The Black Wolf Pack

by Daniel Carter Beard

  CHAPTER XX

  Moose Ear, the silent, wrinkled old Indian, with lighted candles made ofbuffalo tallow, guided Big Pete and me up the broad skilfully builtpuncheon stairway to the upper story of the surprisingly large ranchhouse, where he showed us to our rooms, rooms which were a joy to lookupon. Each was furnished with a heavy, hand-made four-posted bedstead,which in spite of the massiveness was beautifully made, and I wonderedat the patience of the Wild Hunter in teaching the Indians theircraftmanship.

  The other furniture in the room was also hand wrought, as were the fiberrugs on the floor and the checked homespun blankets on the beds. Therewas a harmonious and pleasing effect; the rooms were cheerful, aboundingin evidences of Indian handicraft. Beadwork and embroidery of dyedporcupine quills were prevalent, even the tester which roofed thefour-post bedstead was ornamented with fringes of buckskin and designsmade of beads and porcupine quills. The chairs and floors wereplentifully supplied with fur rugs, and the quaint, old-fashionedappearance of the room in nowise detracted from its comfort or evenluxury.

  If it had not been for the uncomfortable thought of that pack of blackwolves outside, I am sure I would have been supremely happy at theprospect of once more spending a night between clean and cool sheets anda real feather pillow on which to rest my head. Eagerly and almostexcitedly I threw off my clothes and donned the long, linen nightshirtwith which old Moose Ear had provided me. Then I put the buckhornextinguisher over the candle and dove into the feather bed as gleefullyas a child on Christmas Eve.

  I expected to immediately fall asleep, but there is where I made amistake; my mind would not cease working, the wheels in my head keptbuzzing and would not stop. I was as wide awake as a codfish; the bedwas comfortable, too comfortable, but tired though I was I felt noinclination to sleep. I thought it was the strangeness of mysurroundings which kept me tossing from side to side, but I soonrealized that the trouble was to be found in the fact that for months Ihad only had the sky for my roof, never using our tents or open facedshack except in bad weather; but here, the ornamented tester of the bedand the ceiling itself seemed to be resting on my chest; in spite of thewide open windows the room seemed stuffy and oppressive. I felt as if Iwould suffocate.

  Twice I got up and sat by the open window and gazed out at the blacklandscape. The sky was cloudy and there were no stars; this combinedwith the pine trees about the ranch house made the darkness so black andthick that it seemed as if one might cut it in chunks, with a knife. Theair felt good to breathe but I did not propose to sit by the window allnight so at last I arose, put moccasins on my feet and, taking myblankets with me, stole stealthily down the stairs, opened the frontdoor and made my bed on the floor of the broad piazza. I had notforgotten the warning to keep indoors, but I thought I would rather riskthe wolves than to smother all night.

  In the darkness I discovered another occupant of the piazza also rolledup in a blanket taken from a bed in the house. Feeling with my hands Idiscovered that it was Big Pete. Comfortably settling myself in myblanket I felt the breeze from the mountain blowing over my face andthrough my hair, and it soothed me until I dropped off into gentleslumber; but during the months I had been sleeping in the open I hadlearned the art, as the saying is, of sleeping with one eye open. Inthis case, however, if the eye had really been wide open it could haveseen nothing because of the darkness, but the darkness did not interferewith my ability to hear, and after I had been sleeping awhile I foundmyself suddenly sitting bolt upright in my blankets with beads ofperspiration on my forehead and that terrible sensation of horror whichone experiences in a nightmare. I knew that I had heard something, butwhat?

  The oppressive silence of the wilderness made the valley appear as ifNature was holding her breath for a moment before giving voice to anexplosion of sound. I sensed impending disaster of some sort. What itwas I could not guess, but was convinced that something was about tohappen.

  As I held my breath and listened, the ranch house was silent; even Petehad not, apparently, awakened, but I could not hear his regularbreathing. Now I thought I could detect a soft and very faint noise asof some large body creeping over the puncheon steps. I also imagined Idetected the noise of padded feet and the scraping noise of claws on thewood. A shudder ran through me. Was a panther, a mountain lion, about tospring upon me? No, I abandoned the thought and instinctively I knewthat it must be one of the black wolf pack. Then I remembered hearingthe cracking and breaking of sticks or timber while I was trying tosleep in the bedroom, and I felt that Pluto had broken out of the penand was creeping up on us slowly and stealthily as I have seen a foxcreep up on a covey of quail.

