turned to the task of loading the bodies of Big Knife’s friends on their ponies. Of the four Shoshone horses, Wolf took his pick, at Big Knife’s insistence, and selected a stout bay with a substantial Indian saddle. Big Knife smiled, satisfied that Wolf had been rewarded with horse, rifle, and ammunition for his trouble. “Good pick,” he said. “Pony strong. Make you good horse.”

Big Knife watched his unlikely rescuer as Wolf finished the preparations to leave, fascinated by the young man known by several of the tribes as the seldom-seen spirit of the mountains. It was obvious by the crude workmanship of the deerskin garments and leggings that there was no woman’s hand in the sewing. And there was an almost childlike air about the man’s conduct. But there was no doubting the young man’s strength, for he hefted the bodies of Big Knife’s friends upon the backs of their horses with little more than an insignificant grunt. Now, the chores done, he sat down opposite Big Knife and examined his newly acquired rifle, again in a childlike manner. Big Knife was sure he was the one for whom the legend was created. “Wolf,” he pronounced. “That good name for you.”

The young man glanced up when Big Knife said it. He stopped to consider what the Crow warrior said. He had not been Tom Logan for many years now. “Wolf” suited him better. He decided to keep the name. It was what Big Knife was going to call him anyway.

What would have been a two-day ride turned into three because of Big Knife’s injury. Although it was not a life-threatening wound, the bullet had torn into the muscles of his chest and shoulder, making it uncomfortable to ride for extended periods of time. During the times of rest, the Crow warrior sought to satisfy his curiosity for the seemingly guileless young white man who seemed as much a part of the frontier as the Indian. And yet there were many things that Crow boys learned at an early age that Wolf obviously did not know. The first lesson was to offer suggestions that would make the boy’s butchering of the deer more efficient, saving time as well as some of the better parts of the carcass. He found Wolf to be receptive to his suggestions, and not offended at all. The butchering was the first of many lessons Wolf would learn from his new friend and mentor.

Eager to try out his new weapon, Wolf reluctantly waited until they had ridden farther from the Wind River Range where Big Knife felt they were closer to Crow country. On their last evening before reaching Big Knife’s village, Wolf spent half a dozen cartridges to learn the rifle’s tendencies. His marksmanship, with his having never fired the rifle before, was enough to impress his Crow friend. He nodded approvingly and said, “New rifle big medicine.” Had it not been for the fact that the ride back to his village was in actuality a funeral procession for his four Crow brothers, Big Knife would have enjoyed the experience.

Arriving at the village in the afternoon of the third day, the party of two riders and nine horses was met with mourning for the slain warriors. Big Knife’s new friend was well received and treated with gestures of welcome and gratitude for helping Big Knife return safely. Thinking his obligation to the wounded man complete, Wolf planned to return to the mountains the next day. However, Big Knife’s entreaty to stay, as well as that from the rest of the village, was enough to persuade Wolf to prolong his visit for a few days. Those few days evolved into almost five years that taught the young man the ways of the Crow Indians. It was a happy time for Wolf as he became an accomplished hunter and trapper, with both rifle and a more efficient bow that Big Knife helped him make. He learned to steal horses from the Sioux and Blackfeet, and he counted his first coup soon after joining Big Knife’s village when a war party rode west to avenge the four warriors who had lost their lives in the Shoshone fight.

The last traces of the innocence that had remained from his boyhood were destroyed in the twentieth year of his birth when the village was attacked by a large party of Lakota raiders while most of the Crow warriors were away hunting buffalo. The wanton slaughter of women and children was the catalyst that sealed the savage reality of the plains in Wolf’s mind, and shattered his sense of a carefree existence with nature. The single most severe impact upon him was the death of his longtime mentor, Big Knife, who was killed trying to defend his wife and children from the Lakota attack. It was the second devastating loss in Wolf’s life, and served to form a reluctance to let anyone else come that close to him in the future.

When he returned to the village with the other hunters, Wolf, along with most of the hunting party, immediately rode in pursuit of the Lakota. With horses already tired, the Crow party could not close the distance between themselves and the raiders. After two days, they gave up the chase when sign indicated they were getting farther and farther behind. On the morning of the third day, they talked among themselves and decided it was a useless endeavor to continue on into Sioux territory. There was the added concern over the safety of those survivors who remained in their village as well. So they decided to turn around and go back—all except one. So bitter was he over the loss of his friend, Wolf decided to continue on alone, determined to seek revenge for Big Knife’s death. The others tried to persuade him to return with them, but he was confident that he could travel through enemy territory without being seen. He had spent most of his life remaining invisible to Shoshone warriors and hunters before he joined the Crow village, so he parted with his Crow friends on that morning, not realizing at the time that it would be a permanent separation.

As adept at reading sign as any Crow warrior, he followed the trail doggedly up through the Powder River country and into the Big Horn Valley. It was approaching dark when he came upon the Lakota village on the Big Horn River. When still some distance away, he could see the smoke from many campfires, so he left the trail he had been following and circled around a low ridge to the east of the river. Once he got to a point he guessed might be adjacent to the center of the village, he dismounted and left his horse while he climbed to the top of the ridge on foot to get a look at the camp.

From his position at the top, he got a good view of the sizable Lakota camp on the other side of the river, spread among the cottonwoods and brush that lined the banks. A pony herd of maybe twenty-five hundred grazed just beyond the village. Wolf lay there for quite some time, wondering now what vengeance he could take against a village of that size. While he thought about the possibilities, the darkness deepened as night came on. The longer he hesitated, the more rest his horse received, so he purposely lingered on the ridge, thinking it of dire importance to have a fresh horse to make good his escape when his vengeance was taken. How, he wondered, can I find the members of the village who were actually on the raid that took the lives of so many of my friends? His question was answered within the next few minutes when some of the people began to build a great fire in the middle of the village. It occurred to him then. They’re going to have a victory dance. Of course they would celebrate the successful raid against their enemies, the Crows. His plan was simple now, even though limited. Still, it would send a message that their warriors would not escape without casualties.