Charles West - Day of the Wolf

The next moments were chaotic as Wolf carried Rose back into the saloon with Lorena and Billie Jean running to help him. “Take her in my room,” Lorena ordered. “Billie Jean, go get the doctor.” She talked to the wounded girl as Wolf swept through the barroom to the hallway door. “Rose, can you hear me?” Although she did not answer, Rose nodded. “You’re gonna be all right,” Lorena said. “Billie Jean’s gone to get the doctor. It don’t look like it hit anythin’ serious—just your shoulder.” They took her inside, where Wolf laid her gently down on Lorena’s bed. She stared up at them, trembling, unable to figure out what had happened. Lorena kept assuring her that she was going to be all right, but she was obviously in shock.

Though it seemed an eternity, it was only a matter of minutes before Billie Jean returned with the doctor in tow. He soon confirmed what Lorena had told Rose over and over: she was going to be all right. “Nothing to worry about,” he assured her after he had dressed the wound. “The bullet went through clean as a whistle. You’ll be up and around in a couple of days.” Lorena paid him after he rejected her proposal to take his bill out in trade. Then she walked him to the door. Turning back to Rose then, she said, “See, I told you you’d be up and around in a day or so.”

Perhaps the one more perplexed than the others was the man standing bewildered in the corner, watching the drama surrounding the girl he had just decided to spend the rest of his life with. How many more brothers were there to worry about? And if this was to be a never-ending line of avengers, was he wrong to subject Rose to such a life? It was Rose who eased his concern. Feeling stronger since the doctor reassured her, she was better able to talk about the incident, her fear having been quelled. When Wolf spoke of his concern for the other members of the family who still might be coming after him, she told him that there were no more. She was reluctant to remind Wolf of her prior life before she quit prostitution for good, but she thought it important to tell him that Boyd Dawson had told her that he was one of four brothers. “There aren’t any more,” she told him. “This doesn’t change anything, does it? We’re still going to your camp, aren’t we?” She didn’t know why, but she worried that he might have changed his mind.

“Nothin’s changed,” he assured her, “but we’re gonna wait a couple of days till you’re in a little better shape to ride.” At peace then, she lay back and relaxed.

Since Wolf had no love for the beehive that was Deadwood, it was a long couple of days for him before everyone decided it was all right for Rose to travel—including the doctor—but mostly the decision was made by Lorena. With her okay, they packed up Rose’s things on the horses again, and Billie Jean and Lorena stood in front of the saloon, along with Marvin Sloan, to watch their departure. As Lorena gave Rose a warm embrace, she slipped a small sack with several gold coins in her hand. “That’s just a little gettin’-started money,” she whispered. “Remember, if things don’t go the way you hope, I’ll always have a place for you.” She stepped back then, almost trampling on the feet of an elderly lady who had come to see what the parting was about. “I’m sorry, honey,” Lorena said. “I almost stomped your feet, didn’t I?”

“No, no,” the lady replied. “I should oughta watch where I’m going. Is that a wedding party?”

“You could say that, I guess,” Lorena replied.

“The man in buckskins, is his name Wolf?”

Lorena smiled. “That man is Mr. Thomas Logan,” she said. “And that respectable lady with him is Mrs. Rose Logan.”

“Oh,” Mavis Dawson Taggart replied, removing her hand from the pistol in her skirt pocket. “Well, I hope they make it all right. Times are hard on families these days.” She turned and walked back up the street again.

Please read on for an excerpt from

the next exciting historical novel

from Charles G. West,

BLACK HORSE CREEK

Available in December 2012 from Signet

Billy Blanchard glanced up from his cards when the tall, thin stranger entered the dimly lit saloon. He was dressed in a dark suit weathered by countless hours in the saddle, his trousers tucked into a pair of knee-high boots. Even had his coat not been pulled open to reveal the badge on his vest, he was immediately identifiable as a deputy U.S. marshal. With no inclination to panic at the sudden appearance of the lawman, Billy glanced quickly again at the cards he held in his hand, a pair of sevens and a queen high. At least the unexpected arrival of the deputy hadn’t come when he had a winning hand. He placed the cards facedown on the table and announced calmly, “I fold.”

The Choctaw blacksmith seated directly across from him grinned confidently, unaware of the stranger making his way directly toward the table. “Maybe this ain’t your day to play cards,” he chided. When he turned to the player seated to his left to see if he was going to call or fold, he realized that everyone’s attention was focused on something behind him. Looking back at Billy then, he saw the cocky smile spreading across the young man’s face that usually meant trouble for someone, so he quickly turned in his chair to discover the deputy marshal within several steps. He knew it was Billy the lawman was probably looking for, so he didn’t hesitate to push his chair back and get out of the way.

Deputy Marshal Thomas Malone took a cautious look at the three men playing cards with Billy, his hand resting on the handle of the Colt .44 holstered at his side. Abruptly leaving their chairs, the three joined the small crowd of spectators, obviously wanting no part in what was about to happen. Still, Billy sat smiling, with no apparent sense of alarm. “I’m fixin’ to take you back to Fort Smith, Billy,” Malone said. “That bank teller died, but not before he identified you as the person who shot him. So let me see your hands on the table before you get up, and we’ll make this as easy as we can.”

Billy didn’t respond right away, continuing to sit calmly with his hands in his lap. “Deputy Thomas Malone,” he finally announced grandly. “I was wonderin’ if you’d be the one comin’ after me. That damn fool bank teller might still be alive if he hadda got down on the floor when I told him to.” His smile broadened when he saw Malone’s look of impatience. “I gotta give you credit, though. You got sand, walkin’ in here to arrest me, ’cause folks around this part of the river ain’t got much use for lawmen.” He continued to hesitate. “Besides, that teller was goin’ for a gun behind the counter. I shot him in self-defense.”

“There weren’t no gun behind that counter,” Malone said. “You just flat-out murdered him.” His hand tightened on the handle of his Colt. “I ain’t gonna tell you again, Billy. Now let me see those hands on the table. We got a long ride back to Fort Smith.”

“All right, Malone, you win. I don’t wanna cause no trouble. You want ’em on the table, here they are.” He brought them out from under the table, but one of them held a Smith & Wesson .44 revolver. The silence that had descended upon the tiny barroom was suddenly shattered by the harsh report of the handgun as Billy fired two shots into Malone’s gut. The surprised deputy staggered backward, grasping for a chair back or table to support him while he tried to draw his weapon from its holster. Another shot from Billy’s pistol struck him in the chest, and he crumpled to the floor.

His revolver cocked again, Billy scanned the faces of the startled spectators, alert for the possibility that Malone might have brought a posse man along for support. After a moment, when it appeared that the deputy had acted alone, Billy released the hammer, holstered the weapon, and laughed. “Did you see the look on that bastard’s face when he saw my .44 come out from under the table?” Then he cocked an eye toward the Choctaw blacksmith. “I reckon I oughta thank you for givin’ me the jump on that son of a bitch. That gun was in my lap ’cause I was fixin’ to shoot your ass if you drew one more card off the bottom of the deck.”