  Would the beast presently hurl its terrible form upon me, or on BigPete? I attempted to warn my friend, but my tongue clung to the roof ofmy mouth and for the moment I was powerless and speechless, subdued by acombination of fear of the real beast and superstitious fear of thefabulous werwolf or loup-garou,[4] but the next moment I pulled myselftogether, mastered my trembling limbs, rolled softly out of my blankets,and gun in hand wormed my way toward the spot where Big Pete lay,determined to sell my life dearly. With Big Pete beside me, now that Iwas thoroughly awake, I would fight all the werwolves of the old worldand all the loup-garous of Canada. I reached out and felt for Pete buthe was not there, the blankets were empty; once or twice I thought Idetected the glint of the wolves' eyes, but the night was very dark andin the shadow of the roof I could really see nothing.

  [Footnote 4: A werwolf, or loup-garou, is a legendary man who, it was formerly believed, could at will take on the form and nature of a wolf.]

  Closer and closer sounded the stealthy, dragging noise, and I heard ahand feel softly for the latch of the front door and could hear fingersscraping ever so softly over the wood surface of the other side. Aslight rattle told me that the hand had found the latch and thatpresently the door would be flung open. With my revolver ready I waiteddevelopments and braced myself for the attack.

  The door flew open wide, and the voice of the Wild Hunter cried,

  "Pluto, you fiend, down! down! I say!"

  But this time the huge brute did not obey and the command was answeredby a low rebellious growl, a scratching of feet on the puncheons, and aheavy thud of someone falling told me that the final struggle for theleadership of the black wolf pack had begun.

  Then burst upon the stillness of the night such an uproar that for amoment I thought the whole pack was mixed in the fight, but at length Iheard Pluto's snarling, rumbling growl, answered by the distant howl ofthe wolf pack, followed immediately by a close-by yell that chilled myblood; after this came Big Pete's war cry, then the crash of fallingobjects, shrieks and growls and savage yells.

  I had flung myself forward, and there in the pitch darkness of thedoorway of the hall I felt and heard rather than saw the lean twistingbodies of the Wild Hunter and Pluto clasped in a life and death struggleon the floor. I feared to use my revolver, as it would have beenimpossible to tell whether I was shooting the hunter or the wolf.

  Suddenly a light burst upon the scene. Big Pete's absence wasexplained; he had secured a lantern and holding it aloft with his lefthand, with a six-shooter in his right, he paused a moment over thestruggling figures. By the light of the lantern one could see that theWild Hunter was on his back struggling with the giant beast which he wastrying to choke with his two hands, while the wolf's teeth were seekingthe throat of the man. It was a terrible scene but it was no time towaste in horror. The efforts of the hunter to free himself from histerrible assailant would have been of little avail but for theassistance of Big Pete, for the wolf was shaking the wild man from sideto side with terrific force, very much the same as a bull-terrier mightshake a cat.

  Pete wasted no time but placing the muzzle of his gun against the wolf'shead he fired, then shouted to me, "Look behind you."

  As I wheeled about I found that I was facing the rest of the pack. Plutoreared upon his hind legs, clawed the air frantically in his deathstruggle, and fell with a thud across his master's body
, but Pete and Iwere now concentrating our fire on the snarling, leaping bodies of thewolf pack. Fortunately the death of Pluto and the silence of the WildHunter seemed to discourage the pack, they evidently missed theirleaders and this gave us the advantage, for if they had rushed us weundoubtedly would have fallen victims to their savage teeth.

  In the melee the lantern was upset and the struggle ended in darkness asit began, but when things quieted down and Pete relit the lantern therewere only two wolves which were alive and they were fiercely attackingeach other. We soon dispatched them, however, and then devoted ourattention to the Wild Hunter over whose body Big Pete was now bending.

  "By the great horn spoon, Le-loo!" cried he, looking up for a moment,"we've wiped out the pack, and now that the scrap is over here comes theInjuns. I calculate our friend here is a dead one; Pluto has chewed himto pieces. Come, lend a hand and we will see what we can do for the poorold man; he certainly did put up a glorious fight."

  Reaching down I gathered the old man's legs in my arms, and with BigPete supporting his head and shoulders, we carried him into my room andlaid him on the feather bed under the savagely ornamented tester.

