Charles West - Day of the Wolf

The door opened just as Arlo stepped up on the narrow stoop. Acting sheriff J. R. Richardson stood framed in the doorway. “Marshal,” J.R. greeted Ned. “I see you caught up with the murderin’ son of a bitch.”

“Yep,” Ned replied cheerfully. “And as much as I’ll miss his delightful company, I’ll gladly turn him over to you.”

“Well…” J.R. hesitated. “There’s been a little change in plan. We got a wire from Omaha yesterday and they want you to take your prisoner to Fort Laramie and turn him over to the provost marshal there.”

This was not welcome news to Ned. “What in hell for?” he responded. “He robbed the bank here. Why ain’t you folks gonna try him and hang him right here?”

“Seems like Arlo and his brothers are wanted on federal charges in Oklahoma Territory and Texas. So they figure the army can hold him till the other two are rounded up. They’ll probably give ’em a big trial and then hang ’em.” He looked at a snarling Arlo Taggart and smiled. Returning his gaze to Ned then, he said, “I expect it’s later than you’d wanna start out again today, so you can leave him in my jail overnight.”

Ned answered with a grimace as he digested the sheriff’s statement. He had been looking forward to parting company with the conscienceless killer and enjoying a day or two of relaxation in the hotel. Ned enjoyed staying in hotels, especially those with a fine dining room. “Dammit, J.R., I’ve been nursemaidin’ this piece of dung for a hundred and forty miles. I’ve had about all of his company one man can stand.” He fumed for a few moments more, only to be met with a shrug from the sheriff. “Hell,” he finally replied, “orders are orders, I reckon. I’ll take you up on entertainin’ my prisoner for the night.”

“You’ll never get me to Fort Laramie,” Arlo snarled. “You’re as good as dead.”

Ned cocked his head to give J.R. a mock look of concern. “Did you hear that, Sheriff? Threatenin’ an officer of the law, and right in front of a witness.” He nudged Arlo with a hard jab of his rifle, causing him to step forward to keep from falling. “He’s just funnin’. He ain’t really threatenin’ nobody. Are you, Arlo?”

“You go to hell,” Arlo spat.

Ned chuckled. “Ain’t he a pure delight? Come on, Sheriff, I’ll help you put him away, and I’ll pick him up in the mornin’.”

It was well after sunup by the time Ned walked into the stable to saddle his and Arlo Taggart’s horses. He picked up the packhorse he had left in the stable while he had tracked Arlo, a decision he had regretted, for he had figured on catching the outlaw a helluva lot sooner, and a helluva lot closer to Cheyenne. As a result, he had run critically short of supplies, prompting plenty of complaints from his prisoner. The thought made him smile as he led the three horses up to the jail to pick up his prisoner. With Arlo on board, he started out for Fort Laramie, a trip he figured on making in two days’ time, barring any trouble, planning to camp at Horse Creek that night.

By the time they reached Lodgepole Creek, not quite halfway, Arlo began complaining that his arms were paining him from so long with his hands behind his back. “It ain’t that I don’t feel sorry for you, Arlo,” Ned told him, “’cause I do. I really want you to be comfortable on our little ride together. But I know you wouldn’t respect me much if I was dumb enough to let you have your hands free. In about another twenty miles, we’ll stop for the night, and I’ll let you loosen up for a bit. In the meantime, just think about somethin’ besides your arms. Think about what a nice day we’ve got for a ride to Fort Laramie.”

“You go to hell,” Arlo snorted.

Ned chuckled. “You know, Arlo, you oughta spend some of your time on your vocabulary while you’re waitin’ to be hanged.”

“You go to hell,” Arlo repeated, not sure what his vocabulary was, causing Ned to chuckle again.

Ned Bull was a cautious man, but not without compassion, even in the case of a cold-blooded murderer like Arlo Taggart. So when they reached Horse Creek, he helped Arlo off his horse and let him put his stiffened arms in front of him to answer nature’s call. Arlo complained that he couldn’t get his business done with his hands still tied together. “I reckon you’re gonna have to figure a way to do it,” Ned told him, “’cause I don’t plan on untyin’ you. If you can’t manage it, then I expect you’ll just have to let her fly in your britches, ’cause I sure as hell ain’t gonna do it for you.” He took a few steps back and kept his rifle trained on the belligerent prisoner.

