Day of the Wolf

by Charles G. West

  “God, I’d love that,” Billie Jean exclaimed. “How soon can we get started?”

  Her question caused the thin whore to glance quickly at the mousey-looking woman standing beside her before they both took a closer look at the newcomers. Lorena was a big woman, but Billie Jean was stockier and powerfully built. Thinking the threat might have been poor judgment on her part, the woman reconsidered. “Maybe we’re not being fair about this. I reckon there’s room for all of us. The two cabins on the end are empty. You’re welcome to those if Smiley says it’s okay. My name’s Mae and this is Esther. Welcome to Three-Mile.”

  Wolf detected a genuine look of disappointment on Billie Jean’s face. He suspected that she was looking forward to the part about “throwing them out on their asses.” But she was as cheerful as Rose and Lorena when they introduced themselves to their new business associates. As for him, he had no experience when it came to dealing with women, especially prostitutes, but his instincts told him not to get involved if at all possible. Content to be a silent spectator, he was sure he had not been noticed until Mae asked, “What about him?”

  Lorena turned to look at Wolf as if wondering herself. “Him? He’s our guide—brought us from back south of Horse Creek, saved our scalps from flyin’ on some Injun’s lance.”

  “Is that a fact?” Esther spoke up then. “Maybe he’s ready to try something new for a change.” She flashed an impish smile in Wolf’s direction. “How ’bout it, Slim?”

  The proposition was overheard by a soldier seated at the table Mae and Esther had just come from. Feeling he had a prior claim, he was quick to express it. “Esther, get your ass back over here!”

  “Keep your shirt on, Carl,” Esther said. “I’m talking to somebody.”

  When the soldier started to get up from his chair, Rose, seeing trouble brewing, spoke on Wolf’s behalf. “Tell your soldier there’s no need to get upset. Wolf wouldn’t be interested in partying. He doesn’t do stuff like that. He doesn’t even drink.”

  Her comment served to bring the attention of everyone within earshot to focus on this strange individual who didn’t drink or carouse with women. The soldier whom Esther had called Carl was especially interested in such a man. “Well, what the hell’s he doin’ in here with us men?” he insisted, and looked around to appreciate the round of chuckles his question had sparked. On his feet now, he pointed a finger at Wolf and ordered, “Get your ass outta here before I decide to stomp you into the floor.” Standing over six feet tall, and built big in the shoulders, the soldier presented a formidable problem. Already uncomfortable in the noisy smoke-filled room, Wolf did not understand why the soldier was threatening him. He remained silent, preferring to ignore the obviously drunken bully.

  Seeing Wolf’s confusion, Lorena sought to intercede. “Leave him alone, soldier. He’s not lookin’ for any trouble. Why don’t you go back to your table and have another drink with Esther?”

  Mistaking Wolf’s lack of response for cowardice, Carl would not be dissuaded. “Like hell I will,” he ranted. “The son of a bitch tried to take my girl, and if he don’t get up outta that chair and get outta here, I’m gonna throw him out myself.” He walked up to the table and pointed at Wolf again. “Get up from there!”

  Still perplexed, wondering what he had done to cause the soldier to become so violent, Wolf continued to sit there for a few moments more before answering. “I have no quarrel with you. I ain’t done nothin’ to you. I think it’s best if you go back to your table and leave me alone.”

  “Oh, you do, do you?” Carl retorted. “Well, we’ll see about that!” Thinking to pull Wolf up out of the chair, he reached across the table. It was a serious mistake in judgment. Wolf did not understand barroom bullies or drunken brawls. The only fighting he had ever been involved in was one enemy fighting another, and was a fight to the death. He didn’t understand the provocation that caused the soldier to attack him, but he assumed that he meant to kill him, so it was a matter of who killed who. The soldier was not prepared for the fury he had unleashed upon himself, for the stoic figure in the faded buckskins exploded into action, clutching the arm that reached for him and forcing it backward until Carl screamed out in pain when the bone broke. Pulling the injured man over the top of the table, Wolf slammed him facedown to the floor and was immediately on top of him. Stunned by the pain, Carl was helpless as Wolf grabbed a fistful of his hair and smashed his face against the floor. He drew his knife then and pulled the soldier’s head back, preparing to cut his throat.

