Charles West - Day of the Wolf

“I think she’s already figured it out,” he replied sheepishly.

Chapter 14

Walter Hoffman, undertaker and barber, directed his assistant, Harvey, to dig a little more dirt out of the fresh grave just dug at the edge of Mt. Moriah Cemetery. “We wanna make sure he don’t come back up,” he joked. The grave was located next to another recent one on which the dirt was still settling. He turned then when he heard a horse snort and discovered a rider approaching from the other side of the cemetery. “Howdy,” Walt greeted the stranger when he rode up and stopped beside the grave.

“Howdy,” the rider returned. “A feller in town told me you was fixin’ to bury somebody today. I thought maybe I’d take a look at the body.”

His request struck Walt and Harvey as strange. “The lid’s already nailed on the coffin,” Walt said. “Did you think you knew the feller?”

“I might. That’s why I wanna take a look.”

“Maybe I can save you the trouble,” Walt said, not wishing to open the coffin. “The feller in the box is supposed to be the brother of the one in that grave,” he said, and nodded toward the other grave. “And they were both killers and outlaws. Ain’t likely it’s anybody you know.”

“Open it up,” Nate Dawson demanded softly as his hand dropped to rest on the butt of his rifle.

Walt had no further thoughts of objecting. There was no room for argument in the tone of the stranger’s voice. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Harvey, get that claw-hammer off the buckboard.” Nate remained in the saddle, watching Harvey until he returned with the hammer and handed it to Walt. Without hesitation, Walt went around the edge of the pine box, prying the nails out. When he had removed enough to lift one side of the coffin about eight inches, he said, “That’ll give you enough room to take a look inside. Is that all right?” Nate didn’t answer but dismounted, grabbed the lid, and forced it a little farther. “You know him?” Walt asked.

“Yeah, I know him,” Nate muttered, barely above a whisper as he stared at the ghastly image of his older brother. No attempt had been made to dignify Buck’s remains. The body had simply been loaded into the wooden box. Nate felt the muscles in his arms tighten as a result of the white-hot anger that raced through his veins. “Yeah, I know him,” he repeated. “I know both of them.” He glanced at the grave next to the open one. “They’re my brothers.” His calm announcement conveyed the promise of something sinister to follow, causing both Walt and Harvey to take a step backward in case a violent storm was about to occur. Instead, Nate simply said, “Close it up.”

Relieved to see there was no intent to take his anger out on him, Walt was quick to comply. “I’m real sorry about your brothers,” he offered as he quickly drove the nails back into the coffin. “I’m just the undertaker. I didn’t have nothing to do with their deaths. Would you need to spend some time with the deceased before we bury him?” When Nate shook his head, still calm, Walt decided it was safe to make an attempt for additional profit. He had claimed the weapons and the little bit of gold dust that was left on the bodies as his payment, but he thought it worth a try to take advantage of the brother’s grief. “I was wondering if you might wanna reimburse me for my expenses in burying your brothers. I’m out quite a bit on the coffins and the burial itself.”

He was answered with a stare as cold as ice and the only vocal response was a question. “Who killed my brothers?”

Wishing desperately not to be a part of the violence that was sure to follow, but afraid not to answer the stranger’s question, Walt stammered, “Fellow name of Wolf.”

“He killed both of ’em,” Harvey offered.

“Where can I find him?”

“He’s a friend of them whores at the Star of Deadwood,” Harvey blurted.

Nate stepped back up in the saddle and pulled his horse’s head around toward town. “Cover him up proper,” he instructed Walt.

“You didn’t say if you wanted to help with my expenses,” Walt said.

Ignoring the undertaker’s solicitation, Nate kicked his horse into a lope, heading for town. Wolf, he thought. The same man Boyd had said was Mace Taggart’s killer. And now he’s killed Buck and either Skinner or Boyd. I don’t know which. What kind of man was panther enough to kill his brothers? And where was the surviving brother? If he knew his brothers as well as he thought, either Skinner or Boyd was searching for this wild man, Wolf, just as he was. He only hoped that he found him first.

Walt and Harvey stood for a moment, watching Nate ride off toward town, still amazed by what had just taken place. “Let’s hurry up and cover this one up,” Walt said, anxious to get back to town. “I believe there’s gonna be some more business coming our way pretty damn quick.” They hurriedly picked up the coffin and dropped it unceremoniously into the bottom of the grave.

“Uh-oh,” Harvey blurted when one side of the flimsy box split upon impact.

“Don’t make no difference,” Walt said, already shoveling dirt on top of it.

She had guessed right. Lorena shook her head, still finding it hard to believe nonetheless. She couldn’t help feeling joyous on Rose’s account, since the young girl had wanted it so badly. But she had to also feel concern for the success of a union between Rose and the, frankly, uncivilized man of the mountains. Where would they go? How would they live? Like Indians? For Wolf, or Tom Logan, according to Rose, knew little about anything other than hunting. When she and Billie Jean asked the couple about their plans, they were answered with the honest confession that they didn’t know. “I reckon I can feed us, no matter where we go,” Wolf told them. “Ned Bull thought I oughta scout for the army. I’m pretty good with horses. Maybe I could raise ’em, or maybe I can learn to farm.”

“That’ll be the day,” Billie Jean scoffed, unable to picture him in any of those roles.

“It doesn’t matter if we don’t make it but one day,” Rose replied joyously. “At least we’ll have that day.”

Looking at the lean, powerfully built specimen of feral man, Billie Jean grunted, amused by the thought. “One day of the wolf,” she said, “might be worth it at that.” She picked up one of two bags that Rose had packed to take with her, and she and Lorena followed the couple out to the horses. They were going to Wolf’s camp in the mountains now to decide where they were going from there. It was understandable to both of her friends that she wanted to leave Deadwood behind immediately, as well as the life she had known there. “Going on your honeymoon, huh, stud?” Billie Jean teased, amused by the flush of embarrassment on Wolf’s face.

He placed his rifle in the saddle sling, then helped Rose up in Skinner’s saddle. “I’ll need to take these up some,” he said, and started to adjust her stirrups. He heard the slug impact against Rose’s shoulder at almost the same time he heard the gunshot, and he caught her in his arms when she fell from the saddle. He staggered back a step to catch his balance and saw the gunman standing near the saloon door, his rifle trained on him. Caught with Rose in his arms, and his rifle in his saddle sling, he was helpless to defend her or himself. He braced himself for the shot that had to come, but his assailant paused, with his rifle still trained on him. “Just so you know who killed you, my name’s Nate Dawson, and I’m fixin’ to send you to hell for killin’ my brothers.” Then he suddenly jerked to one side as first one bullet and then a second ripped into his ribs, dropping him in a heap on the ground.

“We’ll see about that,” Billie Jean said as she held her double-barreled derringer up as if to examine it. Standing only a couple of feet from Nate when he fired the shot that hit Rose, Billie Jean had shoved her derringer into his side and fired both barrels. The last of the evil clan of brothers was dead seconds after he hit the ground.