“Bastard,” Arlo muttered as he unbuttoned his trousers with very little awkwardness, even with his hands bound together.

After feeding Arlo, Ned selected a cottonwood of suitable size and sat his prisoner down, facing the tree trunk, with his hands and feet tied around it. Arlo had spent three nights hugging a tree trunk till morning on the ride into Cheyenne. No amount of complaining had any effect on Ned. “You’re gonna have plenty of time to sleep in the hoosegow,” Ned told him.

Morning came earlier than Ned had planned, owing to the constant complaining coming from Arlo. Well aware that most of it was just to keep him from sleeping, Ned finally rolled out of his blanket and stirred up the fire. “Hey, get me to hell off this damn tree,” Arlo yelled.

“Why, certainly, Arlo, but I think it’s best if you stay right where you are while I’m fixin’ us some coffee and bacon. I don’t wanna have to keep an eye on you. I might burn the bacon.” When he finished cooking the bacon, he divided it evenly and placed Arlo’s portion on a tin plate. Then he poured him a cup of coffee and placed it beside the plate next to the tree.

“Hey, how ’bout untyin’ my hands?” Arlo complained. “How the hell can I eat wrapped around this tree?”

“Just hold your horses,” Ned said as he knelt down on the opposite side of the tree. He laid his rifle on the ground behind him while he untied Arlo’s hands. He backed away to pick up his rifle and said, “All right, you can untie your feet and eat your breakfast.”

Arlo was very deliberate in his motions to untie the knot that held his ankles around the trunk of the tree. When he was free, he pushed away from the tree, and instead of reaching for his coffee, he rolled away from it and lay on his side as if he was sick. Watching suspiciously, Ned commented, “Damn if that ain’t a helluva way to eat. It don’t go in that end, you know. It goes in the other end.”

“I’m all stove up,” Arlo complained. “I’ve been settin’ around that tree too long. My arms and legs is gone stiff on me.”

“Is that a fact?” Ned responded, not totally unsympathetic. It had been a chilly night, and he supposed Arlo might be stove up at that. He had to admit that he was a bit stiff himself when he first got up. “Well, lyin’ on the ground like that ain’t gonna help it any. Roll over and drink some of that coffee. That’ll warm you up some.” He stepped a little closer with the intention of prodding him into movement with the barrel of his rifle.

“I’ll try,” Arlo said, and slowly began to turn back toward Ned, seemingly in great discomfort. The younger man was a lot quicker than Ned had given him credit for, for he suddenly whipped over and lunged into Ned’s legs, pulling the deputy’s legs out from under him. Ned was a large man, and his heavy body hit the ground with a thud. Before he could recover, Arlo kicked the rifle out of his hand and they both dived for it. Arlo, being the quicker, got his hands on it first. Rolling over and over until he was clear of Ned’s reach, he scrambled to his feet and leveled the rifle at him. “Now, you old son of a bitch, you can start sayin’ your prayers. I told you you’d never take me to Fort Laramie. Somebody oughta told you you was gettin’ too old to be a lawman. But I reckon you can still learn one last lesson—don’t nobody get the best of the Taggart brothers.” He cranked the lever, ejecting a cartridge just to be sure there was one in the chamber. Then he aimed it at the fallen deputy. “Say hello to the devil for me,” Arlo said with a laugh. The grin froze on his face and his eyes opened wide in shocked surprise as a .44 slug smashed into his chest, causing him to stagger backward a couple of steps. He snatched the rifle up again to fire, but before he could pull the trigger, another bullet hammered his breastbone. Quicker than Arlo figured the big lawman to be capable of being, Ned lunged into the startled outlaw and wrenched the rifle from his hands. Arlo crumpled to the ground, conscious, but mortally wounded.