  “No!” Rose screamed, and grabbed his wrist. “Don’t kill him! You’ve done enough!”

  Wolf hesitated. “He woulda kilt me,” he said.

  “No,” Rose pleaded, “he wasn’t trying to kill you. He just wanted to fight, that’s all.”

  Wolf looked around him. The saloon was dead quiet, and all around him were stunned faces. It had happened so fast that no one was prepared to take any action to come to the unfortunate soldier’s aid. “Rose is right,” Lorena said calmly. “He’s just a bully lookin’ for a fistfight. Let him go. You don’t want the army after you for murder. They’ll stand you in front of a firin’ squad.” Still filled with the rage that had overcome him, he tried to make sense of what had just happened, and realized that he had lived in a world of wild beasts and Indians far too long. He had lost all contact with the civilized world of his father and mother, remembering little of his childhood. Anytime he had fought before, it had been to purposefully take a life or to save his own.

  He released the injured soldier and got to his feet. The shroud of shock that had paralyzed the astonished barroom slowly began to dissipate, and he heard a few mutterings of outrage from Carl’s fellow soldiers. He walked quickly to the bar, reached over, and retrieved his rifle as some of the patrons went to help the wounded man. A voice in the middle of the spectators spoke. “There weren’t no call for that. He broke his arm.”

  “He’da killed him if she hadn’t stopped him,” another declared.

  “He should have left him alone,” Rose argued. “He didn’t know if the man was out to kill him or not. He was just protecting himself.”

  Wolf glanced at the young woman. He was grateful for her attempt to plead for him, but there was a steady increase in the grumbling among the soldiers, and he was not going to hang around to see if she could convince them to leave him alone. He cranked a cartridge into the chamber and held the Henry ready in front of his chest. “I didn’t come here to hurt nobody,” he said, “but I ain’t sorry about that feller’s arm. He had no call to come after me. Now, you folks just go on with your drinkin’ and whorin’, and you won’t see me no more.” He backed slowly toward the door, his rifle ready to fire at the slightest provocation. Step after cautious step, he backed away from the unfriendly faces staring at him in angry silence. And then they disappeared—everything went black as his head felt as if it had been split open brief seconds before he crumpled to the floor unconscious.

  Deputy U.S. marshal Ned Bull stood over the body sprawled half inside the saloon door, still holding the Colt .44 he had used as a club by the barrel. When the injured man showed no sign of life, he replaced the pistol in his holster. “Damn, Marshal,” Smiley remarked, “you hit him pretty hard. You mighta killed him.”

  “Might have at that,” Ned replied, unconcerned. “Hell, that gal that ran over to the hotel to interrupt my supper said there was a wild man fixin’ to shoot up the place, so I didn’t think about askin’ him politely to hand over his rifle.” He continued to stare down at the prone figure, just then beginning to show signs of coming to, and considered what he should do about him. “You say he broke that feller’s arm?” He stepped aside to let a couple of Carl’s friends pass as they helped the injured soldier out the door on their way to the post hospital.

  “Sure as hell did,” Smiley replied. “He jumped on him like some kinda wild animal.”

  “Is that a fact?” Ned replied. “Well, he ain’t no responsibility of mine. I’ve got other
business to attend to. I suppose some of you boys oughta tie him up before he wakes up good, then take him to the guardhouse. I expect the army will wanna hold him awhile for assaultin’ that soldier.”

  Fearing another violent reaction when Wolf regained consciousness, Smiley went immediately to fetch some rope from the back room. When he returned, he placed Wolf’s hands behind his back and tied his wrists together with plenty of volunteer help from some of the soldiers. “We oughta hang the son of a bitch,” one of them remarked.

  “Nah,” Ned Bull drawled. “You boys take him back on the post to the guardhouse. That’s the best thing to do. Let the authorities handle it. Take his weapons and his horse, if he rode in on one, and turn ’em in to the officer of the day. I’d do it for you, but my supper’s gettin’ cold, and I ain’t got no jurisdiction on this army post anyway.” Ready to take action now that the danger was over, several volunteers were willing to step forward.

