Cole made some coffee, then made a meal out of beef jerky. It suited him. He’d learned to eat light on the trail. It made a steak dinner that much more special when you got to town.
He thought about Trapp, camped up ahead. He might have been able to sneak up on him while he was sleeping—if he was sleeping. But he’d already sent for help, so he figured he might as well wait for the three men to meet up with him.
He finished eating, made sure the fire would stay lit by adding more wood, then rolled himself up in his bedroll and went to sleep.
Even farther back, Clint camped for the night. He had no reason to worry about anyone smelling his fire, but he also traveled light. He carried a coffeepot and some coffee, and Krupp had sold him some canned peaches. He wasn’t carrying a frying pan this time around, so there was no use in bringing beans or bacon. He made a meal out of the coffee and peaches.
He could smell somebody’s fire up ahead of him. He didn’t know if it was Trapp’s or if it belonged to the man following him. It didn’t much matter, though. He’d be catching up with Trapp well before he got to Wolf Creek. Might even first run across the man who was trailing Trapp. Unless the man was good enough to avoid him.
He had some more coffee, walked to the edge of the light cast by his fire, and stared into the darkness while he finished it.
When he was done he returned to the fire, wrapped a blanket around himself, and laid down with his gun by his head.
TWELVE
Cole West knew somebody was behind him. What he didn’t know was what they wanted. Were they tracking, or just drifting?
He decided not to find out. He took cover behind some rocks, dismounted, wiped away his tracks, then kept his horse quiet and waited. Eventually, a rider came along, riding at a decent pace. The man was astride a big horse, an Arabian if he wasn’t wrong. Didn’t see many of those in the West. They usually weren’t very sure-footed, although they did have a lot of stamina.
The man had his head down, looking at the ground, so he was following a trail. His, or Trapp’s? No way of telling. Or was there? If the man was any good at tracking he’d know that Cole had wiped his tracks. Cole continued to watch the rider closely for his reaction.
Clint reined Eclipse in and stared at the ground. Someone had taken steps to cover their tracks, but whoever it was hadn’t wiped out any of Trapp’s. A person had to be real careful to do that, and knowledgeable.
Clint was careful not to look around. If the aim of whoever had covered his tracks was to kill him, he would have fired by now. If he looked around now and gave away the fact that he knew what was going on, the man might go ahead and fire anyway.
Clint gigged Eclipse into motion and allowed the big Darley Arabian to simply walk, as if nothing was unusual.
He continued to follow Trapp’s trail, which was now the only one.
Cole West watched Clint Adams closely, prepared to fire if he had to. He didn’t. The man never looked around, just continued forward. Cole waited until there was no space between them, then rode out of his hiding place and continued to follow the tracks of Jesse Trapp and, now, Clint Adams.
Trapp camped that night, knowing that he was about two days out of Wolf Creek. He’d skirt Helena. It was a big town, but there was no reason to stop there. He was already properly outfitted and he had no need of a telegraph. If Clint Adams was going to catch up to him, he’d do it in the next two days—or not at all. If he didn’t show, Trapp was prepared to track the wolf himself.
Darkness fell and Clint kept riding. The moon was bright enough for him to see, and he wanted to catch up to Trapp while the man was camped.
When the smell of coffee made its way to his nostrils he knew he was close. And then, suddenly, he saw the light ahead.
A fire.
He rode for it.
Trapp heard somebody coming in the darkness. He grabbed his Big Fifty and laid it across his thighs. Stared out into the dark.
“Hello, the camp!” came a voice.
A familiar voice.
“Clint, goddammit, is that you?” Trapp called.
“It’s me, Jesse.”
“Well, come ahead,” Trapp said, still holding his rifle on his knees. “I won’t blow your head off.”
He waited for Clint to ride into his camp.
Clint could see Trapp sitting by the fire, rifle across his knees. He rode Eclipse into the light.