  Big Pete was all action then, and I helped as best I could. The Scoutripped one of the homespun sheets into ribbons and with these madebandages and proceeded to stay the flow of blood from the old man'slacerated throat. He worked hard and long and now and then he wouldshake his head dubiously. Presently he muttered, "'Taint much use, Ol'Timer, I guess yore a goner. Yore goneta pass over t' Divide this time,I guess. That tha' Pluto fiend done chewed you up fer further orders."

  At this the old man opened his eyes, and a grim smile wrinkled his nowashen face.

  "I knew he'd do it some day, and I think he got me this time. The MewanIndians call the giant wolf "Too-le-ze" and that is also the name theygave me, but I am not a werwolf, a loup-garou or a Too-le-ze. I was onlytheir master but now their victim.

  "I feared that Pluto, as I call him, or Too-le-ze, was strong andtreacherous and that is why I ruled him with an iron hand. He's got methis time. I guess it had to end this way--give me a cup of water."

  He then fixed his gaze on me and I noticed that he no longer had thatworried, haunted look which had heretofore characterized him.

  "So you are Donald's son--well, when I heard Pluto stalking you I knewthat it was you or your uncle that the beast would get; it was fate thatmade me slip and fall, and once down the wolf saw his long-looked-foropportunity and instantly availed himself of it. But the good Lord wasnot going to allow me to bring bad luck to both you and your father,boy. Yes, I am Fay Mullen and I caused the death of your father, and mybrother. I bear the brand of Cain.

  "We were crossing a steep bank of snow at the foot of a cliff, and beingboth tired and hungry we were bickering and quarreling over nothing. Ishould have remembered that your father was but just recovering from anattack of nervous prostration, but I did not; we had been months in themountains prospecting and the unprofitable toil and loneliness must havegot on my nerves. At any rate, after some hot, unbrotherly language, weagreed to part company.

  "We sat down on the snow and divided our outfit by lot. I got theflint-lock Patrick Mullen, the fierce Great Dane and the gentle littledonkey; your father got the packhorse and the Winchester rifle.

  "We--we--parted without saying good-bye, and just then an elk came outon the snow bank. Instantly your father fired and I fired, the elk fell,but the simultaneous concussion of the reports of the two rifles startedthe snow to moving. The Great Dane and the donkey sensed the danger andfled to the right. I turned to warn your father and motioned him back,but he came on a run toward me and I fled at the heels of my outfit. Theburro and dog escaped to safety, I was caught in the edge of the slide,knocked unconscious and buried in snow, from which the dog rescued me.

  "A fragment of stone struck me on the head and I have never been thesame since then. Your father and his outfit are buried under fivehundred feet of snow and rocks. I camped nearby for days but could findno trace of my brother and all the time a voice seemed to cry, 'Youkilled your brother; you are marked with the brand of Cain.'

  "This thought has haunted me night and day and I have never quarreledwith a man since then; for fear that I might do so, I have avoided whitemen ever since and buried myself in these mountains. I found this valleyand I hid here and with the aid of the Great Dane and the wolf dogs Ibred, as beasts of burden, I built this ranch. I--I--was afraid--all thetime, though--afraid someone would--find out about--Donald's death andblame it on me. When you--said--you--were--Donald's son I wasfrightened--I thought you'd come to get me--for killing your--fatherand--I--I--I was going to kill myself. But Pluto got--me--and saved mefrom further guilt. I--"

  He said more, but neither Big Pete nor I could understand him. Indeed,he kept mumbling incoherently for an hour or more while we watched overhim and did all that we could to make him comfortable until the deathrattle in his throat put an end to his mumbling. But despite ourefforts, he passed on at dawn. Just as the first warm light of the sunglowed above the mountains, he breathed his last.

  * * * * *

  Now you know why my private den is just cram full of the things youfellows like. You may also guess where I procured the black wolfskinrugs and the rare bead and porcupine quill decorations. Yes, thatlong-barrelled rifle hanging on the buckhorn rack is the famous PatrickMullen gun. It is a rifle that Washington, Boone or Crockett would havealmost given their scalps to possess, because it is the same pattern asthe ones they themselves used but more scientifically and skillfullymade. It's a flint-lock, too, and that is the funny part about it thatinterests all the Scouts of our Troop. It is my good-turn mascot, for aslong as it hangs there I am under the influence of my wild uncle and canquarrel with no man.

  Now you know why the gun is preserved as a trophy for my old Scouts andis an object of veneration upon which they love to gaze when they sitcross-legged on the skins of the black wolf pack before the cracklingfire of their Scoutmaster's private den.

  Big Pete? Oh, he now runs the Pluto Ranch in Paradise Valley.