  “Hold on there a minute, Marshal.” Lorena Parker spoke up then. She had been no more than an interested observer to that point, but she wanted to do something to help the man who had led her and her two friends through Indian Territory. “The horse he was ridin’ belongs to me. It’s tied up to my wagon out front, and I was just lettin’ him ride it while he was guidin’ us.”

  Ned smiled. “Is that a fact?”

  “That’s the truth,” Billie Jean piped up. “That ain’t his horse.”

  “Well, I reckon we wouldn’t wanna confiscate somethin’ that belonged to you,” Ned said, the smile still in place. He didn’t care whether the prostitutes just stole themselves a horse or not. Amused by their claim, he commented further, “I don’t suppose he was carryin’ your Henry rifle, was he?”

  “Well…,” Lorena started, then thought better of it, thinking she might lose the horse if she asked for everything. She shrugged indifferently.

  Ready to be done with the incident, Ned turned to go back to the hotel and his supper. He paused to watch several soldiers load Wolf in the back of an army freight wagon and head back to the post. Then he felt someone grab his arm and he turned to see the plaintive face of Rose Hutto looking up at him. “Can’t you help him?” she asked. “What happened here wasn’t his fault. That soldier attacked him, and Wolf thought he was trying to kill him.”

  “Wolf?” Ned repeated. “Is that his name?” Rose nodded. “Where’d he come from? Has he been livin’ with a pack of wolves or somethin’? How do you and your friends happen to know him?” Rose hurriedly told him of their chance meeting with Wolf and their association with him after that. “Well, that’s mighty interestin’,” Ned commented. “But like I said, I got supper settin’ on the table that’s most likely stone cold by now.” He left her then, but after walking a dozen paces or so, he called back over his shoulder, “I’m gonna be here for a couple of days. I’ll look in on him if I get a chance.” Without looking back, he held up a hand to acknowledge her thank-you.

  “Well, now, that was something, wasn’t it?” Billie Jean said, her hands on her hips while she remained staring at the door. Thinking of the event she had just witnessed, she said, “I knew he was half wild, but I didn’t think he could go plumb loco like that. I guess that’s the last we’ll ever see of him.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Lorena said. “But if they do let him out again, he’ll still have his horse. I’da asked for his rifle, too, but I figured I was lucky to get the horse.”

  “Is that what you were thinkin’?” Billie Jean asked. “Hell, I figured you were just quick enough to get yourself a horse.”

  “I ain’t a complete bitch,” Lorena said with a laugh.

  “We should go talk to the army and tell them that he’s not as bad as they’re making him out to be,” Rose said. “It’s not fair to send him to jail for something he didn’t start.”

  Lorena paused to take a hard look at her young friend. “If I didn’t think you had better sense, I’d think you’re gettin’ soft in the head over that white Injun. Tell me I’m wrong, please, ’cause if you are, you’re lettin’ yourself in for a helluva lot of trouble.”

  Rose attempted to shrug the comment off. “I just think he’s not being treated fairly, that’s all. He certainly saved our lives, and hasn’t asked for a penny for doing it.”

  “He was just waitin’ around for money to buy more cartridges with,” Lorena responded.

  “You volunteered the money,” Rose countered. “He didn’t ask for it.”

  “Lorena’s right,” Billie Jean said. “You ought not get a soft spot for that wildcat. We most likely won’t ever see him again.”

  Signaling an end to the discussion, Lorena walked away to the bar to confront Smiley, who was busy rinsing shot glasses now that the atmosphere in the saloon had returned to normal. With no intention of asking politely if the three of them could occupy the empty cabins at the end of the row, she informed him instead, “Me and Billie Jean and Rose will be movin’ into those empty cribs you got. We’ll pay the same rent as the other girls, so I’ll need the door keys.” She held out her hand expectantly.

  Slightly taken aback, Smiley paused to consider his response. Finally he replied, “Well, it’s mighty nice of you to let me know, seeing as how I’m the one who decides who lives here and who don’t.”

  She gave him a big smile then and said, “You’re gonna find that this is the best partnership you ever made. I’ve been workin’ this trade long enough to know how to make ’em keep comin’ back for more. Me and my two girls are gonna sell a lot of whiskey for you.”