“Well, that ain’t Duke,” Trapp said, standing up.
“Had to put Duke out to pasture,” Clint said. “This is Eclipse.”
“Almost as fine-lookin’ an animal as Duke,” Trapp said. “How do you manage it?”
“This one was a gift.”
“Well, come ahead,” Trapp said, letting the barrel of the big buffalo gun point downward. “I got coffee, and I can put on some beans.”
“Sounds good.”
Clint dismounted, shook hands with the big hunter, then set about unsaddling Eclipse while Trapp cooked the beans.
When Clint returned to the fire, Trapp handed him a cup of coffee. It was good and strong, and warmed Clint’s innards immediately. It may have been fall, but this was Montana, and it was cold.
“Thanks.”
“I remember you like it strong.”
Clint sat down and Jesse doled out the beans, leaving the pan empty.
“You know you’ve got a tail?” Clint asked.
“I thought it might be you.”
“There was somebody between you and me.”
“Was?”
“He changed places with me,” Clint said. “Rubbed out his tracks, but I noticed.”
“You was always pretty good following signs.”
“Not as good as you and John Henry.”
“You seen big John lately?” Jesse asked.
“Not in years.”
“Yeah, me neither,” Trapp said. “You didn’t get a look at whoever it was?”
“No.”
“And you think he’s still behind us?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Should we take ’im?”
“You got any idea who it might be?”
“No.”
“Somebody with a grudge.”
“There’s lot of folks with a grudge.”
“And you didn’t see anyone when you were in Little Town?” Clint asked. “The bartender told me the man was in the saloon with you?”
“Was he? I was busy drinkin’ and tellin’ tales.”
“And he was listening.”
“Huh. Maybe I’m gettin’ old.”
“Whether or not we take him is up to you.”
“If he was gonna shoot from cover, he’s had his chances.”
“With both of us.”
“Let’s just keep goin’, then,” Trapp said. “I wanna get to Wolf Creek as soon as we can.”
“Fine with me,” Clint said. “Were you going to stop in Helena?”
“No, jus’ keep goin’.”
“Also fine with me,” Clint said. “These beans are good.”
“I put some molasses in ’em.”
“Maybe,” Clint said, “while we’re eating, you can tell me what we’re going to be dealing with once we get to Wolf Creek?”
Trapp shrugged and said, “I’ll tell ya what I know.”
THIRTEEN
“I got a telegram about a rogue white up in Wolf Creek. First it was killin’ stock, and then people. They ain’t been able to track it down, let alone kill it.”
“When’s the last time you hunted a white?”
“Been a while,” Jesse admitted.
“What have you been doing?”
“Hunting,” Jesse said. “I got me some bears, some big cats, but a wolf—and a white wolf—that’s the biggest challenge. They’re cunning.”
“I’ve hunted wolves,” Clint said, “but never a white. Why’d you ask me along?”
“A white might be leading a pack,” Jesse said. “If this one is, I’ll need help.”
“Why not Joh
n Henry?”
“He comes down from his mountain, he’ll have a target on his back,” Jesse said. “He still has a price on his head. I’d rather he stays where he is. That left you. Ain’t nobody else I can count on.”
“Well, I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be,” Jesse Trapp said. “I ain’t tryin’ to flatter you. I’m tryin’ to stay alive.”
“I understand.”
“We better set a watch for tonight, in case our friend decides to try somethin’,” Jesse suggested.
“I’ll go first,” Clint said. “I want to have more coffee.”
“Suits me,” Jesse said.
Jesse laid down and wrapped himself in his smelly skins.
“Jesse, you ever consider getting yourself some new skins?”
“Why?” Jesse asked. “I just got these broke in.”
“Yeah, but they smell.”
“Wait until you get cold enough,” Jesse warned him. “Then you’ll wish you had you some of these here smelly skins.”
Lint could already feel the chill creeping into his bones.
“Yeah,” he said, “you’re probably right.”