  He shook his head and grinned. “You do beat all,” he said, and went to get the keys.

  Chapter 4

  It was late morning the following day when Ned Bull finished his meeting with Lieutenant Colonel Luther Bradley, the post commanding officer. When he traveled, he liked to get an early start, so he decided to stay over one more night and start back to Omaha in the morning. With time on his hands, he decided to stop by the guardhouse to see how the “wild man” was doing. When he arrived, he found Captain Hartsuff, the post surgeon, on the lower floor where the prisoners were kept in one large area. He was applying a bandage to the back of Wolf’s head. The patient submitted to treatment with no show of aggression, nor any indication that he was in pain. “Hello, Doc,” Ned greeted the surgeon. “Is he gonna live?”

  Hartsuff glanced back to see who had spoken to him. “It’d take a lot more than this, I think.” He gave Ned a bit longer scrutiny then. “Are you the deputy marshal?” When Ned answered with a nod, Hartsuff said, “You’re the one who hit him. A little bit harder and you might have cracked his skull for certain. You bring them in either dead or nearly dead, don’t you?” he said, referring to Arlo Taggart. He then returned his attention to the wound, a two-inch split in Wolf’s scalp, standing in sharp contrast to the white patch he had shaved to treat the cut.

  “I reckon he’s got a pretty hard head at that,” Ned said, not really concerned, as he watched the captain wrap cloth around the bandage to hold it in place. “When they came to get me, they said he was a wild man, fixin’ to shoot the place up. I reckon it ain’t only Indians who can’t handle their whiskey. A helluva lot of white men go crazy when they get drunk.”

  “This man wasn’t drunk,” the doctor said. “At least, I can’t find any evidence of it in his breath or on his clothes. And it isn’t usually hard to tell.”

  “Is that a fact?” Ned replied, genuinely surprised. “I reckon he’s just plain crazy, then.” He stepped to the side in order to look Wolf directly in the eye. The grim, sullen countenance that returned his gaze indicated a burning inferno inside the expressionless face. Although he was silent and motionless, the man’s eyes were very much alert and studying the lawman intently. “Damn,” Ned swore after a few moments of eye contact, “maybe he can’t talk, but I swear, I can almost see the wheels turnin’ in his mind.” He turned back to the surgeon. “What’s he got to say about why he attacked that soldier?”

  “He hasn’t said anyth
ing since I’ve been here,” Hartsuff replied.

  “He ain’t said a word since they brought him in last night,” a sergeant standing by to guard the prisoner said. “I just came on duty this morning, but that’s what they told me. Said he didn’t so much as look at the other prisoners, just stood staring out one of them little windows at the river till they got the straw pallets out. Then he laid down on the floor. He got blood all over that straw tick. That’s why I called Captain Hartsuff.”

  “Maybe he just can’t talk,” Ned decided.

  “There you go, fellow,” the doctor said when he finished tying the knot on the bandage. “That oughta take care of it as long as you don’t bump it and start it bleeding again.”

  “Much obliged,” Wolf said. His comment brought a startled reaction from the three men standing nearby.

  “Well, damn,” Ned remarked, “he can talk.” Then he asked, “How come you never said somethin’ before this?”

  “What good would it have done?” Wolf answered. “Nobody listens, especially soldiers. I told that soldier that came at me that I didn’t want any trouble, and I was tryin’ to leave when you knocked me in the head.”

  Ned took a moment to think about the prisoner’s statement. He couldn’t deny the possibility that he might have been able to handle the prior night’s altercation more peacefully. But he had been a deputy marshal for a good many years, and one of the reasons for his longevity was the fact that he tried never to give a suspect any opportunity to react violently. “They tell me you rode in with a wagon with three whores in it. How’d you hook up with them?”

  Wolf studied the big lawman for a few moments longer before deciding Ned was not being confrontational, merely wanting to know. So he told the deputy how he happened to come upon the three women in the middle of a creek, their encounter with Sioux hostiles, and how he happened to be in the saloon. “I never wanted to come into this army post,” he said, “but Lorena wanted to pay me for some of the cartridges I spent. And that soldier jumped me. I didn’t give him no cause.”