Jesse didn’t say anything else, and within moments Clint could hear him snoring.
About a mile behind them, Cole West had already retired and was also snoring contentedly.
FOURTEEN
Clint woke shivering.
Jesse was sitting by the fire wrapped in his skins, drinking coffee. He looked comfortable.
“Got to get me some skins,” Clint said, coming up to the fire.
“Toldja,” Jesse said, holding a cup of coffee out to him.
“Thanks.” He sat across the fire from Jesse.
“You want some breakfast?” Jesse asked. “I can fry up some bacon.”
“No, I’m good,” Clint said. “Coffee’s enough. I think we should get moving.”
“I think so, too,” Jesse said. “You get the fire, I’ll get the horses.”
“Not my horse,” Clint said. “He’ll take a piece out of you.”
“Naw,” Jesse said, “horses love me. Don’t worry.”
“Your funeral.”
Clint poured some more coffee into his cup, then emptied the rest of it on the fire. He had to kick dirt on it to get it completely doused.
He was surprised when Jesse Trapp walked Eclipse over to him, calm and saddled.
“I don’t believe it,” he said, taking the reins.
“Yeah, well,” Jesse said, holding up his left hand, “you weren’t all wrong.” There was a bloody gash on his hand where Eclipse had nipped him. “But after that we got along.”
Jesse patted the big horse’s neck to illustrate his point. Eclipse suffered the touch impassively.
Clint looked at Jesse’s gray. He was almost as big as Eclipse.
“Good horse,” he said.
“Best one I’ve ever had, I think.”
“Name him?”
“Naw.”
“Come on.”
“I just think of him as Big Gray.”
“There you go.”
“I’ll need help with the mule,” Jesse said. “He’s a little ornery this morning.”
“Sure.”
They walked to the mule. Clint held the animal’s head and talked to him while Jesse loaded him down, then Clint helped to tie down the mule’s load.
“He’s got some age on him,” Clint said.
“Ain’t we all?” Jesse replied.
Once they had the mule packed they walked him over to where the horses were and mounted up.
“We cover some miles today we can make Wolf Creek before dark tomorrow.”
“I’m willing,” Clint said. “Let’s push it. Maybe it’ll test whoever’s on our tail.”
“Let’s go, then.”
With a second man riding with him, Jesse Trapp was now leaving an easier trail to follow. For that reason Cole knew he could detour to Helena and meet his men without losing them.
He rode into Helena at midday and went right to a saloon called the Second Chance Saloon.
“There he is,” Dave Willis said as Cole came into the saloon.
Willis, Harve Shoemaker, and Randy Truett all stood up as Cole reached them.
“Thanks for comin’,” Cole said, shaking hands with all three.
“Where is he?” Willis asked. “Where’s Trapp?”
“He’s headin’ north through Montana.”
“That’s all you know?” Shoemaker asked.
“No,” Cole said. “I’ve been trailin’ him. He’s leavin’ a trail that’s easy to follow. He’s got a mule and a second man with him. I broke off to meet you fellas. Now we’ll pick up the trail again.”
“Is he headin’ to his brother?” Truett asked. “I’d really like a crack at John Henry.”
“No,” Cole said, “I don’t think so. He’s on his way to hunt for a wolf. I think John Henry is still in the Rockies somewhere.”
“So all we get is the brother?” Willis asked.
“We all know what kind of man John Henry is,” Cole said. “Once he hears that we killed Jesse, he’ll come down from his mountain.”
“And then we’ll have him,” Shoemaker said.
“That’s right.”
“Then what are we waitin’ for?” Truett asked. “Let’s pick up his trail.”
“All we gotta do is head north out of town, and then west. We’ll pick it up.”
“What about an outfit?”
“Just what we can carry in our saddlebags,” Cole said. “Some coffee and a coffeepot, beef jerky, a frying pan, some beans and bacon, some shells. We’ll split it all up.”
“We buyin’ it?” Shoemaker asked. “Or takin’ it?”
“We’ll buy it,” Cole said. “I don’t wanna attract any attention. No trouble. Okay, boys?”
“Okay,” Shoemaker said.
“Yeah, good,” Truett said.
“You sure about this?” Willis asked.
“Yeah, Dave,” Cole West said, “I’m sure. This is the way it’s gotta be.”
“Okay,” Willis said. “Yeah, okay. Let’s buy the stuff and get goin’.”
“I passed the general store on the way here,” Cole said, “Dave and me go inside, you boys stay outside with the horses. Then we’ll load the stuff and get movin.’ ”
The others all nodded.
“And no trouble, right?”
The other three nodded, and Dave Willis said, “Right.”
FIFTEEN
Clint Adams and Jesse Trapp left Helena behind them and headed directly north for Wolf Creek. They talked for a while during the ride, catching up on the years that had passed since they last saw each other. Eventually, they ran out of conversation and rode in silence.
The men made one stop to eat beef jerky and drank water. They didn’t rest for very long, though, because they wanted to cover a lot of miles. Both of their horses and the mule had the stamina to be pushed.
They moved on.
The four riders left Helena, rode north, and picked up the trail being left by two horses and a mule.
“See?” Cole said, pointing at the tracks.
“How do we know it’s them?” Willis asked.
“Two horses and a mule,” Cole said.
“How do you know one of those tracks is bein’ left by a mule?” Shoemaker asked.
“You never could track worth a damn, Shoe,” Truett said, laughing.
“Yeah, like you know a mule track from a horse’s,” Shoemaker said.
“Yeah, well . . .” Truett said.
“Mules tracks are smaller and narrower,” Cole said. “See?”
“We don’t have to see,” Willis said. “As long as you do, Cole.”
“Let’s follow ’em, and take our time,” Cole said.
“Why? If we push it, we can run them down,” Shoemaker said.
“I wanna let them get where they’re goin’,” Cole said. “Get settled in. Think all they gotta worry about is a wol
f.”
“And then we move,” Willis said. “I like it.”
“I ain’t got the patience you fellas got,” Truett said.
“Me, neither,” Shoemaker said, “but it’s your call, Cole.”
“That’s right, it is,” Cole said.
Willis looked ahead at the sky and said, “Looks like we’re gonna get some fall snow up ahead.”
“Might make it hard for Trapp to hunt a white wolf,” Shoemaker said.
“Probably right,” Cole said, “but I ain’t about to let any wolf beat me to Jesse Trapp, even if I gotta kill the animal myself.”
“Snow,” Trapp said. “Sittin’ heavy in those clouds up ahead.”
“Probably hanging right over Wolf Creek,” Clint said. “Bad luck.”
“That’ll just add to the challenge,” Trapp said.
“I don’t find hunting a killer wolf a challenge, Jesse,” Clint said. “I find it a chore.”
“I understand that,” Jesse said. “Me and John Henry, we like matching wits with these animals, especially a wolf—and a white wolf, to boot.”
They rode along talking white wolves. Or rather, Jesse talked, and Clint listened.
“It’s odd to find a single white wolf doin’ this kind of damage,” he said. “Like all wolves, they usually hunt in packs.”
“Don’t usually see them in Montana, do you?”
“No,” Jesse said. “Usually in Alaska or Canada. They like the cold, and it’s odd for them to come south, where it’s not as cold.”
“It’s going to be cold here, though,” Clint said. “Especially if we’re getting snow.”
“They like it frigid,” Jesse said. “They grow an extra coat when it’s real cold.”
“Tell me more about them,” Clint said. “If I’m going to hunt one, I want to know as much as I can.”
“They have sharp eyesight, a keen sense of smell and hearing. All of that helps make them great hunters. Oh yeah, they have forty-two teeth.”
Hunt for the White Wolf Page 4
